Someone needs to win the Mega Millions just I can stop hearing about it

I must apologize for not blogging yesterday. I was feeling quite under the weather, and was bedridden for the majority of the day. My creativity and thought-process was simply nonexistent. Today, however, I am feeling better. So let’s do this.

Last time I checked, — which was never, but I hear about it involuntarily through word of mouth — the Lottery Mega Millions jackpot is now in excess of $500 million, the highest ever total.

During the past week or so, as the Mega Millions kept eclipsing towards extravagant values, I keep hearing people talk about how they are going to buy a ticket. Likewise, I also have seen many Facebook posts on the topic.

A simple Internet search tells me that the odds of winning the Mega Millions jackpot are approximately 176 million to one. I can throw a bunch of statistics at you, like the fact that you are more likely to get eaten polar bear sometime this week then winning the lottery, or that you’re more likely to get into a fatal car accident on the way to buying your lottery ticket. But I will refrain.

But here is something I will say. The odds are infinitely better for you to actually do a little bit of research and invest your money into something that can earn you some profit. The stock market is a very credible outlet for the business and financial savvy to wisely gamble their money in. At least in this case, you have a semblance control of what you are putting your money into. If you’re smart, and thorough, you will follow the market day-by-day to analyze trends, and know when it is the best time go all-in, or all-out.

Although, God forbid, who in their right mind ever wants to conduct a little bit of research? With the lottery, all you have to do is circle six numbers and you’re done! Even an idiot can do that!

The thing that humors me the most about the mega jackpot is how so many people think they actually have a chance of winning.

Whenever the Mega Millions resets, it starts off at about $10 million. When it’s at that sum, you never hear people talking about it. People wait until it surpasses $100 million before they get in on it. What, is $10 million not enough money for you? Is that chump change? It’s not worth it?

When the jackpot is so high, it means that more people are trying to get on it, and therefore, there are more people who are competing for the money. The more people, the worse the odds. So your statistical chances of actually winning the lottery are never worse than when it is at its maximum jackpot. And yet, it’s the time when the most people are interested in it.

Of  course, you have no chance of winning whether it’s $550 million or $10 million, so it doesn’t even matter.

You want to know how many times I have played the Mega Millions in my life?

Right now I am holding the tip of my thumb and index figure together to form a circle, or zero. But you can’t see it. But I have never played it. Not once. It’s not because I think I am too good for it, but it’s because I think there are a lot more superior ways to spend my time than buying a lottery ticket. Yes I know that purchasing a ticket only takes five minutes, but I can think of much more productive things to do in five minutes.

For example, urinating is more productive for my life than buying a lottery ticket. Reading an article on the Internet is more productive. Stopping at the ATM is more productive. I choose to do those things instead.

Occasionally, I will buy the “Win for Life” scratch-off cards, because I think those are actually fun. Instead of just randomly picking six numbers and looking in the newspaper the next day, with the scratch-off card, you get to slowly scratch off each number one-by-one, and watch in suspense as you hope the number you are scratching will result in money. It’s a thrill.

And, one out of five times, when you actually win something, and wait until the end to scratch off your prize, it’s just as thrilling as getting a blowjob. You have no idea what that hidden number contains, but you do know, that whatever it is, it’s yours. Pretty much 99% of the time it is $2.00, but hey, at least you won something.

The last funny part about all of this, is that when somebody finally does win the $500 million jackpot, people will actually become disappointed, as if they had a 1 in 2 chance of winning and just barely lost, as opposed to 1 in 176,000,000.

And then when the winner’s life story is revealed, no matter what it is, whether he or she is poor, middle-class, upper class, a teacher, a cop, an accountant, a prostitute, people will say “That’s who won?! Are you kidding? That’s the last person who deserves to win the jackpot!”

As for me? I secretly hope that it’s a blogger who wins the jackpot. We don’t get enough love. I also hope it’s a girl blogger. And that she looks like how Jennifer Lawrence does on the recent cover of Rolling Stone magazine.

Have a good weekend. And for you mega millionaire hopefuls, may the odds be ever in your favor.

The ultimate “would you hit it?”

There is probably no more humorous phrase in the masculine vocabulary than “would you hit it?”

This question usually comes to light when a group of guys are sitting around, having some beers, and discussing which girls they would and wouldn’t have sex with. Meanwhile, they probably have a .002% chance of actually having sex with whatever girl’s name actually comes up — regardless of whether they say they would “hit it” or not.

When playing this game, you will suddenly see every guy elevate their standards to the point where they only bang supermodels. Whether you actually are good-looking, or a fat slob, you will hear people saying “I would not hit it” to attractive girls who they have zero chance with in the first place.

