Monthly Archives: March 2009

communication is key

There are a lot of theories as to why the dinosaurs became extinct before I could ride one to work and finally have the rich guys in BMW’s envious of me, but yesterday afternoon while I was talking with another blogger, I had an epiphany about this subject.

Sure there might have been a meteor or whatever, but the real reason dinosaurs went extinct is because the guy dinosaurs kept trying to figure out what the lady dinosaurs were thinking, and eventually their tiny brains exploded.

This is really the best theory out of all of them, because if you ask any man now what women think he will 1) scrunch his face and look Thoughtful then 2) give some sort of vague answer and finally 3) punch himself in the face out of the frustration that comes with knowing that he does not know a damn thing.

And this is a man who is supposed to be evolved!

Imagine how hard this was for the guy dino, with his tiny little brain.

Dude T-Rex: [Notices his woman friend is in a bad mood] “You alright?  You’ve barely touched your caveman stew.  Too much pepper?”

Foxy Stegosaurus: [Looks up from her soup, with eyebrows raised] “Everything is fine.”

Dude T-Rex: “Oh, okay great – man you should have seen the look on Steve’s face when I threw that rock at his tail, he was–”

Foxy Stegosaurus: [Getting up abruptly from the dinner table] “You don’t even know who I am anymore!”

[Dude T-Rex watches Foxy Stegosuarus storms out of the cave, and as he tries to figure out what the hell just happened, his brain explodes and he dies]

This is probably what happened to the guy dinosaurs, and with no guys around to procreate with the ladies, the species eventually died off.

With this knowledge in hand, maybe next time a guy says, “So, what do you want to do tonight?” you women should actually tell us, instead of saying “Oh I don’t know” and then when we suggest something, you say “That’s a dumb idea.”

Either that or we all die.

Think about it.


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thirty is the new thirty

Somehow, early this past November, I turned 30 years old.

I know! To some of you, this is a shock. You’ve seen the picture on the “yes, me” page and you’re thinking, “How??? How is this possible?? Your silky smooth skin! Your long, flowing locks! I am a fool!”

But fret not, my boyish good looks have deceived many people.  You were not the first, and sadly, you will not be the last.

For some reason, people think that turning 30 means that it is time to Mature and Stop Being Irresponsible, but I have made a decision that this will not be the case with me.

No, I’ve decided that I will wait until my forties to become an Adult, therefore I am now staring right into the face of ten more years of acting exactly like I do now.

Yes, that’s right – I am granting myself another ten years of yelling at people that I’ve just met about trivial things and all the other behaviors that make up The Adventure Of Knowing Chris.

I figure, why stop quoting Seinfeld at every possible chance now that I’m 30?  I’d be robbing everyone I know of something that brings pure joy to their lives (no one has ever actually said this to me, but I can tell, I’m a Joy Bringer).

And when that day comes that I finally turn 40, look out!

You want to see Responsibility?  You want to see Acting Appropriately?  I am going to be on fire! People will probably start painting pictures of me, because that’s what happens when you’re an Adult.  People paint your picture.

Until then, though, what you see/read now is what you get for the next ten years. So come on over, grab a beer and let’s act stupid, because that’s what being a thirty-something is all about.


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no time to waste

To all of my Malawi, Africa readers: RUN.

Word is out that Madonna is coming back to take more brown babies, whether you like it or not.  There is nothing you can do – in fact – it might be too late already.

So RUN DAMMIT!  Oh, and in case you can’t read English, here are some pictures to illustrate the horror that is coming for you.

Good luck, and may god save us all.





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ready, set, go

I’m not a pack rat by any stretch of the imagination.  When something has served its time, I get rid of it quickly.  Greeting cards last about ten minutes, unless Ari intervenes.  Once I read it and swear under my breath about there being no money in it, what’s the point of keeping it around?  Into the trash it goes!

However, yesterday when I went and bought a new pair of shoes because I never had a dad and material goods fill the hole in my heart (right now you’re thinking, “I don’t know whether to laugh or to hold him”), I discovered that for some reason, I do keep shoe boxes.

I decided to stuff my new shoes in my gym bag so I wouldn’t have to carry two bags home, but instead of trashing the box, I kept it.  It’s jammed up under my desk right now, where it will probably be until the end of time.

Then, when I went home last night and counted, there must’ve been at least 23 shoe boxes under my bed, counting Ari’s too, because evidently she has a problem with this as well.

I think I have this issue because for some reason I worry that I might have to move at any moment, and there is absolutely no way to transport shoes without boxes for them.

Everything else in the apartment?  Fine.  But shoes?  I have to tell you, if you’re looking to transport those without their ship, it’s going to be one messy situation.

You’re sitting there, picking up one and looking for the match, then oops!  You dropped one!  And the next thing you know, you’re drowning your sadness with a bottle of Jack while listening to “Goodbye to You” by Michelle Branch and it’s not even a Tuesday night.

