A Halloween Tale of HORROR: or how the food challenge went.

Dear Moms in their forties who think it’s their twenties,

Halloween is upon us, and we all know what that means!

Gorging our fat asses with candy while we binge watch ‘Once Upon a Time’ and telling ourselves that we’re gonna make it big someday, and life is gonna be worthwhile!

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But there is also the more forgotten gems that Halloween bring to the table, the often sought after horror stories to frighten us to the core.

So after you bring your children to complete strangers doorsteps in search of future sugar dependencies, return home and put them to sleep, and crack open that large bottle of Malbec you’ve been saving for all of today since you bought it last night, kick back and filter through your child’s pillowcase while you peruse the following tale of horror which I have written for you specially this holiday!

Also it rhymes!

The Tale of Insurmountable Intestinal Damage:

On a night much like this, not to far in the past,
a young man decided, to get off his ass

He’d been planning for days an event most unpleasant,
that allowed him to stand out, amongst all the peasants.

Scott Disick Quote (About big star, gif, lord disick, peasant, peasants)

‘I shall show them’, he said with his fist clenched above,
‘that I can achieve greatness when push comes to shove!’

But as days passed he pondered a thought ’twas most scary,
if he failed in his task, ‘twould not be legendary.

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His mind raced each night and his fears grew with time,
to let down all his peeps, a most horrible crime.

‘I need strength!’ this lad thought, as he woke to a new day,
‘So my friends will all know I’m as fierce as Beyoncé.’

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So he researched and read, as the time did grow near,
and he summoned a plan to which he would adhere.

He had done this before, but not quite as big,
a food challenge which he’d consume like a pig!

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‘I have watched Man v. Food and eaten before,
I’ll just walk in and beat it and walk out the door.’

For this challenge he figured could be done in a flash,
but a burger this big, it required some cash.
For the business must profit from the food that they lose,
whether in people’s bellies, or puked on their shoes.

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So he saved up enough for the burger to sit,
in his stomach obstructing a few days of shit.

And what did this contain, that made one a winner?
Well it might as well have been a Thanksgiving dinner.

And I don’t mean just one plate, or as much as you’re able,
We are talking the whole fucking Thanksgiving table.

Eating Contest

He had eaten one once, on vacation for fun,
a 30 ounce burger, including the bun.

He had beaten that burger, took it down in one sitting,
And was not a bit worried that he wouldn’t be shitting.

With his face on the wall and a milkshake that followed,
his win it was better than all that he’d swallowed.

But this one was bigger, this burger he’d try,
well he’d have to eat five pounds, and try not to cry.

One Direction

He readied his will and alerted the masses,
on an upcoming Friday they’d get off their asses.
They’d follow in glee just to watch him gain weight,
while he shoveled food sealing his fat-asses fate.

And where would he die should his heart stop its beat
Wagon Train Barbeque in ol’ Schenectady.

allison is jealous

He awoke to the day he’d be shoving his face,
and left his work early to prep for the race.

He posted his threats where the whole world could see,
On Instagram and all his friend’s Facebook feeds.

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He drank pots of coffee and a whole lot of water,
To stretch out his stomach for foods soaked in butter.
And two English muffins were all he’d consume,
But just hours before his impending food doom.

His girlfriend arrived after all day at work,
To drive him and watch him eat food like a jerk.

Alex McCord singing Les Miserables on Couples Therapy deserves a Tony.

One by one they arrived, his friends by his side,
To root and to cheer while he swallowed his pride

There was Matt and Melissa, Rachelle and Kurt too,
Hillary, Jon and Matt, a cool dude.

A girl from his high school with whom he’d not spoke,
sat by with her beau probably hoping he’d choke.

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The waitress arrived and their order she took,
though the challenge was prepping, they forwarned the cook.

A glimpse he had caught of the burger in back,
And he feared that he may have a real heart attack.

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Back to the table he sat with a thud,
Ready to become this mass eating chud.
The waitress came over arms growing quite wary,
He realized he just might be screwed, it was scary.

