August 30, 2014
Teenagers break into their parents’ liquor cabinet, adults rummage through their old photo albums. This was me in the way early 90s.

Teenagers break into their parents’ liquor cabinet, adults rummage through their old photo albums. This was me in the way early 90s.

August 29, 2014
Strangers In The Cafe Car
Me: "Do doctors still prefer Camels over other cigarettes?"
Doctor: "Is that a real question?"
Me: "Do they?"
August 29, 2014
What’s the point of anything anymore?

What’s the point of anything anymore?

August 29, 2014

August 26, 2014
13 Party Essentials I Learned At Sir Ivan’s Sex Dungeon

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If you couldn’t already tell by my apathetic demeanor, love of Taco Bell, and affinity for T-shirts, I’m not much of a “fancy” guy. So last weekend when I was invited to a party hosted by a millionaire whose claim to fame is owning a castle with a sex dungeon, I was, uh…a little wary. But I agreed (of course), and made it my mission to investigate every room of Sir Ivan’s F*ck Island and report my findings.

After four booze-fueled hours, I came away with 13 life lessons/party essentials I learned from hanging out at a rich dude’s sex dungeon mansion in the Hamptons. You know, things to remember the next time you’re at a rich dude’s sex dungeon mansion in the Hamptons. As always, you’re welcome. 

Here’s the story… 

August 26, 2014
Ron Jeremy—just killin’ it.

10:14am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZKevCy1PFbzdV
  
Filed under: ron jeremy 
August 22, 2014
This was never published.

Classic Jennifer Lawrence to offer to pay for the cab ride to the park. I kept insisting she let me handle the transaction, but her playful slaps on my wrist suggested the decision had been made hours before I pulled walked up to her apartment. Jennifer and I have been courting for a little over a fortnight and every day has been more romantic than the last. She really has a way with words. She keeps calling me little pet names like “smokey-poop” and “bag of guts.”

Tonight I’m considering slipping her the five-finger choke-hold. That is, I’d like to hold her hand for just a little bit. I met the Oscar-award winning actress when she came into the RV I was living in and asked if I wanted to buy some soap. When Kentucky-born starlet Jennifer Lawrence isn’t working, she’s selling hand-crafted soaps made from all natural ingredients and her tears of laughter. It’s really big of her, too. I mean, she goes everywhere with those soaps. Soup kitchens. Third-world countries. Heck, she even hand-washes her buyers sometimes if she’s feeling happy enough.

But I didn’t want to think about that, I just wanted to focus on the picnic I’d planned and my devious plan to slide my phalanges into her mitts. She kept asking me what was in the well-prepared picnic basket and I kept shushing her with my finger, accidentally smudging her lipstick every time.

The only thing distracting me from Jen’s deep green eyes and pursed bubble-gum lips was the intense feeling of nausea. I should backtrack, when I’m courting Academy Award winning actresses, the level of nausea I feel is pretty high. I think Jen could tell, because she kept patting the back of my head, which she knew relieved me of vomitous symptoms.
“Baby, you’re too good to me.” said Jen, as she opened up the picnic basket, “Kale salad with homemade dressing, roasted turkey breast, a side of cookies, and a portrait of me, by…” She flipped over the portrait to see my signature, “You!” She loved it. In the distance, I could see a couple of stray fawns gallop into the sunset.

Maybe they were gazelles, maybe they were just regular dogs. I’m a lover, not a zoologist. I contorted my body into a lounging position, both conveying my romantic feels and covering my elbow in ranch dressing. Before I could sputter out anything, Jennifer Lawrence spoke.”

“Listen, Jeremy. We’ve been courting for a while now. I mean, a long while. You buy me dinner, you sing me songs, heck—you even let me bathe you with my homemade soaps.”
“Yes!” I yelled.
“But baby, I want more.”
“Jen, I think I know what you’re going to say. So I think you should say it.”
“I think you should do it. On three.”
“One.” I said, spitting out the dregs of my kale.
“Two.” She said, wiping off a stray spider that had gotten entangled in her hair.
“Three.” We said together, falling into the throes of passion. Our hands intertwined as if they were vines in a forest. They were a knitted sweater in the discount section of an expensive clothing store. They were that Challah bread you get on Passover. Jennifer Lawrence and I were holding hands. I held her hand nightfall. Then we were stuck in the park. It was alone and cold and there were animals. 

August 22, 2014
From my uncle to my dad.

From my uncle to my dad.

August 22, 2014
I started a column for Supercompressor in which I write a letter to Tom Hanks every single week until her answers. READ IT ALL HERE. 

I started a column for Supercompressor in which I write a letter to Tom Hanks every single week until her answers. READ IT ALL HERE

10:35am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZKevCy1Ov_Zpz
  
Filed under: tom hanks 
August 21, 2014
CLASSIC

CLASSIC

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