Vin, my twin. . .

My twin bro bought a dog on an impulsive move. . .

He thought I was gonna be mad and yell at him because the financial and living situation isn’t that good right now for us but his reason for doing it justified the purchase. My parents wont think the same though... they're kinda unreasonable like that.

See the reason for this blog is cuz my bro has had a pretty rough year so far. Without getting into specifics, he had to make probably the toughest decision in his life. Going with something that he always believed against. Something that we see different on and a decision that will haunt him forever but a decision I’m proud of him for making. While I give him that old cliche that time heals everything, he still lives with the guilt and feels as if a hole was created inside him. I wish there was a way I could take that from him and put it on me but I can’t... Its impossible. Like literally, because I looked into it via Google and you just can’t do it.

I love my bro, there's a lot of twins (or siblings for that matter) that don't get along but that shithead is my best friend... I don’t even currr how un-cool that sounds. If you've read any of my previous entries on this blog you probably knew that already - I mention him in just about every one of them. I don't post up a blog without him reading it first to make sure its worthy... well not until this one. Matter of fact, he’s the one that pushed me to start this whole blogging thing - he’s got all the confidence in the world in me like that... sometimes I think he thinks I’m capable of doing anything, and that makes me the cocky badass that I am.

He's really the only person that truly gets all of my weird/sick ass humor... and laughs at all of it, even when I’m just being a fuckin’ asshole. We're the perfect team, WE’RE the original Shake and Bake. I consider myself lucky... cuz not everyone in this world has somebody like that. I mean think about it, can you actually say you have someone you can trust with anything? I'm talking any-fuckin’-thing. If God told me I had to go put a whooping on the devil, that mother fucker would be right there with me... I expect that just like he would expect the same from me. If I went on a mass killing spree on some Michael Myers shit, was a total fuckin' psycho on some Hannibal Lecter shit, and the cops were chasing after me on some major highway in California leading to Mexico... Vin would be the one behind the wheel in that ‘93 white Ford Bronco.

Even though buying the dog was probably a mistake... it was a mistake he needed. So, Little Bro, I love ya, and I’ll always be proud of ya... even when you fuck up. While Mom and Dad will probably be mad at you for awhile, they’ll get over it eventually. So as one of our top 2 favorite songs go, “Don’t worry, be happy”... and as the other one goes “drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream”.... I’m not really sure what the second one has to do with anything right now but fuck it. And for those thinking “Double-u. Tee. Eff. Question mark.” . . . "Don't Worry, Be Happy" is a song by Bobby McFerrin, and “All I have to do is Dream” is a song by the Everly Brothers. YouTube it. They were the songs of our childhood.

In closing I just want to say, Thank you Chicago. . . You were great.

Oh and I got a P.S. - The dog is a Cane Corso Italiano. Like a Mastiff. Like my brother. Look it up.

J.O.B.

So I have a job. I’m a bouncer at the biggest/coolest nightclub in Williamsport... well actually it’s the only nightclub in Williamsport I think, aside from a few other lames - like the fag club or this other one that I’ve never been to. And notice how I said “coolest” that’s solely because I work there now. Which means as soon as I get fired it becomes a piece of shit. Just the way the world works.

Anyway, it’s a fun job, I like it. The pay is shit but its still easy money... and very entertaining. Especially when I work the dance floor. I see all kinds of shit that amuses me like for instance guys getting shutdown on the regular by chicks that should consider themselves lucky a guy is even talking to them. Or watching a bunch of white boys that think they can break dance - which just makes me feel weird and embarrassed by the way. Or all the guys that wanna dance in the cage and then argue with me that its not fair that the girls get to... Dude, 1. Its not allowed, period. And 2. Its fuckin’ gay as shit!

And let me tell you we have some characters there . . . I wish I had pictures of these people to post on here to show you because my words can’t describe how fuckin’ funny/weird they are!

