Thursday, February 27, 2014

#InappropriateJokeThursday... the wave of the future! (...albeit an offensive wave.)

It's become clear that the majority of people don't fully comprehend the meaning behind 'inappropriate.' I know, it's a tough word. I mean, it's all of 5 syllables long, it combines 'in' with 'appropriate' so it must mean that whatever the content is, the appropriateness of it is in... perhaps you should sit down before you have a nosebleed.

As defined by Webster himself (I mean, he literally wrote the book on definitions), it's an adjective, and is defined as not suitable or proper in the circumstances... or, in stupid-terms: NOT APPROPRIATE!

You see where I'm going with this? It's not #ConsiderateJokeMondays or #ThoughtfulJabWednesdays...

I didn't think I'd have to explain myself, but recent events have deemed it necessary. The name-calling, the threats, the hate messages, the hoping I get raped in the eye, it's completely unneeded. I never claimed to be proper. I'm fully aware of the tastelessness behind the things I post and frankly, I find no need to pull them or apologize for them. In fact, to quote Madame Delphine LaLaurie of 'American Horror Story: Coven':

I seen it all on the magic box. Agree to be publicly humiliated, all is forgiven. People have gotten soft, weak, lily-livered.All anybody has to do nowadays is shed some tears, say some words... ...repentance my ass. You think a man jack among them was well and truly sorry? Not a one. Sorry they got caught is all. Y'all nothing but a pack of sniveling hypocrites as far as I can see. Not me. I won't profess to be sorry cause I'm not.
I wept for the state of this world. A world of lies. A world that makes promises it cannot keep.

The actions you take are just that: your actions. To apologize for them... well, you might as well apologize for being human. Like I said, I get that from time to time, my jokes may be in bad form. But to attack me and threaten me to take it down because I'm fucked up... obviously you're new to the internet. Let me show you around. I can introduce you to a French model, too. (Yes, that is the guy from the AllState commercial. Wheel's spinning, but the hamster's dead, ain't it?)

Many of the jokes I post coincide with the current affairs. Whether it was Philip Seymour Hoffman's death, the anniversary of TWA Flight 800 going down, or the day after Casey Anthony's verdict, guess what. There's a pretty high chance I'm gonna make a comment about it. And it's not to be insensitive about any situation. Believe me, I'm fully aware how this country, let alone this world is fucked up. But I'm not going to sit around and be mopey and emo about this. I mean I could say I'll 'pray for them' because that would involve the least amount of effort to do anything (guess you can probably assume I'm athiest), but that's not exactly who I am. I'm the guy who goes for the shock value.

And guess what, if you don't like it, you don't have to comment on it. Just move on. Because it's not going to change anything. Now, if you're someone that has commented, and I deleted your comment, you're welcome. I've done you a favor. It's not because I'm being a coward. Oh, believe me, that is the furthest thing from the truth. I would wind up embarrassing you to a point of no return. In fact, I'm doing it because I'm saving your reputation. There are many people who will read one of the #IJTs, and laugh but won't 'like' it because they're afraid of being categorized the same way you categorized me. And I'm ok with that. But if they, or anyone, were to see your comments, guess who's gonna look like the bad person? I promise you, it won't be me. So... you're welcome.

To quote an unnamed instagrammer: "It's a joke, not a dick. Don't take it so hard." We're all a little fucked up in the head anyway. I've just got the balls to say it out loud.

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Let me tell you the story about How I Met Your Highness...

Alright... you guys are old enough. I'm gonna tell you the story of how I met Your Highness. Now I know you may have heard it. Someone may have told you already. But you heard the short version. There's a bigger story and it's important for you to hear. If you think you're being punished for something, then chances are, you're gonna die alone anyway. This may take a while, but...

Once upon a time, before I was this awesome, I had this whole other life. It was back in 2008. I was a single broken man, my hair was that of a rat's nest, and I had no direction in life whatsoever. Life was shit, until one October night when I came across this amazing profile on Something about it-- you could tell it wasn't some 14 year old kid that wrote it... or some middle aged, overweight male... or a dog... it was genuine. It bothered me some that she wasn't a fan of Corvettes, but seeing the pictures made up for the fact.

One picture in particular stood out. She was dressed up as Wonder Woman. Now although, at the time, I was in the mindset of Bizarro, deep down still lived Superman fighting to get out. It was almost kismet for me to find this profile and I knew I had to message her. But anyone who's attempted online dating knows that to be a male trying to get the attention of a female is about as difficult a task as opening a twist off metal cap off a bottle of beer -- it can be done, but you're gonna really have to put some careful effort into it so you don't chip a tooth (ie: your ego).

"Hey, what's going on?"
"Wow. You look hot! How r u?"
"Yo, wanna chat?"

All the generic, one-line messages that guys usually send that makes them think 'Yeah... this'll win her over.'
But kids, this is the wrong play. You don't want to be a carbon copy. As it is, the reason I got into meeting someone online is because at a bar, a woman's guard is already up and for every one female, there's 10 guys already eyeing her. No, no, I had to be different. And it couldn't be easier than having had my competition set it up for me. I wrote her a personal note, mentioning things from her profile, as well as mentioned her in Wonder Woman gear and how it's only perfect for Superman to have a drink with her.

And so on October 29th, I Blu'd out with some leather wrist bands and bracelets and donned my white bandanna à la Bret Michaels and trekked over to the Island of Staten to have a drink with her. I've never been so I was clearly out of my element like a white boy in the Bronx which happened to me back when I was about sixteen years old. I had gon-- wait, I'll get to that another time. I picked up this *wonder*ful woman and we went to a little place called Cargo just by the ferry. Normally, I'd say don't go to eat for a first date so that if you don't click, you can finish your drink and call it a night. But it seemed right. So we had some food, we had some drinks, I fought this giant, fire-breathing cockroach for her honor, and-- what? Oh... yeah...

Just like the biblical days of Yore, in order to win the fair maiden's heart, I was put in a battle against this 9 foot tall -- I overestimate... maybe 8 and a half -- cockroach. I had sent the powerful beast to a corner and remarked that we would cross horns at a later time, but the beast would have none of it! I could tell the fair maiden was in distress as a trickle of sweat started to form upon her brow. She tried her best to maintain the conversation and eye contact, and I tried just as much to distract her. Suddenly, she looked in panic as she stated "Oh me, oh my, I cannot see whereth upon the beast has gone!" Nevertheless, I continued to try and distract her from the impending danger by asking her about herself. Just listening to her voice was enough to have me lose myself in a moment of bliss and ecstasy. But I knew I must be cautious, for the beast could be anywhere.

