Jul 30, 2015
A little something Conor Hagan and I put together.
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A little something Conor Hagan and I put together.
Why You Were Killed & Not Fucked or Married
As you’re most likely unaware, your name and the names of two of your co-workers were recently put forth before a committee in which each member decided who they would fuck, who they would marry, and who they would kill. Your personality, physical attributes and many intangible qualities were carefully considered. And it is with great regret that I tell you that every member of the review committee concluded that you had to die.
Now, I wish I could say this wasn’t personal. What I can say is that this was a competitive round. Top talent from around the office. In fact, there was a lengthy, animated and fairly revealing discussion during your review. Frankly, I learned a lot about our colleagues today. Yet at the conclusion, it was revealed that most of your work friends wouldn’t fuck you to save your life.
I know, I know.
But I want you to think of this as a good thing.
You see, there’s a common misconception about being placed in the fuck category. Most think this would be flattering. The truth, however, is that the candidates placed in this category are the ones who lack depth. They have what we call “fuck appeal.” Their fuck appeal may come in the form of good looks, a great sense of humor, or maybe they have an alluring, one-night-standness about them. Whatever the case, they only have one redeeming quality and the reviewers want to redeem it in the form of a fuck. Think of those placed in this category as a new version of Mountain Dew that you would love to try but would never buy.
There are, of course, exceptions. Sometimes it’s simply a case of, “If I had to fuck one of them…,” but let’s not get into that. Those are dark reviews held by twisted selection committees.
That brings us to the category of marriage. Now, I imagine it comes as a surprise that you weren’t placed here. Your classic marriage material: not bad looking and not bad to be around. The type parents want to meet at Thanksgiving. Surely it wouldn’t be too terrible to hold and to cherish you for the rest of one’s life. So let’s review why no one wanted to.
When members of the review committee consider this category, they approach the decision through one of two avenues. The classic approach considers traditional values - things like personality and where and how often their interests overlap. What reviewers are looking for is someone who’s “endure-able.” Someone with whom they could share an easy, comfortable and loveless union. This is how most marriages are decided, which is why I thought you’d snatch up this category.
Unfortunately, you fell victim to circumstance.
You see, on rare occasions the review committee is presented a candidate that transcends categories. These extraordinary individuals possess such an overwhelming degree of fuck appeal - whether it’s through something like looks or wealth - that reviewers can’t help but overlook the candidate’s personality, interests, moral compass, aspirations, even their general opinion about this person in lieu of being able to fuck him or her until death do them part. All they hear is, "Do you take these tits as your lawfully" - “Sure do.”
And this is what you were up against. It was the last candidate added to the pool and, well, they were a game changer. Up to that point the entire committee had accepted spending the rest of their lives with you. Yet the name was called and, as you must realize, the most endure-able often have the least fuck appeal.
As for how members of the review committee decided who they would kill, well, someone had to die.
Dear Lord, let this next week pass quickly. Let no one give me a pat on the back, brush against my shoulder, Or, for reasons unforeseeable at ...
One of my pieces was recently featured on a much better website than the one you're reading now.
A PRAYER FOR THE SUNBURNED - BY MATT MCCARRON
"Dear Lord, let this next week pass quickly. Let no one give me a pat on the back, brush against my shoulder, Or, for reasons unforeseeable at this moment, rub my calf. Give me courage when I step into the shower. Help me to position the sensitive patches away from harsh streams. And let my thighs avoid beads of water that just trickle down but still make me sob and sniffle. And give strength to this aerosol can of Solarcaine Cool Aloe Burn Relief Formula. Help it live up to its reputation as the “#1 Sunburn Relief Brand” So, when I go to bed, each minor adjustment doesn’t require careful consideration. Lord Jesus, let my efforts not be in vain. Let this severe burn result in a mild tan that lasts at least two weeks and isn’t too blotchy. And please Lord, no more freckles. Dear Lord, when my skin peels, Let it come off in big sheets Because they’re fun to peel. But don’t let anyone see me do this, Lord, Because it’s gross. And help me to remember that feet get sunburned, too. That sand doesn’t count as sunscreen And that a feet burn may be the worst kind of burn. One that ruins simple pleasures like walking, standing, or putting on socks. And finally Lord, let me not be envious of those who don’t get sunburned. Let me not be jealous of their tans. But in your kind heart, Lord Jesus, Let them at least get really bad allergies. Amen." (via McSweeney’s Internet Tendency: A Prayer for the Sunburned.)
My Side of the Story
Last week the New York Post published a story about a man police believed was threatening to detonate a bomb on the Williamsburg Bridge. The real story, however, was even more bizarre. In reality, there was no bomb, just a “crazy guy who defecated on the bridge.”
I am that “crazy guy.” This is my side of the story.
. . . . . . .
I thought I would make it to work. At least across the bridge. To a Starbucks where I could take care of the business that their business triggers everyday at about oh I’d say 25 minutes after my last sip.