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He dove in ferocious and ready to eat,
and this burger though big was a most tasty treat.

That’s when it dawned on him starting this session,
That all he’d be earning here was a life lesson.

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A lesson that pulled pork and brisket would teach,
And Mac n cheese, cole slaw, eight ounces of each.
He’d plunder through bacon, two fried eggs and cheese,
Eight slices in all to bring him to his knees.
A one pound hamburger that’s really not bad,
But a bun that was huge, like the size of my dad!

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Deep fried jalapeños, onion straws just because
and he’d have to keep going, to prove what he was.
Two more pounds or so of fried onions and fries,
Enough to make normal men bleed from their eyes.
And all this concoction though balls hard to rhyme,
Must slide down his gullet in a half hours time.

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So he plowed through the proteins, and did it quite quick,
And that’s when he started to feel awfully sick.

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He rested and breathed while his time would diminish,
Melissa said out loud, ‘No way that he’ll finish.’

But he needed support not Melissa’s mean sass,
So he turned with his mouth full and said, ‘Kiss my ass!’

Ms-J-ANTM-Stare

The restaurant was hushed everybody in awe,
overwhelmed by all the consumption they saw.

And that’s when it happened, the mighty food wall,
when all of a sudden his will it did fall

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With nine minutes left, his strength it did waver,
but our subject he did everyone there a favor.

For the food it did rise, up his throat to the top,
And he surely would boot, if eating did not stop.

So the scariest part in this horrific tale,
is he threw in the towel, a huge epic fail.
But with 5.5 lbs he choked 4.3 down,
and the restaurant though sad, sort of gave him a crown.

Out of all those who lost, like one seventy-five
he’d finished the most, and he walked out alive.

On the ride home he farted, his left arm went numb,
and that’s when he realized his food quest was dumb.

So in no more food challenges would our hero partake,
and he washed down his heart attack, with a thick ass milk shake.

Happy Halloween y’all!

And in case you’re impatient and scrolled ahead, here is a video of me reading it in loungewear with a pipe:

Still breathing but the left side of my face is drooping for some reason,

Me.

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A Food Challenge: Or how not to be a little bitch.

Dear teen moms, chocoholics and anyone currently wearing Burt’s Bees,

 

I would like to preface this entry with just a little background information. In my late teens to early “comfortable in this four year relationship” twenties, I consumed food like it was going out of style. A bottle of red wine looked like a juice box to me. A large cheese pizza, unlike the one Kevin ordered for himself in Home Alone which he probz wrapped some up and put in the fridge for breakfast, slid down my gullet with the ease of an Ellios personal pizza.

And there may have been a time I embarrassed people I somehow convinced to eat at a buffet with me, by wiping a few trays out of stock.

Like once.

Okay maybe twice.

Anyway the point is I was a hangry teen boy and I ate my feelings and coped with life by pretending salty snacks and unlimited whatever’s for $9.99 weren’t going to hurt my body.

Which is why I weighed like 260 pounds.

beauty

Ladies. Hello.

Yadda yadda yadda, throw a break up in the equation, some body issues and self loathing, and I was ready to get my posterior into shape. And also pants. That were smaller.

And so I did. But unfortunately, my ability to consume food like an asshole has been known to rear it’s ugly and overdone head.

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Please note the following film titles that were recently released were actually written about me:

‘Just because you can eat all the sushi doesn’t mean you have to’

‘The never-ending pasta bowl is not a food challenge’

‘That Guy: ordering 8 rounds of endless apps at Fridays’

And so, while you were all snuggled tight in your cubicles at work or dumping ice on your head this past month to raise awareness for ALS, I was doing something so unproductive with my time it may actually be the most senseless thing I’ve ever done.

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Last month I packed my bags with all of my size medium t shirts and 32′ waisted pants to visit the wonderful land of Tennessee.

Note those sizes kids, because in a week, everything will change.

Yes! A wonderful vacation with the all knowing and ever beautiful gf (mom, this means girlfriend) of mine at her mother and stepfather’s abode.