It was then that I noticed him. Creeping ever so quietly and stealthly beside her. I must not provoke him for the slightest jerk can alarm him. I must not make eye contact, for the slightest stare could turn the toughest man to stone. But I must protect her honor. I fiddled with my sword that I so cleverly disguised as a cocktail napkin, came around to her side of the bench, and despite looking like a creeper for a slight moment, I put my arm around her only to reach over and slay the mighty 13 foot tall beast. Fuck you, he grew.

I know I mentioned that it was a fire-breathing cockroach and no where in the story did he breath fire, but just-- you know.... okay?

Where was I? Oh yeah, so we chatted. There was a moment or two where I was over-sharing, but when I eventually shut the fuck up and let her talk, there was something about her voice and her eyes that I just got so lost in. Yeah, I definitely needed to get to know this girl.

We finished our drinks and I drove her home. In front of her place, we each mentioned how great a night we had and how the second date shouldn't wait too long to happen. I could tell she wanted to kiss good night, but being a perfect gentleman, I insisted we don't on a first date and wished her a good night's sleep, adding that I look forward to hearing from her. I kissed her on the cheek, she smiled, and she went home.

I'm sure she'll tell you it went down different. Something about how I went to get a kiss on the cheek, and at the last minute, turned my face to steal one on the lips and how she was too smart for it and still hit her mark on the cheek and told me "Nice try" and said good night with a laugh and went home... whatever.

The stars did align that night. Something went right. Whether inadvertently or intentional, it did. Because in that week, we had two more dates. But I'll save those for another time. And six months later, we were engaged. And another year and a half later to that, we got married. And that kids, is how I met Your Highness. The Queen of my heart. The Daisy to my Luigi. The woman who continuously puts up with my shit.

Happy 5 Years Together, Anissa!

Monday, June 24, 2013

T-Mobile shits where it eats...

I kinda want to say that this post doesn't need no introduction... but then I remember the type of world I live in where a warning like "Do Not Use Toaster in Bathtub" is needed on the appliance itself. So let's get to it...

My mother has a habit of... needing new phones. I don't know why. She just does. Like she's some sort of fucking high-class agent that involves rappelling down the side of mountains and jumping onto trains and getting into hand to hand combat to be able to save the mayor's daughter who is tied to the tracks up ahead a few miles and has to use a wrench she finds to replace the broken brake lever and stop the train just in time... at which point, she steps off the train triumpant, and drops her phone and it breaks..........just go with it. So anyway, she asked me today when she's due for an upgrade, because the last 3 times I replaced her phone in the past year in a half wasn't enough (she goes on a lot of missions, I guess).

Logging into my account, I was surprised to see I'm no longer told when the next upgrade will occur for any of the phones. And so I decided to get some quick assistance via an online chat. And the following discussion occurred:
T-Mobile: We have received your information and will connect you with a T-Mobile Chat Specialist soon.
Hannah D: Good Morning, Emanuele! We appreciate your taking time to chat with us.
Hannah D: I can certainly look into your next upgrade, I bet you are so excited about this.
Manny: Not even a little bit, Hannah.
Manny: My mother is a clumsy woman, and this is already the 4th phone I'm replacing for her because she can't keep it in her damn hands.
Manny: But good morning to you. :-)
Hannah D: May I ask why? If you don't mind.
Hannah D: Oh, well, you know accident happens.
Manny: I'm just wondering when the next upgrade for phone line 5209 is. Nothing more. No need to try and replace this one now, no need to try and sell me anything else, in fact, I'm close to wanting to drop her from my plan... but in due time.
Manny: I agree, they do happen... but the only other people I know that replace a phone this many times in a year are in the mafia.
Hannah D: Good news 5209 is already eligible for upgrade right now.
Hannah D: \
Hannah D: Sorry about the */ keys.
Manny: LoL no worries.
Manny: It is? How come my profile doesn't state that.
Manny: In fact, I remember I used to be able to see the dates of the next upgrades, and now none of them show that.
Hannah D: I do apologize for the confusion that this creates to you. This is because you are on a Classic plan and we do not offer discounts on phones now, only through Installment plan.
Hannah D: But you can still upgrade with discount through our third party store like Target, Costco and Bestbuy.
Manny: Ah, good to know.
Hannah D: Do you have any other questions or concerns?
Manny: So basically, it's no longer a discount I'd receive, it's installment plans.
Hannah D: For you to be able to be eligible to Installment plan on upgrade, you must change your plan to our New simple choice plan and before you can change to simple choice plan, upgrade eligibility per line should be 18 months and above.
Hannah D: As of now 5209 is the only one eligible to have the simple choice plan but 5209 must wait for the 2 other lines.
Manny: So what is the upgrade available for 5209 if it has to wait for the other two lines to be put on Simple Choice Plan?
Hannah D: Good Question Emanuele!
Hannah D: Right now as while waiting for the 2 lines the 5209 is eligible to switch to simple choice and as I verified it, 5209 is eligible for the Installment plan through upgrade.
Hannah D: In Installment plan you will have to pay the downpayment required of the phone of your choice then the balance will be divided into 24 months to be added on your monthly bill.
Manny: Wow, that sounds... really inconvenient.
Hannah D: May I ask why?
Manny: I don't think you'd really want to hear what I have to say, but sure.
Manny: I've been a customer of TMob's for about 12 years now...
(Agent is typing.)
Manny: No, no... let me finish typing...
Hannah D: And we highly appreciate that!
Hannah D: Okay.
Manny: I remember how much easier it was to buy a phone, have it for two years... and they always worked great for the entire two years... and then upgrade with a discount because I got the two year plan when I got the phone.
Manny: And that's it. No installment plan. No pay what you want, and the balance is divided into 24 months. None of that.
Manny: It was just "You earned a discount for being with us for two years... buy yourself a new phone." and it got paid.
Manny: So, if you're looking for customer feedback in regards to your Simple Choice plan... here's mine: It sucks.
Hannah D: I understand how you feel about it and we respect your decision.
Manny: I know it's not your fault, Hannah, you're just an employee pushing what is given to you, and I understand that, I used to work retail.
Manny: But please, feel free to quote me to who ever you have to about the new simple choice plan upgrade installment thingy: It sucks.
Manny: Hannah, you have been a great help, and I give you my word that if I receive a call in regards to how you were, you will get a 10.
Hannah D: You can always have a discount on phone through our third party store like what I have mentioned. Your comment will be notated on your account memo.
Manny: Thank you. I will definitely look into that, as well as looking to change service providers.
Hannah D: I am sorry to hear that you want to leave T-mobile. I am hoping that you reconsider.
Hannah D: Do you have any other questions or concerns?
Manny: Like I said, I was with TMobile back when they were VoiceStream... and to still be receiving treatment and services like I'm a new customer... I might as well be a new customer to someone else.
Manny: Again, thank you so much, Hannah. Enjoy the rest of your day.
So, yeah... thank you, T-Mobile, for your outstanding display of customer appreciation. Now, I won't lie, I don't exactly have the best service from time to time. But I never cared. It just meant that I couldn't be reached, and I hate people enough as it is. Yet, I always went to bat for you, and advised people that you were great, and that you offered amazing deals, and blah blah blah. Yeah, you shat in bread, and called it Nutella. Enjoy your crap. I'll sign up with a company that does look out for its loyal customers.

