So I went on a job interview today. I rode up to the building in the batmobile, stormed through the office doors and yelled:

“I’m here to fuck shit up.”

Alright, maybe not. But I did sweat a lot. Kind of the same thing. Overall I thought it went just as well it could possibly go, and certainly better than this:


Alright so if I were to get this job – and I will find out tomorrow hopefully – it will be my first ever full-time job. So this will certainly be a life-altering experience. Just like how I learned to use a toilet bowl (last month).

Let’s discuss the pros and cons of having a full-time job, shall we? Why am I even asking? You have no say! HAHAHAHA (stops laughing when he realizes everybody probably just Xed out his blog after that statement.)

Pro: I will have money.

Now, this is a pretty big deal. It’s essentially why we work in the first place. If it wasn’t for money, everyone would just do drugs and get drunk all the time. But seriously, It’ll be nice to actually be able to afford more than just paying for beer and gasoline, which is all I am doing now… minus the gasoline.

Cons: I have to wake up early.

Now this is a devastating blow. I am NOT a morning person. If I wake up before 12:00, that in itself is an accomplishment. It will suck, no question. I can’t go to bed extra late anymore, and I have to actually set an alarm clock. Alarm clocks are my least favorite things in the world. Except for maybe the Snuggie.

Pro: The office building is only a 10 minute drive from my house.

Now this is a huge addendum to the previous con. Waking up early does suck, but it’s even worse when you have to commute far; like if you worked in the city. If I worked in Manhattan, and I had to be at work at 9, I would probably have to take a train at around 7:45 at the latest. Which means I’d have to wake up around 6:45 each day. Now that would be… miserable. But since the office is so close to me, I only would have to wake up at about 8, giving me 45 minutes to shower and eat breakfast. I could live with that.

Cons: I have to… work.

I will be getting paid to do a service, meaning that I must actually perform that service and earn my money. If I fail to do my job efficiently, I’m sure there are hundreds, or even thousands of other peeps that would be willing to do it instead. We are in a recession after all, AMIRITE ? AMIRITE FOLKS?

Pros: I will have a feeling of self-worth.

This one is quite underrated. While I love spending a whole day doing absolutely nothing more than anyone, it can be a little depressing. Meanwhile, after working a full day, you can at least lay your head down on your pillow at the end of the night knowing that you actually accomplished something.

Con: I will not have as much free time.

This is the age-old dilemma. When you don’t have a job, you have all the time in the world but no money to party. When you do have a job, you have the money… but no time. The main things that I still must find time to do on a daily basis: exercise… and BLOG. You may have been wondering what getting a full-time job might mean for the Weinblog… but if anything, I figure it will give me more to talk about. I also will not have time to watch movies leisurely, which will be a shame. But maybe I can watch them at work. I’m sure my boss will appreciate that.

Pro: I will meet new people that aren’t high-schoolers or 12 year olds.

My current freelancing job basically gives me a lot in common with a pedophile. While I have been able to get out and about, the main thing I cover is high school sports and little league games. With this job, I will finally be able to get to meet some new people that are about my age.

Con: I have to dress casually.

Now I’m not exactly sure how casual this place is, it’s definitely not required to wear a suit, and I’m pretty sure you don’t even have to wear dress pants. In fact I think a collared shirt, jeans and even sneakers might be acceptable. We’re writers – we don’t conform to corporation bullshit. So if that’d the case, then this con can actually turn into a pro.

Pro: I get to begin my life.

Kind of important, no? These are the stages of life: school, job, move out, get married, die. Finally, I get to begin that wonderful process. I may get a nice home-cooked meal every night courtesy of my pops, but it’s about time I got my shit together. The only thing that worries me about eventually moving out is that I will no longer have anything to stop me from becoming a full-blown alcoholic. But we’ll worry about that when we get there. Oh and speaking of which… one last pro: If I do get the job, I won’t start until the end of July… giving me another month of freedom. One month drinking binge, anyone?

And that’s that. When it’s all said and done, I think it’s safe to say that the pros outweigh the cons. BUT… it still remains to be seen if I get the job.

Keep your fingers crossed for me!

Am I a Loser?

