My greatest hits *updated*

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!

These are in chronological order of when I wrote them because I am too lazy to do it any other way, so feel free to skip around. The Chad Robuckle ones are at the bottom and I consider those some of my best work.

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.

Things I've Noticed - by Eric Filipkowski - I wax philosophical about some issues that have been pickin' at my craw!

Another Entirely True Story - Eric Filipkowski - My plans to kill a kid don't go so well.

23 Days Later - I deliberately try to gross out my family with this true story from the seedy underbelly of life.

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.

23 days later

A note to my family: If you are reading this now, please consider before continuing: you will remember that in July of 2003, I disappeared for a while. When I returned, I told you that I had been on a last-minute, emergency charity trip to Burma to help out some orphans. This was not true, but for a long time, I would rather you continued believing this lie than knowing the truth. Thank you.

There is a show on the air that you may or may not know of. It is called “South Park” and it is an animated series that airs on the Comedy Central cable network. It is known for its outlandish and crude humor, but I have found that it often treats current issues with a surprising amount of thought and insight, if you manage to look past the potty humor.

One episode, however, went way too far, in my mind. I believe in freedom of speech. I’m all for protecting the rights of artists to follow their vision and not be prevented in doing so by the government, BUT, along with this right comes a responsibility. The responsibility to own up to the consequences of the art you create.

Do I feel celebrities should get a free pass and be protected from criticism or satire? No, of course not. Paris Hilton is a public figure. She has chosen this path and courted her own celebrity status. The issue is not whether it’s ok to make fun of her because she’s a celebrity. The issue is whether it’s ok to make fun of anyone who has befallen tragedy.

It’s not wrong to make fun of Magic Johnson and his AIDS because he’s a celebrity; it’s wrong because AIDS is a horrible thing. You shouldn’t make fun of anyone for having AIDS or cancer or whatever. It’s not the law, but it should be.

And just like it’s not ok to make fun of people with AIDS, it’s not ok to make fun of people who have befallen Paris Hilton’s fate, either.

In season 8, episode 12, Comedy Central aired an episode entitled “Stupid Spoiled Whore Video Playset” in which Miss Hilton comes to South Park and exerts her influence over the town’s young girls, to disastrous results. I see the need to satirize a situation in which a young woman of questionable morals, famous only for being rich and spoiled, becomes a role model to the youth of today. Believe me, I understand.

But how do the creators of South Park dispense of the villain in this episode? By having a naked gay man jump on her head, inserting her whole body into his anal cavity.

I am not making this up; this is actually what happened in this episode.

If someone could explain to me how this is funny in any way, shape or form, I would appreciate it, because I am clueless.

Perhaps I’m biased, due to my own experiences, but this is just plain gross. Nobody should have to endure that kind of punishment, no matter how awful a person they are.

Trust me, when I say this is a fate worse than death.

July 17, 2003: Alicia Jane Stevenson, certified by the Guinness Book as the world’s fattest woman, is flying from her home in Texas to the (unfortunately named) Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota to undergo emergency gastric bypass in a last-ditch attempt to save her life.

Miss Stevenson is grossly obese and suffering from numerous medical problems related to her enormous weight.

As the custom-retrofitted C 27 cargo plane chartered by the Oprah Winfrey Show for the sole purpose of bringing Miss Stevenson to the weight loss clinic is passing over Des Moines, Iowa, it encounters severe turbulence, causing the plane to rock back and forth. As it does so, its cargo breaks free from its tether and begins rolling around. This, in turn, causes the plane to pitch violently from side to side, setting off a disastrous chain reaction.

The pilots, unable to control the plane and steady its 1200 pound passenger, had only one option. I don’t blame them for lowering the cargo ramp and going into a steep climb. They did what they thought was their only option. Are three deaths better than one?

Meanwhile, 23,000 feet below all of this, a lone man spies a black spot emerging from an airplane. He notices it getting slightly larger as it falls to earth. He cranes his head upwards, unable to discern what it is. By the time he realizes what it is and where it is headed, it is too late to run.

You may remember the story of Alicia Jane Stevenson: her courageous journey, her terrible fall and her miraculous survival. It was all over the media how this poor woman had been jettisoned from the very airplane that had been trying to save her. How she had fallen from that height, reaching such speeds and yet walked away from the incident without a scratch. It was the lead story for days.

Doctors wanted to examine this miracle woman and make sure that all her bones and internal organs were intact. The problem is, there isn’t an x-ray, cat scan or MRI machine in the world that is large enough to contain her.