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We were welcomed to the state by all of the beauty that the ol’ smokey mountains and teeth missing natives had to offer, and settled down for a nine day stay at an a-frame cabin just outside of Alcoa.

A small summary of Tennessee (or the part I was in) for those that have never been, in terms of what you see from the car:

Trees.
Lots and lots of trees.
$20 tattoo store. Attached to a gas station.
Gas: $3.12. (New York, eat a dick)
Hardee’s.
Trees.
Chik-fil-a.
Sonic.
Walmart.
Hardee’s.
Guns!
Bigger guns!
More bigger guns!
Church related building.
Giant crucifix.
Giant-er crucifix.
Mountains.

(20 minutes later)

Mountains.

Now, I will say that I had a blast, and the hospitality was great. Nashville is a hoot and honestly I didn’t have to hear that fucking ‘I’m ready’ song on the radio once because if you don’t listen to country out there, you’re a foreigner or just visiting from some place like Maine or New Hampshire.

But one thing that is abundant in this state is food. And it’s good food.

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I’m talking beef jerky that tastes so flavorful, but is so spicy it could cause you to black out on the toilet but reach for another piece when you wake up.

I’m talking mexican restraunt after Mexican restraunt.

Salsa and chips until your balls fall off.

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Unless you don’t have balls.

Then just salsa and chips.

But like my last vacation that took me all the way to the land of crazy decisions on so many levels in Portland OR, I wanted to challenge myself.

Literally.

Luckily gluttons for punishment (literally in this case) like myself, there is a website called EatFeats where you can look up food challenges by state and city.

Well wouldn’t you know about thirty minutes outside of our vacationing town was a wonderful challenge I knew I had to do. So Maggie, me, her sister and her sisters boyfriend Angel (which we all learned translates loosely to ‘Little Bitch’ in English) ventured to settle at a table for optimal internal destruction.

The Chubby Burger challenge can be found at the Hot Rods 50’s Diner and this place was fantastic, wall to wall memorabilia and televisions playing show intros from long ago. Regardless the walls were also covered with a smattering of my fellow former competitors and their ‘accomplished’ times.

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Long story short I was about to attempt to eat a stupid amount of food (33 oz. Burger and 1 lb. of French Fries) and join them on the wall.

We placed our orders, and I asked our waiter, some guy that looked like he walked out of a Good Charlotte video and into this wonderful diner, what the record was and he muttered something about six minutes and someodd seconds.

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That was my goal. That was the glory I wanted to achieve.

And so after we ordered, this is the thought process that followed during the course of my epic food challenge:

Ok Alex we got this. Six minutes is nothing. All these people on the wall are inferior to you. Your gut can demolish their times.

Is this crazy? Should I do this? My friends are always amazed at how my stomach holds some things. That means I should.

Right?

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Or are they worried for me?

If they’re worried should I do this?

What if I die? That would be the worst kind of impression to make in front of the girlfriends family.

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‘Hi I’m Alex. I love your daughter. Wanna see me stroke out at a novelty diner over a novelty burger?’

The girlfriend seems proud. Her eyes are wide.

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Proud.

Maybe proud.

Maybe gauging my heart rate.

Oh good the waiter is making his way over. I’m actually pretty hungry now that I think about it.

Despite the fact this is my second lunch-ish today.

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Whatever he has our food it’s time to sack up.

What.

The.

Fuck.

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Who the fuck ordered a Mack truck?

Quick. Come up with a course of action! All your years of watching Man v. Food sitting on your ass have prepared you for this.

Why the fuck does he have a stopwatch? This is THAT legit?

We’re not gonna ballpark the time thing?

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Angel looks hungry as fuck.

I’m glad he’s doing the challenge too. I feel like someone else eating this much food makes me look slimmer somehow.

But what if he beats me? He’s already established his place in this family.

They like him…

You have to force dominance down everyone’s throats. Show everyone how much bigger your di…

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…appetite. Show them how much bigger your appetite is.

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Make sure they all know you’re gonna make this food your goal for the next few minutes and when you’re done you’re going to look like king of the fucking jungle.

