Monday, February 27, 2006

I'm in a contest! (apparently)


That joke never gets old.

So here's the deal, last week my friend Starr is all like, "yo Eric, you need to enter this contest!" So I was all "sure, whatevs, who cares, right?" I had never heard of the Ultimate Blogger contest before, but I'm always up for being the ultimate anything. I've already cornered that market in the "douchebag" category. Zing.

So I enter and they're like, "you're in the finals". Now I figure, oh ok, it must not be a big deal or anything. Well it turns out thousands of people applied and only 12 got in. That's pretty good, right? And I could win all sorts of prizes and shit.

Now I'm not really sure how this works, but I guess it's like Survivor. They have competitions where we have to write about a certain subject or something, then one person gets immunity, but I'm not sure how and then the other bloggers vote to kick someone out.

So hopefully I'll win cuz I could use some free shit. I'm not sure if there's a chance for you to vote and help me out or whatever, but if you're truly my friend and committed to helping me forget about having heart surgery and all that, you'll check back every day to see how I'm doing. Oh and also to read my hilarious posts and no one else's. Just kidding. Or am I? I am. Sorta.

Once again, thanks for all your support and whatnot.

Friday, February 24, 2006

The 17th worst thing I ever did - by Chad Robuckle


Chad here, Eric's off having his monkey heart injected with banana juice or something today, so he asked me to fill in. I know you guys can use a break from his usual drivel, so I figured I'd take pity on you all and grace you with one of my gems.

Anyway, my court-appointed psychiatrist has told me it will be a good exercise if I write down all my regrets on a big list. The only things I really regret are selling a fake piece of the Berlin Wall to that undercover cop and not dumping my ColecoVision stock back in '82.

Well she didn't think that was good enough, so she made her own list of all the "terrible things" I've done and revealed to her in our sessions. I'm supposed to write about them. It'll be good for me. So she says.

So I'm like 3 days into this bullshit and I'm still only down to number 17. What a fucking drag. I figured it might be more enjoyable/less painful if I shared it with you DBs instead of wasting all this talent on that stupid cunt.

Number 17 on my list of all-time worst things I ever did, as compiled by this nitwit from the tiny portion of the shit that I've actually done but felt obliged to tell her about is the time I got my girlfriend thrown in the slammer for being an abusive mother.

She actually wasn't an abusive mother, which I guess is why this is bad. In my defense, let me say that kid was a little prick and deserves to be in an orphanage. She doted on that brat night and day. Anything he needed, she was there for him. Love, support, help with his homework, whatever. A shoulder to cry on. She loved that kid more than anything in the world.

Well, if you know anything about me at all, you know Chad Robuckle doesn't play second fiddle to anyone.

I tried having a rational conversation with her about this. I tried to comprimise, to meet her half-way. If she hadn't been so headstrong, that kid would be living with his father in Nebraska right now. That's all I was asking. Seems reasonable, right? But no, she had to argue with me. She had to push my fucking buttons.

My thinking was this: I like this bitch, I don't like her kid. I don't like his face. I don't like his attitude. I don't like him telling me I'm not his real dad in his smug little 8 year old voice when I order him to drive my car down to Arby's and get me a couple Beef N Cheddars.

This is really embarassing, cuz as I'm thinking about this story, I realize I can't remember this whore's name. I'm drawing a total blank. But the kid was definitely Tyler. No wait, Taylor? Fuck it, let's call him Skippy.

So Skippy needed to be out of the picture, ASAP. Normally, I wouldn't even sweat a bitch like this, I'd just take her stuff in the middle of the night and move on. The problem is, her dad was loaded. Like Bill Gates. Like Chad Robuckle before he lost all his family money when ColecoVision went bust.

Now, how do you keep your girlfriend but get rid of her kid? I know what you're thinking and normally I'd be right with you, buying my first class ticket on the murder train, but I recently had some heat on me from the fuzz so I had to play it cool. This had to be real subtle.

Well, I thought to myself, what kind of mother doesn't have any kids? An unfit mother, that's who.

Like I said, this bitc--- Candy! That was her name! Anyway, Candy was practically mother of the year. I couldn't just slap this shithead around and blame it on her, nobody would buy it. But if I was out of town and he started showing up with all sorts of bruises and he couldn't explain why he had them, well that was another story, indeed.

