Monday, September 25, 2006

Shhh! Don't Talk To Me.

I went to Scruffy Duffy's with my awesome ex-corrections-officer roommate to watch football and drink beer and eat wings and nachos and mozzerella sticks and jalepenos and play pool yesterday. All day. Life really doesn't get much better than that. I saw a woman that was so drunk that I literally thought she was going to keel over and die right at the bar.

After all the games were finished my roommate and I went to the closing night cast party of "Smoking Bloomberg". They had the top floor/balcony reserved of a cool joint in midtown. I got to see several people I haven't seen in years. Great people. Good fucking times.

Lots of scotch.

God, kill me.

It's 3:00pm.

I just woke up and I want to die.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

Friday, September 22, 2006

Smoking Bloomberg

A mammoth-ass thanks goes out to Warren for writing the first ever guest post on Pissed & Petty yesterday.

There was a huge response and the story is going viral.

A note about Warren, if you will: and you will.

Warren, in conjunction with a few other writers, has written a stage show that is currently running in NYC in a theatre on W. 46th St. between 9th/10th. There are only two performances left, one tomorrow and one Sunday.

The show is called "Smoking Bloomberg."

The entire run of the show sold out in 48 hours due to the pre-production buzz... and with good reason. Lucky for you, there may be a few no-show-reserved tickets available a few minutes before showtime. No guarantees, though.

-(from the official website)
"Smoking Bloomberg is a musical satire about a Korean dry cleaner's quest for revenge against Mayor Bloomberg and the smoking ban that has ruined her business. However the show runs much deeper than local politics and the current mayoral administration. It is a biting, irreverent lampoon of American democracy and the individual's place within it. This ain't your mom's musical theatre--unless you had one of those cool moms who burned her bra and let the kids come over to get drunk."


-(from the writers' blog)
"During a break in rehearsal today the cast [...] got into a discussion of who this show could potentially offend. As we were listing the potential offenders – Jews, Christians, Muslims, Left-Wingers, Right-Wingers – we came to the conclusion that it would be easier to name the demographic groups that would not be offended by the show. The list we came up with is as follows: Hispanics and retarded people. And frankly, we're not all that sure about the Hispanics."

I saw the show on opening night and I can assure you it is fucking brilliant. There are several huge jokes that require massive cojones to even write down on a piece of paper bearing one's own fingerprints. Leave it to say that none of these writers will be running for office anytime in the near future... and I mean that in the best way possible. Believe me, I know the feeling.

Oh, I almost forgot. Nick Nolte AND Gary Busey are in the show. No shit.

Read the glowing review from Backstage.

Have a great weekend everyone!

"Smoking Bloomberg" graphic by emblem creative.

Thursday, September 21, 2006

The Messed Up-est Thing I've Ever Seen

At long last, Warren's guest post:

I don’t know about you, but I moved to New York to see fucked up shit.

And like most mid-westerners who moved here in the Guiliani era, I was immediately and extremely disappointed. I got over it though, and fell into a normal routine, spending my weekends drinking in the same old bland-ass bars, and, with the not-really-an-exception exception of getting lost in Hasidic Williamsburg once, seeing exactly nothing that you would classify as “fucked up shit.”

But every couple of months I would remember my original reason for being here, and with a renewed spirit I’d drag a friend down to Coney Island or Chinatown, convinced there was something fucked up, something truly, deeply, fucked up to be seen in this city. Alas, those maze-like shops in Chinatown lead not to Deerhunter-style Russian Roulette matches but only to more paper dragons and fake jade. And the freak show at Coney Island? Fuck the freak show at Coney Island!!!!

After four or five years, I had given up any hope, resigned to the fact that New York had pretty much been enema-ized completely. That is until the day my girlfriend came home from her summer job at NYU with the news that some woman was going to be sewing her vagina shut and calling it art as part of an NYU festival. And we had free passes.

Let me say that again: sewing her vagina shut.

The event was labeled a “Hemispheric” festival that would be exploring various “Religiosities.” I wasn’t entirely clear on how some chick zipping up her nethers was in any way religious—in fact, it seems pretty fucking sacrilegious to me—but that’s the kind of shit NYU does, and thank god, because that’s precisely the kind of shit I was looking to see.