The funniest part is when you play the game while naming actual celebrities. Yeah, I’m sure that if somebody who is actually legitimately famous approached you and said, “have sex with me,” that you would actually contemplate saying no.

Most guys will say that they will only get with girls who are at least a 7/10 on the hotness scale, but in reality, any guy would willingly take a 5/10… while drunk. Maybe even a 4.

But that all being said, I will now present to you the ultimate case of “would you hit it?”

This girl. Would you hit it?

Okay, so you’re probably thinking, “has he gone insane? That girl has an absolutely slamming body. I can’t see the face up close, but it looks fine enough, especially with that body! Anybody would be lucky to sleep with that girl!”

Alright, fair enough. Everyone’s entitled to their opinion. But wait, there’s a catch.

Wait for it…


The Miss Universe Canada organizers concede Jenna Talackova is a “real girl,” but that doesn’t mean they will let her in their beauty pageant.

Talackova, a native of Vancouver, will not be competing in this year’s Miss Universe Canada pageant because she was born a male.

See the full article here.

So yes, he/she does indeed have a very fit body. No doubt about it. But let’s take a closer look at the face, shall we?

little more manlier now, no?

I mean you have to give her credit. She’s by far the best looking transgender woman I’ve ever seen. Had I not known that she was originally a man, I would have simply just coined her a butterface.

But now let’s revisit the original question: Would you hit it?

For all intents and purposes, she is a female. According to the article, she began hormone therapy at age 14, and surgically changed her gender at age 19. So there is no trace of a penis.

If you had sex with her, you could tell your friends, “I had sex with a girl last night,” and you wouldn’t be lying.

But deep down, no matter how deep you keep it within the confines of your soul, you will know, that she was once a man. At one point in her life, a penis did indeed exist.

Let’s not all be insecure here, though. She is hot. That is universal truth. Shit, the fact that she was even in competition to qualify for the MISS UNIVERSE pageant is confirmation of that.

But, she still was once a dude. And that will never not be true.

So now that you know all of the information, let’s revisit the original question for a third time. Forget sitting around with your friends while drinking beers and discussing hypotheticals. Because in that situation, of course you would say ‘no’ when posed with the question. If you said ‘yes’ to having sex with a transgender to your friends, regardless of how good she looks following the reconstructive surgery, then you would be mocked and ridiculed endlessly by them for the remainder of your existence.

I want you to picture this scene: You’re in Canada, for some reason, — let’s say on business — sitting alone at the hotel bar. You’re staying alone in a room. You’re getting progressively drunker, and feeling more alone by the minute. In fact, you don’t even know another soul who is in the entire country.

Suddenly, a woman sits down at the opposite end of the bar. Having read my blog, you instantly recognize her as Jenna Talackova, the Canadian transgendered woman who was considered for the freaking MISS UNIVERSE pageant.

Since you’re not a jerk, you find no qualms with striking up conversations with her. After a little while, you realize she is actually pretty cool and pretty funny. You talk more and more, all the while becoming drunker and drunker. Next thing you know, she “grazes” your arm. She holds eye contact longer.

And then, at 1 a.m., when you’re both three sheets to the wind, she looks at you and says, “Do you want to come back to my room?”

Would you hit it?

So people will dance to practically anything while at a bar

I’m normally pretty vocal and, dare I say it, opinionated when it comes to the musical selections that are played at bars. Bear in mind that I am distinguishing between bars and clubs right now. I can’t even begin to rationalize my disgust of the electronica nonsense that plays at dance clubs these days.

Bars, meanwhile, will tend to have a better musical selection. There is nothing that beats an old-fashioned jukebox where people could play some classical rock such as Tom Petty, Johnny Cash, or even some more modern classics like the Pixies or REM.

While I am at a bar, and becoming progressively drunk, my judgment lessens significantly and I become more tolerable of what type of music is being played. If I’m out and having a good time, then I could put on my happy face and deal with the occasional upbeat Katy Perry or Rihanna song. If I notice that other people are enjoying it, and dancing along and having a merry old time, then I have no problem with that. Especially if the song is catchy and energetic to begin with.

However, I was out on Saturday, taking part in a belated Irish Day parade/bar crawl close to my hometown with several of my friends. It was still daytime, and though I was quite inebriated, I still play close attention towards the music and how the crowd reacts to it.

At the time, the bar I was at probably consisted a good 200 people or so. It is a very spacious bar and one of the more popular ones in the area I was in, and as I’ve already iterated my state of intoxication, I can safely say that I was immensely enjoying myself.