As the British say: Toodle-go fuck yourself. (I'm paraphrasing.)

Friday, April 5, 2013

To My Father... an open letter...

Hey dad,

It's been a while since we last spoke. To say our paths will never cross again would be illogical. Even as big as world as this is, it's bound to happen sooner or later. But in the event that doesn't happen, I felt it was important for some type of closure.

First and foremost, know that I don't wish bad things on you. But in that same breath, I don't wish you well either. Things are what they are just as the sun rises and sets. And if I were anything but honest, then I'm no more than the two-faced hypocrites that I've come across and hate. So you'll have to excuse me if the things I write sting.

Before I go on, there's something I feel you should read:
"I'm not going to stand here before you and tell you this was something easy to write. On the contrary, I found this the most difficult speech I've ever had to put together. My father was a friend to some of you... and family to others. I can't help but think as I look around the room and wonder if I'm exactly the right person to be up here. Being his only son, that leaves me no choice."

That's an excerpt from a eulogy I wrote. I got the idea from a show I saw. It got me thinking about what I would say at your funeral in light of our... separation. It sits put away. Saved. I came across it again after I finished it, and read it... and read it again... and again... and I contemplated sealing it in an envelope and ripping it up. If you ask me why, I really couldn't tell you. It just... seemed like I should. But I put it away. Because I realize that reading it from time to time is the only thing stopping me from fully hating you.

That should tell you something. When that day comes that I have to stand before everyone and read it, I want you to know... right now, while you still can... that I do not intend to tarnish your image to them on your deathbed. It's somewhat not my character to have respect for the dead. I  mean, don't get me wrong, I don't go around dancing on graves and pissing on tombstones. But believe it or not actually, being one that is quick at the lip and sharp at the wit, I really never knew how to deal with death. So, trust me when I say that what I wrote is nothing but good things.

There's one other excerpt I want you to see from it:
"'You will make my strength your own, and see my life through your eyes, as your life will be seen through mine. The son becomes the father, and the father the son.'"

It's a quote. That was the last thing that Jor-El said to his son Kal-El (who, on our world, became known as Superman). You were my father. And I've accepted that. Truth of the matter is, I wouldn't be me if it weren't for you. And I'm not necessarily talking in the scientific-biological DNA way. I mean in the "Do as I say, not as I do" way. It's not to say you were abusive, and unloving, and absentee father. On the contrary, you were the exact opposite. Which is great... but not enough. I know, I'm being selfish cause there's many others out there who have it worse. But you know what, from time to time, I... like everyone else... deserves to be selfish. And deserves to get their way once in a while. Not spoiled. But once in a while.

I don't know, maybe I had high expectations. Maybe I was imagining the ultimate role of Danny Tanner and you just didn't live up to the hype. But aside from pretty much just being around, what did you teach me? What lessons did I learn in life? I mean, for fuck sake, ask me the last time I saw both my parents smiling and embraced in each other's arms. You know what that does to a kid? I mean I'm 30 now, I'm past it, so please, by no means should you try and make up for it... but being 5... 8... 10... 13... seeing all my friends parents being... you know... a fucking family... the fact that I didn't turn out like some maniac school shooter is nothing short of a miracle.

Strength. That's what Kal-El... Superman... got from his father. I guess in a way, that's what I got from you. From seeing your bad habits... realizing that's not the man I want to grow up to be... realizing I can do more good as a savior than a beggar. I don't really care to go into it all too much because it's only going to void out your eulogy more-so than these past few years have.

I want you to know something else about me... your son: I have struggled, and fought, and worked, and dug, and bled, and teared, and sweat, and scrambled for everything in my life. For what it's worth, I thank you for that. Because as I look around, and I see friends that got their first second-hand car when they got their license, or who got to live in the basement rent-free, or who got to have everything in life handed to them, you taught me responsibility... albeit, inadvertently. It's how you taught me that's fucked me up. If you had prepared me early in my years, then maybe we'd be in a different place right now. But it wasn't until I was well into my 20s that I realized, 'Holy shit... my actions now are what pave out my future.' And I had to struggle, more than I probably should have. So... for what it's worth... thank you... thank you for raising a fuck up. I don't know if you know this, but I was supposed to graduate high school six months early. But I bombed a whole semester, and never recovered. I can't help but think what doors that could have possibly opened for me. But I'm not going to put that on you. It was entirely my doing.

One thing you did teach me that I'll never forget and will be sure to pass on (when I can) is to learn a trade, and set it aside. You said because when all else fails, you have something to fall back on. And with that, you taught me how to use tools and work in construction and home improvements. But I didn't stop there. As you know, I've also learned the art of illusion, and the have acquired the skill of writing, and the talent of acting, and so on and so forth. Oh, and another thing I'll never forget, you started teaching me to drive at nine years old. But I'm thirty now. Thirty. And those are the only two things I can brag about. You know how many times I can remember playing catch with you? Once. On Roosevelt Island.

Geez, I've rambled on. I won't take up much more of your time. Trust me, there's so much more I can write, but it's a lot of stuff you already know. A lot of stuff you can safely assume is the reason of our fallout. I mean, think about the last day we actually spoke. The last day we actually saw each other. That should be enough. Consider it the straw that broke the camel's back.

You weren't a bad father. Don't take it as that. You did what you could. And as I said, in doing that, you taught me a valuable lesson. You taught me exactly who not to grow up to be. So for that: thank you. And again, To say our paths will never cross again would be illogical. Even as big as world as this is, it's bound to happen sooner or later. But that's not how I want to close this letter. Instead, I am going to close with a lyric from a song by Simple Plan:
"Cause we lost it all... nothing lasts forever; I'm sorry I can't be perfect...
Now it's just too late... and We can't go back; I'm sorry I can't be perfect."

Your Son

Sunday, March 24, 2013

Like an unstable house of cards...

Those who have gotten to know me have come to realize I'm nothing short of an open book. There's no 'judging by the cover.' There's no ice-breaking. I've nothing to hide, so why put up a front. The more people know, the less they can have against you anyway.

However, before anyone gets the wrong idea, that's not why I'm writing this today. I'm not defending myself against anybody. In fact, I've taken a slightly different approach this time around: this is more about a vlog, and less about the blog.