Worried that we wouldn’t be able to stomach this thing sober, Girlfriend and I had a few drinks beforehand, then dutifully and excitedly, well me more than her, made our way over to the school. We were soon ushered into an empty classroom, where we were instructed to sit on the floor against the wall. I was by this time figuring the odds of seeing an actual vulvic sewing at about 20/80, as everyone in the audience seemed normal-ish, we were in a classroom, and I mean, c’mon, how could anybody actually do that? Surely we had been misinformed!

Lights dim, and in comes a nice enough looking girl from South America. Music starts, one of those projectors you watched nature movies on in elementary school in the early 80’s cast blurry images against the wall, and the girl casually removed all of her clothes. Okay, naked girl. Cool enough, but, my mind isn’t blown.

She then laid her white shirt on the ground beneath her, placed a wine glass on top of the shirt, and proceeded to insert a round red ice cube, which we were later told was some of her blood that had been drawn and frozen, into her wee-wee. Okay, no needles and thread yet, but we’re definitely getting somewhere! She then crouches over the wine glass, her body heat melts the ice cube, and she dribbles the blood from her crotch into the glass, AND THEN DRINKS IT!!!

Music stops, she leaves the room, and the lights come back up. Girlfriend and I stare in silence. Wow! Score! I win! A woman five feet in front of me just faked her period and sipped it like a pinot. Fucked! Up! Shit!

We are all then led into another classroom down the hall, where we watch a bunch of foul-mouthed marionettes masturbate for 30 minutes while getting crucified. I guess this fulfilled the festival’s “religiosities” requirement, and like most things exploring “religiosities,”—church, Kevin Smith’s Dogma—it was boring as hell.

Once the puppet sketch ended, the crowd grew noticeably more excited. Short, squat, 19-year-old lesbians with pink hair and a penchant for the postmodern started whispering and giggling like the young, normal school girls they weren’t. A professor type in his mid-fifties remarked to another group of gothy nerds, “I came here for a revelation.”

Well, me too, Doc, so bring it on.

The proctor woman led us all down the hallway and into yet another classroom, and it is instantly evident that some crazy-ass shit is about to go down. Why? Because there’s a hospital bed with stirrups at the front of the room and a video camera pointed about vagina level at the bed and displaying this image on a big TV. You know, so we wouldn’t miss anything.

Now as I said, someone was allegedly going to be “sewing their vagina shut.” You might have been asking yourself this whole time why anyone would actually want to watch that. You, querying reader, don’t know me, and therefore might assume that I’m a grade-A voyeuristic nutjob. Nothing could be further from the truth. I don’t have any weird fetishes. I don’t have any suicidal or homicidal tendencies, and I’ve only googled “pooping grannies” once and I didn’t click on any of the links. I’m a pretty normal dude, I swear.

So I don’t know if I can really offer a proper explanation. Maybe it has something to do with growing up and getting a job and kind of hating it and learning that life isn’t really all that magical but kind of ho-hum about two-thirds of the time. Maybe it’s because I was in my early twenties and felt like I’d pretty much seen everything. I don’t know. But if you want to judge me for it, and you don’t really want me to baby sit your kids, I’m cool with that. I understand.

In walks a forty-or-so-year old woman in a hospital gown. She slowly and methodically sits down in the inclined bed—it looks comfy and posturpedic—and slips her feet into the stirrups. Up comes the gown, revealing the vulva we had all come to see. From the looks of it, this vulva has been involved in both performance art and battering rams for many years, and I felt sort of sad for this poor, tired vulva.

The woman then pulls out a statuette of Jesus—religiosities, anyone?—and cradles it in her arms for a couple of minutes. Once she’s given it a little love, she sets the Jesus doll on a side table next to the bed.

I’m warning you: this is going to get crazy.

She then swabs her left labia with iodine, pierces it with a hollow needle—OUCH—slips a long thread through, and ties it off. The TV is giving us a very clear and close-up picture of all this.

Then: Wash, rinse, repeat on the right.

She now has a long string tied to and dangling from each side. I’m no seamstress, and I don’t have female genitals, but this doesn’t strike me as the best way to accomplish the whole sewing it shut idea. Could it be she has something else planned?