So I was made aware of an article today on CNN.com about bloggers , and it got me thinking.

Who am I?

No, I’m just kidding. I’m not having any type of identity crisis (yet), nor am I questioning myself in any way, shape or form. But the article is fairly amusing and since it’s geared towards bloggers (like me!), I thought I’d give it a nice little perusal. Upon that perusal, I had my criticisms of its choice of words.

First of all, here is the article… it is titled: “Is Your Blog the Unpopular Kid?”


You don’t have to actually click on it, because I will quote it throughout this post. So now, I will attempt to refute the article and prove to you all that I am not a loser. Here we go:

Long after you flip your tassel, there are the same hierarchies, name-calling and swirlies (wait, that might just be us … carry on). The internet realm is no different.

Alright, does anybody actually know somebody that’s ever been swirlied before? We all know what it is, but do they actually seriously happen? Getting thrown into a locker I can see (not that it’s ever happened to me), but not somebody’s head being shoved into a freaking toilet. That’s cruel and unusual punishment if you ask me.

It’s as hard to break into the popular blogger crowd as it is to shake that unfortunate nickname you got the first day of junior high after you fell asleep in class and had that super, exciting dream about that chick from “Who’s the Boss?”

I believe the article is referring to Alyssa Milano. She is still smokin’ hot. AND she’s a Mets fan!


Why? Last year the total tally of blogs hit 126 million, according to BlogPulse. That’s a big class to climb to the top of. We’re not saying you have to be head cheerleader, but it would be nice to be noticed among the digital masses.

First of all, I never tried to be popular in high school. I just was. Alright, I wasn’t exactly the homecoming king or the class clown or the football star (I did play volleyball!), but I was friendly with nearly everyone in my grade. The jocks, the nerds, the outcasts, the Goths (eh, maybe not), the sluts (but not too close – didn’t wanna catch anything), and even the cheerleaders (or does that coincide with sluts?)

And that’s the same with my blog. I’m not trying to become big. If I wanted to sell out I’d have put ads up on the site and could have made a good $3 a month! But, I’m just here to provide good friends with a laugh. That’s all. My blog’s really only worthwhile if you know who I am. At least I think. There may be 126 million blogs out there, but there’s only one Weinblog.

Problem: Your blog is a Spaz

“Imma review this movie!” “Obama is mishandling the oil spill!” “Today I saw a horse!”

“General interest” content is generally uninteresting, and making like a digital dilettante means no one will take you seriously or see you as an expert in your domain.

Would I label my blog “general interest?” I don’t know… I certainly don’t think that the things that go on in my head are really “general.” I have reviewed movies, and I do like to talk about random things, but does that make me a spaz? What even is a spaz? I haven’t heard that word since I was 4. How did this article even make it to CNN?

Problem: Your blog is a loner

Yeah, reaching out is scary when it’s possible to huddle with your laptop and spew unchecked commentary all day. But if you want fresh eyeballs on your site, you must be social.

Once you’ve amassed a decent number of posts (at least a few pages’ worth), register with a blogging community. They’re out there — everything from the Coalition of Crime Bloggers to the Food Blog Alliance. In your own posts, link to blogs you dig that cover the same topical turf. If your stuff doesn’t suck, they’ll return the favor.

I certainly wouldn’t call myself a loner. I have plenty of friends, and I certainly don’t need “blog friends” to add any fulfillment in life. In fact I don’t think there’s anything sadder in life than having “blog friends.” Do I get lonely sometimes, sure… who doesn’t? But that doesn’t mean you’re a loner. Plus I have my imaginary friends to keep me company at all times.

Problem: Your blog is funny looking

People are shallow. Research suggests that hot people are more well-liked, earn more money and are able to get away with more questionable behavior than uggos. The same is true of pretty blogs.

You know, I guess I can admit that this blog is kind of dull looking. But I don’t fancy graphics or HTML or JAVA or PLQZ-whatever the fuck abbreviations exist out there to attract people. I just spit fire. Not literally… don’t be ridiculous.