I am sad that we live in a world where the almighty dollar dictates who gets medical treatment and who doesn’t, because if they had been able to stuff that fat bitch into an x-ray machine, they would have seen the grown man stuck inside of her vaginal cavity.

They would have seen me.

The fact that one person could have survived such a fall is beyond explanation. The fact that two people could survive such an impact is beyond belief.

What I have been told is that thanks to a one-in-a-million shot, I entered this woman in the exact right location. Her body absorbed the shock of our contact, as if one of those giant air bags that people jump from a building and land on had landed on me, instead of the other way around… I don’t really know, it doesn’t make much sense to me.

All I know is, I was now trapped in a living hell that would eventually last for 23 days.

On South Park, Paris Hilton crawls around and interacts with mythical characters. In reality, you are in complete darkness, breathing in foul air, unable to move.

I screamed, but nobody could hear me. I tried to make noise by tapping on the walls of this woman’s internal organs, but that only made horrible, horrible things happen. This was easily one of the worst things that ever happened to me and I wouldn’t wish it on all but the most evil of men.

Her body recognized me as a foreign entity and her immune system reacted by trying to destroy me. I was covered in goo, which I was forced to eat to survive. I began to hallucinate. I imagined I was an olde tyme miner and I had been trapped in a cave-in. At one point, I believed I was an astronaut, set adrift in his space capsule, unable to contact earth.

As the weeks went by, eventually, I gave up all hope. I looked for a means to hasten my demise, but finding none, accepted the fact that I would probably starve to death.

Then, it happened. The literal light at the end of the tunnel. Hands. Reaching in and grabbing me.

Had I indeed died, then been reincarnated as a newborn baby? What was happening? I reached out to steady myself, the sensation of falling was overwhelming.

I was lying on the floor of a large, white room. I was wet and cold. There were doctors everywhere.

“Ga ga goo goo,” I said, trying my best to adapt to my new situation.

The room erupted in laughter. “Well he’s still got a sense of humor, that’s a good sign!” said one of the doctors. I looked behind me and saw the most enormous person I had ever seen. There was a gaping chasm… I followed the slime trail from it to my present location… everything clicked… and I lost consciousness.

For 23 days, the state of Iowa had been unable to locate a freight scale that was mobile, yet could handle a 1200 pound load. At last, a cattle farmer in Altoona was located who had the equipment to handle those specifications.

The first sign that something wasn’t right came when this 1200 pound woman was rolled onto the scale and it gave her weight as 1400 pounds. Even someone on a 20,000 calorie diet can’t gain that much weight in such a short time.

The scale had to be wrong. It was quickly recalibrated and again, the same result came up.

The doctors were mystified, but luckily for me, a young intern named Sandra Chopak had a hunch. The best OB/GYNs in the state were brought in and an ultrasound of Miss Stevenson’s uterus was ordered. That’s when they saw it, or rather heard it: another heart beat.

Naturally, they jumped to the wrong conclusion. What are you going to believe? That some fatass had a 200 pound baby in her or that she fell on a grown man when she was ejected from a cargo plane? Don’t be an idiot.

Well, further tests revealed what was really going on and I was quickly removed from my vaginal hell.

I could have cleaned up, financially, with a lawsuit, but the last thing I wanted was more publicity; to relieve this experience over and over on national TV. I was embarrassed. I told Oprah and her producers that if she wanted to make this all go away, she had my word I wouldn’t seek a dime from her.

And I haven’t. I have not spoken to anyone about this until just now. The medical staff, bound by the laws and oaths of their profession, were forbidden from repeating anything they had seen.

Through the ordeal, a large number of high-powered people had been put in rather embarrassing positions by all that had taken place, so they were more than happy to keep silent.

As was I. Until I realized I needed to get my alcohol and drug dependence under control. With the help of several 12-step programs and a newfound belief in my higher power, I have come to terms with my past, part of which is letting people know the truth about the awful events of those 3+ weeks.

Thank you to those doctors; especially Sandra Chopak. Thank you Oprah and thank you Miss Alicia Jane Stevenson. To my family, let me say that I am sorry I hid the truth from you for so long. I was ashamed of who I was and that had nothing to do with me or any of you or the fact that I had been inside an enormous woman’s vagina for over 3 weeks.

I leave you now with the words that inspired me to accept myself for who I was and all I had been through. I wish you the same.

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Another entirely true story – by Eric Filipkowski

When I was 25, truly living on my own for the first time, I decided I was going to kill a kid.

Before you fly off the handle and call the cops, understand this: that fat bastard had it coming.

His name was Evan and he lived next door. Evan’s parents were gone all day so this porky loser had nothing to do all afternoon but sit on the couch, getting fatter, playing video games and watching TV.

