Medicine is a conspiracy, Witchcraft is real.

A close friend of mine once seemed wise.  She was artsy, cute, and interesting.  Suffice it to say I now refer to her as Voldemort, because she is both evil and is the root of a constant pain in my forehead.

This woman believes in guiding her life by pure imagination, so I created a fictional story to help you understand her ludicrous thoughts.

One Tuesday morning, I woke up in the realization that I had been struck with an extreme case of Ebola.  Knowing that Voldemort had experience in healing wizardry, I politely knocked on her door across the hall in hopes of finding a cure to my terminal disease.   She opened the door with the kind of smile a 13-year-old boy sees just before he gets molested by his ex-con 7th grade teacher.  I nervously smiled back at her and said, “Hi, I hope I’m not interrupting anything but do you have anything that might lighten the load off my Ebola Virus?  I think these poisonous boils on my face are about to leak.”

She excitedly replied with a yes and said, “I have just the thing! Come in!”

Ebola was apparently an easy feat for a magician of her caliber.

As I walked into Voldemort’s apartment, I glanced around at the floating books, recipes, and the assortment of creature limbs sitting in jars full of a murky, yellow liquid.  It was really creepy.  Before I got the chance to further dissect her hoarding habits, she immediately rushed to a nearby drawer and pulled out a journal.  After flipping through about half of the pages, she pointed and said, “That’s the one!”

“Three frog legs, one wolf fang, and 17 feathers from an Austrian hen,” she said.  “Mix it in a blender with 32mL of cobra blood and you got the cure to your Ebola.”

Oh, okay.  Let me go to a nearby lagoon and gather some fucking cobra blood.

“Does this stuff work? Do you have any medicine?”  I asked.

“Oh, I don’t believe in medicine.  It is ignorant and a conspiracy.  Trust me I’m a health expert,” she replied calmly as if there was nothing a bit cuckoo about what she had claimed.

Trust me you are borderline brain dead, I thought. 

Health expert.  She was a health expert with the ability to cure EBOLA, buuuuut she’s sitting in her apartment  alone, unemployed, and broke.  Considering half of Africa is still dying from incurable diseases, there are only two possibilities.  Voldemort either truthfully believes in delusional healing witchcraft, or she is lying.

Science is ignorance and wolf fangs have magical healing powers.  Wealthy healing wizards compose of three fourths of the 1%.

 

Wind is my enemy.

“The weather was amazing,” is what they’ve been telling me.

“Until you got here.”

I arrived here in northern Lebanon two nights ago only to realize that Aelous hates me. All I want to do is water-ski, yet I suffer from the powerless surrendering of my schedule to an all-mighty douchebag. He probably isn’t even real. The only appropriate follow-up action was to Google the name Aelous to see what the mystical-man-fairy looked like. After being thoroughly amused by the right-to-left page setup of the Lebanese Google, I discovered that Aelous literally looked like a fairy with a helmet on. His wings also made me question his sexual orientation, and still, I have not arrived at a conclusion.

A typical day for me here would involve water-skiing or spear fishing all afternoon. It would be a medley of maritime murder and athletic recreation. But thanks to AELOUS, my day has been comprised of eating and drinking coffee with old people. A medley of nutrient  consumption and wrinkle watching.

NEWS FLASH:

I fell asleep writing this post and woke up to find the sea smooth as butter. I water skied for three hours and now, I am in a state of physical rehabilitation. This reminds of the seven and a half years I spent in the congo building relief huts for pregnant gorillas. My muscles have never been more sore. Although wounded, I have succeeded in my mission to ski the waters of the Mediterranean sea and I only ran over six helpless baby sea turtles. If I didn’t abruptly end their lives, a shark would have eaten them and used the energy to rape a helpless white baby.

You’re welcome white baby.

The “Hipster” Paradox

In an overbearingly annoying attempt to not follow the crowd, hipsters have created the people that are the biggest sheep of them all.

Look around hipsters, you are all following each other. You may have succeeded in being different from us normal people, but next time you are at a reggae concert or hanging out with your hipster friends, please open your eyes and look around. All your hairstyles are the same (rocking dreads or a beanie), you all dress the same (thin flowing shirts with scarves, tight jeans, chucks or vans, and nerdy glasses), you all listen to the same music (reggae, techno, and anything underground), and you all hate the same things (anything popular). So by creating this cool, unique, rebellious group of yours, you have done exactly what you were trying to avoid: FOLLOWING.

There are TOO many of you now to be all calling yourselves different. 