I’m warning you again: this is going to get really fucking crazy.

She turns her attention back to the Jesus doll. Said doll is about 10 inches long, and its arms and legs are splayed. She pulls out a condom—hey, I warned you—and rolls it over and around the doll. She then douses the condomized Jesus with an absurd amount of lube and, you guessed it, spends five very long minutes, um, doing the opposite of giving birth to the statuette.

This woman has ample storage up there I guess, because she is unbelievably able to take in the entire doll, leaving only his little feet hanging out, flanked by the two dangling strings. She then ties the right string to the right foot and the left string to the left foot, just to make sure the doll can’t go anywhere.

Over the course of the next thirty minutes, she pulls out a compact mirror and applies her make-up, brushes her hair, and puts on a big rubber suit. A crotchless rubber suit, fyi. A crotchless rubber suit with a huge cartoon-like zipper running up the insides of both legs.

She zips up her legs, slips on some six-inch heels (!) and a big string of pearls and hops on up out of bed. We watch her walk around a little, legs zipped up, Jesus statue in her hoo-hoo, make-up meticulously applied.

As if she doesn’t have every possible impediment to being able to walk, she breaks the necklace and hundreds of pearls scatter all over the stage. Oddly, this produced the only audible gasp from the crowd the whole evening, and not, you know, when she was piercing her vulva or crotch-swallowing our lord and savior. She manages not to slip on the pearls, and she then walks slowly out of the classroom.

And that’s it. Lights up, and the NYU kids head over to Dojo’s to discuss the artistic merits of the evenings festivities.

Girlfriend and I, dumbfounded, disgusted, pretty fucking all around blown away, and oddly sated, head home.

But I was pleased. After all, I moved to New York to see fucked up shit.

Mission fucking accomplished.

Parker and Stone, what?


Hire this guy.

I've known this guy since middle school and he is wicked goddamn funny.

For the third time, I'd like to point my readers towards Inti Tayta. This time it is about one of his theories of a practical reality.

I can't help but agree.

If you don't think that every word of his post is fucking hysterical, you need to think harder.

Dude is hilarious.

--The "best friend guest post" that I mentioned will be coming soon. He has some other priorities. Can't blame the jerk. Shit's fucked up, yo.

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Craigslist Saved My Life

I got a computer!

...from a Craigslist ad.

I found a wicked awesome offer on a laptop today on Craigslist. It was a dude in my neighborhood that was trying to get rid of a nice laptop for about a third of the retail price. I called the guy and asked all of the appropriate questions (so I say now), and he was totally knowledgeable. He agreed to meet me at my apartment in 30 minutes with the laptop.

About thirty minutes later, he called me and told me he was on the corner in a black Lincoln.


The following conversations occurred:

Him: Hey man, I'm on the corner in a black Lincoln.

Me: Great. I'll give you the building number and you can come up.

Him: Eh, just come down to the car and you can check out the laptop. It'll hold a charge.

Me: You sure you don't wanna just come up to my apartment. I just wanna check out the computer for 10 or 15 minutes. Ya know, just to make sure the specs match up and everything.

Him: Sure ok, ok. What's the building number?

I tell him and go downstairs to get him.

For any of you that think I'm stupid for letting a (seemingly)shady computer salesman from Washington Heights into my apartment, think again. One of my roommates is an ex-corrections officer from Rikers Island. I'm not worried. At all.

On the way up the stairs (my elevator is broken), we make small talk and I ask him a couple basic questions about the computer. He answers them easily and tells me he's looking to buy a new computer and needs to sell this one to do it. Seems like a really nice guy.

Anyway, we come up to the apartment. He pulls out the computer. It looks brand fucking new, not a single scratch on it. I plug it in, start it up, launch several applications, make sure it can read a CD, open several internet windows to make sure it can handle it... and the thing runs like fucking magic. It is amazing... compared to what I'm used to, anyway.

He answered all my questions easily and truthfully. At my request he showed me the system specs at the F2 startup, and everything was exactly as he'd advertised.

This thing runs like a greased Spaniard at that bull thing they do.

My computer rules.

Rest assured:

Good things do happen to happen to bad people, and Craigslist sometimes won't rip you off.

I am living proof.

