A Conversation with Charlie Sheen

Well, this is a real treat. Don’t ask me how, but I’ve managed to track down the man everybody has been talking about for the past couple of weeks. And not necessarily for good reasons. In fact, the complete opposite.

He’s starred in such films as “Platoon,” “Wall Street,” the “Major League” franchise, and now… he’s everybody’s favorite cracked out psycho headcase. So much so that Tom Cruise seems perfectly sane in comparison. And he’s here to talk to me. I’m so excited. Allow me to introduce… Charlie Sheen!

Charlie F'n Sheen

Me: Hey Charlie! Welcome!

Sheen: Please, call me Charlie.

Me: Um…

Sheen: Mind if I light a cigarette?

Me: I kind of do, actually.

Sheen: Thanks. *lights a cigarette*

Me: So, anyway. I just heard the news. I’m sorry you got fired from “Two and a Half Men.” Bummer.

Sheen: Please, they can’t fire me. I’m Charlie Sheen. I’m not fired.

Me: It… seems… pretty official actually. CBS and Warners Brothers Television issued a joint statement.

Sheen: No, I’m not fired. I’m winning.

Me: You’re winning?

Sheen: That’s right.

Me: You’re unemployed, you’re a laughingstock to the entire nation, you’ve been in and out of rehab several times in the past year, and you beat women. How is that winning?

Sheen: It just is.

Me: But you’ve —

Sheen: Winning.

Me: Please, let me finish.

Sheen: Okay.

Me: So what are you going to do now?

Sheen: Who knows? I can do anything. I’ve got tiger blood, man.

Me: Sorry I just need to clarify. You know you don’t actually have tiger blood right? You’re human.

Sheen: No I have tiger blood. I’m winning and I have tiger blood.

Me: Okay. I thought this might come up. That is why, before this interview, I contacted one of the world’s most brilliant minds, Stephen Hawking, to chime in. Stephen, welcome.

Stephen: *through voice synthesizer* Hello.

Me: Stephen, is it physically possible for a human to have tiger blood in their body?

Stephen: No. It is not. Humans have four blood types. Type A, Type B, Type AB and Type O. Tiger blood does not fall under any of those categories.

Me: Thank you Stephen. You may leave. Charlie, do you understand?

Sheen: Who even was that guy? Look at him, he looks like a huge nerd. Clearly is not winning.

Me: He’s a theoretical physicist. Possibly the smartest man in the world. His book, A Brief History of Time, broke a world-record by remaining atop the bestseller list on the British Sunday Times for 237 consecutive weeks.

Sheen: Whatever man. I’m Charlie Sheen. I don’t care.

Me: You said recently in an interview with “Good Day New York” that you stopped doing drugs because they “bored you.”

Sheen: That’s right.

Me: You know that means that you’ve done so much drugs that they no longer have an effect on you? The lack of effect means your brain is fried out, and, subsequently, you’re probably showing early signs of dementia.

Sheen: Pssh. What does that word even mean, “dementia?”

Me: It means a serious loss of cognitive ability in a previously unimpaired person, beyond what might be expected from normal aging. It’s a very, very real and serious thing.

Sheen: I’m not like most people, man. That shit doesn’t happen to me.

Me: How did you even get dressed this morning?

Sheen: I pay someone to do that for me.

Me: It all makes sense now. Well, I officially feel much dumber. Thank you Charlie. You’ve proved to the youth of America that no matter how fucked up in the head you may be, all you need is to do a couple interviews on major television networks, come up with a couple of catch phrases, create a Twitter account, and you will capture the hearts of everybody. You’re a great role model and an inspiration for all.

Sheen: And don’t forget…

Me: We know, Charlie. You’re winning.

Sheen: Did you know my real name is Charlie Estevez?

Me: Nobody cares.

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My American Idol Expierence, Part Two

As you all may recall, I tried out for American Idol last year. I waited on line for hours, I sang my bit, but unfortunately, it didn’t work out. It was a little demoralizing, sure, but I knew that it wasn’t the end of my singing career.

I thought, maybe I should go about this the actual hard-working way, and hire an agent, do some gigs, take vocal lessons, and try to get a record deal. But, then I thought… fuck that, it’s American Idol or bust.

So, as soon as I heard that auditions were occurring again, I hopped on the first train. I knew that it was going to be a new panel of judges, and it disappointed me greatly that I will never get to be on the show while Simon was there, but, it is what it is. Plus, I had to try out for the first set of judges before I even get to the main judges anyway. Goodbye Simon, hello Jenny from the block.