Luckily for me, I had befriended a certain sack of shit with numerous heart problems, who will go nameless. Let's just call him "Eric Filipkowski" for the sake of convenience. Anyway, Eric Filipkowski was on like 50 different drugs to control his blood pressure and whatever, so he wouldn't have a heart attack in case he looked in the mirror and thought he saw a skeleton.

One of the drugs Eric Filipkowski was (is?) on is a blood thinner that prevents clotting. Perfect. I swipe it, replace it with Tic Tacs, slip some of this crap into Skippy's chocolate milk, he goes to baseball practice and blammo!

So I go to Thailand on some "business" and while I'm taking my pick of 15 year old prostitutes, poor ol' Skippy does all the work for me.

Simple, right?

Well, unfortunately for everyone involved (but mostly me), I guess I gave the kid too much, cuz he ends up in the hospital and now Candy has to explain why her son nearly bled to death, internally.

Since suspect numero uno was safely out of the country at the time watching a couple of trannies have sex with a midget in a Superman costume, the blame falls directly on poor, sweet Candy.

When they analyzed the kid's blood while he was in that coma, obviously they found the huge amounts of Eric Filipkowski's blood-thinner drug inside. Thankfully, I didn't realize it's actually a common ingredient in rat poison and basically available to anyone, so they didn't think to connect the dots and tie it back to me.

So, long story short, they throw Candy in the klink and when Skippy wakes up in the hospital, they tell him he's being shipped off to live with a foster family or something.

The worst part is, I return from my trip with a scorching case of syphillus and nowhere to crash.

Actually, the worst part is I had to dump 10 g's worth of some pretty sweet H in a Bangkok Airport bathroom because I was tripping on really bad mescaline and thought I was being followed by an invisible robot who could read my thoughts, but that's neither here nor there.

So there you have it. Lesson learned. Now you guys can join Doctor Thompson and her lesbian lover as you laugh at my misfortune. Great. I hope you're proud of yourselves.

Now, on to number sixteen and the time I switched out that blind dude's t-shirts with ones that had swastikas on them.

Thursday, February 23, 2006

Hollywood fucks me again!


Well, you did it again, you stupid asshole city.

You may have seen the trailers for this new movie, Aquamarine. It's some sort of teen comedy about a mermaid or something, I don't know.

That's right, a mermaid.

I had that idea! Nobody has ever done a mermaid movie before. They totally stole my idea.

I know you're sitting there going, "what about The Little Mermaid? that's about mermaids!"

WRONG

That movie is about fathers and daughters and the relationship dynamic between the two. MY movie is about mermaids.

My movie is about a man who falls off a boat and almost drowns but he's saved by a mermaid and falls in love with her. He goes to live in her mermaid village but then sneaks off in the middle of the night, after bangin' her, to go enter the glamorous world of competition deep diving.

Because she's made out with him and given him gills or whatever, he kicks ass and sets all sorts of new records and becomes a media darling. Meanwhile, his mermaid girlfriend swims to the Big City to find her true love but unlike in those other movies about mermaids, she doesn't sprout legs or anything and has to drag herself through the streets to look for him.

It all culminates in a big finale where the mayor presents our protagonist with a medal and the keys to the city. In his moment of greatest triumph, he thinks about all he gave up back in Mermaid Town but reassures himself he's made the right decision.

As he prepares to make his big speech, a woman screams, the crowd gasps and the camera pans around to his mermaid girlfriend who is now all shriveled up and dried out as she drags her body the last few feet towards the podium.

He rushes to her side as she draws her last breaths, whispers I love you and dies. Our hero takes his medal and throws it into the crowd in anger, hitting a small child in the face. The camera zooms down from the sky as he looks to the heavens and screams "Noooo!"

Just then, a procession of magic penguins makes its way through the crowd up to the podium. The Magic Penguin King tells our hero that in the name of true love, the penguins will grant him one wish, so that he can be reunited with his mermaid girlfriend. However, they warn him, he'll have to spend the rest of his life under the sea in Mermaid Town.

He thinks it over, passes and then makes out with a much hotter girl who has legs.

Oh, also there's a part with some robots.

So anyway, Hollywood, you can make it up to me. Buy my movie and give me millions of dollars. I figure I deserve since I had heart surgery, plus you already stole my idea for Casablanca.

Saturday, February 18, 2006

Today, I met Steve Guttenberg


Actually, I thought it was him, but it wasn't. Today I went to Disneyland for the first time in 2 years. I had been to Disney World plenty of times (actually, 26 times in 15 months) but it's just not the same.