But then the song “Someone Like You” by Adele came on. Within seconds, everyone around me was swaying to the beat, dancing where they stood, and even singing along in groups with their friends as if it was one big party.

I didn’t want to be one to rain on the parade, but I immediately questioned how people can react with such liveliness to such a song. Yes, it is indeed a catchy song that has taken the radio waves but storm, garnering both critical and commercial success over the past several months.

However, has any one actually listened to the song? Has anyone dissected the lyrics? When you take a moment to break it down, you’ll realize that it is actually one of the more depressing songs in recent memory.

“I heard that you settled down/That you found a girl and you’re married now/I heard that your dreams came true/Guess she gave you things that I didn’t give to you.”

This is a depressing and somber ballad about a scorned lover who clearly was pummeled emotionally by their ex, and chose to express their distress at the fact that they have clearly moved on while they themselves remain miserable and dissatisfied.

And yet, as this song blared through the bar, people were waving their beers in the air and prancing around like they were at a disco. When Adele composed this song and harnessed all of her agony into it, I can hardly imagine that she ever envisioned that this is how people would be receiving her song.

Which, in turn, can only lead me to one conclusion. When surrounded with the right aura, intoxication and ambiance, a bar can play practically anything over their speakers and their patrons will enjoy it. Why stop at Adele? How about next time we blast a little Radiohead into the mix? How about we parlay that into some musical styling by the Verve? And then top it off with “Hallelujah” by Jeff Buckley? I predict that it would elicit the same time of reaction as if they were playing “Walking on Sunshine” by Katrina and the Waves.

Again, I know it’s overly critical and possibly even harsh to find fault in people for simply wanting to enjoy themselves. I have no problem whatsoever with their public displays of enjoyment, but come on, if we begin dancing to just any plain old song than it takes away the uniqueness that derives from happy songs.

It’s nothing against Adele, whose powerful voice and unshackled emotion has actually provided a shining light in “mainstream music” this past year, but I think even she would prefer that her song was enjoyed solemnly, and not celebrated by drunken foolhardiness.

But perhaps I should blame the bar for playing the song to begin with and not the people dancing to it. Or perhaps I should blame the alcohol for giving people their urge to dance in the first place.

Wait, what the heck am I saying. Blame the alcohol? Never, ever, blame the alcohol. Shame on me for even thinking it.

How to stay afloat in Hunger Games’ conversations this weekend

Tonight, at midnight, the Hunger Games movie is premiering across America.

Unless you have read Suzanne Collins’ Hunger Games trilogy, then obviously you are not going to have any idea what they are. So allow me to give you a brief synopsis.

The Hunger Games are a trilogy revolving around a young girl named Katniss. The book takes place in the post-apocalyptic future following a revolution. The government won, and the characters now live in the newly formed country of Panem, which comprises 12 Districts in which people live. Starting from District 1 to District 12, the wealth and quality of life of the inhabitants becomes significantly worse. In order to prevent the Districts from ever rising up and revolting yet again, the totalitarian government has instituted a “Hunger Games.” This means that one boy and one girl, from the ages of 12 to 18, in each District are randomly selected in a lottery. Once selected, the 24 “tributes” are inserted into an arena, full of obstacles, where they fight to the death until the last man or woman is standing. Katniss, who is the primary caretaker of her younger sister Prim and her mother (her father died years before in a mining accident), volunteers to become a tribute after her sister, Prim, is selected, and becomes her substitute in order to protect her. We follow Katniss during the Games, and meanwhile, she is torn in a love triangle with her best friend and hunting partner, Gale, and Peeta, who is the boy tribute selected to represent District 12 in the Hunger Games beside Katniss. And then the Hunger Games begin.

There you go.

Now you know something.

So when somebody says that they are on “Team Peeta” or “Team Gale,” you know what they are referring to.

Oh, and just for reference, Katniss, in the book is 16. Therefore, if you say something along the lines of “I want to f*%$ Katniss,” then that’s not okay. The actress that is portraying her — Jennifer Lawrence — however, is totally fair game.

She is 21 years old. If you wanted to take her on a date in the United States, you can even take her to a bar. So, as a reminder: Saying inappropriate things about Katniss: not okay. But saying inappropriate things about what you want to do to Jennifer Lawrence: encouraged.

These books became pretty enormous in the past year. I read them about 7 or 8 months ago, a little before everyone else did (*hipster*), and since then, the rest of the world has followed suit, and everybody loved them. They make be stereotyped as children’s books, and aren’t very advanced grammatically, but in reality, they are really young adult books because they contain a lot of violence. They’re actually pretty good.

