Monthly Archives: October 2008

…and then there was won

Last night, the city of Philadelphia was a chaotic concert of noise draped in a midst of fires, flipped over cars, flashing boobies and tossed beer bottles.

The Phillies won! Let's go looting!

 Then…. the Phillies beat Tampa Bay to win the World Series.

Go Phillies!

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“I kissed a girl and I liked it (sorta)”

Back when I taught in Houston there was a guy–we’ll call him “Rook”–that taught down the hall from me. Rook was small, pale, thin and limp–like one of those fey  Anne Rice vampires. He’d often wander in and out of my room at odd times, usually just standing there and staring at me. Eventually he’d retreat to his classroom, which was the home to an assortment of strange animals and objects. Sometimes I’d walk by and see him fingering these things-snakes, lizards, skulls, midget’s feet-with his long, reed-like fingers, giggling softly to himself.

Actually, maybe he was a vampire.

Anyway, one of the things that I remember about Rook is the time that he told me and another co-worker about a prank he’d played on one of his friends. Rook had a sister, and he and sister thought it’d be pretty fun to pretend that they were in an incestuous relationship together.

They’d go over to the friend’s house together, and Rook would sit his sister (who was close in age to him) on his lap, stroking her hair while they all talked. In return, she’d do things like rub his knee or pinch his nipples. They also called each other things like “lover” and “girlfriend”.

Pretty f-cking funny, right?

And by that I mean, it was really hard not to push the classroom’s “Office Security PANIC Button” after he told us the story.

Needless to say, Rook was laughing the entire time he told us the story, before calming walking away drinking a vial of puppy blood.

Anyway, the feelings that I had then–the incredible nausea, the dizziness, the almost painful non-movement in my genitals–wasn’t something that I hadn’t experienced since another limp, thin, pale fey vampire had pulled an equally gross sexual stunt.

 I am, of course, referring to Michael Jackson, who has also been at the forefront of a great many moments of staged sexuality.

It initially started with MJ and Paul McCartney’s Say Say Say, a music video “story” where MJ and McCartney chase after two women:

Linda McCartney (Paul’s wife at the time, ok, fine) and La Toya Jackson (MJ’s sister), which is more than a little gross, right?

I mean, there’s a fine line between nepotism and, “Hey, we both passed through the same woman’s cooter, therefore let’s pretend that we want to monster mash our uglies”. This video was so disturbing, you can’t even find an image of the video on Google.

Can you find the King of Pop in this picture?

Then there’s “The Way You Make Me Feel” which is apparently about masturbation, since MJ chases after a woman that, seriously, looks like she could be his stunt double.  Also appearing in that video? La Toya Jackson.

After that, there was “Remember the Time” which might best be called, “remember when Iman, Magic Johnson and Eddie Murphy meant something to your life?”.

This video, which is a cross between Aladdin and The Mummy Returns features MJ chasing after then supermodel Iman (this guy really digs girls) . After first wooing her in front of her pharoah husband Eddie Murphy (who would, years later, be caught in a car with MJ), and then climbing into her bedroom, constantly asking her “do you remember the time?”  which must mean, “do you remember the time that you told me you dig chicks with d!cks? ’cause here I am!”) and then cornering her on her balcony and giving her the kind of kiss you only see with necrophiliacs.

After tiring of inspiring Bollywood with his music videos, MJ settled down and married Lisa Marie Presley since he couldn’t marry her father. This relationship was best encapsulated by the video “You Are Not Alone”–though I’d imagine anyone that chose to marry Michael Jackson at that point would find themselves very, very alone. Besides making out in the video, it also features a buck-naked MJ, whose body I think was the skeleton for the movie I, Robot.

MJ and Lisa Marie also appeared on the MTV Awards around that time to “prove” that they were really in love by sharing a stage(d) kiss that looked about the same as when you watch white people kiss monkeys on Animal Planet or The Tonight Show.

Come with me, Lisa Marie, resistance is futile

I’ll let you decide who’s who in that situation. I, on the other hand, will go throw-up now.

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Late to the Party #2: The i’s have it

Thanks to the iPhone and Blackberry, you'll be giving a lot of hand-Jobs too

When the iPhone came along everyone, and I mean everyone got in line to get one.

Before I knew it, I saw tons of people walking around town looking like PECO Energy meter-readers.

Those fuggin’ iPhones look stoopid.

I know that it’s all-in-one, easy-touch, small and light features are all the rave. I get it.

But it, along with the Blackberry, is killing my friendships.

iBerries scare me. They make people twitchy and OCD-like.

Like one time I met a friend for coffee to catch-up and chit chat about how awesome my blog is. Anyway, as soon as we sat down, she pulled out her iBerry* and quietly sat it on the table, clicking it on the side.

Having no idea what the fugg it was at first, I was like “Oh shit, this biznotch is going to fuggin’ record our conversation-she’s trying to Linda Tripp me.” I spent the rest of the time loudly farting in an attempt to muddle the recording as much as possible. Or so I told myself.

It wasn’t until later, when I asked for a copy of the tape, that she told me it was actually an iBerry.