When the time came, I set out to the audition location in New York City, and was astounded to discover how long the lines were upon my arrival. However, it was something that I expected. I waited, and I waited, and I waited, and finally, I got to the front of the line… and knew it was my time to shine.

Here is exactly what happened, word for word:

Me: Hello sir, my name is David Weingrad, I’m from Long Island, and I’m the next American Idol!

Judge: [stares blankly]

Me: So, should I… just go…

Judge: [continues to stare blankly]

Me: Okay, I’m a little nervous, but here we go… [clears voice] Somewheeeeere, over the raaainbooow, way up high…

Judge: Um, sir…

Me: There’s aaaaa land that I heaaard of, once in a lullabyyyyyy…

Judge: Sir!

Me: Somewheeeere, over the rain-

Judge: Stop singing!

Me: Are you telling me to stop because I’m so good that you don’t need to hear anymore?

Judge: No. I’m telling you to stop because this is not American Idol.

Me: …What are you saying?

Judge: This is an American Airlines airport.

Me: So… so… this isn’t a singing competition?

Judge: Probably the farthest thing from it.

Me: You’re not a judge?

Judge: No, I’m an airport attendant.

Me: I don’t wanna clooose my eyes, I don’t wanna fall asleep, cuz I’d miss you baby, and I don’t want to miss a thing…

Attendant: Please stop. You’re awful.

Me: Am I going to Hollywood?

Attendant: Well, you can purchase a ticket to Hollywood if you’d like. It cost $250 dollars.

Me: For the second round?

Attendant: No. Jesus Christ, you idiot. I told you, this is not American Idol.

Me: Wait… what about this? [pulls something out of wallet]

Attendant: That’s an American Express credit card.

Me: What about this? [pulls something else out of wallet]

Attendant: That’s an American University student I.D.

Me: What about this? [points at something]

Attendant: That’s a shoe.

Me: Sweet Caroline, oh oh oh!

Attendant: For the love of god. [pulls out walkie-talkie] Security, we have a situation in the north wing. Please come immediately.

[Security guard walks over.]

Security Guard: What’s up?

Attendant: Please take him away.

Security Guard: Him?! Is he a threat to national security?

Attendant: No. He just can’t sing for shit.

Security Guard: Oh, come on! He can’t be that bad. Let’s hear it, kid.

Me: Caaaaaannn you feel the looooove tonight? It is where we aaarreee…

Security Guard: Oh, god. [pulls out walkie-talkie] All units to the north wing, we have a code red. I repeat, a code red.

Me: …what’s happening?

Security Guard: [pulls out gun and fires it in the air] EVERYBODY DOWN! WE HAVE THIS SITUATION UNDER CONTROL!

[The security guard detains me and begins to carry me away. Everybody cheers.]

Security Guard: You won’t be hearing from this one for a long time, folks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well, in the end, it didn’t go exactly how I would have liked. But after a little bit of paperwork and a small bribe, I managed to work my way out of airport detainment. I just had to sign an agreement that I would not sing again for a full year. Which works out perfectly, actually, because guess what is exactly one year away? American Idol 2012!

I’ll be back.


Third Time’s a Charm

For this special pre-Friday edition of the Weinblog™, I’ve decided to bring back an old friend.

I know that I’ve said — twice — that i wasn’t going to bring him back. However, it is the New Year, and I’m a big believe in second chances. I talked to him on the phone earlier, and he genuinely seemed like he is really in a good place and ready to get his life back on track. Thus, without further ado… I present to you, my pal, and everybody’s favorite popsicle stick, Stick Stickly.

Me: Stick! How are you buddy? Happy New Year!

SS: I’m great, thank you. Happy New Year to you as well!

Me: So how is life treating you?

SS: Not too bad. I just completed my 12th stint in rehab. But I feel good, I feel good.

Me: That’s all that matters. So what’s your new years resolution?

SS: Just to stay on course. You know, stay out of trouble, and not rape any hookers this year.

Me: That’s.. that’s good. I had the same resolution too.

SS: Really?

Me: No.

SS: You’re a funny one.

Me: It’s my job.

SS: Right. You know who else is funny? George Lopez. Don’t you agree?

Me: No. Not at all.

SS: He cracks me up. By the way, it looks it might snow tonight!

Me: Oh… yeah… that’s what I heard on the news.

SS: The news is interesting. I like to watch it sometimes.