Honestly, in my opinion, it’s hard to ever really hate on books. Anything that gets America reading, regardless of the subject, is cool, in my opinion. Except Twilight. That sucks. But it was the Twilight movies that gained mass hysteria, and not the books.

So if you have not yet been exposed to the Hunger Games madness from your circle of friends, then I assure you that you will be soon enough.

Therefore, let’s review the important terms so that you aren’t completely in the dark and can at least hold your own in conversation:

Katniss: The lead character

Gale: Katniss love interest #1. He is her hunting partner in District 12.

Peeta: Katniss love interest #2. He once gave bread to Katniss when she was desperate for food.

Prim: Katniss’s sister.

The Hunger Games: A competition where 24 tributes fight to the death inside of an arena, while the rest of District 12 watches.

Haymitch: Katniss’s alcoholic mentor throughout the Hunger Games. He is actually a past winner of the Games.

President Snow: The term “president” is being used very liberally here, as he is more of a king, or an autocrat.

District 12: The District that Katniss lives in. It is by far the most impoverished, and everyone who lives in it lives day-to-day when it comes to making money and attaining food.

Panem: The newly formed post-revolutionary country they live in.

Cinna: Katniss’s stylist. He’s probably gay.

Jennifer Lawrence, Liam Hemsworth, Josh Hutcherson, Woody Harrelson: The actors and actresses portraying Katniss, Gale, Peeta and Haymitch, respectively.

Suzanne Collins: The author of the books.

I think that is all of the information that you need to know. If I give anymore, it will just be an overload. But as long as you absorbed some of the information that I just shared with you, then you should be more than fine, and more importantly — not completely oblivious when it comes to discussing the Hunger Games this weekend.

Or you could just not see the movies, and have sex with an actual girl.

Tebowmania to New York?

At around noon this afternoon, the Jets had reportedly pulled off a trade to acquire Tim Tebow from the Denver Broncos. Several hours later, apparently the Jets didn’t read the fine print in Tebow’s contract and the deal has hit a stag.

As a Jets fan, I’m all for this move if it goes down. I’m going to put aside all of the football logistics and talk about why Tim Tebow in New York is awesome.

For one, as someone who works in the media, and who understands exactly how the media hype machine works, I think Tim Tebow, in the peak of his fame and glory, coming to New York would be an absolutely one-of-a-kind experience. New York is already the center of the sports universe, and as everyone saw with Jeremy Lin, when something big happens here, it really happens big.

Tim Tebow is almost a god. I’m not even saying that as a joke. People legitimately worship him. He has fans across the planet who admire him for his principles, attitude and his faith. They truly consider him as a leader of Christianity.

So if my football team has an actual opportunity to acquire a god, then I don’t see how you could pass up on the opportunity.

But the media scrutiny alone that Tim Tebow would bring makes this trade totally worth it. Every play during a Jets game, the announcers would be talking about Tim Tebow. And I think that is awesome. It would be a spectacle like no other.

Also, let’s return to the religious aspect. I mentioned Jeremy Lin earlier. Anyone who has been following Lin knows that he is also very religious. He is not as publicly outward about it as Tim Tebow. He doesn’t kneel at center court praying, but he often thanks God during post-game interviews, and he and teammate Landry Fields even have a handshake that mimics the two of them reading from the bible.

So Tim Tebow and Jeremy Lin —  two athletes who have reached legendary status and have transcended sports in the past 12 months — playing in the same city? New York would essentially become the new Rome. The Empire State Building would become the Vatican.

I know most sports fans say that they love it when their team “flies under the radar,” but screw that. I want my team to be the talk of the nation. I want my team to be the first highlight on Sportscenter every night. And also the second and the third. So bringing in Tim Tebow only helps with that cause. But of course, foremost, I want my teams to succeed, and I truly think that adding Tebow, and incorporating his athleticism into the mix, would only help that.

And believe it or not, I myself may even join the church of Tebow.

Alright, today’s going to be one of those days where I radically switch gears without attempting much of a segue.

This whole Trayvon Martin situation that is going on in Florida. You all should know the story by now. A 17-year-old black kid, while carrying Skittles and a can of iced tea, was shot dead by some 28-year-old dude because he felt “threatened” by Trayvon for some reason.

Obviously anyone can hear the story and know that it is one of the most unfair, monstrous things you have ever heard. But the worst part is that it has been about ten days, and the 28-year-old dude, named George Zimmerman, has yet to be arrested.