Seriously, I Need a Computer

I've mentioned this before but didn't receive a single response.

I'm going to try again.

I need a fucking computer. I don't need anything too fancy. I'm looking to spend around $500. Less would be fantastic.

Laptop or desktop, I don't really care.

If anyone in the NYC area is looking to get rid of their old computer, please e-mail me.

Think of it as an extra bonus that the magic of "Pissed & Petty" will coming to you straight from your old computer, eh?

Hodge Podge

I hung out with some wicked cool bloggers last weekend. Very fun. Great people.

Speaking of friends:

My best friend is at least 1.5 times the writer that I am. He will be writing a guest post today. Check back, it's going to be good.

Hold your breath.

Friday, September 15, 2006

Rain, Rain, Go Away. Don't Come Back.

Three things I would rather deal with than rain on a Friday in NYC:

Anyway, I'm headed down to "On The C" to have a few beers and shoot a couple games of pool if anyone wants to join me. It's at Ave. C and 8th Street... basically.

Have a great weekend everyone!

Thursday, September 14, 2006

Four Brothers

Ok, here’s another “we’re wasted and leaving the bar at 4am story.”

(the crowd cheers)

Three friends and I closed down the Raccoon Lodge on the upper west side last summer, and as usual we were twelve sheets to the wind.

It was myself, a friend named Trevor (tattoo artist), a guy named Jason (pasty/dessert chef at Serendipity) and Mat. You may remember Mat from the swimming the lake in Central Park story. He was the tough guy in the bikini briefs.

We’re weaving down the sidewalk going home when Mat starts with his usual tough guy thing. He starts telling us about the time he was in on a remote Indian reservation hunting coyotes with his bare hands when he ran into a buffalo stampede. He says he puffed out his chest and stood fast like a brick wall while hundreds of buffalo traveling at full speed bounced off him like rubber balls. Then a tribe of wild Indians in full attack mode came galloping in on horses and swinging hatchets and shooting arrows. Mat wiped out the whole tribe with nothing more than a cold stare. The Indian chief was spared and recognized Mat’s warrior instinct. The chief took Mat to the top of a sacred mesa and performed a secret ritual that inducted Mat into the tribe as a true blood warrior.

Well, not really, but you get the point.

In the middle of the story Mat stops himself, turns to Trevor and I and says,

“Hey, I bet I could take both of you at the same time in a wrestling match.”

Trevor and I share a glance. We both look back at Mat.

“You’re on. Twenty bucks a man.”, I reply.

Considering how you look at it, this is probably a bad bet for me and Trevor. If Mat wins, he’ll win forty bucks, twenty from me and twenty from Trevor. If Trevor and I win, we’ll only receive ten bucks each as we would split Mat’s twenty. Whether or not this is a good or bad bet depends on how you calculate the odds that either party will win.

For it to be a good bet, I have to be certain that Trevor and I are at least twice as likely to beat Mat as he is to beat us. Do the math.

I could get into more details about the odds, but I’ll spare you.

So we find a side street that doesn’t have a lot of traffic and we discuss the rules.

Very simple, if we can pin Mat’s shoulders for three seconds, we win. If Mat can pin either one of us for three seconds, he wins. Period.

We assign Jason, who’s looking a little green in the face, to be the referee. Jason sits down on the curb and leans back against the fire hydrant.

Mat, Trevor and I all walk out into the middle of the street.

In case I haven’t mentioned this, Mat is huge. Like, 6’4”, 220 pounds, and athletic.

Trevor and I are about the same size, 5’11”, 145 pounds.

This is not going to be easy, to say the absolute least.

Mat takes his shirt off and starts pumping himself up.

Trevor and I look at each other with an eyebrow-raising head-tilting “here goes nothin’” kind of look.

Jason, our referee mumbles “Go.”

Trevor and I start circling Mat. Mat has his arms straight out to the sides turning around slowly as we circle, trying to keep us both in sight.

I shoot in and wrap up Mat’s legs and yell at Trevor to push him over from the top. Mat kicked me off like a small dog trying to hump his leg.

Ah crap, this is gonna suck.

A few more attempts at the same strategy and Trevor and I get our timing perfect and get Mat down on the street.