Yo, we have this old man that goes there - they call him Shuffles or dancing Santa - he’s like 70ish right and he STANKS of body odor. I mean no exaggeration this guy must be responsible for at least 10% of the damage being done to the ozone layer. I don’t even know why we let him in... he doesn’t spend any money at the bar. The weird thing is he just dances the whole fuckin’ time. Same moves. Non-stop. Doesn’t say a word to anyone, its just him and the music. On occasion he’ll slowly drift over to a girl or two to see if they’d be interested but the only play he gets is the girls that try to be funny and dance with him - only to realize they made a monumental mistake and now this guy’s onion smelling stench is over-powering any memory of anything they have ever smelt in their lives. They think hotdogs... they smell Shuffles’ body odor. Roses... Shuffles’ BO. Pancakes.... Shuffles. Shit has a more pleasant aroma I lie to you not.

Another character we have visit on the regular is this retarded girl named Faime (I changed the name up to protect her identity - I hope its not so obvious that her real name is Jaime). She’s not like a full-blown retard, more like a 5 or 6 on the retard 10 scale... just so you have an idea. Like I don’t think she’s normal enough to drive or make any big decisions on her own but normal enough to get shitty and dance like she’s in a Britney Spears music video at the coolest nightclub in Williamsport, PA. She’s really a sweetheart though, and I’m not only saying that to make the female readers out there think I’m a sweet and sensitive guy and in turn offer up the poon, I’m saying that because its true. In fact, the first day I met her I didn’t know what the fuck was going on. She came in for a hug after a brief handshake and name exchange - to which I pulled back like ‘whoa bitch don’t be coming up on a brutha like that... I’ll cut you.’ - to which she replied with a “sorry, I hug everyone here... just ask around. Its like my thing.” - to which I thought “as long as it’s not giving out free blow jobs...”. - to which she just stared at me waiting for a response. - to which I continued my thought “... well I mean I never had my fang sucked on by a retard before...” - to which she continued to wait for a response... staring intensely into my big brown beautiful eyes - to which I finally said “ok sweet”. - to which she said “ok have a goodnight” as she walked away - to which I mumbled “just don’t drool on my shirt, bitch”. . . . But yeah, I warmed up to her fast. Especially after I seen she bought a woman - a complete stranger - a drink and a shot because the lady just got married (don’t ask me what the bitch was doing at a nightclub after getting married - she had on a fuckin’ wedding dress). So now Faime runs up to me all the time and tells me random ass shit like how she’s gonna dance battle some other chicas or some shit, or she’ll throw those glow stick things at me and run away as I pretend to chase after her, and she even wanted my picture taken with her so I did. Hey what can I say, I have a soft spot for the we-todd’s. . . . well, as long as they’re not acting like assholes.

A couple other people we have in there all the time is this big black woman that wears tight spandex pants and drinks nothing but pitchers of rum and coke all night. I know what you’re thinking... easy target right? Wrong. I don’t max over 220... this chick is pushing 300. I joked with some fellow employees one time about getting her digits... I think she over-heard me because now she tries eye-fucking me all the time. I’m the new guy so I’m fresh meat to her, naw sayin’? Mainly though she just minds her own business and tries to mimic all the dances she sees in the music videos playing on the big screen by the dance floor. Another guy we have that is always in there too is this straight dorky looking MFer. I’m talking black dress shorts, dress socks that go to the middle of his shins, dress shoes, he has the glasses to fit that typical nerd status... the only shit he leaves at home is his fuckin’ pocket protector w/ pens. He dances by himself like nobody’s business too. You would think this guy is shy, and maybe it’s the alchy getting him out there, but this guy goes right in the middle of the dance floor and busts out his moves. Then we got this HUGE guy that comes in on Thursdays, like 400 to 500 pounds (possibly more), maybe semi retarded (like a 2 or 3) from the fat surrounding his brain but he’s cool as shit. Like he says “what up dawg” and shit like that... I didn’t even know they made fat people that could talk that cool.

I could go on all day with the other weirdos we have come in there on a regular basis but then this blog entry would be even longer than it already is... Maybe I’ll share some of the other people in another post at another time.

At any rate (I don’t even know what that means), until next time boys and girls. . . Hasta la vista!

Don't Call It A Comeback

What is up, reader(s)? Hope everyone is doing good. The reason for this update is to let anyone know who may be following along with my random bullshit blog that I have been somewhat busy and that is the reason behind me not posting anything in over a month.

Actually, I can’t lie to you guys, I’m not really busy its just that playoff basketball stuff was really taking up most of my time. . . See I get most of my writing done during the night hours of the day but recently the NBA had been putting games on everrrry singlllle night. Then the Finals came so of course I had to stay focused.