But today was different. It was an anomaly.
It must have been the yogurt and granola.
I was walking to work on a sunny morning. The Williamsburg Bridge was packed with people who had the same idea and I was enjoying a This American Life podcast. The one about the kindness of strangers.
I was almost halfway across when I felt the first rumble. Oooo. I kept walking. Then I felt it again. Awww, that’s not good. Each ache felt like a burst of a blender. I kept walking. Then another burst struck. Then another. I winced with each churn, quickening my steps to Starbucks. Then I was hit with The Rumble. A coffee-yogurt-granola-blueberry tornado churning, churning churning in my gut.
I leaned against the fence to wait for it to pass. Slowly, my stomach eased to a stop. Shit man, this isn’t good.
I continued my trek. Slowly, carefully, quickly. I was still about half way across the bridge.
Then it struck again. A grinding flip. Grind, grind, grind FLIP. Grind, grind, grind FLIP. Aww fuck, no no no as I held onto the fence. Fuck man, fuck.
I evaluated my spot on the bridge. I should go back to my apart - Awwww - fuck! Damnit. Shit. I tried breathing slowly. It didn’t help.
Get it together. C’mon. You’re fine. Aww.
I turned around and began walking back to my apartment. Teeth grinding from the pressure below. Quick steps. Beads of sweat on my brow. Breathing slow.
Then I was hit with another huge flip. AWWWW fuck! Fuck. Fucking dammit shit - cuntface! I moaned.
The pain was unbearable and my apartment was too far. Panic set in.
This has to happen RIGHT NOW. Fuck. Beads of sweat glistened on my brow. No, I can’t. I can’t do this. Rumbling. What if someone sees me? Grind, grind FLIP. Fuuuuuuck!
The pain was too great.
I knew what I had to do.
I had to ignore every social code I’ve learned in the past thirty years.
I had to suppress my dignity and I’m certain you would have done the same.
Because there was no more denying it.
I had to pull down my pants and take shit on the Williamsburg Bridge.
And it had to happen right now.
Leaning against the fence, I looked to my right: no one. To my left: two Hasidic women, forty yards away. Shit fuck. Hurry the fuck up.
They were 35 yards away.
Fucking walk!
30 yards.
Goddammit please. Please hurry the fuck up you dumb cunts!
25 yards.
You motherfucking...slowpokes. You’re slowpokes!
20 yards.
I’m going to shit my pants. Is that what you want? I’m going to shit my fucking pants like a fucking toddler.
15 yards.
Please.
10 yards.
[Wimper.]
5 yards.
Fucking walk you slow fucking pokes - Fuck you!
Finally they passed.
“‘Morning,” I said.
I don’t know why I reached for my backpack but I did.
And I don’t know who I thought would see me fiddling with my shoelaces and think, “well that guy’s just tying his shoes. Anyone can see that.” But that didn’t stop me from fake tying my shoes two or three times.
As I knelt in a ball of patheticness I quickly emptied my backpack. I removed my laptop, my book and a few pens that I like. I then fiddled with my laces again to make sure onlookers knew that I was just tying my shoes.
Alright, let’s do this. Am I really going to do this? Fuck, man. Holy shit this has to happen now. Still kneeling, I unbuckled my belt, button and unzipped my fly. I pulled my pants down to my knees then covered my exposed end with my backpack.
Then, on a Wednesday morning at 9:15am, on my way to work, I defecated into my backpack in the middle of the Williamsburg Bridge.
I’m not proud this.
I feel bad for ruining every onlooker’s commute to work, and I feel bad for the parents who had to explain the unexplainable situation to their children. I also really liked that backpack.
But I stand by the fact that there was nothing else I could do.
The operation took less than 25 seconds. I buttoned up quickly.
I then zipped my backpack and waited for the cars below to pass. I knew I only had one shot at this and it wouldn’t be easy: I had to clear a tall fence then two lanes of traffic to get it into the river.
One...two...three…!
The bag-o-poop cleared the fence. And the first lane. Then hit the road barrier, flopped back into the street, and laid to rest in the second lane.
A car ran over it.
Then another did the same.
Well, I tried.
. . . . . . .
The police officers were understanding. They had never heard of a non-homeless person pooping on the bridge, but they were surprised they hadn’t. They also appreciated the fact that I used a bag. But more than anything they were relieved that the bag wasn’t a bomb. I hadn’t thought of that.
In the end they shook their heads and handed me a 153.09: Health Code violation. $150 fine.
The Definitive Ranking of How Quickly Cereals Get Soggy that Only Includes Those Cereals that I like.
Chex - You don’t even have time to sneeze. Milk seeps into the vents on both sides soaking those delicious squares from the inside out and outside in and before even a little bit long you’ve got yourself some soggy-ass cereal. There’s a brief delicious moment when the milk trapped inside the squares provides a Gushers-like burst, but this moment is fleeting the second the dairy leaves the mouth of the carton. Shovel it in, my friend. Not a second to waste.