When he would grow bored of that, he would start looking for trouble.

Luckily for Evan, his parents tried to make up for their absence with a lack of discipline and an indulgent attitude. In case you can’t read between the lines, I’m saying he was spoiled.

So Tubbs would roam the neighborhood with his BB gun, shooting cats and younger, smaller children and no matter how many people complained, this dipshit’s dipshit parents wouldn’t take any action. Usually, they would defend him and start accusing the other kids and parents of being at fault, but sometimes they wouldn’t even do that. They clearly just didn’t care. Someone else might feel sorry for this douchebag, but not me.

Well, the final straw for me is when Fatty figures out that if he calls my house when I’m at work and taunts my hyperactive yellow lab, Ellie, over the speaker, he can make her go nuts and trash the house.

I come home one evening and the place is a wreck. My first thought is that I had been robbed. I’m searching around, trying to see if anything is missing, but all I really see is someone made a mess, there’s dog shit everywhere and no signs of entry.

Then I see my answering machine is blinking and I have 27 messages. I push play and hear that bag of lard’s voice calling Ellie’s name over and over and it all clicks. Apparently, this genius was smart enough to figure out this answering machine prank but not smart enough to realize he’d be leaving behind the evidence to prove he did it.

I should have called the police at this point. I had a house with hundreds, if not thousands of dollars of damage and a tape that proved beyond a shadow of a doubt who was responsible for it.

But, then I thought that he probably wouldn’t be criminally prosecuted, he was only ten or whatever. The cops would most likely leave it up to the parents to discipline their child and I knew what that would lead to. No, it was much better to just take the law into my own hands and murder Tons of Fun, myself.

I had to be patient, though. I couldn’t just run over there and strangle him and expect to get away with it. I had to think this through.

While I shoveled my now-destroyed belongings into a wheelbarrow and out to the curb, I plotted.

The next day, my plan fully sketched out, I went down to the local magic shop and bought what I needed.

I had taken the day off from work and while I sat on the floor of my barren living room, I laid everything out before me and waited for nightfall.

When the sun had gone down and all the lights were out at Evan’s house, I snuck over there, OJ-style, decked out in black, as quiet as a cat. From my rucksack I produced a satchel which contained 3 pieces of magic chalk I had purchased earlier.

Trying to remember what the store owner had told me, I sketched a small door on the side of house, maybe 3 feet high. I uttered some magic words which I will not repeat here and then the door lit up and to my amazement, began to open by itself. A door that opens by itself?!? What the F???

So I got on my hands and knees and crawled through the opening into a small tunnel. There were tiny little torches lit along the wall and I could smell something sweet, like cotton candy. I thought I must have lost my mind.

I followed the tunnel for about 30 feet and figured I was directly under the middle of Evan’s house. I marked an ‘X’ so I would be able to remember my location, when I went back, as this was just a scouting mission. Tomorrow night, I would return with some dynamite and blow that family of fat-asses back to Ohio or whatever part of the Midwest “those types” come from.

I started the fairly involved process of turning myself around when I heard some faint singing off in the distance. I strained my eyes and ears and concentrated down the dark tunnel and again, thought I was losing it, when 3 or 4 tiny people approached, smiling and waving at me. As they got closer, I realized they weren’t actually tiny people: they were elves.

“What’s up, dude?” the one in front asked me.

“Um, not much. What’s up with you guys?” I replied, not really able to think of anything else to say.

“Just chillin’. You wanna smoke some weed with us?”

Did I! They whipped out their bong and we all got high as shit. I think the cramped quarters of the tunnel served as somewhat of an airlock, trapping us in a cloud of our own second-hand pot smoke.

When the bong was cashed, one of the elves flipped it over and dumped the bong water out onto the tunnel floor. It was instantly absorbed into the dirt and seconds later, a large, bright flower grew from its spot. The flower was taller than the elf people and as my bloodshot eyes struggled to see in the dim torchlight, I realized that it was entirely made out of candy. Which was pretty cool.

I followed the elves back down the tunnel from where they had come. They told me all about the magical land they lived in. They called it “Super Cool Dude Land” and explained that for thousands of years, they had been the source of the world’s candy.

“I thought candy came from England and was made out of sugar and crap like that?” I asked them, naively.

They told me that I was being stupid, which was good enough for me, cuz I was out of my mind, fucked up, at that point.

When they asked what brought me to Super Cool Dude Land, I explained my situation and they seemed more than eager to help me get rid of this punk.