For the uninitiated, Disney World is not just a bigger version of Disneyland. They are entirely different. I'm not gonna geek out and list the reasons why, but I will just say that I now like Disneyland better.

If you know me, you are aware this is an abrupt, about-face from my earlier position on the subject. Maybe it's the result of certain changes in my life. Maybe it's the heart surgery I went through. Maybe it's 9/11. Maybe it's the fact that if you go to a place 26 times in 15 months you get sick of it.

You want to know the real reason? It's the bread bowls. Namely, the lack of these wonderful inventions at Disney World. Whether this is indicative of greater problems relating to supply and demand, globalization, the internet in modern classrooms or what, I don't know.

All I know is, it's unacceptable that you would pay 60 bucks a day to enter a place that only has plastic recepticles for any soup you would wish to eat.

That, my friends, is a ripoff.

(Oh, and yes that's a picture of me and my cousin on the Buzz Lightyear ride and yes, she's kicking my ass, but then again, every six year old in the joint was kicking my ass. I suck. I had heart surgery, it's not my fault.)

Monday, February 13, 2006

Camera corner: how to...


If I get one question over and over, it's, "How do you take such good, gosh darn poop pictures, Eric?"

Don't laugh, there's a real art to photographing your own dookie. I had to learn by trial and error, but luckily, you've got my years of expertise to rely on as I show you the way.

First off, let me just say that we are truly living in a golden age of fecal photography. When I was comin' up, you had to lug 20 pounds of bulky camera equipment to the john, every time you wanted to snap off a shot. Nowadays, you just whip out your camera phone and you can zoom off a picture or a real-time streaming video to hundreds of your friends with the push of a button.

So step one is to get yourself a camera phone. Which leads me to the most misunderstood part of the whole operation: what do you do with the toilet paper?

If your crap is pretty hard, it's easy: you just stand up and take the shot, sit back down and wipe up. That's fine for some people, but I go to Taco Bell at least 4 times a week. The best way to ruin a picture is to have some toilet paper floating around in the bowl when you take it.

In some (rare) instances, it can add to the composition, but as a rule of thumb, it's a no-no. The site of a big, brown log in the middle of a white, porcelain bowl is truly a magnificent thing to behold. Don't let people (women) make you feel ashamed: this is something to be proud of. You're not a fecalphiliac. Poop is funny and pictures of poop are goddam hilarious.

So the problem becomes, what to do with the toilet paper? This is where some advanced planning comes in handy. Bring a bag. I would recommend plastic over paper or cloth and I would check it for holes by blowing in it, closing off the top and seeing if it stays inflated.

Once you've got your bag, it's only a matter of wiping up and depositing the toilet paper in the bag, and continuing with the procedure detailed above (see: "if your poop is hard").

If you're in a "fuck you" kind of mood, you can always just leave the bag, opened, in a trashcan or even on the floor. Sometimes if I'm at the gym, I'll just shove it in a locker because I feel like they're ripping me off, charging me sixty bucks so I can go on a treadmill for 45 minutes each month.

If you're not feeling like a dick, or it's your house or something, tie that fucker up tight (this is where the previous integrity check will come in handy) and take that shitty stuff out to the dumpster. Oh, and by the way, I think this is all technically a 'felony' or something, because I guess poop in a bag is a bio-hazard, so this whole article is for entertainment purposes only and whatnot.

Just kidding. Not about the felony part, but fuck it, what's the point of living if you can't have a good time, right? That's what I say.

Finally, once you've taken your picture, you're gonna want to show it off to people. That's understandable. But in today's modern society, some people feel like they have to put up this front like, "oh, that's so gross" or "I feel like a weirdo looking at someone else's shit." That's all bullshit. People want to see it, no matter what they say, so sometimes you have to trick them.

If you trick somebody, you've taken the control out of their hands and they are free to enjoy your wonderful photographs and not feel guilty that they actually wanted to see it. Basically, you're giving them an "out". They can say to themselves, "Gee, I didn't really want to see this, I was tricked into it, I'm normal. I love my wife and my 2 kids and I'm not some sick pervert. Let's go watch "According to Jim" and drink low-carb beer." It's sad, really.

