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.

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.

I Know Where Lebron is Signing!

Earlier today, I was a little bored, and was trying to figure out what to do. After several minutes of pondering my next move, I thought of three options:

1)      Watch a movie

2)      Go for a run

3)      Personally find out where Lebron James is signing before anyone else does.

I decided to go with #3.

I wasn’t sure how to go about doing such a thing, however. My first thought was to delve into the phone book and search “James, Lebron” and simply just ask him. Unfortunately, there was no such listing.

But right before I closed the book, I noticed a listing marked “James, L.” So I tried that. Here is how the conversation went:

*Ring ring ring*

L. James: Hello?

Me: Lebron?!

L. James: Excuse me?

Me: Lebron! Please, my name is David. I must know where you are signing next year!

L. James: Umm, I think you have the wrong number…

Me: Is it the Heat? The Cavs? The Knicks? Oh, please tell me it’s the Knicks… please Lebron!

L. James: Listen kid, I am not Lebron James. My name is Leonard.

Me: Lebron James’ real name is Leonard?

L. James: You’re not hearing me. I am a separate person.

Me: But it says here in the phone book…

L. James: “L. James.” Did you ever stop to think that there’s more than one L. James in the world?

Me: Umm…

L. James: And I assume you’re looking in a New York state phone book?

Me: Yeah, so?

L. James: Lebron James lives in Ohio. Always has.

Me: So… is it the Knicks?!

L. James: You’re an idiot.

*click*

Me: Lebron? Lebron! Dammit.

Alas, my first attempt was unsuccessful. Lebron, under the alias of “Leonard,” refused to tell me where he would be playing next year.

So I sat and thought of my next move. As I stared absentmindedly at the television, Sportscenter was showing a bit about an octopus in Germany that correctly picks all of Germany’s soccer (or rather, futbol) games. What they do is they put two containers in front of him full of clams – one containers bares the German flag, while the other has the flag of their opponent – and the octopus (named Paul the Octopus) chooses a clam from one of the containers, and from whichever container he picks from… that’s his prediction for who will win. He went 6/6 this year in Germany’s games.

After watching that, I came up with a brilliant idea. So I headed straight to my local aquarium, and went looking for an octopus.

I pulled up at the zoo, and I managed to find a maintenance door. I hid behind and waited for someone to walk out. When they did, I took out a washcloth and dosed it with chloroform and then smothered the maintenance guy’s face with it until he passed out. Then, I realized that I hadn’t smothered a maintenance guy, but a little kid holding a balloon. Whoops.

A maintenance guy then came out the door, saw me standing over the unconscious kid, and looked at me with fear. That’s when I knew I had to go to plan B. I whipped out a taser and shot him in the heart.

Upon dragging the guy back into the maintenance room, I stole his uniform and made my way towards the octopus house.

I passed a few other workers, but they didn’t think anything of it, and must of thought I was new. I went to the octopus section, looked around, and dove in.

Upon my swim to the bottom, I spotted the biggest octopus that was there. Once I landed next to him, I put down five containers: One for the Knicks, the Cavs, the Nets, the Heat and the Bulls. Unfortunately I didn’t have any clams, so I put Swedish Fish in there instead… I figured it was the next best thing (I also put two in the Knicks jar just to sweeten the pot.)

I put them down and waited for the octopus to make his move. I watched as he drifted over to the Cavs’ container, and I screamed with fear. Then I remembered that I was underwater and was incapable of screaming. However… it seemed to have worked. The octopus disregarded the container and made his way sideways towards the Knicks. I held my breath in anticipation; well technically I was holding my breath ever since I dove in. But then, the octopus hovered over the jars and made its way towards me, and I perfectly remember thinking: “Oh, shit.”

I tried to swim away, but the octopus swung its tentacle around my leg. Then it put the rest around my body, making it impossible for me to get to the surface. As I began to pass out, I think I remembered seeing scuba divers swimming my way. Then blackness overcame me.

The next thing I knew, I was sitting in an empty basketball court. No one was there except me… at least that’s what I thought. I heard a dribbling sound behind me. I turned, and standing there practicing his jump shot… was Lebron James.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Immediately, I shouted “Lebron!” Lebron turned, saw me, and smiled. I took that as a sign that it was okay to walk over.