Beyonce.

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You are fucking Beyonce.

Now who feels comfortable in their own skin? Huh?

You do Alex.

Ok, course of action. Don’t let them throw you off again. Cut the patties in half.

Good. Now eat the first four patty halves. Don’t bother chewing much. You’re a man.

You’re a pro at swallowing.

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Wait. No.

Don’t say that out loud.

Shit this burger tastes good.

Stop, you’re wasting time dwelling on flavor.

This burger is bland! Think cardboard! Just swallow faster.

That’s what she said.

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Heh.

Dammit.

Okay! The last patty!

Make the burger a burger now! Eat that shit whole and then you just have fries in the home stretch.

Shit you’re eating so fast. You’re the best. You’re the alpha male here!

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Angel hasn’t even made a dent in his burger! And he looks full!

Damn Alex, you are so fucking attractive right now. You should get a time check you might beat the record!

Time check! Where the fuck is that waiter! Shouldn’t he be watching closely to make sure I don’t like, shove the burger in my pants and fake the win or something?!?

Hey waiter! Bring your stopwatch daddy needs a time check!

Seven minutes.

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Damn.

Well thats okay! Now you might not barf, you can slow down!

Woo hoo! You finished the actual burger! You’re a king!

I wish I had a mirror so I could watch myself eat this burger.

If I had a mirror though I wouldn’t be able to see Angel across the table though.

Look at that little bitch across the table, taking little bitch bites.

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Wait, is his girlfriend making fun of him?

Did she just call him a little bitch out loud?

Fucking awesome Alex, you look so good right now! Ugh! Don’t stop compounding the problem with more cheese and grease!

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Let’s deal with these goddam French fries now!

Squirt ketchup and mustard all over them! Flavor changing tactics are officially your niche!

Do a fist pump to celebrate your milestone!

Left arm won’t move?

I wonder why my left arm is numb.

Am I supposed to feel light headed?

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Don’t get side tracked.

Maggie is so proud of you. She didn’t call you a little bitch once! Look at her holding back tears of joy for you.

Or vomit?

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Maybe she’s trying not to vomit?

Either way, no girl has ever looked at us like that before Alex.

Except Melissa that morning you ate the pound of bacon by yourself in the garage.

And the time you took your tinder date to the Capital Buffet.

And the time that you worked at the pizza shop and burnt the one pizza but only the center and the rest was fine and so you ate the whole thing because who the hell are they to say you can’t do anything with that pizza just throw it away hell no don’t throw it away you just eat it yourself and cover it in bleu cheese fuck the world you’re a pizza eating god.

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Ok so maybe a couple of times.

These French fries are cold what is this shit? Whatever just eat them with a fork.

Wait. This mustard tastes horrible on these.

Who the fuck dips French fries in mustard.

Alex.

You.

Dumbass.

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I’m either full or I have a large mass growing inside of me.

Maybe I’m pregnant?

Oh my god I can’t raise a child…I do food challenges for fun…what kind of parent would I be.

Maggie noticed somethings wrong. We can’t have this baby. I can’t be pregnant. Reassure her everything’s fine.

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It must be the food. It’s probably gas.

There’s still a whole plate of fries.

But I can feel the food level inside of me like halfway up my swallow hole.

We have to finish Alex.

You can’t go home defeated. And all eight of these people eating here are counting on you.

They came to see you win.

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Or get lunch.

But whatever you can do this. Drink some soda!

Shit that’s good soda.

The carbonation is giving me gas.

We definitely shouldn’t fart right now. Seriously who the hell knows what would happen with this much food inside of you.

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You can go to the bathroom when you’re done.

Ah crap I have a cramp.

Rock back and forth. Curl in the fetal position and pretend you’re somewhere relaxing and warm. Like bed. Or Hawaii.

Don’t cry, it’s going to pass.

Everyone is noticing. Your eyes are tearing up. Quick do something tough.

*flexes bicep*

Good. They get the point.

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Or their confused.

Either way no one sees the tears.