And so I was hooked.

This year has had some of the best playoff basketball that I have seen in awhile and I try not to miss it. I can’t miss it. It’s a weird obsession, you would think its Dallas Cowboys football or one of those WWE Divas specials that they would run on PPV back in the day. You know the ones where you would turn on the channel and try to watch it through all the snowy static shit on the screen... Its like that.

Its all good though. . . I’m gonna try to recommit myself to this thing now that its all over and while there’s a major dead time in the sports I’m interested in (eff Baseball).

Oh, one problem. . . I still have work so that might get in the way too or at least offer me another excuse as to why I’m not updating.

-A.N.T.

Real Life Super Heroes!

This was too good not to post. . .

This guy, and apparently there’s a few of them around the country, are attempting to be Super Heroes. Yeah, seriously. Just check this out first: (you might have to click the photo to see/read the entire thing)



Ha! OK so I have two questions: 1. What the fuck? And 2. Where do I sign up to be in this “Allegiance of Heroes”???

For real, readers, I gotta do this. . .

Could you imagine how cool this blog would become with stories from a Super Hero?

But I’m gonna need your help. . . Thinking of a name, what weapons will I have / super power, and what costume I’ll be running around in. Except one of you will have to volunteer to make it because I have a penis and cojones therefore I suck at sewing. The costume is gonna have to be the most bad ass part of it though... I mean, I gotta look good to at least pull the bitches.

A couple names I was throwing around: The Pusstroyer, Papi X, Dark 12incher, Dr. Youdgetit, The Queifinator, Moon Elf, Chip Robbins, and Rambo. But I think I'm gonna settle on Gel Mibson. Let me know if you got something better... this is still a work in progress.

My Heroism will be: I will protect poor, unsuspecting men from Swamp Donkeys. In case you didn’t know, the definition of a Swamp Donkey is a very ugly, usually fat girl who hangs around in bars and clubs waiting to sexually assault males who are too drunk to defend themselves (definition brought to you by urbandictionary.com).

But I really just wanna fight the Super Heroes of the “Allegiance of Heroes” though . . .

So eventually I’m gonna turn into the evil Villain of this real life comic book like world and beat the shit out of them.

Don’t worry . . . I’ll YouTube it for you guys to see.

Chronicles of Mario Drakes: Part 3

*if you haven't read part 1 or 2 do so before you read part 3

The other short story I have for you will close out this three part series on Mario Drakes... Don’t be sad, little one, there might be a Part 4 eventually. . . However, this next tale of Mario Drakes will be it for now. So let’s begin:

You remember them laser pointers right? Remember that phase everyone went through where they had to have them for some fuckin’ reason or another? Yeah, so Vin and I had a couple. They were cool, we did what all kids our age did with them (or at least what they should have did anyway)... Like point them through your neighbors windows while they were sitting in their living rooms watching tv, placing the red dot onto their forehead and prank calling them. . . Speaking in a Russian accent and sayin’ shit like “If you don’t hand over the disk your wife’s brain noodles will be splattered on the wall behind her”. Yeah, you know what I mean.

So this one day when we’re with Mario Drakes we’re cruising in the Lincoln, its night time and we have the laser pointers out. All is good in the world, I think we just left the mall or movies, I forget exactly but we were on a road with multiple red lights and we seemed to be hitting all of them. There was a car behind us which had been following us for some time now and every time we stopped at a red light my brother and I thought it was best to check that fool quick by pointing our laser pointers into the rear view mirror so that it would reflect backwards and into his car. . . Particularly right into his eye balls.

Well I guess about 5 or 6 red lights in this guy decided he had enough. Prompting him to open his car door, step out of the vehicle, and walk towards our car. To which everything around us went into slow motion, Vin muttered the words “oohh shhhhiiitt”, and Mario Drakes while remaining calm, peeled out and ran the red light... cutting off only a mini-van in the process. Nah, I’m just playin’. Mario Drakes didn’t run the red light. You’re talkin’ about Mario Mutha Fuckin’ Drakes! The same guy who snorts lines before driving the fam an hour to the family picnics. The same guy who uses his son’s shoes as a toilet bowel. Instead, as the guy got out of his car and just as he was approaching our trunk, the light turned green and Mario Drakes slowly and calmly drove away. Leaving the pissed off gentlemen behind us looking like a fool as his now driver-less car backed up traffic. When asked by his children what he woulda done had the guy wanted to “talk”, Mario Drakes replied with a slight smirk on his face, “I woulda said ‘it would be best for you to get back into your vehicle’”.