They laughed at my dynamite idea and explained that a minor cave-in would never produce the catastrophic results I was looking for. No, it would be best if they were to sneak in while Evan’s family slept and just slit all their throats.

Their three hundred and fifty dollar “suggested donation” sounded more than reasonable to me, but I asked to sleep on it. They agreed and said I could meet them back there at the same time tomorrow night with the money if I wanted to go through with it.

I thanked them for the weed and crawled home.

My problems were solved, my prayers had been answered. Evan would be dead and nobody would be able to pin it on me in a million years.

So why did I feel kinda bad about the whole thing? As crazy as it sounds, I was having second thoughts.

The next day, I asked everyone at work what I should do and my friend, Karen, told me that if I’m hearing little voices telling me not to do it, then I should probably give them a listen. I’ve always valued her advice, she’s a smart lady and one hell of an office manager.

By the time I pulled into my driveway, that night, my mind was made up: I was going to tell the elves “thanks, but no thanks”. I hoped it wouldn’t hurt their feelings.

I brought the 350 bucks with me, just in case there were any hard feelings. I figured a week’s pay wasn’t worth losing some really good friends over. I had a hunch they’d be cool with it and tell me to keep the money. If the shoe had been on the other foot and I had been the one offering to murder their neighbor for three hundred and fifty dollars and they had backed out at the last minute, I would really have appreciated if they had offered to pay me for my trouble anyway. It seemed like the stand up thing to do.

As I reached the spot where I had made my mark the night before, I sensed something wasn’t quite right. Where was the singing?

When the elves from Super Cool Dude Land approached me this time, there were no smiles. As they got closer, I could see the littlest one, who I called “Elve-us”, had been crying. He looked me in the eye and mouthed the word, “Sorry.”

Before I could figure out what this all meant, a charge went off behind me. Soon the small tunnel was filled with tear gas and everything turned to chaos.

I felt my eyes burning as I gasped for air. Strong hands were dragging me from the tunnel, I felt the rocks on the ground tear the seat of my trousers.

Though I could barely see, I knew I was now outside. I could feel the cool, night air on my tear-stained cheeks. This sensation was soon joined by that of cold steel being slapped onto my wrists. An FBI man read me my rights.

I tried to explain that I had only showed up to tell them I couldn’t do it, but the fact that I had the money with me didn’t do much to convince them of my honesty.

I looked and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk, my neighbors looked on with surprise to see this pleasant young man who kept to himself being handcuffed on the lawn of his neighbor’s yard.

I didn’t care what they thought. What really tore at my heart was seeing my elf buddies remove their plastic elf ears and pocket a roll of hundred dollar bills that was doled out to them from their field agent.

I wanted to confront them, to ask them why, but what does that really ever get anyone? There are no answers, only more questions.

As the officer lowered my head and helped me into the back of the car, Fatso came over to taunt me.

“You ain’t so tough now, are you, bitch? Answer me, faggot! What’s up, dude? I’m still here! Take your best shot!” he yelled, before being restrained by some FBI guys.

We drove away and I thought how right Evan was. I wasn’t feeling very tough now at all. Down at the office, they told me I was looking at 25 years to life.

They had spent 3 years on that sting operation. 14 bureaus in counties scattered throughout 5 different states had been in on it. But it had all paid off in the end: they got their patsy.

Obviously, that’s not how things ended. I’m not in jail right now. In fact, I never went to jail at all. The DA botched the case, got caught leaking confidential details to the media and a mistrial was called. I walked. Scot free.

Surprisingly, I heard Evan really turned himself around. He slimmed down, stopped being such a prick and became a doctor or a teacher or something. He even wrote me this nice letter apologizing for the way he had behaved as a kid and told me he didn’t harbor any hard feelings against me for trying to kill him.

I guess if there’s any lesson to be taken from this story it’s that you shouldn’t go out and try to kill kids who are annoying because they might grow up to be not fat at all, you just never know.

And also don’t ever trust magicians, because they are liars. That’s what they do: they lie to you.

Survey time!!!

Don't worry, this isn't one of those mass-mailed things that everyone claims to hate yet keeps sending me 400 of a day, I made this one myself! Feel free to pass it on and answer these yourself!

1.) First thing you said after you were dumped for the third time for not being Jewish:

Um, why do I even bother? Maybe I should go to the library and check out a copy of the Koran? Just joshin!

2.) Number of dumps per day your roommate's three-legged dog takes on the patio because he can't go in the backyard due to the fact that he hasn't learned yet that if he digs up that one bush, he'll keep getting nettles in his eye:

3 or 4? I don't really count them... that seems like a weird question.