Six bites left baby you got this.

Why does very bite feel like forty five pounds?

Will they still count it as complete if I’m harboring the last four bites in my mouth because there’s no more space in my throat?

One bite left!!!!!

Left arm still numb. Use the right one! That’s it!

Damn it’s so heavy. Put it in your mouth.

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Swallow!

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Yes!

You did it!

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You are the fucking princess!

Someone find that guy from Good Charlotte! Tell him I beat his wimpy ass challenge!

Yeah that’s right! Stop that stopwatch.

Stand up for your victory!

Legs not working?

Fuck it, right handed fist pump!!

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Look at Angel!

He’s so done.

Pfft.

Ameteur.

Now we look really good.

We did so good.

Let’s order a milkshake now.

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Let’s further this issue with liquified dairy and pretend we’ll see zero complications come of this.

And that kids, is how I got myself on the wall of fame, became a doctor, won a t shirt, and lost sight of a size 32 waistline to this day.

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And I regret nothing.

Still breathing but not sure how,

Me.

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Be Underwhelming: Rules for Impressing Lovers on Vacation.

Dear Mom and Dad, Wegmans and whoever plans to travel soon,

I wanted to let you know that I heard your caution to take things slow during this new relationship. The advice you gave was clear and concise and any normal human being would heed your warnings.

But much like the time you told me not to try making s’mores in the toaster oven, and though I still maintain they would have tasted great regardless of the house burning down, I have chosen to ignore your decree.

And so in an attempt to woo my new lady of the night (no she’s not a hooker she just works until 6 so I usually only see her in the evenings), I asked her to go on a vacation.

I know what you’re going to say…and honestly, I feel like we have known each other for years! I really feel as though I know enough about her to invite her on a long car ride to meet family members I usually wait until the second Christmas to introduce.

I believe it was the wise Chris Brown who once spoke of amorous feelings when he said:

“I’m on some new shit, I’m chuckin them deuces up.”

Such wisdom. He most certainly does not GAF.

(Mom this means ‘give a fuck’)

And so we set out on a drive down the east coast to Virginia Beach for one unbelievably relaxing vacation. I figured I would just update you and let you know about all the rules I learned about vacationing with lovers and the plethora of events we got to experience together making our power couple status comparable to that of HOV and Bey.

Rule 1:

You’re going to want to get an early start on your vacation. In this case I made sure to accommodate our circumstances well. When I say circumstances I mean she drove the whole way. So as a surprise, and in order to ensure she wouldn’t have to hit rush hour traffic or be driving late into the evening, I set my alarm for 4:30 a.m. just to make sure she was wide awake and ready to cart our asses around.

Don’t worry, I used Miley Cyrus for an alarm ringtone so she would wake up really happy.

We stopped at McDonalds for breakfast, and I couldn’t decide which breakfast sandwich I wanted her to buy me more, bacon egg and cheese on a bagel or a biscuit, so I just ordered both with a coffee and I definitely should have gotten the biscuit only, the bagel was sub-par but whatever I didn’t buy it.

Well, whatever the mud they called coffee actually is, it ran through me quick and I had to stop at a rest area. Plus it gives your beau a half hour to stretch their legs while they cart your Ms. Daisy ass around.

Rule 2:

If you stop for bathroom breaks, take your sweet time. You’re gonna be on the road a while, and even if your partner doesn’t have to go, you don’t want to rush.

Also, in the event you clog the rest stop toilet, I know you are wondering and yes, definitely tell your boo as you exit the bathroom. They will be proud and they will congratulate you with things like:

“Those things are made to take down anything and everything…just…how?”

“You’re so pretty”

Rule 2a:

Fart.
Fart a lot.