“Hey Mr. James,” I said.

“Please, David,” Lebron responded… “Call me Lebron.”

I was amazed. “You… you know my name? How?!”

“Why, the Weinblog of course!”

“You read my blog?”

Lebron smiled. “Every day.”

Wow, I thought. Lebron James… reads my blog. I couldn’t believe it. “Umm, while I have you here, Lebron, I was wondering if I could ask you something?”

“Go ahead,” he replied.

“Who are you going to sign with this year? I must know!”

Lebron’s smile faded. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

Damn.

“Listen,” Lebron said. “I gotta hit the showers. But here, take this.” He took off his headband at threw it at me.

“Wow, thanks!” I shouted towards Lebron as he began to walk away.

I watched as he walked towards the doors. Right before leaving, he stopped and turned.

“You really want to know where I’m going?”

“You bet I do!” I answered.

“Check the headband.”

I immediately looked down. I turned the headband around, and sitting right on the forefront… was the logo of the New York Knicks. A huge grin spread over my face. I went to shout something to Lebron, but when I looked up… he was gone.

And that’s when I woke up in a hospital bed.

“Lebron?!” I said groggily.

“What?” said a nurse. “Who’s Lebron?”

“He… he was just here.”

“You’re on a lot of medication right now,” the nurse said. “In fact, you’re really lucky to be alive. That octopus should have killed you. What were you thinking, boy?”

I wasn’t listening. “He’s going to the Knicks! He just told me! He’s going to play for the New York Knicks!”

“Riiight.” she said. “By the way, those containers you brought with you are right over there.” She pointed towards the wall.

I looked over and saw all five containers sitting along the wall, all with the Swedish Fish still inside.

Or were they?

I squinted my eyes in order to see better, and I realized that the lone container that was missing their Swedish fish… was the container marked with the New York Knicks logo.

“What happened to the Swedish Fish in that container?!” I pointed at the Knicks one.

“I don’t know,” the nurse shrugged. “That’s how they were when they were retrieved from the octopus exhibit. That’s what I was told, at least. Now get some rest.”

She left the room, but I barely even noticed. I smiled. This confirmed it. First the dream, and now the octopus.

Lebron James is going to sign with the New York Knicks.

You heard it here first.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

“Just go over and talk to her!”

“What?”

“I said why don’t you go talk to her?

“Talk to who?”

“That girl you’ve been staring at all night!”

“Huh? I… I haven’t…”

“Oh, shut up man. It’s pretty fucking obvious.”

He says nothing. Had he really been that blatant? His friend has been talking to him about… something… but he couldn’t hold his attention. The most gorgeous girl he had ever laid eyes on was sitting alone at the opposite end of the bar. But he figured as long as he kept nodding and throwing in the occasional “yeah” and “I agree” to his friend, then it would at least appear that he had been paying rapt attention.

“Eh… I don’t know man, she’s not really my type.”

She was completely his type.

“I’m more into blondes.”

What was he talking about? He hated blondes.

“She probably has a boyfriend, anyway.”

He hoped not.

“Plus she looks like she’s a real bitch. I don’t need that”

Now he was just grasping at straws.

“Dude, if you say one more excuse not to go talk to her, then I will.”

“No… no… alright. Maybe I will. Maybe.”

Truth is, he had been thinking of opening lines in his head for the past half-hour. There was this girl, this perfect girl, sitting alone at the edge of the bar. At first he figured that she was meeting somebody, because a girl like that couldn’t possibly be single.

He had seen her, exactly thirty-two minutes ago when she walked into the bar. It was like a scene from a movie; when the beautiful girl walks into a party, and everything goes silent while romantic music plays in the background. That’s exactly what happened in his head. He watched as she walked in, sauntered gracefully towards the bar, and sat down in the last seat. She ordered a vodka tonic, and has since ordered another.

“So, you gonna do it, or what?”

“I don’t know… I still don’t think I’m ready to – “

“Oh, shut the hell up. It’s been six months since you broke up with Katie… dude you need to move on already!”