But I guess there is some merit to the words “hot people are more well-liked,” so here’s a hot picture of Anna Kournikova:

/double drool

Problem: Your blog is shy

It’s the plotline of many a teen movie: Friendless loner secretly possesses mad guitar-shredding/painting/software-hacking skills. Once he lets those abilities shine, he’s crowned prom king in a sickening homage to oppressive high school stereotypes.

Now that’s just ridiculous; we all know that I do not possess any secret skills. Wait… is drinking beer a skill?

Problem: Your blog is rude. Wait … actually …

Every loner wishes he could be the class clown. The resident jokester isn’t afraid to toe the line of appropriate behavior.

And really, controversy is a blog’s best friend — Just make sure to have a reason and a point whilst causing a disturbance.

Now, I can be pretty harsh at times, and possibly even rude. And I do like to complain about things… but that’s still not the reason why I started this blog.

And then the article ends there. Pretty abruptly. All in all, I’m not exactly sure what the purpose of the article was except to make fun of bloggers. I think that’s pretty evident with this line from the beginning that I excluded to point out:

Your blog is that pathetic, friendless kid who skulks under the jungle gym at recess and reads Lois Lowry books in the bathroom during lunchtime.

You know why I started this blog? Because I goddamn wanted to. Actually, I was kind of encouraged to by friends. And it’s probably one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I love writing this blog, and I think I speak for every blogger when I give a collective “fuck you” to whoever wrote that article.

I’m trying to tone down on the swearing a bit lately, but it was well-deserved there.

And you know what? Lois Lowry wrote “The Giver,” which is an amazing book that touched the heart of many souls, and even won the Newberry medal. What that means, I don’t know, but winning any medal is obviously a good thing.

What is my blog, you ask? My blog is the place to go when you want to take a break from your day for a couple minutes… and have a laugh. Or a cry, based on what I talk about. But mostly laugh.

You know how everyone has their own “safe place” in their life? A place where you can go no matter how shitty you feel, and once you’re there… you just know you’re secure and that everything is going to be alright?

That’s my blog.


Weinblog… or Wine Blog?

It has officially been six months, ten days, *looks at watch*, 12 minutes and about… 19 seconds, now 20… 21.. (you get the point) since I started this blog. Hey, the Weinblog is over half a year old! They grow so fast, don’t they?

But there’s been something that I never realized during that entire span. Upon telling people that my blog is called the Weinblog, they usually immediately understand why it’s called that, because of my last name. However, a few days ago when I told somebody the name of my blog… their first question was: “oh, do you blog about wine?”

Initially I was confused, then realized why she would think that and laughed. Then I became surprised that no one has ever asked me that before.

So, bearing that in mind, I have decided to give it a try. I present to you… the WINE BLOG.

Little do people know, I am quite the wine connoisseur, I know an extensive amount about wine, and I will share that wisdom with you all today.

Alright, so wine is made from grapes. You take a grape, and you crush it with some type of… chisel-like instrument, like a nail file or a nut cracker, or a box cutter, and you have wine. If you tried to do this with any other fruit, like a kiwi for example, it would not work.

As you can see from this picture, that’s the result. This is a… uhh… red wine. Because red is the color. Dark red. Its darkness indicates that it probably tastes like a mix of ketchup and eggplant. The bottle is in another language, so I guess this wine is foreign. Diablo means “devil” so I suppose this is some type of evil wine.

Now this wine is much more upper class. It is a white, and you can get it in a can. Because nothing screams “classy” more than drinking wine from a can. Little known fact: this particular wine was Christopher Columbus’ wine of choice, just before he freed the pilgrims.

Alright, who am I kidding? This may surprise you, but I was just making all that stuff up. I really don’t know anything about wine. I am a beer guy through and through. Or Jack Daniels. And Yoo-Hoo.

So, don’t let the title of my blog confuse you… it is in fact “Weinblog” and not “Wine blog.”  If you came here looking for information about wine, you will probably be disappointed. But I encourage you to stick around!

Oh and a heads up to all you fast food lovers… SONIC is officially coming to Long Island in 2011. In related news, obesity in Long Island will increase by 8% come 2011.


Speaking of which, you know what I realized the other day?  You know why everyone in this country is so fat? Because it’s encouraged for family dinners to be enormous. Like three-course meals with double servings of everything. Parents encourage their kids to eat like it’s the last meal they’ll ever have.