Trevor and I both jump on top of Mat and try to get him pinned.

Ain’t happenin’.

We were all rolling around in the middle of the street like one of those dust balls from the cartoons. You know, where an arm or leg can occasionally be seen emerging. We are all getting very tired.

Finally, I think I have Mat pinned and I yell for Jason to start the three-count.

I look down and I definitely have Mat pinned. The problem is that Mat has Trevor pinned at the same time.

We all struggle for a couple more minutes, but it’s not doing any good.

We agree to call a truce and let it go to a judge’s decision.

We slowly get to our feet while examining our bloody knees and elbows and foreheads and god knows what else. Mat’s shoulder blades looked like he’d been dragged by a car. I proudly take credit for that.

We take a moment to catch our breath.

Almost simultaneously we all look over to Jason to ask him who won.

Sure enough, Jason is passed out cold leaning up against the fire hydrant with his mouth hanging open and his eyes rolled back in his head.

Needless to say, as the three combatants, we were fairly pissed about this.

We made a deal and came to a reasonable agreement. We decided to call it a tie.

As such, Mat gave us each half of what he owed, and we each gave Mat half of what we owed. In the end, Mat was ten bucks richer. Funny thing is that ten bucks wasn’t going to come close to what he was going to have to spend to fix himself up.

Trevor and I didn’t look too pretty either. I had to wear long sleeves to work for a week in the middle of summer to cover my cuts and bruises.

Anyway, we slapped Jason in the face until he woke up and limped and hobbled home.

Wanna hang out with my friends and me this weekend?

*Aside: A rarity for me, I got through this whole post withough cursing once.

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

Our Nations Young(er) People

I was reading random blogs today and leaving weird/funny/chastising comments whenever applicable.

After wading through hours and pages of inane bullshit I finally found a post on a 12-year-old girl's blog that I wanted to unload on.
(no inuendo here)

Anyway, believe it or not, I'm not a total asshole so I left the poor girl alone.

It was hard.

Very hard. (seriously, you need a psychiatrist)

Here is what's happening in Abbie's World:

7th Grade Dance (and more)

Okay, heres the situation. the dance is comeing up on friday and of course i dont have a date. I didnt expect to have one but... the guy that has a locker next to me lets call him jim (not his real name) Okay i dont know if jim likes me or not but hes kinda nice to me and sencitive (he thinks puppies arae cute). Problem he has only 1.5 arms. Im not being mean but if he asks me or asks me to dance i dont know what i would say. I dont think i love him maybe im wrong i dont know. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

I mean, I wouldn't even know where to start with this one.

An entire thesis could be written on this.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Low Brow Brown Cow

I’m scraping the bottom of the blog barrel today in search of the lowest common denominator.

I don’t think it gets much lower than this:

My girlfriend told me specifically not to write about this, so of course it’s the first thing I do this morning.

Oh yeah, bring it on.

So my girlfriend started on a new diet a couple days ago, Nutri-System or some shit, and last night she had some awe inspiring gas.

Hey, I warned you we were going low with this one.

We were watching TV on the bed, and even though we were on opposite sides, she was repeatedly expelling butt smoke in my general direction.

It stunk.


Over and over again.

Now, I’m pretty much a guy’s guy. I like football, beer and tits. I scratch my ass on occasion and have been known to toot indiscriminately so normally this wouldn’t bother me.

What was going on here with my girlfriends gastro system was on another level entirely. I finally had enough.

Me: “Honey, can you please just light them on fire or something? It’ll burn off the methane and I won’t have to smell it anymore. Seriously, I can’t take it.”

Her: (shocked look) “No! Absolutely not.”

Me: “Why not? It’s only the courteous thing to do. I mean really, this is crazy.”

Her: “Are you serious?”

Me: “Yes. Or maybe just light every other one. That would at least help.”

Her: (speechless)

Me: “Hellooooo?”

Her: “I hate you.”

So anyway...

My girlfriend is so inconsiderate that she won’t even light her own farts on fire if it would mean improving my health.

I hate you too, honey.

Monday, September 11, 2006

Oh, The Humanity

I will be reading about the Seattle Craigslist debacle all day today.

It doesn't get any better than this, folks.