Cinnamon Toast Crunch - This is a tragedy of modern culinary. Yes, CTC lasts longer than Chex, but once the sog sets in, this cereal is gross. Bits of wet toast hang limp over the side of your spoon, naked of all the cinnamony goodness that now swirls on the surface of your sugar milk. It’s a damn shame. I’d like to rank this lower than Chex because of the inedibility of soggy CTC, but this is a sog test, not a taste test.
Frosted Flakes - What makes Frosted Flakes so delicious is exactly what keeps them crunchy longer than most flake-based cereals. I’m talking about the frost. It’s a natural unnatural sealant, keeping the sog at bay. A true marvel of confectionary science. Do the flakes eventually succumb? Of course. But you can at least finish your bowl in time.
Kix - I don’t know why there aren’t more puff-shaped cereals. The round surface area of Kix works wonders to keep this cereal crunchy. Only half of every Kix is submerged at a time keeping the milk away from the nucleus for an impressively long time. Best part, soggy Kix aren’t the worst thing.
Honey Nut Cheerios - I like a cereal that shreds the roof of my mouth to pieces and Honey Nut Cheerios delivers every time. Maybe it’s the honey sealant. Maybe it’s the nuts. Whatever the culprit, this cereal has strong sog resistance. Even when you’re on your second bowl and you find a Cheerio from round one floating on your spoon, you don’t have to flick it onto the table. You can fly that plane right into the cave with full confidence that it’s going to war with your mouth’s roof.
Honey Bunches of Oats - HBO is the truth. On your third bowl, bunches of oats left over from your first are still holding strong. ‘Oh this isn’t a fair contest,’ you might say. ‘Oats never get soggy.’ And I’d say, ‘Shut up dummy. Add them to your cereal if you want to make this fair. I thought we were having a sog-off. And fuck your flakes. I’ll put HBO flakes up against any flake in the industry. And that is why, HBO receives top honors in The Definitive Ranking of How Quickly Cereals Get Soggy that Only Includes Those Cereals that I Like.
Festival of Lights
Last year I ran in a race called "The Festival of Lights." It was put together by a Jewish organization in BK.
They just sent me an email about running again.
If I use the passcode "IRAN2013" I get $5 off.
So all I have to do is write the name of a country that denies Israel's right to exist to get $5 off a Jewish race.
How to Watch Blue is the Warmest Color at 3:13am
My family, like many families, enjoys a television family plan. My parents pay for Netflix, my brother pays for HBO GO, and I supply Hulu Plus. It’s a great deal. More television than I can keep up with for $7.99/month.
But there is a downside. And that downside becomes very apparent when you want to watch Blue is the Warmest Color at 3:13am.
For those unfamiliar with the film, it’s a beautiful story of a high school girl discovering her sexual identity, then entering a passionate relationship with another woman. If you haven’t seen it, you should. It’s great. The actresses are amazing, the dialogue is great, and the story feels real. There’s also an intense, six-minute lesbian scene that would make a porn star blush, which is why I feel obliged to share these simple instructions of how to watch Blue is the Warmest Color at 3:13am without anyone in your family plan knowing that you watched Blue is the Warmest Color at 3:13am.
As you probably know, there’s a Recently Watched section in your Netflix account. What you may not realize, is that you can’t deleted anything from this section. Once it’s in there, it’s in there. So if you recently watched Blue is the Warmest Color, everyone in your family plan will know that you recently watched Blue is the Warmest Color. Sure, you can casually bring it up next time you see your sister. You can tell her how real the love story felt, how great the actresses were, but what she’s really thinking when she sees the Recently Watched section of her Netflix family plan is, “Jesus Christ, my brother recently watched Blue is the Warmest Color.”
Fortunately, you can avoid this situation. And I’m going to tell you how.
When you open Netflix, click on the settings tab in the top right corner of the home page. Once open, click “Manage Profiles,” then “Add Profile.” Create a new profile, watch Blue is the Warmest Color at 3:13am, then delete that profile. And it’s gone along with all with all the Recently Watched history associated with it.
Now I know what you thinking. “What if I’m watching Blue is the Warmest Color at 3:13am and someone in my Family Plan opens Netflix, notices that someone is currently watching something, clicks on my profile, and sees that I’m watching Blue is the Warmest Color at 3:13am?”
Good question. When you setup your profile, name it “Guest.” That way you can then tell the other members of your family plan that you gave your friend a guest pass in exchange for his Aereo.com login, but I think we should change the password because I have a feeling that guy is watching Blue is the Warmest Color at 3:13am.
In the end, your sister won’t think you’re creepy because who would really put so much time and thought into watching Blue is the Warmest Color at 3:13am?