So, if you don’t want your children to end up looking like beluga whales… stop cooking food in such large portions for Christ sake, people! Or at least try throwing in a salad every now and then. Not that beluga whales aren’t kind of cute looking.


That was a complete side note, but thanks to Seth for the heads-up about Sonic.

Alright, I’m spent. But I hope you all enjoyed my stimulating blogging on this day. I’ll catch you all on the flippy floppy. (did I just say flippy floppy? Yes… yes, I did.)

A Wedding For The Ages

So, I went to a wedding.

Of a good friend, nonetheless. Two good friends actually. And on top of that, two good friends who read my blog (although they probably won’t read this post for a while since they are embarking on their honeymoon to Hawaii early in the AM).

And I just have to say… weddings are my new favorite thing. For now on, forget bars. I only go to weddings.

Sure, weddings are sappy, they’re cliché, wholesome, corny… but who cares? For a full day, you just have fun and enjoy being alive. Only good vibes exist at weddings, and it spreads like wildfire. I had a heck of a time.

I probably would have to say that I danced more than anyone else at the wedding. I truly hope people remember me as “the crazy kid that wouldn’t stop dancing.” Then I know that I left my mark.

First of all: open bar. Yikes. I did a lot of damage there. I love open bars. Obviously.

Also, it really means a lot more when you attend a wedding of somebody that you’re good friends with. You have a much deeper sense of belonging than if you’re a distant relative or you’re just not really that close with them. And you feel like a boss going up to the bride and groom and exchanging a hug or a laugh, or in my case… a 17-track mixed CD with all the songs recorded by yours truly. I don’t mess around.

I was a little upset that the priest ignored the part of the reception where he asks the audience if there is anybody that objects… I mean, I know that it’s not something that anybody actually wants to see happen, and I wouldn’t have done anything anyway, but isn’t it customary? Without that tradition, we would never have had historic movie moments like Dustin Hoffman breaking up Katharine Ross’s wedding in The Graduate (classic movie). Maybe it’s only something that exists in movies and television. Oh, well…

But like I was saying, if I’m at wedding, I want to make the most of it. People want to have fun at weddings. If you embrace the warm and fuzzy atmosphere and just let yourself go, then you’ll have an awesome time… and that’s what I did. I met a lot of new cool people, and possibly gained new Weinblog followers (not Wine blog). Although I think I ended up making one person hate me, but what are you gonna do? You win some, you lose some.

I only wish I had the balls to have given the toast that I prepared in front of the entire crowd, but I ended up giving it at the after party back in the hotel room when there was just like twenty of us, including the bride and groom. It went over pretty well, so I was satisfied.

And I was quite amused that a couple of people came up to me and told me that they read my blog. Apparently my reputation precedes me.

The last great thing about a wedding is that love is in the air. Yeah, you knew that was coming. But seriously, it’s not every day you find two people that make a perfect couple and are meant for each other, and that certainly was the case on Saturday. For every bunch of couples that treat each other like shit( which is truly sickening),  there exists a couple that truly and wholly love each other and would be willing to do anything for one another. Adam and Melissa are going to always be one of the best couples I know, and I’m really glad that I was present to witness the beginning of their marriage.

Oh, and only one gripe. I was saying before that weddings are cliché, and there’s sooo many freaking customs that take place, and I can live with that. But I’m not all that cool with the DJ telling me and everyone else to return to their seat when I’m out on the dance floor having a great time and dancing my heart out. Not cool, DJ, not cool. I also would’ve preferred it to go on a little longer, but as the old adage goes… all good things must come to an end.

From now on, my new gimmick is that I only attend weddings. I totally see the merit in wedding crashing now. But not even to get with chicks. I only want to crash weddings so that I can hit up the open bar. But if I do get with a chick in the process, I certainly won’t complain. Eh, who am I kidding. I’ll probably still find something to complain about. AMIRITE?

Seriously though, weddings are the truth. Is there really a way to become a professional wedding crasher? I gotta look into that.

It’s only the third wedding I’ve ever been to in my life, and the first since I was seven… so I don’t have much of a reference point when I say that it’s easily the best wedding I’ve ever been to in my life… but it was, and I think it’ll stay that way for a while.