He doesn’t respond. Had it been six months already? It sure didn’t seem like it. Inevitably, the mention of Katie’s name sends him into a whirlwind of emotions. The day they first met at the subway stop… their first date… their first sexual experience… their walks in the park… the phone calls at 2 AM… the stupid arguments… the lack of communication… and of course, the break-up. It was a track that has been playing on repeat in his mind for the past six months, and there’s absolutely nothing he could do to stop it.

“…You there, man?”

“What? Oh… yeah… just give me a second…”

Ever since the break-up, he hadn’t even thought about the idea of meeting another girl. He had always been under the assumption that him and Katie would get back together. But it was exactly one month ago today when it finally registered in his head that it would never happen, when she showed up at the same party he was at… with her new boyfriend.

But that was until today. Until thirty-five minutes ago, when this gorgeous girl walked into the bar. For the first time, he imagines himself with her, and how good it would feel to love again. He imagines himself walking up to the girl and saying something funny. Or something smart. Even better, something funny and smart. She laughs, and he knows he’s in. They begin to talk, exchanging funny anecdotes about the world, and realizing by the minute how much they have in common.

She’s just broken up with somebody too, and has been since looking to meet somebody else, which is why she came to this bar tonight. In fact, she noticed him as soon as she sat down, and was hoping that he would come over… and he did. Hours fly by, but to the two of them time has become insignificant; there’s only two things in the world that they know…

Her… and him.

Before they know it, the bartender announces last call. He asks her for her number, and she gives it to him immediately. He kisses her on the cheek goodnight, and then leaves with his friends as they congratulate him on a job well done. Three stressful days pass by as he has to restrain himself a good fifty times from calling her, not wanting to seem to desperate. Finally, on the third day, he calls.

She has been waiting for his call. They agree to see each other that night, and they hit it off yet again. From that day forward, he knows that she is the one. After many dates, many phone calls, and many nights spent together… he finally meets her parents, and they love him. They move in together, and send out Christmas cards that following year with both of them on it.

On a pleasant Sunday afternoon, he proposes to her. She says yes. A year later, they get married. They grow old together, have kids, and never a day goes by where their love for each other doesn’t remain strong. Neither of them will ever forget that magical day at the bar that brought them together.

“Alright, time’s up man. Go talk to her.”

“Get me a shot.”

“Now, we’re talking! Bartender, two shots, please!”

He watches the girl across the room as his friend orders the shots. His heart skips a beat as he sees her glance over his way. Unless he’s seriously mistaken, he could have swore she just smiled at him.

“Here’s your shot, buddy.”

Without hesitation, he grabs the shot glass and pounds it, then slams the glass back down on the table.

It’s now or never.

He takes one more glance at the girl before taking a deep breath, and then walking straight towards her. His heart feels like it’s beating out of his chest; it’s so loud that he wonders if maybe she’ll even hear it. He’s halfway there, and by this time the girl seems to know what’s happening. She watches him as he makes his way over towards her.

He keeps repeating over and over in his head: Destiny. What else would have brought this girl to this bar tonight? This lowly, rundown bar in this small town that people rarely go to. There’s no doubt in his mind that it wasn’t a coincidence… that they both came to this bar for a reason. Destiny.

Here goes nothing. After six months of unhappiness, today is undoubtedly the day that he will be reborn.

He sits down in the empty seat next to the girl, and smiles. He already knows what he’s going to say.

“Hi… I couldn’t help but notice you from – “

“No thank you.”

No thank you? That’s not what she’s supposed to say…

“I… I beg your pardon…?”

“I have a boyfriend. But thanks.”

“Oh… right. Of course. Have a good night…’

The dream ends.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

Valentine’s Day Isn’t Real.

So Valentine’s Day is just five days away. Yayyyyyy! Whoop-dee-motherfucking-doo! What a made-up holiday. We have all officially been manipulated by Hallmark to believe that February the 14th has actual significance.

Who benefits from this day?? Single people hate it, because it reminds them that they are alone. Girls more than guys, naturally. As for people in relationships, Valentine’s Day is the worst nightmare for men. You are forced to spend a ton of money, and if you don’t… you’re an asshole. It’s probably the most egregious thing you can do to not acknowledge Valentine’s Day. If you’re gonna do that, you might as well just cheat on her with her best friend.