Some guy named Jason in Seattle put up a fake Craigslist ad posing as a woman looking for some weird sex stuff with a man.

A couple hundred guys responded to Jason's fake ad with pictures of themselves(some nude), phone numbers, places of employment, etc.

Jason then turned around and posted all of the responses, including photos, up on Craigslist. Needless to say, there are lots of incredibly embarrassed, furious, soon-to-be-divorced, fired, etc., men in Seattle today.

The backlash and fallout from this have reached epic proportions.

You can read the whole thing on Jason's site, including his IM chats with angry husbands and dejected wives. Link above.

UPDATE:Oh man, seriously. This is fucking great.

Friday, September 08, 2006

UPDATE: Pat Kachura, DMA

You have found this page because of this article I wrote involving Patrica Kachura.

Patricia (Pat) Kachura is the SVP, Ethics/Consumer Affairs for the Direct Marketing Association (DMA). This is the organization responsible for junk mail of all types; e-mail spam, telemarketing, paper junk mail mailed to your home, etc.

For starters, the terms "Ethics" and "Direct Marketing" being used together is hilarious.

Even more hilarious are some of the comments that Pat has made on record. See the above linked article.

First Response Wins

I get tons of traffic from several different users all over the country that all work for these two companies.

Travis Correll & Company

Performance Systems International

As soon as someone shoots me an e-mail and explains it to me, I'll take this post down so none of you get in trouble.

Are these companies just that big, or are you guys passing my shit around to all your coworkers all the time?

I'm not complaining, believe me. I'm just really curious.


Thursday, September 07, 2006

Corky-1, Ryan-0

I'm walking down Third Ave. on my lunch break, heading to the bank, when I see a big guy walking towards me who is swinging one arm rather enthusiastically with each step. With the sidewalk crowded, it becomes obvious that I'm going to have to walk right by this guy, building on one side, him on the other. I don't think anything of it as we see weirder shit than this everyday in New York, enough to where a guy swinging his arm doesn't qualify in the least as weird.

The guy gets closer and I just naturally assume when we pass each other he will curtail the over-the-top arm gymnastics.

But no.

POW! Right in the face! My $80 Puma sunglasses (which I got for $25 at Century 21)break and fall to the ground and I immediately respond quite reasonably with,

"Dude, what are you fucking retarded?!"

I take my eyes off my broken sunglasses on the ground to look the guy in the face, when my question is quickly answered.

Yes. He is very much retarded.

My bad, son.

Long Way Down

I do pretty stupid shit on a regular basis.


My buddy Tynan of put me to shame last weekend.

He installed a swing on the balcony of his high rise apartment. It swings out over the edge and drops down 200 feet. You guys have to see this. Pictures and all.

FYI, Tynan also designed the graphic and layout for this site.

If anyones needs a web page designed or a swing installed, you know who to call.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Existence Justified

I got an invitation to sit at the cool kids table.

My new blog buddy Kate invited me to a bar crawl later this month with all the cool kids of the highly incestuous NYC blogger scene. Yeah, wicked incestuous and bordering on cultish.

When I first started this site I wanted absolutely nothing to do with that scene. It was such a turn off for me to read these people's blog posts about their own blog and stupid shit like that. All the name dropping/linking of their blog friends in every pointless post irritated the shit out of me.

I still feel this way.

But, I'm actually looking forward to this get together.

I look forward to meeting the people I read everyday, like Larry and Chris and Payj and several others.

I also look forward to meeting some people whose blogs I don't read but probably should.

Larry is one of the reasons I started a blog in the first place. Thanks to his blogroll, my third post ever was picked up by Gawker.

Speaking of Gawker, Heather seems like a doll.

Even though Chris totally blew it on Cash Cab, I'm sure he's a decent human being that I won't hate. His blog is really fun. Of course if MySpace is any indicator, we're already 'friends'.

Last but certainly not least, I am so totally excited about giving Alice a hard time in person. Pulling her pigtails over the internet has lost its charm.

I'll let everyone know how it went and who I slept with.

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

C.E. O-Yeah!

I start a new freelance job tomorrow working directly for a notorious advertising CEO.

This should be interesting.

Saturday, September 02, 2006

Labour Like It's $19.99

Have a good weekend everyone.

I will.