But with boxes – you don’t have this problem.  Put those shoes in a box and you are ready to move swiftly and easily.

I don’t really understand why I think I’ll get a call and have to move so quickly (with shoe boxes in tow).  I mean I’m not Jason Bourne.

Or am I???


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This morning while I was at the gym, something very significant happened to me.

The Event occurred when I was doing some sort of exercise that I’m pretty sure made my biceps especially intimidating, which is something that is Very Important for reasons I really don’t know.

I was listening to some Wu-Tang and thinking about how they could probably solve the economic crisis if they wanted to because in high school whenever shit would go wrong I’d smoke tons of weed and listen to them and magically my problems would disappear, when I saw Sassy Old Woman out of the corner of my eye.

Some background on Sassy: she is there everyday at the same time as me, just like The Singer and Grandpa. She is somewhere between 85 and 457 years old, and she wears sports bras and tight workout pants.

Now that you have a mental picture, let me continue.  I turned and saw her sitting down, and lo and behold there it was: Sassy Old Woman’s butt was hanging out.

Now don’t get me wrong, I am a Butt Man, and I’m sure back in 1734 she was probably pretty hot, but this was not something I enjoyed seeing.

Sassy Old Woman was leaning forward, and her iPod, which she hooks into her pants, was dragging down the back of her pants, so the entire gym – and I – got a glimpse of her butt and her ancient crack, all in one amazing display.

Maybe if Sassy wore clothes like any normal woman at they gym does, this would not have happened.  But it did, and now my eyes and mind are forever scarred.

I cannot unsee what I have seen.

In fact, right now, as I type these words, all I see is Sassy’s butt crack.  I wish I could continue this post, but as you can tell, I have a very serious issue here.  I think I might need to go home sick.


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veggie or die

I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time.

Ever since I became a vegetarian nine years ago, I’ve had to defend my Manhood.  When people found out that I didn’t eat meat, their faces would scrunch, they’d laugh a little, and I’d be forced to declare something to balance things out, like “But I love sports, big butts and drinking beer! Sometimes all at once!”

But no more.

Today, a study was released. It reports that people who eat meat are 30% more likely to die prematurely (from cancer or heart disease) than those who don’t.

That’s all I ever needed as a rebuttal, wrapped up in a perfect little package, like maybe a Hot Dog Full Of Death that you meat eaters enjoy.

From now on, my problems with The Diet Conversation are solved.

When a guy jokes with me that I must be some kind of wuss for not eating steak, I’ll just calmly reply, “That’s funny.  Hope you have fun dying tomorrow.”

When I attend a barbecue at a friend’s place, and the eyes of the party inevitably focus on me as I lay my veggie burger upon the grill, I will take a gulp of my Coors Light, crinkle the can in my hand (unless it hurts to do that) and proclaim, “Sorry, I’m not eating meat. I have this thing with not dying.”

It’s beautiful.

Today I do not shun my Tofurkey.  Today I hold my head up high.  Today I say, “I am Man!  And I eat Veggie Dogs!”

Well, at least I say that to those of you who are still alive.


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viva la revolution or something!

A couple of months ago, Ari and I, being the proud parents that we are, submitted a picture of our dog Jack for a calendar of local dogs.

Of course Jack was selected because he’s fucking cute and if you don’t know him, you wouldn’t realize that he’s completely insane. We were very excited about him getting picked, until we saw the picture.

Here is the month, which is dominated by a huge picture of some idiot named Otis, while Jack’s picture is tiny in comparison.



First of all, Jack is not Otis’ friend.  I’m sure Otis wishes he was Jack’s friend, but Jack is very popular among the dogs of Clinton Hill, Brooklyn who don’t mind being humped.  He must be selective.

And seriously, how is Jack’s picture not the center piece here?

Crazy since 2008.

Sears Glamour Shot.

Right?  Much better than Otis’ picture.

So Ari and I were all “What the hell?” and “Guess we’re gonna have to cut some bitches” about the situation.  Then as we scanned through the calender we noticed something: the dogs that were featured with big photos belonged to a neighborhood dog association!

Talk about dirty politics.

Since Jack isn’t a member, he got shunned!  Is this not America??? Do we not have equal opportunity for all dogs???

Sure Jack has lunged at more little kids than Micheal Jackson at a playground, but does he not deserve his chance in the spotlight like the rest of these Elitist Pups?

Well Ari, Jack and I have decided we won’t stand for this injustice.  I know right now you’re saying, “Uh dude, I’m not buying it, mainly because it’s March and you’re just now bitching about this.  Honestly, it sounds like you’ve been drinking.” And maybe you’d be right – but that doesn’t change the fact that we are going to stand up for what we perceive as a wrong!

Right after I finish this beer.


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