Wake up. Look at a mirror or your best friend (it is the same effect because he looks exactly like you) and realize that you are living the biggest lie that there is. You are all the same and all following each other.

 

Three Movies that Determine Manhood.

I have made a comprehensive list of the movie series you need to like to have manhood. Take a seat this may take a while.

Alien.

Indiana Jones.

Star Wars.

*This list is non-negotiable.

The Extinction of Recording Live Sports

Can’t make it home in time to watch a NBA playoff game? Want to tape it and watch it later?  You’d have a better chance of breeding a family of unicorns in your basement than making it home without finding out what the score is.  I remember years ago when my dad used to tape tennis matches and my brother and I would have to wait for him to get home to watch it.  If anyone even joked at hinting who won, my dad would pull a casual nun chuck and due to graphic nature of what happened next, I’ll let you put the pieces together.  Worst case scenario a friend would call you on the house phone and accidentally say something like, “Aw did you see the game!? Federer killed it!”.  But after the first time it happened, it was an easily-avoidable situation solved by a simple unplugging of your phone while you watch the game.  It was a minor inconvenience to keep our lips sealed because there wasn’t a 24-hours news cycle. Now, in order to tape a live game and avoid the score, you have to dodge a bombardment of Tweets, Texts, Statuses, Sportscenter Apps, T.V, and any page on the internet. Don’t forget that one friend that always says the score out loud regardless of how many times you threaten to karate chop him.

The only way to get away with taping a live game today is to simultaneously become amish, have no friends, and live in a barrel. Sports tapers, I hope you enjoy the smell of oak and loneliness.

 

Coaching the Miami Heat: Easiest Job in the World

I  don’t know that much about basketball and I probably will lose an argument with anything to do with sports, but I am very familiar with 5th grade coaching strategies. Coaching the Miami heat is the easiest job in the NBA and Spoelstra couldn’t coach himself out of a cardboard box.

Watch the Heat play and see if you notice the following things:

1) When they start a play, Lebron and whoever’s at the top of the key will awkwardly pass the ball back and forth five or six times before commencing any real action.

2) Once they are done playing hot potato, one of the non-superstars (Chalmers or Battier) will try to set up a pick only to find out that they don’t know how to. Sally from my 5th grade P.E class knew how to set up a pick.

3) When hot potato and epic fail pick time is over, one of the three super stars (Wade, Lebron, or Bosh) will try one of two things. They either try to single-handlely run straight at the basket against four players and try to score or get fouled. Or they will try to take a half court 3-point fade-away jumper and fall backwards 20 yards.

4) If none of the above happens, Wade will get the ball, dribble, dive backwards 20 feet and shoot the ball straight up in the air, all while flying. Whether he makes the basket or not, it looks like a scene from a bad Kung-foo movie every time.

5) While this is all happening WATCH CLOSELY. NO ONE ON THE TEAM IS MOVING OR HELPING THE BALL. EVER. If you look for it, you’ll see it. I would get mad at announcers for not saying anything about it, but since it is their job to talk about what is happening on the court, they are succeeding. Nothing is happening.

In conclusion here is the Maimi Heat Coaching Strategy lain out for everyone to understand:

GIVE THE BALL TO LEBRON OR WAYDE AND THEN CLOSE YOUR EYES, STAND STILL, AND PRAY.

I am for Lebron and I hope he wins the Championship because I believe his talent deserves to be recognized as one of the greats, but I hate his coach. He wouldn’t bug me so much if he didn’t pretend like he is why they are winning. If I were Speolstra, I would put on my shades, grab a strawberry-bananana margarita, and lounge on the bench. At least then the world could see what is actually happening behind the scenes.

(I also hate Derrick Fisher. Ya he might have experience etc., but what does he really do on the court?)

How to use sarcasm and not get punched in the face

Why should you listen to my guide on sarcasm? Well. I’ve never been punched in the face. Except for that one night a few months ago, but that’s because I, under the influence of seven and a half Jager bombs, challenged a man the size of a rhinoceros. He broke my friend’s jaw then proceeded to casually walk over and strike me square in the face. As far as I’m concerned I was on my front porch and I can make fun of anyone I want.

Here are my relative guidelines to avoiding being struck, while also effectively using sarcasm to fit in and make people like you (<— there’s your first taste):

1) Always feel out the person first. Sarcasm can be taken wrong if someone doesn’t know your personality.  Especially if it’s a woman. There are women out there that do not take any shit. You have to be able to notice that quality or it will be bad. If you mess up sarcasm with that feminine beast,  she will publicly pick out and chew on all your insecurities, like an eagle picks at a bird carcass, and then throw the remains to all your nearest  friends to prey upon.