Not that I'd expect many of you to remember since being a friend on facebook doesn't mean anything more than knowing a list of people you can't expect to give you a ride to and from the airport, but back in late November, I took something of a hiatus from all social interaction, both on and off line. Very few have noticed, and reached out to me to see if everything is alright. And although, I needed to deal with it on my own, I do thank them for being concerned. It helped for the moment.

A few days before Thanksgiving, I had received some harsh news. Some news I... really didn't care to hear about myself. And it sent me to a deep depression. And in that time away from every one and every thing, I made a video blog where I just lay it all out. I had many reasons for making it. But one that I hope people will take away from it is to stop fucking asking because it's really none of your concern when 'it's going to happen.' And don't find this as a way to try and 'be a friend' if you were never one to begin with. I'm not looking for you condolences. I'm not looking for your sympathy. I'm not looking for anything. I made this for me. And even still, I have no problem sharing it.

Do not expect any type of humor to come from this video. This is not intended for me to be in a funny mood. I was not trying to entertain anyone. If that is what you're expecting, then you're very well better off not watching at all and the fact that you read this much has been a complete waste of your time. (Too honest for you? Deal with it.) Editing it was no easy task for me. To have to relive some of the moments over and over was hard and it wound up taking me longer to cut down and remove any dead air from about 4 hours of footage than I thought. But here it is...

YouTube Link: The moment the world crumbled...

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

With enough effort, the weight of the world can fit on the head of a pin...

There are times when the jokester takes a backseat and some deep shit comes flying out my mouth. It's a rare occurrence  I will admit. But the few times it does happen, you better believe that people stop and listen, more often than not, in complete disbelief.

A couple of weeks ago, one of these rare occurrences happened. And what you are about to read is something that I think many people should stop and think about from time to time in their life. A close friend of mine has been going through some personal battles in his life and he found himself in a mood that he needed some... reassurance, so to speak. I mean, it's fair, we all need something like that from time to time. So why not? However, the inquiry always stands 'Who do I turn to?' Usually, the response comes easy, but those wind up the ones that only tell you what you want to hear. It becomes a matter of now broadening out. And then, I enter stage right... the twist in the plot. How could anything I say be taken seriously, right?

His question was a two part. The first question was "How do you define a relationship?" Boom. Plain and simple. How much more loaded can a question be than with those 6 words, right? (Stay tuned.) Granted, I'm probably the last person anyone would want to ask a serious question to, let alone something like this. But given the circumstances, I knew exactly the sort of ordeal he was going through and I felt no need to be the clown I always am. That's not to say I didn't sneak in a joke here or there. ;-)

Before I go onto what my response was, it's best I point out how many may define it. And this is no opinion other than of my own from what I've witnessed and the stories I've heard. I remember a while ago, I was friends with an older woman who told me she never really knew what being in a healthy relationship was because of the childhood she had: her mother would rotate men like a person would change clothes, eventually she wound up marrying someone who was verbally and physically abusive to her mother as well as her. Being the old soul and somewhat romantic that I am and was, this was heavy shit for me to hear at a young age, to know that this type of things went on. Even at that time (I'm gonna estimate and say she was approximately late 30s/early 40s, I was in my late teens, possibly almost 20), she had someone in her life that was nothing but good to her who she had been with for a few years, and even then, she still had a wall up. No one should ever have to live like that.

And then, last week, while surfing one of my many daily-pictorial websites, I came across this photo-documentary by Sara Naomi Lewkowicz titled Shane & Maggie. The cover photo alone was so captivating, I had to cut off all distractions around me and take the time to go through each picture and study it and read the caption. I highly recommend, whether you want to stop reading this now, or if you want to do so after you've reached the end of this page, that you check out the story. Maybe it's the hero in me that is always looking to be the world's savior that felt the anger, and rage, and depression, and sorrow, and guilt, and all those feelings, as I went through each single picture. Seeing that little girl crying her eyes out and then having to be the grown-up and console her mother. It's fucked up. Plain and simple, it's fucked up.

And then you turn on shit like Maury, and Steve Famous-For-No-Reason-Other-Than-Being-Tough-And-Bald Wilkos, and you see these degenerates who do nothing but cheat, and fuck, and lie, and all this patheticness just to make themselves feel good... and then wonder why women put down men. Fuck you; sign up for regular conjugal visits at your local male prison and stop fucking it up for the rest of us who mean well you disgusting waste of space.

No... these things don't define a relationship. A relationship means so much more in so many different ways to so many different people. So what was my answer about how I define a relationship? Easy: No work. That's it. Just no work. Now before you start attacking me, "Oh, all relationships require work, blah blah blah..." This is true, they do. But it shouldn't be hard. I thought about my past relationships. About how they went wrong. About what went wrong. About how they progressed. And then I thought about the woman I'm married to now. And how not once did it ever cross my mind to wander off. And the difference? This just came easy. Sure, we had our troubles in the beginning. Just some baggage that needed to be lost at the terminal. But it didn't matter. And sure, we have our bumps and swerves on the road here and there. But they get fixed. And it's just easy. A relationship shouldn't have to be another job you go to after you leave your other job. It shouldn't have to be a chore. For me, when I'm with her, everything else just... doesn't matter. I find I forget so much of my issues after just seeing those eyes looking at me because I know everything's gonna be fucking awesome. I have enough shit to deal with out in the world... at home, it's safe. It's easy. It's no work required. That's how I define a relationship.

At this point, I had blown the minds off the two people I was chatting with. I mean come on, Manny Blu is laying down some pretty heavy duty testimony. Who is this guy?! Right? ;-)

Pleased with what I had to say, and feeling a little better, he threw his follow up question at me: "How do I define love?" *sigh* Come on, man... it's eleven o'clock at night... why are you putting this weight on me? LoL

At the moment, I saw no difference between how I defined a relationship versus how I defined love. They seemed be one and the same. And then he brought up how there's different types of love. There's love for your significant other. There's love for your family. There's love for your friends. Well, at that point, it became all clear to me. Other than my wife, I hate everyone anyway, so no wonder they were one and the same. ;-)

Ah, there's the Manny we all know! But I will admit, at the time, I didn't have an answer for him. I really had to think about this and I did not want to just leave it hanging. So the question brewed in my head a few days. Although true that I hate-- hmm... strong word... yeah, we'll go with it... although true that I hate the majority of people, there are a few that I keep near and dear to my hear. The ones I... dare I say it... love. And I started thinking about Anissa... and I started thinking about my mother (as annoying as she is)... and my sister (as equally annoying as her mother)... and I started thinking about my best friend... and I started thinking about my other close friends (regardless how far out of state they are)... and I started thinking about Cheetara (my car... although, she's a close second to Anissa, she does come before family and friends lol) and what did they all have in common. What was it about this short list of people that made them stand out from the rest?

