The Last Time I Did Something Nice for Anyone

Shaken and Stirred

The most elaborate meal I’ve ever cooked was probably trying to make my mom’s lasagna that one time in the dorm in college. It wasn’t all that hard but I am not good at cooking and it was a small kitchen.

Yeah it was pretty boring. I don’t know why I was even making that. I was like twelve then. Or nineteen.

I remember I was making it for my girlfriend at the time. For her and her friends.

I burned it.

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Uncle Bob Comes to Jesus

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Calling Uncle Bob.”

I don’t even know what that means. Have I ever turned to someone for a quick fix when I should sort it out myself? Calling Uncle Bob?

The funny thing is I have an Uncle Bob. Then again I guess that isn’t all that funny since probably everyone in America has an Uncle Bob. Shit I have two Uncle Bob’s.

One of them fell down a well once and landed on his back. Then he accepted Jesus as his personal savior.

His son had been telling him about Jesus for thirty years or something, but up until then he was a hard living ex-marine who didn’t need a personal savior.

HIs son was a preacher and when Uncle Bob fell down the well and miraculously learned to walk again (a year, three surgeries and months of physical therapy later), his son baptized him.

Then a few years later, Uncle Bob’s son went and got diagnosed with bipolar disease, divorced his wife and left his church and put on a Lynard Skynard t-shirt.

Risk Adverse

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Envelope Pushers.”

The last time I took a big risk I didn’t even look at it as a risk and it didn’t turn out too well.

I left my job and went on vacation, thinking that I could easily find a better job when I came back.

Then I came back and realized I would have to go to interviews and submit resumes and shit and that was asphyxiating.

Then I found out that no one wanted to hire me and then I really freaked out.

I ran out of money and everyone was like, “Dude why did you quit your job?”

And I was like, “Shit man, I don’t know. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Was it Tuesday? Yeah it was Tuesday.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Spinning Yarns.”

What makes a good storyteller?

For starters I prefer someone who can end a story. So, not me. My stories have good beginnings and then by the middle I’m like so anyway how was your weekend?

My favorite storytellers are famous people because the people I know don’t really tell great stories. It seemed like back in the day I knew some funny storytellers, but not really any more. I think maybe some of the people I work with.

I hate storytellers who focus on details that don’t matter. Like when something actually happened when that isn’t part of the story. “Was it Tuesday? No, no…I think it was…Wed…nesday? Yeah, Wednesday. No it was Tuesday because that’s when I ate that sandwich I had been saving.”

Some of my favorite storytellers are Allie Brosh, Louis CK and Kurt Vonnegut. The first two are hilarious and the last one is funny, surprising and insightful. Oh and I love PG Wodehouse’s stories as long as they aren’t about golf. I like stories that are complex and twisty and have good endings. I like Sherlock Holmes stories, too.

A Good Day

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Sparkling or Still.”

My perfect day off would be me sitting around staring at a wall and being happy, so drugs would probably have to be involved. Mostly just alcohol.

I would wake up around 1 PM and eat pancakes and drink a few greyhounds.

Then I’d put a bottle of whiskey on the coffee table and play Assassin’s Creed until I got hungry again.

Then I’d order a pizza with everything on it and mozzarella sticks too and when it arrived I’d use the bathroom since I had to get up anyway.

Then I’d put a six pack of Belgian beer on the table with the pizza and I’d watch a Tarantino movie until I was done eating.

Then I’d play Assassin’s Creed until my eyes bled.

Then I’d lay on the floor, listen to Pink Floyd and drink the rest of the whiskey until I passed out.

Well I Don’t Love YOU!

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Cousin It.”

Families are all weird for sure and I know this one guy who’s family is way weirder than mine and he is my brother-in-law so now he’s my family, too. He is an outlandish motherfucker who used to drive tanks in Afghanistan and also climbed ladders straight up four or twenty stories high and used to race family cars against cops and burners on the highways and never get caught and he had a V6 Camaro and took the muffler off to prove it.

He can’t be in the room with a conversation unless he rocks himself back and forth into a vegetative state or unless he’s controlling the conversation, it just depends on if there are stronger personalities as to which of those he’ll choose. If there’s no one to shut him down he’ll talk and talk about how he doesn’t want to interrupt you and wants you to talk to everyone else and you shouldn’t talk to him because he knows you have a better life than him and you should enjoy it. Then he’ll get a phone call and I’ll start talking to my sister like I came there to do and then he’ll wave us down and put the phone on speaker and say, “I want you guys to hear this! Listen!” and I’m only there for an hour or so to talk to my sister I haven’t seen in a long time and that’s how the whole thing goes and he’ll say, “Well I’m really glad you two got to catch up she really enjoys talking to you.”

He’s managed to take over the whole family, actually. When he’s not there we talk about how crazy he is and what he did this time and when he is there he talks about how crazy he is and what he did this time and a hundred other times and how no one understands the right way to do anything and that time he went to the city and honked at mother fuckers while drinking out of a warm two liter gas station brand soda he found under the seat the other day.

He came in here the other day and told a story loud enough for the whole building to hear and one part of it was him yelling three times, “I do NOT love you!” Ha! Crazy ass.

Things Come to Those Who Wait and Those Who Don’t

Waiting Room

Do I believe that good things come to those who wait? I think that things come to everyone and if you are waiting around for something then you’ll just ignore all the other stuff until you get what you’re waiting on and then you’ll say oh that was because I was waiting for it. Besides it probably won’t be what you originally wanted, but you’ll tell yourself that it is or even that it’s better than what you wanted and that will be basically just a result of you being tired of waiting and finally realizing that you didn’t even need that thing to begin with.

I think you should have no expectations of getting anything. I think it’s a very sane way to live. That way if you wake up in the morning you’re surprised as shit and if you wake up dead you’re similarly surprised and you’ll never have to go to the dentist because you won’t expect them to be in business past the next minute or so.

That’s just me though. Not everyone can be so rational. Some people sit around waiting for things or going out and getting things. Hell I don’t even know who originally said this or why they were thinking it. You know they probably said it to some kid so he’d stop pestering them. That kid eventually figured it out, too. Probably was a hundred and five and said, fuck, well, I guess I better rationalize my life by saying that after all it was pretty good times waiting around for whatever it was that I wanted back then.