That said, the easiest way to trick someone is to rename the picture "flowers.jpg" or "bigboobs.gif" or whatever. My advice is to avoid the word "poop" anywhere in the title. It really doesn't matter what you name it, you can tailor the name to your audience. Don't worry, it won't change the content. A lot of people think that if they take "poop.jpg" and change it to "bunny.jpg" their beautiful poop picture will turn into a rabbit or something, but this just isn't the case.

So in summation, I've given you the basics so you won't fuck things up, but I really feel like the rest is up to your individual preferences. Some people are attracted to diarrhea’s "gross out" factor. Maybe you're just looking to brag to your friends about a giant, foot long monster you squeezed out, it's really up to you.

The important thing with poop pictures, just like with life, is to have fun with it. So go have some fun!

Thursday, February 09, 2006

My greatest "hits"!


Here is what I consider my best work, condensed into an easy to follow set of links! Imagine that! There are so many of them, not because I'm egotistical, but rather because I'm indecisive. And egotistical. If there's any you like that aren't up here, feel free to email me and let me know. Thanks!

The Revenge - A boy gets revenge on his parents for reasons unknown to the author.

Pickles the dog
- A story loosely based on the time I tried to pay a girl to make out with her brother at my birthday.

The fish who couldn't swim - A fish who couldn't swim. Duh.

Dear Grandma - A cute little letter I wrote to my grandmother when I was younger.

My trip to Subway - I stand up for my beliefs in alternative condiments and I get a glimpse of a secret, tiny world.

Meet Mary Raptorapper - An imaginary friend and her unusual job. I don't know why I never wrote another story about her, I guess there are just no good roles for women in Hollywood.

Craig's List find of the day! - I make a fake Craigslist ad involving tattoos or something.

Jimbo hates the Olive Garden - A boy who hates the Olive Garden and almost commits murder because of it.

Roger Stubbins: American Patriot - A story about a boy and his lion. It sounds like something Chad Robuckle would write, but it's not. I wrote it. It's all true. (Also republished here.)

Ironically, literary editor caught mis-using the term, "ironically"
- Don't let this happen to you!

These knuckleheads at the Dunkin Donuts drive-thru are really starting to cheese me off!
- A guy gets pushed too far and takes the law into his own hands.

The time I fucked Kelly Clarkson - Yeah, it's true. I did it.

The spectacles party
- My mom attempts to make me feel better about being different.

You want a piece of this? - A criminal's letter to the old woman he victimized. Or is it vice-versa?

The new "what 'chu talkin' 'bout, Willis?" - I really thought this putdown would catch on.

Clueless movie review - King Kong
- I review a movie I never saw.

The worst thing that happened in 2005 - I miss out on watching a movie at Disney World. No, I don't think I'm over-reacting.

Ms. Pacman speaks out against abortion - Who knew video games were so political?

My name is Eric Filipkowski and I was a victim of child molestation - The harrowing, true tale of the day my life was shattered. *warning - graphic content*

Girlfriend insurance - I get sexist for a change and explain the phenomenon that is sweeping the country.

My telegram to Jesus - A tribute to the passing of the telegram.

Camera corner: how to... - Some tips on taking great pictures of something.

Why I love clowns (Koko) - This is a story I wrote for my girlfriend while I should have been entering a contest.

My new ad campaign - I decide to give up comedy and do something productive with my life.

I invented a new day! - I invent a new day and luckily, have the foresight to register its domain name.

My broken heart - No, not another story about my operation and how everyone should feel sorry for me. This is a true story about my attempt to make the woman I love stay with me forever.

Abramowitz Co. Launches 'Black People Brand Hot Sauce' - Because nobody writes fake news stories, especially ones involving racial issues, I decided to be a hero the nation and the world and take on that responsibility.

Letters to home - A chronicle of my journey into manhood.

Podcasting by numbers - Why I love bald eagle egg omelettes.

Ross, I didn't declare your zero-interest loan you gave me to the government - I come clean.

Cunt - I use the c-word and get all "political".

How Lucky lost his leg - The true story of how my three-legged dog went from being a four-legged dog to a three-legged dog.

The Ray Bans - A story about a man and his sick aunt. Sounds like a Chad Robuckle story, but it's not. Cuz I changed the names.

Here are links to stories involving my imaginary friends.

Chad Robuckle

Chad Robuckle: imaginary "friend" - My introduction to my imaginary friend who may or may not have raped someone.

Look what I found - Chad Robuckle's letter to Mythbusters.

Chad Robuckle's Dad - Hopefully, this will explain why Chad is the way he is.