Recently, I’ve been out to dinner with friends on a couple of different occassions and witnessed the control that the iBerry has on people. During one such encounter, a couple of us were debating something small (i.e. “Can Mickey Mouse teabag someone? He wears pants, so therefore…”) and couldn’t reach a consensus, so 4 people pulled out their iBerries to log onto the internets and settle the dispute.

He's actually checking his email.

Watching this was like being at a party and all of a sudden everyone around you pulls out coke and starts doing lines. It’s like, I don’t even know what to do in those situations.

Everyone is glazed over and they’re like, “hold on, hold on…it’s coming up…it’s almost there…it’s loading…it’s a little slow sometimes…” and I’m just like, “dude, stop Trippin’. Put that shit down. Just put it down.”

Must...touch...the Precious...iBerry...

And then they’re all like, “I know, I know, I gotta stop but really I just want to find this for you and I know that I use this too much but I needs it baby I just needs it it’s going to make this all better I swear look I’ll suck your d!ck for $5 and some wireless connection ok baby you know I’m good for it.”

And there you are watching your friend blow you while they try and find out who starred in the remake of The Poseidon Adventure on their iBerry. And they’re talking like Gollum.

So, I want to restart a D.A.R.E. program to help my friends. Who’s with me?

*The Kids will use this term to protect the identities of those discussed in this entry

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In your box and waiting, whenever you want it!

Can’t keep up with The Kids?

Trying hard to stay on top of it?

Try looking in the bottom right-hand corner now, friend.


Edit/Update: Since there’s been some mounting confusion already, I should explicitly point out what I am referring to:

In the bottom right-hand corner of the homepage, there is now a link provided that will send you email updates for The Kids Don’t Get It.

Use it!

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What’s the sound of one junk ‘clapping?

Ok, so once before I posted an article about the shooting drill staged by a NJ school unbeknownst to the staff and student body. That was crazy, right?

This might be up there.

Check back after you’ve read the article. We’ll wait.



Couple of thoughts:

1. I like that the tagline is, “got unhappy STD news?”. I sat here and tried to think of “good” STD news, and the best that I could come up with was, “I’m pregnant” which in many circumstances might still qualify as “unhappy STD news”.

2. This line: “The site started in San Francisco and has spread to 10 cities such as New York and Chicago, Illinois”.* Really guys? Spreads? You asshats, you total asshats.

3. Why are you sending an e-card? You’re clearly not saving the money for condoms.

4. If someone has a “spam-blocker” enabled, they’re never getting this.

Still, as a writer myself, I am a firm believer in the power of words. And so, The Kids Don’t Get It (and let’s hope not in these situations) has decided to join this cause by designing STD cards to help the spread the word.

Card 1: Army of One

Sarge does the Walk of Shame

OUTSIDE OF CARD: Drill sergeant staring intensely at the center of his pants. Mouth is wide open, finger is pointing accusingly at the crotch. Shiny nametag reads, “S. Phyllis”. Comic-strip balloon says in bright lettering “WHAT IS YOUR MAJOR MALFUNCTION, PRIVATE???!!!!” 

INSIDE OF CARD: In the center of the card it reads, “Have you been dishonorably discharging lately? It’s because Sgt. Phyllis and I are mad at you. Thought you might want to soldier up and get your nads checked.”

If a Monster O's in a forest and there's no one there to hear it, does it make a sound?

Card 2: Monsters’ Balls

OUTSIDE OF CARD: A roomful of blind-folded monsters stumbling and crashing into each other. There are various “OW”‘s and “OUCH”‘s above the crowd in explosive lettering.

INSIDE OF CARD: ‘Im sorry that we kept bumping uglies. You have gonorrhea. Boo.”

Hip-hop herpes: Can't stop, won't stop. More permanent than tattoos.

Card 3: Rump-shaker

OUTSIDE OF THE CARD: DJ is hunched over a turntable, naked from the waist-up. Headphones crooked between shoulder and head as he mixes a record.

INSIDE OF CARD: Upon opening the card, immediately greeted with the songs “OPP”, Al Green’s “Full of Fire” and Kia’s “My Neck, My Back” as the card asks:

“You down with OPP? Yeah, well you don’t know me!…and that’s why you’ve got herpes. Call me.”

I plan on releasing these next Wednesday online. What better day to release STD cards than on a “hump” day?



*Also, when referring to cities, is it really important to note “Chicago, Illinois”?

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Bitch, please

When I was young, I was terrified of dogs. Terrified. I was convinced that dogs were the foulest, meanest, cruelest beings on the planet–which in my mind consisted of my grandparents’ neighborhood.

They’d come in groups catching me by my fanny pack and dragging me down to the ground and while two of them sat on my arms, the others would take turns teabagging me until a neighbor came and shooed them away. One would even run back and scat on my face before running away.

They spent the summer days chasing me around yards, down streets, across lawns and out of town, and at night, they’d come and paw at my Nana’s door and yell, “Come out, boy. Give us the boy, we just want the boy.”

Hurry up, Timmy--my balls itch

They were like my own four-legged KKK committee.