And then I realized exactly what it was: I would do anything for them. Anything. Despite the consequences. Despite the request. Despite the outcome. Despite everything... I define love by exactly how much I'm willing to do for a person. And how far I'm willing to go for them. And how much I'm willing to risk. And for those people, the sky is the limit.

And yet again, after presenting him with my answer, albeit a few days later, I left him speechless that such a profound response came from me.

It's true, these aren't the easiest questions to answer. It's not like "Oh, what do feel like wearing today?" or "Hmm... should I ban large sodas or raise the fares across the city? Fuck it, do 'em both." (You're an asshole, Bloomberg... cannot stress this enough. I will always find a way to point this out until you leave office.) But when you're involved in it, then the answers aren't all that difficult after all. So now ask yourself... how do you define a relationship? And how do you define love?

And by all means, feel free to comment your response below, no matter how long or short.
But also, be sure to check out that pictorial documentary I linked above if you haven't already.

Sunday, March 3, 2013

"Somewhere along the path, I lost sight of it all..."

I have a vague recollection of myself. Once upon a time, I wanted to write, and act, and perform, and on that track, I picked up magic. And then, it started to diminish. It started to slip out of my fingers and out of my grasp. Not because I no longer cared for it. On the contrary: I could want nothing more. But somewhere along the path, I lost sight of it all.
It's funny, before I even started writing tonight, I basically sat here and stared at a blank monitor for a good fifteen or twenty minutes before I even began to know where I wanted to start. And it's been a long time coming for me to want to write... well, anything at all, let alone something like this. Although, you wouldn't have known it if you've interacted with me in any way, but the past few months have been quite a dark episode, and I'm only now starting to feel... ok? I guess... with it.

"''re so funny, man, you should be a comedian, God damn!'
Unfortunately, I am, I just hide behind the tears of a clown..." ~>'Beautiful' by Eminem

I was never one to seek out the pity and empathy of others. The last thing I've ever wanted was someone to feel sorry for me. It was something of an homage to Margot Kidder's Lois Lane in 1978's Superman: "You've got me... who's got you?" For no other reason other than to be the hero, I made myself out to be everyone's savior. And with that, I always forgot to look out for myself. Even so, as I said, I was never one to see out the pity and empathy of others. But in that same sense, it would scream volumes to know that there actually are people who are concerned. Just a little message or comment to say 'Hey... everything alright?' I would have told you yes, but those two little words... it really could have helped. And aside from my beautiful and amazing and 'doesn't-have-to-deal-with-my-shit-but-does' wife, Anissa, I can probably count on one hand how many of you have done that, and still be able to use the remote for my TV. So to those of you that did, thank you. I really do appreciate it.
Now this is where it's going to get interesting. Because now, the masses are going to bombard me with messages out of guilt and remorse and be "Oh my god, is everything ok? If you need to talk, I'm here. Anything you need, let me know." I'll save you the trouble because that's exactly what I'm writing about. So, how about that?: you're off the hook.
To start, the exact reason I've had such a negative standpoint the past few months, that's something I'm saving for a different post. I know, I know, now the majority of you are disappointed cause you can't pretend like you're going to be able to help me feel better. No worries, because there wouldn't really have been anything you can do.
What else? Well, I come from virtually a broken family. My sister lives in Florida and I try to live it like she's still a bus ride away. My mother is clearly unhappy here in New York and I'm trying my best to help her find contentment. My father... heh... can't tell you the last time I spoke to my father. Maybe the spring of 2011. And you really do not want me to get into aunts, uncles, and cousins. Because a good portion of them can all go to hell.
Oh, how can I forget! I've clearly made absolutely no progress in my career. I've really no one to blame but myself. Actually, it was just last week when I decided to try and take hold of the reigns on this horse ride once again. I started going through some of my writings, some of my staged productions, some ideas I had jotted down, and really tried to figured out where exactly I lost track of this. Will I be able to hold on or fall flat on my face once again is a whole 'nother story.
Then there's just the stupidity I have to deal with day in and day out. It's almost comical how incredibly idiotic people have become over the years. I mean, remember when common sense and logical thinking were a way of life? You might as well put them on the side of a milk carton. And then this stupid mayor of this retarded city. I often joke, they assassinate JFK, but Bloomberg gets away with slowly breaking down this city for twelve years? Is it really because of his money? Or is it because everyone's just become to lazy to listen to someone new? And in the about 4 years I've lived on Staten Island, the toll has gone up five freaking dollars. That's more than a dollar a year, which would be ridiculous to begin with. I can't do Staten Island anymore. And then there's just the consistent lack of prioritizing about what our goals and purposes should be... yes, Pix11 Morning News, there may be heavy traffic on the expressway and maybe the weather may mess up my commute, but tell me more about how Linda Church is in the fucking Poconos tubing and sledding every other segment because I don't think your facebook fan of the day quite got it yet!

But I digress.
Maybe I shouldn't be entirely too negative. There have been some ups that have occurred. I mean, I've got an incredible wife by my side who is my best friend, my rock, and my life's foundation. And who can complain about that? Regardless of all the negativity I face and put out there, somehow, she's able to just make it all go away with just a smile. She's the reason I wake up every morning and be who I am and do what I can. I can honestly say that if it wasn't for her saving me from basically myself, I don't think I'd have the desire to even care anymore. I gotta say, it's amazing how someone can have that impact on your life. But she is just that, and I cannot show her enough how eternally grateful I am for that.
I had also set out a challenge back in October to eat clean and healthy for 180 days (exactly 6 months to my birthday). It went all good and well for a couple months and then-- well, we'll get to that another day. But it did go well for about 2 months. I wasn't exactly trying, but I managed to lose 25 pounds, bringing me to my goal weight and I really hope it was fat that I lost. And I did hit a brick wall, but I didn't gain it back, so I've decided to pick up the challenge again and what the hell, we'll start it today, March 3rd. Let's see what 180 days can do of clean eating and working out can do.
We've got a cruise coming up which will be amazing because nothing beats being somewhat disconnected from the goddamn world for a good week. Blu.SB has been having an good turnout as more and more people decide they wanna bedazzle their flash drives. Oh, and I guess I should put something about my friends here, right? Cause they're all amazing.
...I hate about 80% of you. The majority of the ones that I don't all live out of state. That puts very little of you within range of hanging out. Honesty's a bitch, but you deal with it when you get it because it's a weakening quality very few have. And that's a positive thing, right? Being honest. ;-)

That's really all I have to write for now. And wow, it did feel good to write again. I should do this more often. In the meanwhile... time to get back on track...

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Professor Blu's class is now in session...

I did have a blog to write today. That goes without saying as it has been quite... *quite*... some time since I last wrote something. But something arose that sent me on a slightly different path. Don't get me wrong, I'll still write my original, possibly a little later on in the evening. However, something needs to be addressed that I have been hearing a bit of from time to time. And with a week to go until my second wedding anniversary, I figure what better time.