The end.

Sports: John Madden Retires

I'm sure most of you already know by now that The John Madden retired yesterday, April 16th 2009. Yes, a very sad day for us football lovers. I felt a tribute post was needed.

Retirement is a lot better than what I first thought happened. As soon as I woke yesterday, I turned on the TV with protein shake in hand, and noticed The John Madden on the screen. My eyes immediately fixated to ESPN's bottom line and I read "John Madden, 73..." right then I went into slight shock thinking he died. I don't ever give a shit when a celeb dies or anything like that but when I thought The John Madden took a permanent L I actually said out loud "what?" as if The John Madden was immortal. Anyway, I read further on the bottomline and came across the word "retires". Still sad by the news but grateful that one of the football Gods remain alive.

Eventhough a lot of people will remember The John Madden for his football video games, I'll always remember him for being the voice and face of football. When I was a boy and first fell in love with the sport (and the Dallas Cowboys) it was The John Madden and Pat Summerall doing the Cowboys-49ers rivalary games. More recently it has been The Madden and Al Michaels commenting the best football on TV. So this is a big loss in every football lovers world right now. Hopefully he pulls a Brett Favre and comes back so we're not stuck with Chris Collinsworth's annoying ass. If not then... Thanks be to The John Madden, one of the two greatest contributors to the sport (the other being The Jerry Jones).

Chronicles of Mario Drakes, Part 2

OK OK so in the first part of this three part series I introduced you to the man that is Mario Drakes, and shared one of our many stories together with him. Now, in the second part, I’m going to share another story with you because well lets face it, one story of Mario Drakes just wasn’t enough. It should be noted that you have to read the first part of this to truly understand Part 2. So before you go any further, scroll down below to the next blog post and look for Part 1 . . . or simply click this link.

Now that that is out of the way and you have read Part 1 we can get you started on Part 2. In Part 2 I’m going to share a story with you that I get reminded of every time I hear that song with the lyrics “pissing the night away” and let me tell you why:

My brother and I shared a room in his house, bunk beds and all. (Where my bunk bed gangsters at... stand up!) I slept on the top bunk while Vin (my twin brother), who was terrified of heights as a child (nah I’m kiddin’, he actually lost the rights to the top bunk in an intense game of Go Fish to me), slept on the bottom.

Anyway, one night while I’m sleepin’ in my bed minding my own fuckin’ business. . . I’m awoken by a bright ass light that is directly above me. So I’m laying there trying to figure out if Jesus wants a word with me or some shit. . . Looking directly into the center of the light noticing that there ain’t no music playing like you see in the movies and thinking to myself that this better be good since this mother fucker is waking me up in the middle of my sleep. Turns out I was wrong about it being the light from the heavens and since there was no music playing, my ears eventually fixated on a sound coming from my room. Now at this point I wasn’t quite sure what it was because it sounded like someone was pouring out a water bottle onto the carpet but when my eyes caught up to my ears and regained their sight I was able to look into the direction of the sound. . . And low and behold guess who it was? That’s right, mother fuckin’ Mario Drakes!

See at first all my eyes saw was his head poppin’ up beyond my foot board, then as all my vision returned to me I was able to see that he was standing between our bunk beds and the dresser which was against the far wall. After thinking to myself, “what the fuck is going on” I realized what actually was going on. . . This Budweiser drinkin’- Sambuca mixin’ MFer was pissing onto the carpet! Now, you’re probably thinking “Papi, come on, how do you know that? What if he was just spilling out his beer for the homies while rummaging through the dresser?”.... Because the next day my shoes, which I kept between the dresser and bunk beds, smelt of urine.... I repeat, URM-IN-ATION! That’s how the hell I know what went down. Luckily for me we were leaving soon so I only had to wear my piss infested shoes a couple more days longer. The End.

Stay tuned for Part 3.