And it’s things like this that make you really, really happy to be alive.

Job Interview

Well, I was expecting to have the summer off for the most part, while working sporadically so that I can make enough money to pay for my social life.

However, an inconvenience has arisen in the form of a job interview.

Apparently, some people have noticed my advanced writing ability, and would like me to work for their newspaper. I can’t really blame them, I guess.

The job is to be a full-time reporter for the Merrick Herald. I’d get a nice little salary while also receiving benefits and whatnot. If I had to work full time somewhere, it would be this job. So I’m actually hoping that I get it. I’m actually semi-qualified for it too, so if I don’t get it then it’s just because I fucked up the interview. Which is very probable.

My last (and first) interview I went on was last November for New York Life Insurance. It would have been a job that I absolutely detested, and I knew right from the beginning that I would hate it. So bearing that in mind, I’m fairly certain that I subconsciously sabotaged myself during the interview. It should have been pretty apparent to the interviewers that I did not want the job. Especially during the interview when I told them that if they hire me, they’d be making a grave mistake.

But I promise you all, if I get this job, I will revolutionize the newspaper industry. Online periodicals are taking over, almost to the point where they are making newspapers obsolete, but that ain’t gonna happen no mo’.

I said it from the beginning that the Weinblog was going to make it big, and it looks like it’s going to start sooner rather than later.

Right from the get-go, I’m going to make it apparent that I’m the best goddamn candidate that they have, and if they don’t hire me, than they will regret it for the rest of their lives. Then I will perform some time of interpretive dance that is sure to bowl them over. I will finalize the interview by scraping my insignia on the wall with a sword, and then dive out of the window and land safely into a heap of mattresses that were prepared on the sidewalk.

If that’s not leaving an impression, I don’t know what it is.

Oh yeah, and on a completely unrelated note. Today I was sitting down at dinner with some friends, and I get a call from my editor asking me to cover some breaking news. upon texting him that I was out to eat, he said “ah, forget it then. some kid reported stuck under a car.”

So I thought that was a pretty funny text. If I only I was Batman, then my job could inform of all the people that need saving. Or am I Batman?

And now, before I depart… here is an awesome video of the nation’s reaction to the goal the US scored to beat Algeria on Saturday and advance to the round of 16.

Warning: Reading This Post May Result in a Diminished IQ

What does IQ stand for anyway? I could easily look it up on wikipedia and it would take me only like four seconds, but I’d rather go my entire life not knowing.

I’ve honestly been sitting in front of my laptop for 45 minutes and have absolutely no idea what to talk to you all about today. This happens sometimes, but I eventually think of something.

However, right now absolutely nothing is coming to me. It’s probably because I am in a very calm mood right now. It’s been a an enjoyable day; watching US soccer win, the Mets win, a marathon 59 game set at Wimbledon, worked a little, and now am just relaxing.

So I don’t really have anything to complain about at the moment.

Maybe I should just talk about random things.

Like for one thing, if you’re a whore, how do you honestly live with yourself? How do you not wake up every day feeling like you are a fucking waste of life and that you are completely disrespecting yourself? Like, they can pretend they don’t care, but they must be dead inside.

Do you ever wonder what it would be like to be a smurf? How would feel to live without sexual organs? Just think how much easier life becomes without sexual tension. But then again, what would be the purpose of life? Sexual tension is what motivates us and fuels our society. And that’s why marijuana is illegal. It ruins everybody’s sense of motivation. You have no desire to be productive, and thus our society would not advance. Can you imagine a smurf smoking marijuana? Because I can’t.

Speaking of USA soccer, I think the only people worse than the folks that suddenly pretend they’re die-hard soccer fans once every four years are the people who become fans of other countries every four years. Like people that are a quarter Italian rooting for Italy. Go move to fucking Italy then, assholes. And then we won’t accept you when you come crying back in a month realizing that you can never make it there. Pathetic.