What started as a regular Wednesday morning for me -- getting up early, getting dressed, dropping the wife off at work as parking is a bitch for her on Wednesdays, heading to my mother's in Queens for a quick shower, and off to a healthy breakfast consisting of eggs since I'm told I need protein... or beer... something -- turned quite interesting while I was in the middle of eating my breakfast at my regular diner. It almost seemed scripted and rehearsed the way it was all set up. At the table right behind me sat a mother and her daughter -- I'd place the daughter at about mid-20s -- and it wasn't an enormously loud cause I could make out their convo, but I wasn't exactly across the room either.

Now I'm not one to really eavesdrop. For the most part, people annoy me. In fact, just the other day, I was at Panera Bread, and there was a group of four middle aged to old just sitting and talking something about having tenants which then turned to cold cuts and how Boar's Head is best cause of the low sodi-- what the fuck? I swear, if I didn't know any better, it was some sort of mafia meeting with the gold bracelet and chains the gentlemen were wearing. And there was an Asian woman involved, and I'm pretty sure all the cold cuts and renting that was discussed, she was possibly sold right before my eyes. But I digress... back to the situation at hand.

So I'm not really one to eavesdrop, but I couldn't help considering the topic. It was a general catch up kind of conversation, it seemed. So, one would assume, they live in different residences. The mother (who was back-to-back with me) then asked how the daughter's love life was going. If there was any special person in her life. At this point, I still hadn't caught particular interest, but it was still close enough to not catch the words. The daughter seemed to try and deviate from any details, but made it clear she was seeing someone. The mother insisted on details. This is where it brought me into the convo. By the way, vegetable egg-white omelette with a side of turkey bacon, a cup of coffee, and OJ. So fucking good... I'll get into that in tonight's blog.

As I was saying, this is where it brought me into the convo. Apparently, this girl had met the man she is seeing online. Almost instantly, the mother started questioning the daughter's sanity. "Are you crazy? How can you meet someone online? There's so many guys walking around on a daily basis" Blah blah blah...
It took all my power not to be this guy.

I let them continue as the daughter started to defend herself by stating she's a grown women and plenty of people are meeting this way and how it's perfectly fine and how she'll like the guy. Still, the mother would have none of it. By now, I couldn't finish eating any more and asked for a coffee refill. As I waited for it to be brought to me, the two continued. The mother was clearly upset, and the daughter was, too, as well as agitated by her mother's irrationality.

When my coffee was brought to me, I stood up, picked it up, made a 180, and asked if I could join them as I took a seat next to the mother without waiting for a response. I know: cocky and arrogant, but I needed to add my two cents because... well, you'll learn why.
I introduced myself as Manny, and asked that I don't know their names to make it somewhat more neutral. Plus, I mean... come on... think of the dramatics: awesome stranger in a jeans and a hoodie wearing a hat ready to spread some guidance in one's life and they don't know who you are?? Whaaaaaaat??
I introduced myself as Manny and although both visibly upset and put on the spot, they accepted that I sat with them, unsure of what I was going to do. I started off by telling the girl that her mother was right. She started to protest a little and I asked that she let me finish because she'll want to and be happy to hear what I have to say.

Now I can't exactly write everything I said verbatim, which sucks because it was a pretty epic fucking speech. But I can write how I feel which is what helped fuel what I had to say. I do feel it necessary to state how I started my argument as it set the precedent for what I had to say.
At some point, I had removed my hoodie, and lapped it over the back of my chair. As I was talking, I was fidgeting with my phone. Not to be rude, but because there was a reason. I also made it a point to keep any detail of my left hand hidden for the moment. I started to tell the girl why her mother was right cause the person she met online could be some degenerate with tattoos, has long hair, facial hair, look like he came right out of prison. And then I proceeded to point myself out. I showed them how I had a couple of tattoos showcasing the one on my arm and wrist, showed my long hair, and I have some stubble that only an inmate that has a once-a-week shave would have. Followed by showing them my wedding band. Followed by showing them a wedding photo off my facebook. (The look on the mother's face from the transformation of this short-haired, clean-shaven, hidden-tattooed gentleman to what was sitting next to her was priceless.) They both commented on how beautiful the bride was, and appropriately so. And how gorgeous the wedding dress looked as they asked for me to zoom into it. And then, I let them in on a little secret: I met her online.

The smile that the daughter had, I thought her face was going to break. The mother's stare just turned blank as she didn't know how to retreat. I'm not going to lie, there are some freaks out there on the internet. Some of them wind up on "To Catch a Predator." Some of them will fly you out from coast to coast to meet them and then hold your luggage hostage.

But within those, there are legitimate people who are actually looking for a relationship. Actual people who may not have the time to go out as much as they want, or who don't care to be set up on a blind date just because they're the brother/sister of a friend who's cousin's father was shot in the war that someone's grandfather was discharged from... what??
This brings me to my point: there are so many people that look down on online dating. Who think it's a waste of time. Who think it's creepy. Who think it's embarrassing. Who think it's sad and pathetic. It's not. It really isn't. What is sad and pathetic is when you think it's those things even though the person you're with you met online. Or when you gave it a shot and you gave up after you met two people and it didn't pan out. Or when you don't know what the fuck you're talking about.
Yeah, you can almost say I'm a bit passionate about this because it's something that means something to me. Actually, here's a little fun fact that'll blow you're fucking mind: if ever you think that it's ugly, unattractive, anti-social people that meet online, remember this -- Mila Kunis enjoys it. She enjoys viewing profiles, and helping her single friends meet people, and would do it herself if it weren't for her celebrity status. So go fuck yourself.

Why did I turn to finding someone online? I mean, clearly, I'm not hideous. My confidence is through the fucking roof. I was never one to shy from the bar/club scenes if there was nothing to do. But it's such a waste of time sometimes. I mean, I go to a bar on a Friday/Saturday night, the nights when it's sure to have a nice selection, and for everyone 1 girl there, there's already 10 guys. So, right off the bat, the girl's defense is up. I mean, I was never expecting to have a "How I Met Your Mother" moment in a bar or club, but it doesn't mean it couldn't happen. Still, it just seemed like so much work to try and impress one girl when you know she's most likely only entertaining you for another drink or until another guy comes by. And with work, and school, and trying to get my life started, seriously, who has the time for that. I'd much rather surf some profiles, send a few messages, if the spark is there, then let's tease the fire. If it blazes, then beautiful. If not, then it was fun, wish ya luck, and we go our separate ways. And that's what it was.