Me: Ok…

SS: You want to hear a funny story?

Me: Sure.

SS: The other day, I got home. And I was kind of bored. So I read a book.

Me:

SS: It was a good book.

Me: That’s… that’s your story? Really?

SS: Would you like to know what the book was called?

Me: Not in the slightest.

SS: It was a book about theology. You know, the study of religion. And it just really got me thinking —

Me: Holy shit. Sobering up made you fucking boring!

SS: What is the purpose of religion? Why even bother?

Me: Alright, somebody get some cocaine. Fast.

SS: It all seems like such a farce. Is ‘God’ real? Would I have required 12 stints in rehab if — hey… what are you doing? What’s in that bag? Wait, is that what I think it is? No… you wouldn’t… don’t you dare… oh he’s opening it. I’m going to walk away. Now he’s putting it on the table. Please stop. You know that I… I… can’t. I’m not going to fall for this. You’re just trying to tempt me. Why are you lining it up all perfectly like that? You’re just testing me aren’t you? Well, I’m not going to fall for it. Wait, what are you doing with that dollar bill? Why are you folding it? Don’t hand it to me! I already told you that I — oh, FUCK IT. GIVE ME THE COKE!

Me: Atta boy. Sniff that all right up. Oh wow, you finished that very quickly. I thought that would take you several minutes.

SS: Gimme more, man! I NEED MORE.

Me: Calm down.

SS: Don’t tell me to calm down! Do you know who I am? I am Stick motherfucking Stickly.

Me: I know who you are.

SS: Stick motherfucking Sti–

Me: Yeah, I heard you the first time.

SS: So you got more coke?

Me: No.

SS: Don’t hold out on me. bro. let me see your pockets. Come on, let me see! I’ll go through them myself if I have to!

Me: Please stop going through my pockets. I told you that I don’t have — ouch! What the hell man, you just gave me another splinter!

SS: Well, that’s what you get. I know you got some more blow. I’ll do whatever you want to get it. Where’s your pants? Alright, take them off, let’s get this over with.

Me: You’re fucking kidding me, right?

SS: Nope. Not my first time, either. Alright, where’s the zipper? I’ll do it myself.

Me: Alright, don’t touch my zipper. What the fuck! Stop! This is going way too far. I’m sorry man but you leave me no choice.

SS: What do you mean? Wait, put me down. I was only joking! I won’t, I swear! I won’t touch your —

Me: Well, looks like it’s rehab stint #13 for you. Sorry man, but I had no choice. And that’s all the time we have for today, folks. Enjoy your weekend and GO JETS!

My Marathon Experience

Alright, I have a confession to make. I lied yesterday. I said that I watched the marathon comfortably from a couch while eating a bagel. The truth is… I was really eating a muffin. Okay, that’s a lie too. The REAL truth is:

I actually ran the marathon.

I just didn’t want to brag about it. I know how people’s fitness regimens and weight is touchy subject, and I didn’t want anybody to get up in arms about how physically fit I am. But hear me now: I did run the marathon. And successfully, too.

In fact, I even detailed my entire day. I had intended to keep this private, but what the hell. I started taking notes as soon as I woke up, bright and early. This is what those notes said. The people, places, and facts are all real…

5:00 AM: The crow of the rooster wakes me up… it’s marathon day! Wait, what’s that? The marathon’s tomorrow? Oh shit, better go back to bed. Somebody kill the rooster so it shuts up.

28 hours later:

8:00 AM: What the hell? I said I wanted to be up at 5! Mom, what did you do with the rooster?! You actually killed it? What the hell… I was only joking! You’re sick! And, ugh… I believe you, you don’t need to show me its head! God damn. Whatever, time to eat breakfast.

9:00 AM: Didn’t want to eat too heavy, so I had a nice breakfast of eggs, pancakes, sausage, home fries, white toast, an english muffin… and a cheeseburger. Is… is that too much? But I remember reading that Michael Phelps ate like 12,000 calories a day! Oh, it’s just because he’s a freak of nature? You could’ve told me that before I ate all that crap. You even watched me! Oh well, time to head to the city…

9:37 AM: Excuse me, conductor, do I need to transfer at Jamaica? No? I’m good? Ok cool. You may be wondering why I’m heading to the city this early on a Sunday, and well, it’s because I’m running in the – oh, you don’t care? Ok. *turns to person sitting next to me* Hey, My name’s David. You may be wondering why I’m heading to the city this early on a Sunday, and well, it’s because I’m run- Oh, you don’t care either? Ok.