The movie “Can’t Hardly Wait” is iconic. It captures the essence of the 90s, and the dialogue is fucking hilarious. It’s something I never realized until rewatched it recently, it’s not just a fun movie with good looking girls and eccentric characters, but the dialogue is genuinely funny. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that Jennifer Love Hewitt is a fucking goddess in that movie. I would do absolutely anything to spend a day with her character in the movie snuggling on the couch while watching an all-day marathon of Cake Boss on the Food Network.



Okay, I’m all out.

A Very Weingrad Wedding

So I’m going to a wedding on Saturday.

It’ll be my first wedding since I was about seven years old. I don’t even remember whose wedding it was to be honest. But I do remember accidentally stepping on the back of the flower girl’s dress and ripping it as we were walking to the ceremony. I don’t think she was too happy about that. Hopefully I won’t accidentally step on the bride’s wedding dress this weekend.

So, like I was saying, it’s been about fifteen years since I last attended a wedding, and I don’t really know any formalities or customs that take place at weddings. All I know is what I have seen on TV. But I think I got it pretty down pat. So this is what I am planning on doing this weekend:

I expect the wedding party will enter to some ballin’ music, maybe something like this:

Throughout the entire ceremony, I will be blowing the vuvuzela horn, just to add some excitement.

For those who forgot, this is what that sounds like:

Because, let’s face it, the ceremony is gonna be fucking boring. I’m sure  it’ll be romantic and whatever, but it’s just not my scene. I don’t gotta hear a fucking priest or a rabbi drone on for an hour. All I will be doing is counting down the hours until I get to the open bar, and scouring my eyes around the room for girls that I plan on hooking up with later.

I already have my outfit planned out. I wasn’t sure what to wear at first, but I think I made the right decision:

I think it looks pretty stylish.

I will try to start “the wave” several times during the ceremony… because why should it just be limited to sporting events? I think it’s a tradition that should be brought to weddings, and I’m going to be the one to do it.

Just when the ceremony FINALLY ends, I will scoop up the bride and implement primae noctis. For those unaware of the term, it means:

According to the terms of this right, the lord of the manor had the right to the marriage bed on the first night of a serf or peasant’s marriage.

So, yeah.

After that pleasurable experience, I’ll finally hit up the cocktail hour and drink as much as my already damaged liver can handle. There is a 99% chance that I will embarrass myself either by aggressively hitting on some married chick in front of her husband, grabbing the microphone and singing drunken karaoke, or throwing up all over someone’s dress. Or all three.

So, that all being, said… I’m pretty excited for the wedding. It should certainly be a fun night. And if people don’t come away from the wedding thinking that I was the highlight of the entire weekend, then I have failed dismally.

Toy Story 3

Now, I still have yet to see the new Toy Story movie. However, I did manage to get my hands on a copy of the script. But upon reading it, there was one particular scene that stood out to me, mainly because I thought that this was a kids movie. And yet, this doesn’t seem all that appropriate to kids. I don’t know, maybe it’s just me. You can all read it yourself and make your own judgments…

[Open scene in Andy’s room.]

Woody: Hey guys!

Buzz Lightyear: Sup cracka?

Woody: …Excuse me?

Buzz: Oh, sorry. You know that Jay-Z action figure Andy purchased a couple weeks ago?

Woody: No…

Buzz: Oh, well he did. We’ve been hanging out a lot and he’s really increased my vocabulary.

Woody: Oh boy. Hey look, it’s Mr. Potato Head!

Mr. Potato Head: Woody, why you gotta say our names like that every time we enter? It’s not like we’re in a movie or anything [smiles and winks at the camera.]

Buzz: Yea man, that is whack yo!

[Everyone stares blankly at Buzz. Mr. Potato Head slaps him in the face]

Buzz: …Thanks.

Mr. Potato Head: So I hear Andy bought some new toys.

Woody: WHAT?! Don’t you know what this means?? He’s replacing us! Oh no!!

Mr. Potato Head: Relax Woody, we went through this, remember? Toy Story 2 ring a bell?!

Buzz: Yea dawg, remember that shit?

Woody: I must investigate this. What does it look like?

Mr. Potato Head: It’s an interesting looking contraption. It’s a long multi-colored tube, though it’s very narrow. Nor does it seem like it is able to speak…

Woody: I don’t like the sound of this. Lets’ check it out.