3.) If you had to choose between the third and the fourth and time you had open heart surgery, which one would you say was worse and why?

Wow, these seem really specific to me. I would have to say the fourth due to the prolonged recovery time and the fact that I'm still experiencing side effects to this day.

4.) Amount of money you were awarded when you were shot in the eye due to gross negligence on the part of your neighbors who allowed their hyper-active son with learning disabilities to shoot a bow and arrow unsupervised:

Um, none. My parents didn't sue them even though my vision never fully recovered. I'm not sure, my dad doesn't like suing people, I guess.

5.) Percentage of people you know who still believe to this day that you actually have a monkey heart even though that's medically impossible and has never been performed successfully on a human:

I would say it's now down to probably 20 or 30 percent. It was much higher for a while. Like... at least half. I mean, these are largely college-educated people we're talking about too.

6.) Number of bananas you end up throwing out because you never manage to eat them all before they go rotten which you buy out of some futile attempt to balance out all the bad shit you consume daily, as if one piece of fruit is going to do that:

Well, it's not my fault that they go from green to brown so fast. You've got a window of 2 to 3 days where they're yellow and it grosses me out when they're squishy. So... 3 probably? I usually buy five or so and only get around to eating 2. Can you buy just two? Maybe I should do that.

7.) Number of dents in the hood of your car from the time you fucked up your bumper in the Arby's drive-thru and were so mad you punched it:

OK, come on! The banana thing I'm sure people can relate to, but this one is ridiculous. There's only one person in the world who's probably done that exact sequence of events and it's me and I only punched my hood once and it's a small dent.

8.) Why do you keep all those t-shirts in the bottom of your closet that you're never going to wear? I mean, they're all ragged and have pit stains and are probably too small anyway? What's the deal with that?

I can't throw them out because they are a physical reminder of past events. They were touching my skin cells when momentous occasions in my life happened. Some of which I can't even remember, but I feel their absence like my roommate's dog feels his missing leg. Those skin cells have long fallen off and turned to dust in some apartment that housed me 7 owners ago, but the shirt lives on.

9.) Why does your toe curl under the other one like that? That's gross.

This is a great survey. I'm sure people are going to love answering these questions, I mean, that's some universal appeal we've got going here. I have no idea why my toe does that. I'm sure it's related to my genetic defect in some way? You tell me, smart guy.

10.) I sense a lot of anger in you, why don't we end with you telling us why you're so angry:

OK, well I don't think I'm angry, I'm just a little annoyed at the questions--

10.) Because I think it's due to your sense of entitlement. Like "ooh, I had heart surgery, the world owes me! Poor Eric Filipkowski, let's shower him with blessings!"

You know what? Fuck you, I don't need this.

10.) Oh no, now crybaby doesn't want to play anymore! Boo hoo! Why don't you fly back to Rhode Island again? Better book your ticket FIRST CLASS like you did last time, that way you don't have to mingle among the common folk who haven't had any heart surgery.

Are you done?

10.) Pathetic.

Look, do I feel I have been dealt a shitty hand in life? Yes, in some ways I do. In other ways, I know I am a very lucky person who has been given gifts many haven't. I know that I have great friends and family who love me and would do anything for me. I have come back from the brink of death to enjoy living on my own, free from illness and able to go about my day as a normal person.

Of course, there is more I could be doing right now to make things happen in my career, etc., but I'm getting myself out there, albeit slowly. All in all, I feel I'm in a pretty good place and have a lot to be thankful for. I'm sorry I sometimes wallow in self-pity, I'm sure it gets old. I apologize to anyone who has to listen to my bitching, but I think we can all benefit from taking the time to look around at our lives and--

10.) OK, OK! Enough! Jeez, this wasn't very funny at all.

Well whose fault is that? I have to go get in the shower.

10.) Alright, take it easy. Hey, come up with something funny for the next one, OK?

I'll try.

Things I've Noticed - by Eric Filipkowski

Apparently my last “fuck you” to everybody was too subtle, as I still have some friends left. Hopefully, this pile of shit will fix that.

1. First off, have you ever noticed there are lots of differences between men and women? I have and I don’t think anybody really points them out. Especially in comedy. For instance: men like watching sports and women like shopping. Men enjoy casual sexual encounters and women are looking for lasting, meaningful relationships. I know this is probably pretty controversial stuff, but that’s what I do: I SAY the things everyone is thinking but are too afraid to admit! If you’ve got a problem with this, it’s probably because you’re on your period or something.