A completely original work of fiction - Chad Robuckle (doesn't) learn the lesson of the boy who cried wolf.

The early bird gets the worm
- How I met Chad Robuckle.

Fish Killer - Chad's love of animals backfires.

The adventures of Arthur Q. Pennybottoms
- Chad goes on an epic quest for adventure. People die.

I hate Carly Simon - By Chad Robuckle
- Chad wins a contest and makes an enemy of a recording artist and 70's icon.

Number 17 - Our friend Chad recalls the 17th worst thing he ever did. Needless to say, kids get orphaned.

Terry Bradshaw and me - by Chad Robuckle - Chad's brush with celebrity.

The Bachelor Party - Chad decides to have one last hurrah for his friend.

Immigrants gone wild - by Chad Robuckle - Chad sheds some light on a side of the immigration debate that many people may have overlooked.

The Assassination Factory - A heartwarming tale of a boy and his mother.

The time I lost my way - by Chad Robuckle - Chad talks about a turning point in his life.

Tucker McGrath


The worst thing I ever did - The time I convinced my other imaginary friend to tell his parents he was gay.

My note to the tooth fairy - How I found out the tooth fairy isn't real.

From the desk of Tucker McGrath - Tucker takes it upon himself to turn the tables on criminals.

Rob Wagman

The time I won a ventriloquism contest
- Here's a heart-warming tale of a boy and his dummy.

A true story! - Some childhood pranks go wrong.

Monday, February 06, 2006

Apparently, I'm a dangerous psycho


It's true. I have a violent temper. I am irrational and angry. I lash out at people when I am hurt. I take everything personally.

How else to explain the way some women walk on egg shells around me?

I am speaking, specifically, of women I've shown an interest in who then go and get a boyfriend. They seem to have a way of becoming distant and evasive with me.

This runs the gamut from "serious girlfriends" who plan on breaking up with me for months while pretending everything is great and simultaneously seeing other people behind my back to "casual acquaintances" I've never even met in real life and only talked to online who I may have confessed to having some sort of crush on.

Maybe women do this to all guys, perhaps I'm over-reacting. Afterall, I do take everything personally.

I can see why it might be a difficult subject to broach. I wouldn't want to say to someone, "hey, I know at one point it looked like we might have something, but now I've found someone else and I really like them, so I can't continue having feelings for you like that, but I'd still like to be friends with you (or not)."

Actually, when you (I) put it like that, it doesn't sound so bad. Afterall, we're all adults here, right?

Then again, that could just be my violent temper or my irrational way of looking at things.

No, I don't think I'm over-reacting and no, I don't think this is asking too much. If you don't want to talk to me because you don't like me, that's fine. If you're worried your new boyfriend will get mad or you just don't want to deal with it, that's up to you too.

Seriously, if you're my friend, have the courtesy to tell me what's going on. If you don't, then I just feel stupid. If you're trying not to hurt my feelings, ask yourself would YOU rather be a little hurt from the truth or rather be lied to and ignored and kept in the dark about what's going on?

Because eventually these things come out. You might think your best friend is going to keep your secrets, but apparently you did something to piss her off. Or maybe she just has a big mouth.

And remember: I'm dangerous. I'm very, very dangerous. You don't want to piss me off even more, do you? I hear that I'm angry and like to lash out at people when they hurt me.

Sure, I have an aortic aneurysm and I'm under doctor's orders not to exert myself or lift more than ten pounds but I could probably poke you pretty hard! And though I can't really yell too well, I could berate you in a moderately loud tone of voice!

Ooh, scary!

Actually, I've got a better idea. I'll just write a really passive-aggressive blog about it, instead, knowing full well you're probably going to read it.

And then when you write me an angry email or call me up, I'll deny it's about you and try and make you feel kind of self-centered for thinking it was.

But it is.

Saturday, February 04, 2006

My telegram to Jesus (Re-post)


In honor of Western Union discontinuing their telegram service, I am reposting this blog from my early years. It really takes me back to a more innocent time, kind of like the telegram itself.

Enjoy!