10:00 AM: Ah. Here I am. In the best city in the world. Actually, don’t tell anyone I said this, but I think Carson City, Nevada might be a tiiiiny bit better. Not by much though. Where does this race start by the way?

10:45 AM: Hmm, apparently nobody told me that the race actually begins in Staten Island. I barely made it in time. I had to sprint all the way across the city and over the bridge, actually. And I gotta say, I’m pretty exhausted now. That probably wasn’t a very smart idea, sprinting for 45 minutes before the marathon begins… It doesn’t start for a while though, right? Because I’m pretty out of breath here. Oh, it starts in 15 minutes. Wonderful.

10:55 AM: Deep breaths. Stretch the legs. Doing the Bull Dance. Feeling the flow.

11:00 AM: Aaaaaand we’re off! Man, this is easy! I am feeling great! Who said marathons were hard?

11:10 AM: Starting to feel it a little. Legs getting a little heavy.

11:20: AM: Kind of winded. Need water.

11: 30 AM: I… think… I… need… a… little break. Just gonna… sit down… for a second. How far have I gone? Three miles? Four miles?

Random Civilian: You’re somehow behind the starting line.

Me: So, what’s that? Like six miles?

Civilian: About negative four feet.

Me: That’s good though, right?

Civilian: No. It’s not. I’m not even racing, and I’ve gone farther than you just by standing here. I haven’t even moved.

Me: Damn, you’re fast!

11:45 AM: Hey vendor! Are you open? Can I have two hot dogs? No wait, I should probably… yeah, definitely… make it three hot dogs! Thanks!

12:00 PM: Woah, I just had a dream that I was running the New York City Marathon! That was weird.

Civilian: …That wasn’t a dream. You’re in it… right now. And you’re still behind the starting line.

12:15 PM: Alright, I’m ready to go! Time to start running again. Aaaand I’m off!

Civilian: That’s still the wrong way!

Me: Alright man, good luck to you also! I think that’s what he said, right? What a nice man.

12:30 PM: You know what? I’m not one for dramatics, that’s just not who I am. Never was. But I’ve decided that the New York City Marathon just isn’t for me. And I’ve decided to, well.. man, this is tough… but I’ve decided to take my talents to South Beach and run in the Miami marathon!

Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOO!

Me: Hmm, I may have just made a big P.R mistake.

1:05 PM: I’ve enjoyed watching this race from the sideline. It’s very entertaining. Hey, is that Tina Fey on the other side of the street? It totally is! Tina! TINA! Oh, man. I gotta go get her autograph. I must get to the other side. *Hops barrier, begins to run to the other side and then crashes into somebody* OW! What the hell?!

Police Officer: You idiot! What are you doing?! That’s Gebre Gebremariam! He was about to win the marathon!

Me: Oh… my bad! Hehe. Gebre, c’mon man, get up!

Gebre: I.. can’t… I think I twisted my ankle!

Me: Oh man. Wait… I have an idea. *I lift up Gebre and haul him over my shoulder. I dramatically look toward the finish line, and begin running. The Chariots of Fire music blasts in the background… somehow*

1:10 PM: Race Announcer: And in an absolutely bizarre sequence of events, a scrawny white kid carrying Ethiopian runner Gebre Gebremariam have just crossed the finish line first! I guess… they both win?!

1:15 PM: *The American flag is draped around my shoulders* I did it! Nobody believed in me, but I WON the New York City Marathon!

Race Official: What’s your name, sir?

Me: David Weingrad, why?

Race Official: It says here that you’re not even registered…

Me: Oh, I was supposed to register?

2:00 PM: Well folks, I did it. They may have stricken me from the official record books, but I know the real truth. And now you do too. I was the co-winner of the 2010 New York City Marathon. USA! USA! USA!

Date Night

I don’t think there are two words that you can pair together in the English language that annoy me more than this phrase:

Date night.

If anyone I ever know tells me that they can’t hang out because they are having a “date night,” may god have mercy on their soul.

And if it’s a male that says it, well, you might as well hand in any trace of masculinity you have left.

What does a date night consist of? Making a summer salad, drinking some wine, lighting candles and watching Confessions of a Shopaholic while cuddling under a blanket?

And why are date nights necessary? It’s not a date, because dates are for people that aren’t yet a couple. Date nights are for people in a relationship, which means, they see each other all the time. “Oh, but… but… I only see him 10 hours a day! That’s not enough!” YOU MAKE ME WANT TO VOMIT.