2. I was listening to the song “Foxy Lady” by Jim Hendrix and noticed there is a line that I believe goes, "’scuse me, while I kiss the sky", but if you listen carefully, you can almost hear him say, "’scuse me, while I kiss THIS GUY!" LOL! How embarrassing! My heart goes out to you, Jim, for this terrible gaffe. I haven’t laughed that hard since I heard that guy sing "wrapped up like a douche" in that song about being blind.

3. Speaking of homosexuals, I think that, in general, they pay more attention to their appearance and matters of cleanliness than their heterosexual counterparts. Of course, there are exceptions to this rule: Jim Belushi comes to mind, but in general, I think this is a fair thing to say. Obviously I’m not talking about lesbians. We all know what their deal is.

4. I was watching Scooby Doo the other day and I realized that whole show seems to be about drug use! Think about it: that guy, Shaggy, totally looks like some kind of marijuana-smoking beatnik and him and his dog are always hungry and paranoid! It makes sense. Can you believe people would do that in a show marketed towards kids?

5. White people are worse at dancing than African-Americans. I think the problem is we have less rhythm. That’s what a black guy told me once. If you don’t believe me, go to any club and check out the dance floor. I think this is actually a form of racism where white people dance worse on purpose so that black people won’t feel bad about us being so much better at sports than they are. Which is pretty condescending, if you think about it.

6. TV isn’t as good as it used to be. Back in the day, you could flip on the tube and be greeted with such classics as “Men Behaving Badly”, “Friends” and “Just Shoot Me”. Even “Caroline in the City” is better than that crap they show now. Case in point: “Arrested Development”. I can’t watch this show. It could be funny, I’m not sure. How are we supposed to know when to laugh if we can’t hear the audience laughing? Lame. I’m glad it got cancelled.

7. Old people drive too slow! Normally I’m not one to harp on the negatives of “The Greatest Generation”, I’m just glad I’m not speaking German right now, but this really grinds my goat. I’m no speed demon, myself. I stay within the boundaries of the limit of the law, at the maximum and the minimum. Also, what’s with them wearing their pants so high? And Geritol? What the hell does that do? Am I right? Right?

8. Sometimes alcohol makes certain members of the opposite sex more attractive to me. I know, it sounds awful, doesn’t it? But I’m trying to be totally honest here. There are times when I’ve had a little too much to drink and a woman I previously thought to be unattractive will suddenly look much better. Usually this occurs late at night, right before the drinking establishment I am at is about to close and I have been unsuccessful in wooing my previous choices for companionship. I think this is related to the alcohol impairing my judgment in some way and not really a vision problem, but I choose to call this phenomena “beer glasses” anyway. No wait, that could be confusing. People could confuse my meaning and think I am speaking of an actual receptacle for beer, instead of something that goes over your eyes and alters the perceived appearance of other bar patrons. I will say “beer spectacles” in order to avoid any confusion.

9. Billy Crystal is hilarious, but I feel that, as of late, he has lost his way. And believe me, it pleases me not to say this. I am a huge fan. Huge! His “more pepper for my paprikash” bit in “When Harry Met Sally” kills me every time. Ditto anything from “City Slickers”, but recently he can’t seem to get in that classic Fernando groove. My advice? Make good on that promised Harry/Sally sequel and Mr. Crystal will soon be “looking mahvelous” once again!

10. Finally, I’ve saved my most controversial “thing I’ve noticed” for last. I think that sometimes politicians aren’t entirely honest with us. I know Nixon famously said “I’m not a crook” and I’m certainly not going to go so far as to put that label on anyone in office because I feel nothing gives us that right, but I find the practices of some politicians both past and present to be questionable. I’m not going to name any names (well, besides the one I just named), but where are those weapons of mass destruction you promised us were in Iraq? I thought you said you didn’t have sexual relations with that woman? You really didn’t chop down that cherry tree? I suppose it chopped itself down, huh?

OK, well if you’re still reading, then you are either really bored or drunk or unintelligent. Perhaps both. Maybe it’s 4:23 and you just got high or your Dane Cook DVD got scratched and there’s nothing on Spike TV. I don’t know and I don’t care. Just give me my damn money and tell me where you took my daughter last night. I’m not mad, seriously. I just want to know. Call it curiosity. I’m not going to get in your face about it. I swear.

Eric Filipkowski: Champion of the World!

(if this makes no sense to you, feel free to read the original article on thephatphree.com)

I did it, suckers!

Check it out. Number one. I am your king/god.

Having bested the formerly-top rated “Look At My Striped Shirt”, I hereby announce my retirement from writing forever, effective immediately.

You see, a couple of months ago, I noticed that one of my stories, “Number 17 – by Chad Robuckle”, had a really high rating. In fact, its rating was high enough to place it in the top 5 of all time.