Dear Jesus stop

Last night you took Biscuit away stop

I'm not sure why you did this stop

Maybe you are mad at me stop

Teacher says we aren't meant to know your reasons stop

But I can't help wondering if it was something I did stop

Or if I had done something different, maybe Biscuit wouldn't be gone now stop

Jesus, I can't stop crying stop

I know I should be happy that Biscuit is with you in Heaven stop

But I miss her so much stop

I know it's childish to blame myself, I'm not the reason Biscuit is gone stop

It's not fair, Jesus stop I am so mad at you right now stop

I know that is wrong of me, but I can't help it stop

If you love me and you love Biscuit, why did you make her dead stop

When you killed Nana, I didn't cry even though she gave me five dollars stop

But I really love Biscuit, Jesus stop

She was cute and playful and didn't smell like Aspercream stop

Sometimes she would bark too much but then I would choke her and she would stop stop

But this time you made her stop for good when I was choking her stop

You are a bad man, Jesus stop

Maybe I won't go to Heaven cuz I am mad at you stop

But I don't want to be your friend anymore stop

You killed Biscuit stop You are a murderer stop

Stop killing dogs, Jesus stop

Some of them are very loved by their owners stop

They are not old and smelly like Nanas stop

That is all stop

Please write back stop

Eric Filipkowski, age 7 stop

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

I am a bad blogger.


So I just moved back to LA and haven't written anything in over a week. I feel like a total loser. I'd like to say there's been nothing going on in the world, but that's not really true. I remember there was something about the Supreme Court, the President said something and a bunch of people got shot.

Anyway, here is a digest for what's been going on in my world.

Last Friday, I flew out to LA from my parent's place in Florida. I flew first class because I am still too fragile to deal with the stress of trying to get the emergency exit row seats. Plus, I don't actually meet the requirements. When you're 6'5" and your legs smash up against the seat in front of you before the person even reclines, you can't really fly coach without the emergency exit row. I'm not being a baby, it's physically impossible.

The flight was nice, first class is good but it's hardly the rockstar experience you might think. In my opinion, that should be the base level of service. I wasn't drinking so I couldn't take advantage of that. But I did get too pretty decent meals and plenty of ginger ale. But most importantly, I didn't have my fucking legs smashed in and get a blod clot and die. Which is always a plus.

Friday night I hung out with Pickles, Yury, Bordo and Violet, which was cool. These are all people I had seen a month earlier so it wasn't the "holy shit, you're alive" moment you might have expected.

Saturday, I went to the Garage Comedy Film Festival, where my group, Animals From the Future, had our short, Imagination Safari, played in the festival. Mel was also there and it was good to see him. I got to meet his girl too, which was nice. It was cool, I got to see a lot of my friends and it was fun seeing something I wrote and worked on up on the big screen. Me and Bordo went and I saw my friends, Joe, Amy, Aaron, B, Marcos and their friend whose name I forgot. Lili and David showed up too, which was cool. I owe Justin a gift basket.

Sunday, I hung out with Bordo again... I'm not sure what else. I think I got my car washed. Oh, and I took my first class at UCB. The two alexes are in my class, Todd and Matt are in the other one. I also saw Lindsay. After class, I went to the bell and got some food and ate it over at my cousin Siobhan's house. She was pretty busy with her grad school though. It was still good to see her. I took that picture with her camera phone.

Monday, I was very productive. I took my car in (like a big boy) and scheduled appointments and such. That night, I went to the Upright Citizens Brigade Theater and watched two harold groups, which were really great and then half of the Myspace show, which was good too, but I got sick and had to leave early. I saw Ed and EJ there.

Tuesday was also productive. I met with my agents and they seemed glad to see me. Hopefully I can book some commercials and make everyone some money. I also saw my doctor and got the ball rolling on some follow-up visits and tests with my other doctors, which I need to get out of the way. Then, I went to be on David's radio show, which was great. I think it went really well. After that, we all went out to dinner.

Today I was really lazy, I'm just getting up and about now and it's four. I'd like to blame this on the time zones, but I went the wrong way to do that. I'm just a bum. Tonight I am going to see my friend Kirk's show, that should be cool. I'm gonna try to head over to IO to see Trophy Wife, the harold group my friends Tim and Zabeth are in.

That's about it, I am really upset that they don't have McRib's at McDonald's.

Hmm, this is why I don't generally "blog" about my everyday life. It's pretty damn boring. Unless you know these people I'm talking about, or are one of these people, I doubt you're even still reading this. This just proves my point that reality sucks and it's better to live in a fantasy world of your own creation. Hopefully I will get back to that soon so you won't fall asleep half-way through reading my blog.

Thank you for your support, it's good to be back in LA, though I miss my parents and my cat and my free-wheeling lifestyle I had grown accustomed to in Florida.
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