The whole situation has brought to light one of the dumbest laws I have ever heard: The Stand Your Ground Law. In Florida, as well as about 30 other states who have this law implemented in some shape or form, you can use deadly force to defend yourself if you feel threatened. And that’s pretty much the law. It’s that ambiguous.

So, essentially, it means that you can kill practically anybody, and as long as you defend yourself in law by saying that you “felt threatened” at the time, it is justifiable. Even if your “opponent” was unarmed, and only carrying a bag of Skittles and a can of iced tea.

The fact that a law like this exists is shameful, and is a disgrace to our legal system. Thankfully, New York does not have this law implemented. The crazy thing is that this law has actually existed since the very late 1800s. Like all shitty things, it takes some extreme case, like the death of Trayvon Martin, to expose bullshit laws like this.

Although I guess if you throw a Skittle with just the right amount of velocity into someone’s gullet, then perhaps it can cause enough force to halt somebody’s breathing. So maybe Skittles can be defined as a deadly weapon. George Zimmerman is innocent!

It’s times like this when we need someone — someone who is good-hearted, has proper values, is religious and has enough of a cult following to start a media frenzy — to step in and become an advocate for justice. If only somebody in the world like that existed…

People who play hip hop at obscene volumes are pretty much the worst

Today I was walking to my office building, and as luck would have it, my office building is located directly next to the entrance for a community college. I fear for my life whenever I cross that road because I can safely say that community college drivers are probably the worst drivers I have ever seen in my life. I’ve seen more people peal out of that entrance in my lifetime than I’ve seen people peel an actual banana.

That joke sounded better in my head.

But anyway, so as I was saying, I was walking to my office building. I’m waiting patiently on the sidewalk for traffic to subside, when I hear a loud thunderous disturbance, which took me a few moments to realize that this disturbance was actually music. Or rather, what attempts to be music.

This car, driven by some hoodlum, was blasting hip hop music as loud as humanly possible. His vehicle was clearly souped up with speakers that he probably acquired illegally, — because he is a hoodlum, after all — and even standing a good 30 feet away from him, the music was loud enough that I had to cover my ears.

This moment of time made me accumulate more hate than I think I have ever experienced. Think about the angriest you have ever been in your life. Now imagine that hatred consuming you for just a few fleeting seconds as someone who bears no consequence on your life comes strolling by. It was like a lightning bolt of hate.

However, just knowing that this person existed made my life a little worse this morning.

Firstly, if the music is that loud for me, an innocent bystander standing a couple dozen feet away, then how loud is it for him? In that car, it must be absolutely deafening. I don’t understand how the hoodlum could have possibly listened to his professor speak in his class, because his ear drums should have been throbbing.

Secondly, it just makes me mad, because I begin thinking in terms of what this person actually wants to accomplish by playing his music so loudly.

There’s no one in this world that could ever possibly admit that the louder that music is, the better is sounds. Okay, maybe if you’re at a dance club, drunk, tripping on ecstasy or god knows what, you can buy into the loud music. But that’s not because you actually enjoy the music more at such a louder volume, but because it adds to the whole drunken or psychedelic ambiance that you are currently experiencing. It’s a completely different thing altogether.

Just like how food has an ideal temperature in which it should be cooked, music has an ideal temperature in which it should be played. it should be loud enough so you, the listener, can hear it clearly, but low enough so that anyone who wishes to not listen to the music can easily ignore it. That is pretty much the rule of thumb.

Therefore, this hoodlum couldn’t have been enjoying the music at such a loud volume. There is no way that the loud noise actually brought him enjoyment, or made his shitty music sound even better.

Which can only mean that he is trying to send an outside message to the outside world. What that message was, I don’t know. Maybe he was trying to show off the type of music he was listening to? Or perhaps he was trying to inform the world that he is, in fact, a “bad ass” who doesn’t adhere to cultural mores? It’s really the only explanation, because you clearly would not play your music so loudly if you were not desperately craving attention.

The worst part about all of it is the type of music he played. I mean, even if the guy played the Beatles or the Red Hot Chili Peppers, I still would have been pissed off by it, but not as much. But the fact that he was playing some crappy, unintelligible drivel of a hip hop song pretty much solidified him as the worst human being to walk this earth.

I’m not even kidding when I say that, when I witnessed this individual, I had to stare at him before he drove out of sight. I needed to hone all of my attention towards hating this guy, and I couldn’t possibly accomplish anything else until I knew he was out of gone.

Sure, I went about my day, did my job and went home; but just knowing that this person still existed in this world, and knowing that he probably played his music just as loudly on his drive home, is enough knowledge to help me lose a little bit more faith in humanity.