There’s nothing worse than a couple that is perfectly content spending their Friday or Saturday night having a date night.

From this point forward, if anybody tells me that they are having a date night, they are banned for four days from socializing with me. Second time offenders will receive a weeklong ban. Anything after that will be handled on a case-by-case basis.

It’s for your own good. Trust me. This is what happens during a date night:

8:00 p.m.

Awesome guy: Yo man, you coming out tonight? We’re all hitting the town!

Loser: Nah man, it’s date night with the girl.

Awesome guy: Just listening to you utter that sentence makes me feel gayer for knowing you by association.

10:00 p.m.

(at the bar)

Awesome guy: Let’s get shots! I’m buying first round!

Awesome guy’s friend: Nice! By the way, where’s Loser?

Awesome guy: He’s having a date night.

Awesome guy’s friend: (drops shot glass) That’s infuriating.

(meanwhile, back at the apartment…)

Loser: (while holding a salad) Alright, ready to watch the movie?

Loser’s Girlfriend: Actually, I’d rather talk first. About life. And love.

Loser: Oh…

12 a.m.

(at the bar)

Awesome guy: Let’s get more drinks!

Awesome guy’s friend: Great idea! I’ll buy.

Bartender: No need for that. You guys look like you’re all awesome. You drink for free tonight!

Awesome guy: This is amazing.

(at the apartment)

Loser’s Girlfriend: …and that is what I’m feeling. Were you listening?

Loser: (wakes up) What? Oh… yeah, of course I was. Now can we start watchi-

Loser’s Girlfriend: And here is what else has been going through my head lately…

Loser: Oh god.

2 a.m.

(at the bar)

Awesome guy: (holding a bottle of liquor while dancing at the club surrounding by beautiful girls and wearing a ridiculous hat and sunglasses that he somehow acquired at some point) This is the BEST NIGHT EVER!

(at the apartment, Confessions of a Shopaholic is just finishing)

Loser: (While thinking in his head how awful that movie was) Well, it’s over. You want to go to the bedroom now and… you know…

Loser’s Girlfriend: Nah, I’m tired. But this was a lovely evening. Good night hun! (goes to bed)

Loser: I wonder what the guys did tonight… probably nothing interesting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Obviously, this topic affects me.

Just… don’t do it.

A Guest Blogger Returns

I brought an old friend of mine to guest-blog with me a little over a month ago, an if you remember, it didn’t go so well. But… I’ve decided to give him another try.

I may have gone a little overboard at the time and… snapped him in half… but, he’s all mended now and good to go.

Me: Hey Stick, those bandages seem to holding you together very nicely.

SS: [Under his breath] First question and he already brings up the goddamn bandages [Under his breath]

Me: Sorry I couldn’t hear you… what did you say?

SS: Oh, nothing! [Under his breath]Remember what Doctor Andrews said… don’t punch him in the face, happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. [Under his breath]

Me: You’re gonna have to speak up, man.

SS: [Deep breath] Hello, Weingrad! It’s nice to see you!

Me: Likewise. So what else is new with you?

SS: Well, I’ve been sober now for a month.

Me: That’s wonderful news!

SS: Yeah, now I only sniff highlighters.

Me: What?

SS: ..Nothing.

Me: Oookay…  so what was rehab like?

SS: It was great. Fun and games every day. Awesome people.

Me: Really?

SS: No, dumbass. It’s fuckin’ rehab! What the fuck do you think? It sucks.

Me: Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to bring back bad memories. I’ve never been, and was just curious, is all.

SS: Yeah, rub it in my face. You with your perfect track record, and your perfect blog, and your perfect life.

Me: I never said any of that…

SS: I bet you never even killed a hooker before.

Me: Umm, I haven’t.

SS: Oh… yea… me neither…

Me: ….

SS: What?! Don’t look at me like that!

Me: I’m not sure rehab is working for you…

SS: No, no, it has! I promise I’ll behave from now on.

Me: Alright, fine. So anything else interesting going on in your life?

SS: I bought a new shirt the other day.

Me: Oh yea, what shirt was that?

SS: This one:

Me: Very funny.

SS: Hahahaha, you just got PUNK’D.

Me: I don’t think that’s how that works.

SS: PUNK’D!

Me: Alright, I’ve had enough. Somebody get this guy out of here!

SS: What?! No, somebody call my lawyer! I know my rights!