As for the girls in relationships, they are really the lone beneficiaries. But even then, they just start comparing with their other girl friends what they received for the holiday from their significant other, and then it becomes a competition. They’re never happy.

And what about those awkward couples, like when you’ve only been on like four dates? What is the protocol for that? What about a girl you’re just hooking up with? What about a girl you’re secretly in love with? Are you supposed to use the day to let them know how you feel? Yea, way to be original, jackass.

Valentine’s Day can cause A LOT of problems.

The biggest beneficiaries from this day, as I stated before, is Hallmark. Because whatever you get her, you have to get a goddamn card. Hallmark salivates whenever February is just around the corner, because they know a million saps are going to walk into their stores and pick up cards created with such little effort that a chimpanzee could have written them.

I could just see the meetings that take place at hallmark come Valentine’s Day…

Bob: Alright guys, Valentine’s Day is right around the corner. It’s time to put on your thinking caps. We need some romantic lines, and the cornier the better. I want shit that girls will eat right up. Alright, whaddya got? Mitch… how about you?

Mitch: Umm… how about… ‘I Love you’

Bob: Brilliant, Mitch. Brilliant. You see guys, this is the stuff that girls go for. The simpler, the better.  Amy… whatcha got for me?

Amy: Hmm… ‘I Love You… Deeply’

Bob: Nice work, Amy… I like where this is going! Who’s next? Larry, keep the good vibes going!

Larry: ‘Will You Be My Valentine?’

Bob: What?! What the fuck Larry… I’m not gay. And I’m married… so no, I won’t be your Valentine.

Larry: No no no… Bob, That’s my idea for the card. It’ll say ‘Will You Be My Valentine?’

Bob: Oh… right… of course. I knew that. Good, good. Was just testing you… who’s next?

Susie: ‘You – ‘

Bob: *Cuts her off* Fucking genius, Susie! Did you hear that folks?! There it is… that will be our number one best seller!

Susie: But I wasn’t finished…

Bob: But it’s perfect. It’s short, simple… and it tells all you need to know. “You!” What else do you need? I want 10,000 copies printed by 5:00 today. Alright, Spencer… you haven’t spoken in a while… what’s your idea?

Spencer:  *stands up, clears his throat and talks in a detached voice while staring absentmindedly into the distance* “ My dearest Valentine… I would tell you that I love you, but the word ‘Love’ does not do justice in describing the way I feel about you. My heart leaps, my breath quickens, and my head lightens at the very thought of you. When I’m with you, all I can think about is that I am the only person in the world right now that is standing right beside you. And because of that simple fact, I consider myself the luckiest man in the entire world. I used to go about my days thinking that when I went to sleep at night I had accomplished so much. But until I met you, I realized that my life did not have any meaning. Now when I go to sleep, the last thing I think about before I fall asleep is you, and even when I dream… I still cannot escape you. I always thought I was happy, but the day that you walked into my life, I instantly realized that I never knew the true meaning of that word. Because I can never truly be happy unless I am with you. There are very few things that I am sure of in this world, but I have never been more sure of what I am currently feeling in my heart. You inspire me to be the best that I can possibly be, and I promise you that not a day will go by for the rest of eternity where I will not love you with all my heart and soul…

*silence*

Bob: …What the fuck was that, Spencer?

Spencer: Love.

Bob: It was horseshit! Biggest piece of crap I have ever heard! Get the hell out of here, you’re fired!

*Spencer walks out of the room*

Bob: Holy crap… that’s the kind of shit that will put us out of business! Wow… somebody, salvage this meeting, quickly!

Robert: How about… ‘Be mine.”

Bob: Thank god… I knew I could count on you, Robert.  “Be mine!” How does your mind create these beautiful words?

Robert:  It just happens.

Bob: Holy crap… what did you just say??

Robert: …it just happens?

Bob: And that’s it, folks. Our new catchphrase. “It… Just… Happens” Absolutely fan-fucking-tastic! Print that on the front page of our website. It’ll be the new Valentine’s Day slogan! Robert, you get a promotion!

Robert: Cool.

Bob: Alright, everyone. Get back to work… we’re gonna make a fortune this Valentine’s Day! Bwahahahahahahahahahahahaha