For the high-schoolers out there, don’t ever strive to attend community college. Not because they don’t provide you with fine academic opportunities to help jumpstart your life, but because there’s even a remote possibility that you will encounter hoodlums who not only have awful musical taste, but don’t know how to properly control their musical volume.

Why are icebreakers so difficult?

Whenever I am at a bar, and I spot a gorgeous girl, I will normally be too bashful to talk to her. And by saying bashful, I really just mean that I am a pussy.

However, what I will do is constantly look in her direction approximately 47 times, and will stare blankly at her during each of those glances.

There is no way that the girl doesn’t notice this. You have to be a complete idiot to not realize that some random dude keeps glancing in your direction throughout the night. I can’t even imagine how creepy she must think I am whenever this happens.

So bearing that in mind, upon spotting the gorgeous girl, you really have to approach her within the first 10-15 minutes. Just like you did, she also has surveyed the bar. She’s already seen you. She’s already made her judgment on you. Therefore, if you wait two hours to finally talk to her, it’ll be too late, because she’ll already have dismissed you. You’re old news at that point.

And that is why my strategy of continued drinking, and building up courage as the night escalates, is only destined to fail. Even then, I’d still say I attempt to make only conversation perhaps just 10% of the time. And at that point, in my drunken haze, it is an absolutely absurd icebreaker. It’s probably not much better than anything I’d come up with sober, though.

It all amounts to one thing: Why are icebreakers so difficult?

It amazes me, that in all of the time that men and women have inhabited the earth, that there has never been one universal icebreaker that has emerged that trumps all others. Not one. There’s not one line that can be used in any given situation that would work if it is presented correctly.

I may be a pussy when it comes to approaching girls at bars, but I wouldn’t necessarily consider myself a bad conversationist. If I am given ten minutes to talk to a girl, I am fairly confident in my abilities to engage her, and at the same, present myself in a good enough light that she would become interested in me. However, it’s getting those ten minutes that is the problem.

I also blame the girls too. Why do guys have to be the morons who walk around with their head on a swivel while inside of a bar, seeking girls with whom they may have an interest in? Why can’t girls help out a little? I’m not saying that the girl has to be the one that approaches the guy, or buys a guy a drink — but can’t they send some type of signal? Like eye contact, or even a smile? Is that so damn hard?

Seriously, whenever I see an attractive girl at a bar, it’s like she’s trying as hard as she possibly can to look as indifferent as possible to her surroundings. She gives every indication that she is bored, that she is disinterested in anyone that’s around her, and acts like she is at a work meeting as opposed to a bar. Words can’t even begin to explain how much more intimidating this makes it for the guy.

Honestly, what am I supposed to say. “Hey, miss, excuse me? You’re really hot, and you’d be quite a reach for me, even on a good day. But I’m going to try to flirt with you anyway because I really have nothing to lose, except my dignity, maybe. So what do you say?”

And I know the old cliché, how “if you never try you’ll never know,” but, you know what, sometimes I’d rather not try. I’d rather not get rejected by a hot girl. I’d rather be comforted by the thought that although I didn’t try, that if I did, I would have gotten her. I’ll sleep better that night with that false confidence.

I’ve never heard one icebreaker, from anyone, in the history of the universe, that made me say, “Wow, that’s good. I have to try that sometime.” And I don’t think I ever will.

If anyone out there has some type of secret gem of an icebreaker, I strongly implore you to come forward and enlighten me with this sacred piece of knowledge that you possess. You would be doing me, and all men across the world, a great favor.

Until that happens, I will forever be that guy, staring awkwardly at the hot girl across the bar.

Tips for avoiding a douche-free St. Patrick’s Day

Welp, it’s that time of the year again.

There are holidays that truly bring out the best in people, like Thanksgiving, or Christmas, or maybe even Earth Day, and then there are holidays that bring out the very worst in people. And that is St. Patrick’s Day.

I’d say that about 95% of our population becomes unbearable on St. Patrick’s Day. Just because it is a holiday where drinking in excess is socially acceptable, people take extreme liberties and think they could actually do whatever they want. They believe they could act like a fool in the middle of the street, and that it is fine.

But I see you. I see you, man.

There’s really not much that can be done about it. It’s going to happen. However, I could offer some words of wisdom on how you should properly behave during this weekend. If you’re smart, you’ll listen.

If you’re not Irish, don’t wear green.

I know, green is the color of St. Patrick’s Day. But, come on. Whatever happened to originality? Why do people like to do something just because everybody else around you is doing it? Do you think that people wearing green have some type of mutual understanding? Do you think that if you spot someone else with a green shirt, your eyes will lock, and you’ll nod, and you’ll form an infinite bond that will last a lifetime? No, you’re just blending into a green sea of awfulness. For once in your life, try to show some individuality. Wear red, or even orange. You don’t see much orange anymore, do you?