Me: Huh?! First of all, you’re a stick, you’re not even human. You have no rights. Secondly, this isn’t even – Ow! What the hell, did you just give me another splinter?!

SS: Mwahahaha… that’s my evil laugh. I’ve been working on it. Wanna hear it again?

Me: No.

SS: Too bad. Mwahahahahahahahahahaha… wait, what are you doing?! Put me down, I promise I’ll stop! I promise –

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well, I guess I should have learned my lesson the first time.

You’re all probably wondering how I somehow manage to create all of these bizarre dialogues between myself and fictional characters, and, well, that is a very good thing to wonder about.. There’s only one real answer I can give you:

Electroshock therapy.

And large quantities of it.

A Special Guest Blogger

Today, I’ve brought in a very special guest blogger. You may remember him from your childhood. He is none other than the infamous Stick Stickly, from Nick in the Afternoon.

Me: Stick Stickly, it’s great to see you! I can’t even begin to tell you how much I enjoyed watching you when I was a kid.

SS: Yeah, whatever.

Me: Seriously, you were one of my idols!

SS: Listen, I’m only here because I need the money.

Me: Money? I never said I was going to pay you anything…

SS: You’ve gotta be shitting me. I need to call my agent.

Me: What? Your agent? You have an agent? And how do you even use a cell phone? You don’t have arms!

SS: Bluetooth.

Me: Ah. All makes sense now. Hey, can you sing your famous jingle for me? I would love that. And I think all my loyal readers would too!

SS: No.

Me: C’mon! It’ll be great!

SS: I vowed to never sing that song again.

Me: I’ll even help you out. “Write to me, Stick Stickly…” c’mon, you know the rest…

SS: Oh yeah! That one! I’ll sing it for you!

Me: Alright!

SS: Write to me, Stick Stickly, P.O. Box… Fuck you, you motherfucker.

Me: Woah, woah! What the hell was that?!

SS: I told you I’m not singing that fucking song.

Me: What’s wrong with you, Stickly? You used to be so jolly. So exuberant, so energetic!

SS: That’s only because I snorted an ounce of coke before each show.

Me: Oh. Well… that’s disturbing.

SS: Yeah, then those bastards at Nickelodeon made me check into rehab.

Me: Hmm, that actually makes sense. I was wondering why you’re your segment only lasted two years and ended so abruptly.

SS: They couldn’t handle the stick.

Me: Riiiight. I’m sure they couldn’t handle a five-inch tall popsicle stick.

SS: hey, I may look small on the surface. But I actually have an enormous pen-

Me: Ookkkkaaay. Didn’t need to know that.

SS: Don’t act like you’re not impressed.

Me: So what’re you up to these days Stickley? Are you still – hey! What the HELL are you doing? Are you snorting coke on my laptop?! Put that shit away!

SS: Oh, is that not cool?

Me: No! of course it’s not cool! And I thought you went to rehab.

SS: I never said it actually worked.

Me: Sheesh…

SS: hey, how about that Dora the Explorer that’s on Nickelodeon right now? She could totally get it!

Me: Okay, thanks man. That’s enough for you today. Thanks for stopping by!

SS: What?! I signed on for an hour!

Me: “Signed on” to what?!

SS: I’m still getting fully compensated, right?

Me: I told you, you’re not getting any money!

SS: You sonofabitch. You led me here under false pretenses. Now you’ll pay!

Me: Oh yeah? What the hell could a small stick possibly – ouch! What the hell?! Did you just give me a splinter?

SS: I warned you…

Me: Come here, you bastard.

SS: Hey! Put me down! Put me down! Someone call my agent! Call my –

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sorry about that folks. That was not exactly what I expected to happen.

Okay, so now that he’s gone…. I’d like to share a message with you all. As you all know, I hate facebook. But, every now and then someone will post a status that will make me momentarily forget my hatred. Today somebody posted this:

There comes a time in life when you walk away from all the pointless drama and people who create it, and surround yourself with people who make you laugh so hard that you forget the bad and focus on the good. Life is too short to be anything but happy.

Simple, perhaps even cliché, but the truth. You know people, it’s not mandatory for you to be friends with somebody if all they do is piss you off.

As for myself, I don’t have a dramatic bone in my body. I avoid drama at all costs. I like peace and tranquility.. But the way life works, you’re going to come across people that make you angry. And you know what, forget them. Life is better off without them.

Think about the people that make you happy to be around. Now imagine if all your friends were like that. Sounds pretty good, right?

Appreciate those people, and don’t let them go. Ever.