So where was it?

I looked again and saw that you needed a minimum of 100 votes to be eligible to have a top 5 story. Hence, these last few months, every time I would check out the site, I would go and vote for my own story, so that it could get the necessary 100 votes.

In the process of repeatedly giving myself fives, I also bumped my rating up to a ridiculously high 4.49, as you can see from the un-doctored picture attached with this article.

Is this fair? Certainly not. Is it extremely lame? Probably, but who cares? I win.

Remember that kid in grade school who would play you in four-square, over and over? You’d kick his ass 99 times out of a hundred, but that one time he beat you, he’d throw up his hands and run home, proclaiming himself Champion of the World as he announced his retirement. You still hate that kid, don’t you?

But you know what? He’s Champion of the World and you’re not.

Such is life.

There’s a system in place that works pretty well until someone comes along and exploits its weaknesses for his own gain, ruining it for everyone else in the process.

Imagine that's me on top of your grandma's house.
Since you guys aren’t as smart as me or as good at writing as I am, I will spell it out for you: that someone is me.

This is huge. I wouldn’t be surprised if my actions lead to an entire overhaul of the voting system, if not the site as a whole.

Who knows, they might follow my lead and just close up shop, now that the pinnacle of fiction writing has been achieved.

And let’s not kid ourselves; that’s what this is.

Homer? Shakespeare? Steinbeck? How many websites were they the champions of? That’s right: ZERO. Cuz they suck.

Look, I know you guys are just gonna vote me down in five minutes. Though you can’t match me in writing ability, I am confident you will surpass me in bitterness.

As I write this, I see some angry loser is going from computer to computer at the Best Buy across the street from the Burger King he works at, giving me ones for my story in a futile attempt to "set things right”. By the end of the day, my rating will probably be .03, but it doesn’t matter, because I’m retired.

Nothing can take away from the victory of this petty, childish deed I have committed.

While some may say the ratings process is an incidental part of a larger scheme where people express themselves creatively in order to bring laughter and joy to the masses, we all know what that really is: loser talk.

This isn’t France and we’re not at the Special Olympics.

Here in the real world, only the strong survive and the cream rises to the top. And sometimes that cream has to help itself by surreptitiously holding on to some balloons or putting lead in the shoes of some other cream. I don’t know, that metaphor doesn’t really work and if I had anything left to accomplish in the field of writing, I would probably care, but I don’t, so I won’t.

But let me leave you with this, my not-so-loyal subjects/slaves: I am better than you because I am better than everyone else and you are a part of the subset of “everyone else” and that’s not just my opinion, that’s math or something.

So again, fuck you guys, I win. In the immortal words of Carol Burnett, "See you in hell, assholes!"

Look, it's something I'm in!

Now that's some fine acting!

For more info about what this thing is promoting, check out www.itvfest.org.

untelligent

This has not been doctored in any way.



Can't see it? Click on it and check out the orange "news alert" banner.

The Ray Bans

"The man at the tire store wore a yellow shirt to church last Sunday!"

Stuart found himself sitting at the end of his Aunt Sonya's bed with nothing to say.

His mother's aunt had developed cancer and the whole family was taking turns visiting with her in the hospital as she recovered from her surgery.

He hated being here alone with her and usually managed to rope someone into going with him, but today he was flying solo.

"That's great!" he tried to feign enthusiasm.

Stuart wasn't very good with old people.

In the background, Don Henley's "Boys of Summer" was playing from a radio in someone else's room.

It was summer and it was hot as shit. He should be out at the lake, jet skiing with Dave and Bonesy right now. He looked over at this frail old woman smiling back at him and felt sorry for himself. Things couldn't get much worse.

He remembered his sister's advice on how best to cope with these visits: Aunt Sonya was old; she just wanted to listen to a familiar voice. Just find something to talk about and blab on and on about it without even thinking.

But what the hell did he have to talk about with this 80 year old woman?

I can see you-
Your brown skin shining in the sun
You got that hair slicked back
And those Wayfarers on, baby

"Wayfarer's?" he thought. "Oh shit, those stupid sunglasses Stevie used to wear!"

He had something to talk about. He launched into his story.

"Hey Aunt Sonya, remember Alan's friend, Stevie? His dad worked for that sunglasses company and he had those stupid aviator sunglasses? Remember those?

I remember when I was a kid, everyone thought those were the coolest. I think that was the last time anybody wore those without being ironic about it.

That kid was such a tool. He would walk around in those like he was Tom Cruise or something and they looked so ridiculous on him. They were way too big, like those clown sunglasses they wear at the circus or something.

