Bastard!

Last week I sold one of my Land Rovers.  I went back and forth in my head about selling.  Do I sell it, do I keep it.  Do I sell it, etc, etc.  Finally I threw a number at the buyer that I figured there was no way that would meet and of course then said fine.  I was pissed, but what can you do?  My brother said the whole situation reminded him of a great exchange in the movie Heaven Can Wait.

Former owner: He got my team. The son of a bitch got my team. 
Advisor to former owner: What kind of pressure did he use, Milt? 
Former owner: All I asked was sixty-seven million, and he said "okay." 
Advisor to former owner: Ruthless bastard. 

Bastard indeed!

You will be missed!

How to make money at Toys R Us

I've decided to take a crack at my memoirs, tentatively titled,  Fuck You, Portnoy.  It's about time I shared my story with the world.  Here is an excerpt:

When I turned seven, my mother decided a good way to earn some extra cash was to throw me a birthday party.  The con went something like this;

• Invite a bunch of kids over for a "birthday" party.  
• Make sure no one is allowed in the house without giving me some sort of a gift. The bigger the box the better.  Bonds will not be accepted.  
• Stick one old Hannukah candle in a Entenmann's cookie.  
• Have me blow the candle out ten minutes into the party.  
• Tell all the guests my brother has diarrhea so they will leave.
• Throw all the gifts in the trunk of the Corolla.  Leave the drum that some neighbor gave as a present in the house.
• Drive to the Toys R Us on Route 4 in Paramus.  
• Ask to speak to the manager.  Tell said manager that you bought all the items the day before, but you lost your receipt and you have to have cash back.  A store credit is unacceptable.  
• Count your earnings as you walk out of the store.
• Regift the drum to Jake on his birthday because you're mad his mom is a Shiksa and she stole a good Jewish man.  The beat of the drum will teach her.

Actual video of my mom robbing the store.

Stay tuned for more dysfunctional stories.

My cleaning lady saw my dick

Sadly this isn't the first line to a Dear Penthouse letter.  I was getting ready to go to the gym earlier today when my relationship with Rosy (Mexican last name) was changed forever.  It all started when I decided it was time to get my pump on.  In order to get my pump on, I needed to put on my gym costume.  In order to put on my gym costume, I really should have closed the door.

It went down like this.  I could hear Rosy in the other room cleaning and what not (pots banging, vacuum running, etc) so I figured closing the door was pointless.   I took off my pajama shirt.  Yes, I sleep in pajamas.  I put on my sleeveless gym shirt.  Sleeveless so I can see my biceps working as I curl for an hour straight.  It's also for all the moms at the gym.  After I had my gym shirt on, I proceeded to take my pajama pants off.  This is when the horror happened.  I had my pajama pants and underwear off and before I could get my gym underwear and pants on, Rosy walked in.  She basically saw me standing there in a shirt that was just long enough for her to see the head of my dick hanging out like a turtle coming out for sun.  She immediately walked out of the room.  I eventually got my pants on and did a workout, but the entire time I couldn't stop thinking about the moment we shared.

I just got home and asked Rosy if she was done cleaning the table.  I told her I needed space so I could put my computer down and get to blogging about her seeing my dick.  She wouldn't even look in my direction as she responded by saying "What's a blog?"

She will never smile like this again.

My life could have been so different.

All the failed dates, the botched job interviews, that one funeral, it all could have played out so differently.  I'm of course talking about my non stop farting.  There are only so many dogs that I can blame for what clearly has my name and smell written all over it.  Sure one could say, the fact that I lean slightly over and lift a butt cheek when I fart really is the cause of my misery but I disagree.  Anyway, the point is, yesterday I discovered Shreddies.  It is some new magical underwear that has filters for farts built right in.  I've been too lazy to read any of the scientific data on the product so all I can tell you is they have some sort of carbon filter that eats farts.  I have to say, they're not half bad looking either.  Here you will see a picture of them for ladies.  I refuse to attach a picture of a man in his underwear because I'm not gay!!

As far as I can tell they are not available in thong form yet.  I will have to check to see if they make a pair that has a built in silencer.  I am ordering them now! My life is about to hit an upswing.