2) Never use racial jokes unless you know the person very well and there is a clear understanding that it is appropriate. Biggots are not well-recieved in society.

3) Smile you stone-faced killer. Sarcasm and smiles go together. Or you’re just an asshole.

4) You can’t make sarcastic jokes about an issue that is blatantly a problem for someone. For example, if you are hanging out with someone with a hump back (which is perfectly cool with me), do not call them Quasimodo. A lot of people mess this one up. They think making fun of real problems is funny, but it has to be something that no one cares about. Or you’re  just an asshole.

Good sarcasm: If one of your GOOD friends is wearing bright pink shorts, you can definitely say, “Did you use a tampon string to fish out those shorts from your closet?”

Bad sarcasm: If a woman (that you don’t know) enters the room with a giant mole on the tip of her nose, and you say, ” Who let the wicked witch of the west in to our place?”

Don’t  be an asshole.

Moonlighting with Obama

I went to CNN.com to complete my normal news rotation that I glance at every morning and this sweepstakes was at the top right of the web page:

http://www.barackobama.com/rules/dinner-with-barack

Other than the fact that maybe Obama should be probably focusing on something more important, this is awesome! Imagine walking up to a restaurant (one that costs more than your house) and casually having this conversation with the hostess:

You: “Should be a table for 4, meeting my bud Barack.”

Hostess: “Oh wow really?”

You: “Yeah, we’re here to discuss some boilerplate stuff, like providing economic opportunity for an entire nation. You know, typical Tuesday.”

You’d totally have to set it up so dinner was on a Tuesday.

Then, after looking like a complete badass entering the restaurant, you get to eat a golden lobster with a side of  grilled celery, bedazzled with your choice of diamonds.

At this moment, sitting across from the President of the United States of America, you would get the one opportunity to say whatever you wanted.

What would you say?

Tipping…or Bribing?

After golfing a full round with my dad, he asked me if I had any change in my wallet. I instantly knew it was for the guy who was going to clean our clubs and store them away, so I reached into my pocket and tipped him myself. It looked like this:

Am I tipping someone or am I trafficking drugs?

Rap Battle

I was at work yesterday and I had a sudden urge to challenge a small koala bear to a rap battle. I picked up the nearest iPhone (it was mine) and I started spittin’. Because of my extensive time spent visiting Africa and loitering around popular grocery stores, I was familiar with putting together beats. My dermatologist also recently informed me that my beard has a condition that forces it to curl, commonly found in African Americans. This information convinced me that I was born to spit. Although I have the best beats in the greater southwest region, the koala bear that I challenged was a worthy competitor. It was very comfortable with the English language and the sensitive issue of homosexuality.

Here is the battle:

Me:
Your rhymes are like grass,
They get chewed up and spit back out,
Are you wearing make up or do I see a snout
Oink oink says you
How many twinkies have you had today? Only two?
I can make you cry but I’ll stop right there
Next time you’re at subway, prolly wanna go rhye

Koala:
You tryna come up w sh**
But you just don’t got it

You’re rhymes are gay
Just like you, you only lay
Dudes becAuse
You like it in the butt

Yeah I said it
I don’t even regret it
I’ll say it again
You take it the pooper
But that’s ok.. So does
Your boyfriend cooper

Me:
Your scared to rap against me
I’m a lyrical wizard
You big fat chicken I can see your gizzard
Your dead, time to back off
Towards the light you go
you f**** moth
Your brains way too slow
I got something that can help
It’s called blow
Im bored Cuz You ain’t got no skills
Peace dog Netflix got season 1 of bear grylls

Koala:
It took you an hour
To come up w that beat

You got nothing on me
Now go n wipe that skeet
Off your face bc you lost
This lyrical race

I’m in class
Learning how to make money fast
So f*** off, and leave me alone
No matter how much you beg,
We will never bone

Me:
You’re right your lips are doing alotta flappin, but they aren’t on your mouth
You say you ain’t a slut
But that ain’t no truth
If you take it in the butt
Your an anal whore
HIV is easily preventable
A quick trip to the store
Guess that ship has sailed
All you wanted was some tail
Now you got aids and I don’t even care
I’d bang you… Nvmd your legs have way too much hair

It is unclear whether it is more sad that we rap battled via SMS for a solid 16 minutes, or that I may have lost to a koala bear.