And that's how it was for my wife too as she waited for me to come along. And then we met. I believe it was October 26th, 2008 that I first emailed her on And I didn't just write some stupid "Yo, great rack, wanna bang" email. I actually read her profile, and put thought into what I wanted to say to show her I was interested. And how could Superman not be when Wonder Woman has her picture up? ;) And October 29th, 2008, we had our first date. And six months later, we were engaged. And a year and a half after that, we were married, and two years after that, here we are.
So don't put down something like online dating because you don't understand it, or you never tried it, or you're embarrassed. Because in that same retrospect, I can think that working for sanitation is disgusting, or being a lawyer is creepy, or being a retail salesperson or barista or "sandwich artist" is pathetic and sad.
Someone once said "we're quick to judge that which we don't know." And yet, even with this realization, it still happens day in and day out. So when you do so, remember, I will shut you down in a goddamn fucking heartbeat for being an illogical, incompetent, under-educated sonuvabitch!
I'm done! ...Geez, it's not even 12noon yet???

Friday, June 1, 2012

Not Cheetara's day...

I wish I could find a way to prove to everyone that everything I write isn't always negative or violent. But when people persist on testing my patience... sometimes, I want to cry FOR them. Because life is going to be so hard.

I can agree that perhaps... maybe... just maybe... I may have gone a little overboard today. But I can honestly say that writing about it will help relieve me of any frustration that may be left over. At least for the sake of my wife and Cheetara... oh, and for those of you that don't know, Cheetara is my car... a sleek, sexy 2012 black on black Dodge Charger... seriously, her name is on her plate. Shut up.

Moving on, the day started nice and sunny... a comfortable and beautiful 79 or so degrees. What a perfect day to run some errands, get her oil changed, get her washed, pick up laundry, yadda yadda yadda. What could ruin it, right? Right.

So I get the call that she's ready and I head on over and take out my car thinking "Ok... should be an average of $35 as I've usually paid at least less than that but this time it's at the dealer."

You'd be logical to assume the estimate, but you'd be dead wrong. Fifty dollars. For a fucking oil and filter change. Five. Zero. Ten times five. Twenty-five plus twenty-five. I don't care how you put it, it came out to fifty. Thinking the same thing my wife did "Maybe they used some special 'last longer' oil."

You'd be logical to assume that. You'd be dead wrong. The oil cost $2.50 and they used six bottles. We're at $15 right there. The filter was $8.50, bringing us to $23.50. You mean to tell me that doing this cost about 200% in labor?? Really?! Ok, that's the last time Manfredi Chrysler Jeep & Dodge on Hylan Blvd in Staten Island get a dime out of me. Only time they'll see Cheetara is regarding something on my warranty. Fucking crooks. Should've learned my lesson when my regular doesn't-fuck-me-over Asian mechanic Dee told me he would've charged half the price of Manfredi's $800 bill on my wife's brakes.

It's not even the $50. I have a good enough job where it's like "Eh, it's needed. So, why not?" It's the principle. I mean, for an oil change, you'd think I would've felt some of the lube while I was being fucked in the ass.

Leaving there, I had to make a stop at ShopRite further down Hylan Blvd. I took a spot that was open at the very front where only one side had more parking, and the other were solid white lines, as in "No Parking Here, Morons" (I'm paraphrasing). I coast the solid white lines on my side so that, being the courteous humanitarian that I am, anyone that parks on my passenger side will have a little extra room.

You would be logical to think that. You would be wrong. I come out of ShopRite to find this woman's door wide open practically digging into my back passenger window. I wish I could say I was exaggerating. But I could literally see the metal on the door bending inwards (and to prove me right, I heard the noticeable *pop* as I moved the door off my car). The species (as I refuse to call them ladies as they were some inbred, straight-out-of-the-sticks gingers) were two women with a 2 year old and a toddler.
Excuse me if I'm rambling, but I want to paint a clear enough picture here as I play it back in my head in hopes that once I'm through, I'll be calm.

The one I assume was the driver (I would put her at about mid-20s, only because of her sidekick) had the two year old in arms. She spots me, and must've said something to her fellow creature (this one seemed slightly older, but wouldn't place her over 40, maybe 45) because she looked at me, and went back to removing the toddler from the back seat. I go around Cheetara, and I clearly and loudly claim "Um... excuse me!" Nothing. Not even a blink of an eye. I remove her door from my car (this is when I hear the pop) and just stand there as she finishes. She takes her car door, and slams it shut and walks off.

Nothing. No apology. No "Oh my goodness" as 'ladies' of her age would say. No even a look back. And that's all it would've taken for me to just look at her, say something meaningful in hopes of educating them like "Just try to be more careful" and move along. That's it. But the fact that all of a sudden, I felt like she was making this my fault...*sigh*... this is where I say I may...MAY...have overreacted.

Without even thinking twice about it, I lifted my leg and drop kicked the driver's sideview mirror. Again, I'm not even exaggerating... it didn't just bend back, it didn't hang off it's place... oh, nay, nay.
Mirror cracked.
Plastic broken right where it meets the door.
Pieces on the floor.

I honestly don't even care if she got my plate. I'm aware, as my wife pointed out to me, that I've got a very unique and memorable plate. So, be it. If I have to be some masked avenger that goes around teaching people lessons the hard way on driving etiquette, well, shit, I'll suit up!

Honestly, and again, something my wife pointed out to me, I know I live in New York. I know there'll be dings, and dents, and scratches, and blah blah blah here and there (and I cringe as I say it). But it's one thing if I don't see/hear it happen. But if I'm there, and you see me, and you're driving etiquette is horrendous... *sigh* may I have mercy on your soul.

Ok... not even gonna lie... I feel better. Heh... go figure. :-p

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Is it me?

It's not a rhetorical question. I'm not trying to be a smart ass. I really want to know, is it me?

A friend of mine said something to me the other day that got me thinking. He mentioned how my statuses are so negative (and additionally, also saying they're long but apparently, he's compelled to read them). And it got me thinking. I took a moment to just go through some of my statuses... maybe went as far back as a week... and I'm not going to lie and say they're weren't negative. But I'm biased. So I can't honestly say yay or nay. All I can really do is defend my position.

Reading over some of them, I can honestly say without a doubt that it wasn't me so much trying to be negative as it was being honest. This world has gotten so stupid. I can only hope that the whole phenomenon of 2012 does happen so that, like the movie, people can be picked and choose according to their importance and how much of a positive and intelligent impact they'll have on the new world (and I probably misspoke about importance, cause I mean... well, really? Palin? 'Nuff said.)

Case in point, my status yesterday read as follows:
Manny Blu

So after some douchebag driving from the opposite direction in an oversized explorer (who's clearly got the tiniest cock in the world, fyi) decided to come into my lane cause of the traffic on his side and swerves coming within inches of collision with me... then flipping me off cause obviously it was my fault... I've decided it's time to equip the back seat with a bat again... just saying.