If you are Irish, please don’t flaunt the fact that you are actually celebrating St. Patrick’s Day.

If you think people pretending to be Irish is bad enough, then you haven’t met an actual Irish person acting like they are the “Chosen One” on St. Patrick’s Day.

First of all, no, you can’t drink more than anybody else. Being Irish doesn’t magically make your tolerance higher. it doesn’t expand your larynx, enabling you to consume more alcohol.

I know you want to show off the fact that this holiday was brought about by your people, but I’d rather you didn’t. You’re only embarrassing yourself and disgracing your heritage.

Please don’t customize a shirt.

I can flat-out guarantee, right now, that you will see a shirt that says something along the lines of “Everybody’s Irish on St. Patrick’s Day!”

Firstly, you’re wasting a shirt. There are starving children in Cambodia right now who would do anything for a piece of cloth to cover their bare chest, and you are wasting a shirt by writing some overdone, unfunny, and asinine slogan on it. I can assure you, whatever slogan you come up with, it’s stupid.

People who customize their own shirts  are basically competing in their own “worst person in America” contest.

Along those lines, no other green accessories either, please.

If you’re thinking about wearing green beads around your neck, or a top hat, or a four-leaf clover sticker on your cheek, just don’t. I know you’ll put them on and look in the mirror the morning before you go out. One half of you will say, “This doesn’t look half bad,” and the other half will say, “You look retarded.”

The second one is right. Always.

Don’t drink Irish Car Bombs right off the bat.

This is probably the first actual practical advice I’m giving. But trust me, it’s for selfish reasons.

It’s only natural that, on St. Patrick’s Day, people will burst into the bar and say “Yooo brahs, Irish Car Bombs, let’s do it!” And then all his other degenerate friends will yell in agreement like a pack of savages.

Well, two hours later, you are the ones lying face down in an alley. People are stupid. They think that just because it is a holiday, that their tolerance will increase. No, they won’t. You’ll be drunk in the same amount of time. So if you start drinking at noon, and keep doing Irish Car Bombs, among other shots, you are going to be shitfaced by 3 p.m., and you’ll have wasted the entire day.

Also, by being overly drunk, you’ll just make life worse for me, along with everybody else. Be smart, stick to beer, and wait until the sun has actually begun its downward descent to do your first Irish Car Bomb. Trust me on this one.

Stay. Away. From. New. York. City.

“Yo, we’re older, we’re cool now, so I guess we should go to the city for St. Patrick’s Day, right? I mean, that’s where it will all be happening.”

– dumb person.

Amateurs will flood the city streets this weekend, thinking that it’s the place to be. They won’t have a plan, they’ll just wing it, and figure that everything will turn out okay. Well, guess what? Eight-million other people also thought the same thing.

But if you enjoy crowded areas, $9 beers, $20 covers to get into bars, then yeah, go to the city!

In conclusion

Pretty much everything that you are thinking about doing this weekend, well, do the opposite, and you’ll be okay.

There you go. I truly hope I helped, and that in a small way — some small, miniscule way — I may have made this St. Patrick’s Day weekend better for just one single person. Then I’ll know that I have done my part in helping the world.

As for me? I’m getting the hell out of New York and making my way to Washington D.C. for St. Patrick’s Day weekend.

That’s right. For at least one weekend, while overly intoxicated, I will be in the same city as Barack Obama. There is every chance I somehow get myself labeled as a security threat to this country.

Every chance.

Be honest: do you really care about your friends’ success?

This is America. This is the land of free enterprise. This is the land where we glorify the rich, the famous and the elite. There’s no telling how far you can go in this country. It’s nice to make it big in other countries, but it’s nothing like making it big in America.

And everybody single American is aware of that fact. No matter who you are, you have had dreams of becoming rich, famous and adored by all. Maybe you’ll never be a famous actor, or a musician, but maybe you could one day succeed well enough in your craft to gain national acclaim. More than likely, you won’t. You’ll just be an average Joe like the rest of us. You could still be successful, but that doesn’t, by any means, guarantee fame and fortune.

Another important detail of this “American Dream” is to not only accomplish it, but accomplish it first. Let’s face it, we all want to be the first ones to succeed. We want to come straight out of college, get a good job, and make waves right off the bat. We want to brag on Facebook about our accomplishments. We want to be the first to get a job, the first to get a promotion, and the first post a picture of themselves wearing a suit and tie as our Facebook profile picture. And that doesn’t just apply to success. Girls, for instance, want to be the first ones to be in a serious relationship, to get engaged, to get married, and to have kids.