So I grew up hating dogs, never understanding what their allure was. To this day, I’ll never understand Americans’ love affair with dogs. 

I mean, when I was in middle school, there was a kid that sat in the back of my Chemistry class that drooled on the desk, smelled like piss, showed us his balls, and dry humped anyone stoopid enough to get close enough to him–I wish that they had a muzzle and a leash for this dude–and somehow I’m supposed to want to sleep, live with, feed an animal that does the same thing? I mean, at least this kid didn’t eat his own shit (in class).

Anyway, I spent years training in my room with posters of Rin Tin-Tin, Eddie from Frasier and Huckleberry Hound on my wall. I learned the art of the surprise attack from my gay cats. I watched All Dogs Go to Heaven for inspiration.

And so, my plan is to return to my grandparents’ neighborhood and get revenge. I know that they’re pretty old now, but I’m not dissuaded by that at all.

As a matter of fact, this is how I imagine the whole thing going down:

The Kids….Theatre Presents: All Dogs Go to HELL: A Story of Reparations

The local police try to keep the peace between me and the dogs

I walk back to my grandparents’ neighborhood, armed with nothing more than a shoebox. As I stroll down the block, people come to their windows, peer from behind curtains. They are whispering, “Why does he come back? Has he really returned?”. I walk over to the dogs’ hangout–an old refrigerator box. Inside, the four dogs, older and saggy-eyed and jowly now, sit around a dog bowl, laughing and drinking as they make a chiuahua and boy (he could’ve been me!) stand in the dog bowl and strip. They’re tossing bones and dog food pellets at them. 

I step in. The laughing and noise stops abruptly. They turn to me. I shift the shoebox under my arm.

(Mr. Tickles, head dog): Well, well, well–if it isn’t our old friend, Gary Coleman. What’s up, bitch?

(the others laugh, slow and wheezy-like. One of them begins sniffing and licking one of the other’s taint.)

(The Kids…): I’m back, Mr. Tickles, for revenge. You ruined my childhood. I’m here to collect.

(at this, the dogs all laugh even more. I feel foolish and doubtful until I spot the pciture on the wall of me face down in the dirt with Buggles, the terrier in the group, on top of me, dry-humping and pumping a triumphant paw in the air. Mr Tickles is in the picture too, flashing The Shocker at the camera. Remembering prom night, I find new rage, courage.)

(Sammy, a now one-eyed Cocker-Spaniel): What, you going to cry now? Huh? You fuggin’ sissy. What are you doin’?

(I sit down, setting the shoebox on the ground and, removing my sneaker, put on a new over-sized sneaker. I stand up, walk over to Mr. Tickles, ignoring the other dogs. Crouched low, I drag Mr. Tickles outside by the tail. He’s yelling “let go” but I don’t listen.)

Outside, I stand Mr. Tickles up on his hind legs, and with all my strength, boot him square in the balls. He yelps and flies arcoss the lawn, crashing into the refrigerator box. It explodes.

(In slow motion, I walk away, tossing the over-sized sneaker to the half-naked boy.)

(The Kids….): Keep this. One day, there will be more of them. Be ready.

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Uh, Awkward…

You know what I love saying almost as much as “that’s what she said”?


Don't worry, she was a total gentleman about it.

But not just, ‘awkward’ like, “Man, this stuttering chick with a mustache and snaggle-teeth is really awkward to talk to”, but awkward (meaning you say it in a higher-pitched voice) like, “Remember that stuttering chick with the mustache? Yeah, well I banged her. And it turned out that she was actually your mom. I was like awkward. Total freak.

So there you have it. Here’s some other awkward situations I’ve been in before, in no particular order:

1. ‘You’ve Got Mail’

(Friend): Hey just check your email on my computer

(The Kids…): You sure? Thanks, man

(Goes to computer and refreshes the screen, Goes to internet drop-down to find hotmail and sees extensive listing of porn sites. Nasty porn sites.)

(Friend): Everything cool? You get on ok?

(The Kids…): Uh, yeah, it’s all good. Thanks again.

(Friend): Great. Let’s go home. If I stay at this school a minute longer I’m going to scream. I’m sick of teaching.


Parental Advisory CD's hate black people

2. ‘Ride or Die’ 

Riding in the car with friends. Only black person in a car full of white people. ‘Goldigger’ comes on the radio. Everyone starts singing.


3. Recently, on ‘Friends’…

Talking with friends and someone’s girlfriend reveals that her nickname in college was ‘A-Train’ for awhile. News to all of us, including the boyfriend.


4.  Night at the Movies

(The Kids…): Hey Mom, I’m really glad that we decided to have a night in to hang out together. With me being away in college, I don’t get to see you too much.

(The Kids…mom): Me too, sweatheart. And, I thought it’d be fun if we watched a movie!

(The Kids…): Sure Mom, whatver you want. What’d you get?

Mom, go get me something to drink NOW

(The Kids…mom): Well, I don’t know much about movies, but I know you like thrillers, so I got this one. The video store person said it’s good.

(hands The Kids…a copy of Basic Instinct)



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