[The gang walks over. Slinky Dog is already next to the device.]

Slinky Dog: Yooooo man! Wooooody! I love you bro, I lova ya! Have I told you that lately? Man, it is such a beautiful day.

Woody: Umm, you alright Slinky?

Slinky Dog: Yea man! Never been better! Damn I’m freaking hungry. You got any cheese balls, Buzz?

Buzz: Fresh out, holmes.

Slinky Dog: Nevermind, anyway. I see some food.

[Slinky Dog walks over to Mr. Potato head and tries to eat him.]

Mr. Potato Head: What the hell are you doing? I’m not food! Get off of me!

Woody: What the heck is going on here? And what’s that smell? It smells like some type of… burnt plant. I think it’s coming from this new toy. I knew this was bad news! What the hell is it?!

[Rex walks over]

Rex: It’s a bong.

Woody: It’s a what?!

Rex: A bong.

Mr. Potato Head: But… but this wasn’t in the first two Toy Story movies…

Slinky Dog: Oh man I love Toy Story! I used to get high to that shit and watch it all the time!

[Slinky Dog tries to eat Mr. Potato Head again. He bites off his eyes, blinding him]

Mr. Potato Head: I can’t see! I can’t see! [runs into a wall and falls down]

Woody: Enough! Quiet, everyone. Rex… what is this bong? What does it do?

Rex: it’s easy. You see that little piece out on the side? That’s where you insert the cannabis. After that, the user, holds a flame over the substance to be smoked. They put their mouth on the mouthpiece while it’s lit and inhale. The flame is drawn towards the substance and the smoke travels through a hollow pipe that is attached to the bottom of the bowl. The pipe enters into a vessel containing water. Meanwhile, the user removes the piece, – known as “the carb” – takes one more deep inhalation, which brings all of the smoke into their lungs, giving them a relaxed, euphoric sensation known as a “high.” It’s purpose is to allow an easy passage of air into the container when the smoke is finally inhaled into the lungs. The fresh air from this hole helps to cool the smoke further.

[Long silence as everyone stares at rex]

Woody: How… how… in the world do you know that?

Rex: [shrugs] I watch TV.

Woody: Riiiight. Anyway, this looks like it’s trouble. Look what it’s done to Slinky!

[Everyone looks as Slinky Dog is staring blankly at the wall]

Slinky Dog: Dude… do you ever think… about, like… what it would be like… to be a wall?

Woody: OK, I’m gonna get rid of this thing. Buzz help me.

Buzz: You alone on this one, brotha.

Woody: Buzz, you’re not black! Shut up!

Buzz: Dem fightin’ words. [turns around and walks away]

Woody: Jesus Christ. I’ll do it myself.

Rex: I wouldn’t do that, Woody.

Woody: And why’s that?

Rex: People develop very close attachments to their bongs. Andy will be quite upset.

Woody: Nonsense. The only thing Andy develops a close attachment to is us. Plus, I’m his favorite toy. What’s he gonna do to me?

Rex: Suit yourself. But I don’t want anything to do with this. [walks away]

Woody: Guess I gotta do this mysef. Like usual.

[Woody puts all his weight into the bong, and begins to make it tip over. He can’t quite get it over the hump, and he is beginning to tire. Finally, with one more surge, he pushes the bong over and it shatters. Upon the loud noise, you can hear someone running up the stairs. Woody drops motionless along with the rest of the toys as Andy bursts into the room.]

Andy: [sees the shattered bong] NOOOOOOOOOOOO!

[He picks up the broken pieces]

Andy: Alessandra! My precious bong! [begins to cry] Why?!?! It wasn’t her time yet!!! It wasn’t her time!!

[He continues to weep, and then looks up and around the room]

Andy: How did this happen?

[He spots Woody lying next to the broken bong]

Andy: You mothafuckin cowboy sonofabitch!

[He picks up Woody and begins smashing his face against the wall. Then he takes out his lighter and lights him on fire. As he is inflamed, he tosses Woody out of the window and into the street, where a car runs over him and shatters him into several pieces.]