Being first… is everything.

So what happens when you’re not first? What happens when you see people constantly posting on Facebook about their successes, while you’re still sitting at home sending your resume to whatever job openings you find on Craigslist?

Are you going to feel happy? Of course not. You’ll become jealous, dejected and feel worthless.

But what is worse than your old classmates finding success before you? Well, when your friends find success before you.

Okay, let me take a step back. I’m not saying that you’re a dick if you feel this way. It’s only natural. Also, I’m not questioning the strength and sincerity of your friendships. You’re probably a great friend. You’re always there for them when they need you, and you would do anything for them.

But that being said, it still makes you sick to your stomach when you hear their success stories.

You won’t let it show, obviously. You’ll be the first to write on their Facebook wall, you’ll be the first to text them, you’ll buy them a drink next time you see them. But when you go home that night, you will cry yourself to sleep.

Your friends’ successes only serve as a reminder to your failures. Plain and simple. So when you first hear and/or read about their great achievement, your mood will worsen. Maybe it will worsen just a little, maybe it will worsen a lot, but it will worsen.

And then, next time you see them, you have to hear the whole entire story about how their achievement went down. You’ll have to listen to questions about how they are reacting to the good news, and then you’ll have to deal with their happiness the entire time. There is nothing worse.

Am I being cynical? I really don’t think so. I truly think that the majority, if not all, of people feel this way. They won’t ever acknowledge or openly admit it, but they do.

Don’t get me wrong, it doesn’t mean that you want your friends to be miserable, or even to fail. It means you want things to simply remain status quo, for the time being, until you are the one who succeeds first. It’s all about having your thunder.

Because nobody remembers the fourth or fifth clap of thunder. But they sure as hell remember the first.

The day the world was universally happy

It’s the middle of March. It was 60 degrees out today for the first time all year. It was sunny. It’s past daylight savings time, so it was bright out until 7 p.m.

What does it all mean?

For one day, one marvelous day, nobody bitched, nobody whined, and nobody complained. Nobody posted on Facebook about how upset they were about the weather. Nobody posted on Facebook about how much they hate their job. Nobody posted about how unfortunate their life is.

Quite the contrary, in fact. Instead, people posted about how enjoyable the weather was. They shared how wonderfully they were enjoying their day, and their time at work. They talked about how much they loved life.

A few days ago, I diagnosed our country with “compassion fatigue,” and today, I am diagnosing our country with seasonal depression. In the winter, it’s not the only the season of snow and cold, but the season of self-loathing. It’s the season where everybody becomes Ebeneezer Scrooge, before he has his encounter with the three ghosts. And minus the wealth.

But then the first beautiful day of spring comes around, and the world becomes a Disney movie. Everybody is skipping their way down the street and singing a happy song. Birds fly on people’s shoulders and chirp along to the tune. And even chipmunks join in on the fun and dance along.

And that leads to the one-million dollar question:

Why can’t people act like this every day?

Imagine how much more enjoyable the world would be if people acted like every day was beautiful, bright, sunny and warm? This planet would be such a better place to live on.

Why do you think nothing bad ever happens in Florida? Except Casey Anthony. And hurricanes. And tsunamis.

Because it is always nice out. Nobody has anything to complain about. In Florida, the big question of the day is which golf course do want to golf on? Which bathing suit should you wear to the beach? Which Miami Heat game should I go to to watch them dominate? There’s no seasonal depression down there. Instead, its yearlong euphoria.

But in the east coast, people are happy for about three or four months a year. The next day it rains, forget it, everybody will be miserable again.

So I guess the point is to enjoy it while it lasts. Heck, maybe, just maybe, people’s happiness will become contagious, and you can start to feel it too!

Again, this is the world during a good day:

And, conversely, this is the world during a bad day:

I just think it’s remarkable how much the weather dictates morale in our country. Or at least, in the parts of the world that experience severe climate changes.

And, no people, “global warming” does not mean that since we had a mild winter, and are having a warm spring, that we will have a blistering hot summer. Global warming, if it’s really happening, polarize the seasons. It takes away the extremes. It means that our winters will not be ice-cold, and are summers will not bring desert-like heat. It means that the summer will be mild. So think again before you welcome global warming.

But who am I to judge? Everybody should go outside and sing a happy song, with the rabbits, the chipmunks and the deer. But just don’t be surprised when, come the winter, when it all comes back to bite you in the ass. Literally. A rabbit will actually bite you.