I mean really?! How are you going to be a complete a-hole and flip me off after your poor decision almost caused an accident with me? It can't be me. It really can't. And I refuse to dumb myself down just so I can kee-- let me rephrase... just so the world can keep up with me. And this made me realize something. I had an epiphany the other day that was so obvious and clear, I don't know how I didn't see it sooner. A lot of people think I'm being funny. Which makes me think of a line in Eminem's song 'Beautiful':
ha Marshall, you're so funny, man,
You should be a comedian, god damn
Unfortunately I am,
but I just hide behind the tears of a clown

And I realize why people laugh at almost everything I say, despite the fact that I'm being serious. It's cause they're uncomfortable. They're uncomfortable with the truth, and it goes back to the age old saying "The truth hurts." And the truth is, as a people, we're stupid. We're dumb, stupid, retarded morons who've misplaced our priorities. You want proof of our stupidity? You've got libraries banning "50 Shades" from their shelves because of the long lived lifestyle of BDSM that it speaks of, but you can have teenage idiots swoon over some ass-fugly sparkling vampire who munches out the baby of his possibly underage counterpart on the big screen? Oh, she's not playing underage? She's 18? Yeah, that's better. Shut the fuck up before I take away your crayons.

But this just goes to show, it's not me being negative. It's me being honest. And it leads me to wonder another factor: how do I still have friends? I'm such a condescending pompous jackass that undermines everything and tells you how everything you know is wrong (like how for posting something on your status, facebook will donate dollar after dollar to save the kidney of a dying orphan boy and his sister who were pulled out of a burning car wreckage after they were attacked by a ferocious lion that shot wasps out of its mouth every time it roared... ok, I'm paraphrasing, but you get the idea) and yet, I still have friends. Maybe it's cause I'm not the person you want opposite your corner. Cause they know that at the end of the day, if it comes down to it, if my help is needed, my help is presented. Maybe cause I've proven that my bite is much more hurtful than my bark.

If you recall, a while back, there was a father who publicly called his daughter out on badmouthing him and her mother on facebook and he responded by putting 9 rounds into her laptop. I applaud this man. That's good parenting. I guarantee you, in a few years, that girl will be a stand up citizen and thank her father for that and not be some spoiled little cunt like many of the ones you already see. But back to my point: he posted a picture of her on facebook and there were a few people (honestly, like 3, nothing more than that) that were commenting on how he should get her on a diet, and she was obese, and how she's gonna get diabetes, and blah blah blah. Now don't get me wrong, I'm all for ragging on someone if it's well deserved. But this girl has done nothing to no one and didn't need to be verbally trampled like that. I felt the need to speak up on two separate occasions. Below are the results of both, 30 mins apart from each other, in their respective order:
Manny Blu
I saw this thread yesterday, and I felt the need to comment, but decided against it as I should collect my thoughts before using my uncensored, filter-free mouth. Because I wouldn't want to stoop to Melanie's level and tell her how I'm glad she teaches her children good health because if their parents' looks is what they have to look forward to, life is going to be hard. Additionally, Melanie ain't exactly winning Miss Universe, but now we're just splitting hairs. Like I said, I'd hate to have to stoop to her level and call her a downright cunt who lacks manners and common sense... so I won't.
A little fun fact for ya, Melanie... obesity -- child or adult -- does not cause diabetes. Sure, it's a factor, I won't deny that. But explain this little wonder of science: I've no medical record in my family history of any having diabetes. Anywhere. For as far back as I could have researched, not one person has, past or present, diabetes. And I'm Italian, that's a lot of people to look up. So explain to me how my sister was diagnosed with type two diabetes. She's never been overweight, neither as a child, nor as an adult. She's hardly a food junkie. Like many people, she enjoys her coffee. But other than that, your logic is null and void, you're a moron for speaking how you did to someone you don't even know squat about, and if you do work for the NYPD as your pic is showing what I believe is the city's patch, I sincerely hope you get shot. You're an embarrassment to the shield, to my former employer, and to your fellow comrades. And if you're not an officer, I sincerely hope you're an actress and you're in costume cause frankly, having something like that in your possession is a felony. Just Saying.
While we're on the topic of cunts, to Melissa (the poster right above me), perhaps you too should think about what you say before putting your two cents in. Not to say you're not allowed to your own opinion, but keep in mind, you're on facebook... where people can click your profile... your profile that you most likely showcase your entire life on... so don't be surprised when someone calls you a stuck up, gold digging whore because of the fake nails you probably sucked a penis to pay for, your self-portrait photo which just cries for attention due to daddy issues, and your over-compensating exposure of your chest... yeah, you're a real poster child for where ever the fuck you're from, Singh. With a name like that (and I'm about to get real racist now), one can only hope you blow yourself up. (Yeah, I just did it. Go cry about it in your diary.)
And to wrap things up, Tommy, you have a lovely daughter. She seems very happy despite the fact that you shot up her laptop. LoL I hope she's improved since and I hope she realizes the extent of her inter-lebritiness. (I think that's what you call an internet celebrity.)
And to anyone who's got a problem with what I said, cry a river, and drown yourself in it. I've said my piece, anything negative you have to say to me or anyone else from here on out will be ignored and not a single fuck will be given. It'll only go to show where the priorities in your life are, the lack of life you have, and I will leave you with these words:
Arguing on the internet is like being in the special olympics -- whether you win or lose, you're still retarded.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012 at 9:30am

Manny Blu
I find it funny how all these folks clearly forget of the firearm(s) that Tommy has and his ability and desire to use them. It's amazing how everyone can hide behind a monitor, but approach the man in person and stop being a coward.
Josh, your lack of intelligence precedes you through the words you typed. Your two-faced personality oozes from your profile by you making the american flag your cover photo. And what type of malnourished twig of a nutritionist are you to be given someone else dietary advice. You lack that which most men have -- no, not a set of balls, that's just in addition to... I mean dignity, respect, and common sense. The fact that you're allowed to socialize with the general public disgusts me. And no, I'm not being racist. I'm being honest. Your race has nothing to do with how I feel about you (or anyone for that matter). It's your stupidity that makes me cringe. But if it is racism you're looking for, then go blow yourself up. And take Melissa with you.
Melissa, another one who I'm shocked is allowed to co-exist with people. I think I've ripped into you enough on the other photo (link below). Judging by your default pic, you seem used to being fucked without lube, so I'll let you slide for now
Wednesday, May 16, 2012 at 10:01am

Again, I don't know this girl from a hole in the wall, but neither do any of them. And she's done nothing to them, so what position are they in?

So I ask again: is it me?

Negativity? No. Honesty.
Truth hurts. Buy yourself a fucking diary.