Andy: Time to get a new bong…

[Andy departs from the room. The rest of the toys begin moving again. Rex and Buzz stand at the window looking down at Woody’s broken figure.]

Rex: [shaking his head] I warned him…

Buzz: Dat was ballin yo!

[Rex lowers his eyes as he looks at Buzz, then slaps him the face.]

Buzz: Ouch! But, thanks…

[They walk away from the window back towards the other toys]

Sometimes I Read My Own Blog Because I Think I’m Funny

Does Kanye listen to his own music? Does Steven Spielberg watch his own movies? Did Mozart listen to his own symphonies?

Not that I’m comparing myself to Mozart (not yet at least), but when I am bored – which is about 90% of my life – I sometimes read my own blog entries. And you know what? I enjoy them. I find myself funny.

Is that narcissistic? Ridiculously so. Probably the most narcissistic thing you can do. It’s almost like admiring yourself in the mirror and finding yourself attractive. Which I do also.

Hey, at least I entertain myself… if no one else.

I am really excited to see Toy Story 3. I can’t wait to see Woody, Buzz, Mr. Potato Head and the rest of the gang back together again for some misadventures in 3D. When done right, animated movies are the shit.

They took a nosedive in the early 2000s, after epics such as Lion King, Aladdin, and the first two Toy Story’s.  But with the exception of Finding Nemo, there really wasn’t a good one for a while.

But now they’re back. Shrek, Up, WALL-E, Kung Fu Panda… even How to Train Your Dragon was awesome. And Toy Story 3 has been getting rave reviews, so I’m pumped for it. Now I just need to find an 11 year old child to go see it with… wow that sounded bad.

Alright, I better cut this off blog entry off now before it starts dragging on. Keep it short and sweet. Oh, and everyone don’t forget to wish your father a happy birthday today.

I Hate Bouncers on Power Trips

So I convince a few of my friends to come with me to the Empire Hotel Rooftop Lounge last night because I had a friend that was having a birthday there.

It’s pretty ballin. Mad expensive drinks, but it’s pretty worth it when you’re drinking them while overlooking the entire city.

My friends didn’t want to go originally because those places are usually very selective with who they let in, and they feared that they would not make the cut. But I told them… “Yo, relax boys, my friend made a rezzie (reservation). Plus… I own the Weinblog, no problem.”

So we go. We take a taxi to the west side of Manhattan, and we get on the line. We wait about ten minutes, no big deal. Then we get to the bouncer.

I know this is an upscale establishment, so I use my best manners. “hello sir, how are you tonight? I’m here for a friend’s birthday. I believe she made a reservation.”

He asks her name, and I tell him. He refers to his list, then starts speaking briefly to his fellow bouncer buddies. All the while, I turn to my friends behind me (three guys), and indicate that it’s all good.

Then the bouncer turns back to me. He says: “Alright, your friend’s straight. But you guys have to put down money for our bottle service to get in, which starts at $300.”

My jaw drops to the floor. I explain to him that I am simply just here for my friend’s birthday, and that she never said anything about having to pay that type of money to get in.

He responds by saying “Well, maybe if you guys had some ladies with you and weren’t just four dudes.”

So I say “what am I supposed to tell my friend then, since I’m going to miss her birthday now?”

The bouncer shrugs and then informs me to move aside so he can talk to the next people on line.

I probably could have tried other ways to get in, but after that, I didn’t want to even give any money to that fucking place.

So there I was; dejected, irate, emasculated, and utterly humiliated. Then I had to deal with my friends giving me the collective “I told you so” for the rest of the night, while we went to Williamsburg and actually found some pretty sweet deals on beers. But that’s not the point.

That fucking bouncer deserves to get shot. While being hit by lightning. While fire ants gnaw at his eyeballs. How the fuck does he get away with that?!

I have every right to call that place and complain, and if I wasn’t such a pussy I probably would. How do you know somebody that has a reservation for their birthday and still not get let in?!

Fucking ridiculous. I should have said something to him like “have fun being a bouncer your whole life!” or some shit like that.

It’s over 12 hours later and I’m still pissed about it, I’m never going to a rooftop bar again in my life. And If I ever own a club, which is highly likely, I will never reject anyone. Ever.

Except ugly chicks.