Anyway, I remember that kid and my brother were like best friends for the longest time. Personally, I could never stand him, but I guess he was the only kid in the neighborhood who was close to Alan's age.

They used to play Nintendo together all the time. They would sit there for hours in front of the TV until they finished a game. Then they'd get a new one and start all over.

That's why they stopped being friends, you know. When I was ten, we went to Disneyworld for spring vacation and Stevie convinced my brother to lend him like ten games, because he wasn't gonna be around to play them anyway.

So we get back and Alan asks for his games back and Stevie gives him his three suckiest games. Alan's like, "what the hell? Where are the rest of my games?" and Stevie tries to tell him that he only lent him three.

I remember the look on that little bastard’s face. So smug and arrogant. Alan gets Mom and she asks Stevie where the rest of the games were. He stands there and lies right to her face. Swears to her that Alan only lent him three games.

So Mom piles everyone in the Taurus and we drive over to Stevie's house and she explains the situation to his mom but of course she takes Stevie's side. He was the perfect little angel and if he gave her his word that he didn't steal any games, that was good enough for her.

Not only does she refuse to go look around in his room, but actually starts to lose her temper and basically kicks us out of her house.

I remember we're driving home and Mom is about to lose it. Swearing and calling Stevie a little brat. Then she goes off on his mother and what a lying bitch she is and no wonder her kid turned out to be a rotten little shit too.

She tells Alan that tomorrow she's going to Toys 'R' Us and she's going to buy him all new games and he's not allowed to hang out with Stevie anymore, which I really don't think is a big problem, because believe me, he's pissed too.

And that was it. They never spoke again. We were pretty tight with their family for a while too. Not best friends but they'd always come to our Christmas parties and shit like that, but all that stopped.

So, fast forward ten years and Alan and Stevie are in high school. Stevie's a year ahead of Alan and he's in band or something. Alan's got baseball practice so they're both there after school. It's pretty late and Alan goes back to the locker room to grab his books and he hears this awful noise.

He looks down the hall towards the pool and there's like 4 or 5 seniors from the wrestling team and they're taking turns raping Stevie. Like full-on sodomy, I guess. Stevie's screaming for help but there's no one around cuz it's so late.

Alan grabs his books and sneaks out without anyone seeing him. Mom is there to pick him up and he gets in the car and she drives him home. He doesn't say a word to anyone.

Doesn't get a teacher, doesn't tell Mom what he saw, doesn't call the cops, or anything. He's still pissed about the video games.

So later that night, he tells me all this and we kinda realize how serious this is. I mean, we knew this kid was gonna be fucked up for life and even though he didn't do anything wrong, people are gonna blame Alan for not helping Stevie. Right there, we make an oath that we're not going to tell anyone, ever. And I kept that oath until this very moment.

I mean, in his defense, in high school, that kind of thing is a no-no. Nobody wants to be a snitch. Alan always saw it as karma, I guess.

Then one day, he called me up from college. It was right before I moved to Chicago. I answer and he's like, "Do you know what today is?" And I've got no clue.

He tells me today is the seven year anniversary of Stevie getting raped and now the statute of limitations is up so he can't be charged for anything. I guess that makes it OK to talk about now, but I still didn't ever bring it up with anyone. "

Stuart paused and looked up, fully realizing what he had just been saying to his 80 year old great-aunt.

She looked stunned, she didn't move. For a second, he thought she might be dead: killed by the shocking events of his story.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw her draw a breath before speaking.

"I never liked that little son of a bitch."

She smiled. Stuart smiled back.

He had been wrong about Aunt Sonya. He thought she was a worthless, old lady, but she was actually pretty cool.

He looked up at the clock and felt something he had never felt before: he was sorry visiting hours were over.

"Well, I should get going," he said, reluctantly, "but I'll be back tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's your cousin Katie's turn to visit me, you don't have to stop by," she said sadly.

"I know I don't have to," he said, "I want to."

Again, they shared a smile.

True to his word, Stuart was there at the hospital right as visiting hours began the next day. He took the stairs two at a time because he didn't want to wait for the elevators. He bounded into her room with a bouquet of flowers for Aunt Sonya but his smile vanished when he saw the nurse placing the white sheet over his dead relative's face.

The nurse turned to him, "I'm sorry, she just passed," she said.

Stuart's knees went weak. He quickly sat down in the chair by the door. As she walked by, the nurse touched his shoulder and left him to grieve.

He couldn't believe it. His Aunt Sonya was gone. He had cancelled his plans with Dave and Bonesy and now it had all been for nothing.