Rule 3:

If you stop anywhere for an hour or two, and there is a mall nearby, and you’re a man, prepare to be there for three to four hours. I don’t plan these things well, and I like shopping, but somehow whenever my new boo takes me to the mall to grab

“a strapless bra”

it really means

“new flip flops, a maxi dress, wait maybe this maxi dress, or this maxi dress, can you pick one of these the navy with gray striped maxi dress or the navy with charcoal striped maxi dress, never mind I’ll get both, new hat just in case there’s sun, probably a soda, but no not that soda, I want the soda from that place, ew this one has zero carbonation, probably a haircut at this Sears salon would be cost affective and convenient because we’re here, don’t you need sweatpants oh well whatever I’ll just wear them, oh I work here so I get a discount we should walk the perimeter of the store eight times just in case I can use my store discount maybe, do you think it’s warm enough for flip flops maybe I should return them, oh and did you want to stop in the Chik-fil-a we originally came here to eat at?”

Rule 4:

As a passenger, it is your absolute duty to entertain the driver. They are going to get stressed, and you are going to hit traffic, and when you hit this traffic and they double down with exhaustion and anxiety and all they want to do is sleep and stop driving, that’s when you have to up your game and prove you are the best car co-pilot ever as well as a useful lover not just during the secks.

Tell them how good they’re doing. Things like:

“Honey, you’re overreacting you just need to learn how to merge properly.”

“That was the exit a half mile back you just chose not to get over so we’ll just find the re-route.”

“Your emotions are surprisingly tame for having your period, that in itself is something you should be proud of.”

And when THAT doesn’t work, pull out the big guns, and distract the other drivers trapped in the gridlocked hell by smushing your beautiful face against the passenger side window. Your driver will laugh through her tears and that four car fender bender you cause will be a distant memory in thirty to forty minutes.

Rule 4a:

Definitely take a lot of pictures of your girlfriend even if they don’t want you to, like in the rain or when they’re trying to “snuggle” or whatever.

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Rule 5:

No matter how good of a person you are, don’t fuck with the universe by saying things like “we made it safe and sound” a block from your destination…

…because the universe will summon animals, like Bambi…

…and your driver/girlfriend will barrel into Bambi’s skull at a high rate of speed…

…and she will have another panic attack because this is the first deer she has ever hit EVER and she will of course, have just been talking about how nothing has ever gone wrong with her car since she’s owned it just before this occurs.

Definitely keep your thoughts on safe arrival to yourself.

And whatever you do, don’t refer to your lover as Bambi murderer or Venison creator for the rest of the trip.

Rule 6:

Take some time for you. Get a pedicure. They are fantastic.

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The chairs assault your back like you owe it money, and they do all kinds of things to your feet that you never knew you could do. Like shave them, lotion them, and give your legs a massage that could make a paraplegic moan with joy.

Rule 6a:

Don’t make paraplegic jokes. Ever.

Rule 7:

Visit all the novelty gas stations/grocery stores/fast food joints you don’t get to in your shitty overbearing town of Albany, like Wegmans, WAWA, Wegmans, Sonic, Wegmans, White Castle, Chil-Fil-A, Wegmans, IKEA, and Wegmans.

Seriously, Albany, fucking Wegmans. Stop being so lame and just sell booze at the grocery stores this is ridiculous.

Rule 7a:

Something to keep in mind when traveling is that your bowels are on a fairly strict regimine. Disruption in the form of temperature change, altitude change, or even the stress of having to criticize someone else’s driving for a week can block you up for some time and that can get uncomfortable.

Definitely DO NOT get food at the above locations and pile it on top of the compounded issue.

UNLESS! You have never tried them before…

In which case, in order get the spicy chicken club sandwich with waffle fries, IKEAS Swedish Meatballs and a salmon dill wrap, McDonalds at least twice, a buffalo chorizo based egg dish for breakfast at a kick ass diner, any and all breakfast sandwiches at WAWA, seafood at the Virginia Beach shore in grilled and fried format, a gigantic bagel sandwich at a cute sandwich shop, a giant bagel schmeared with cream cheese also because YOLO, and a creamy chicken and spinach Alfredo.

But be warned, piling this internal organ layer of food together leads to the next rule.

Rule 8:

When you stop up your hotel rooms toilet, you absolutely positively need to notify your lover first. It doesn’t matter how invested in the current episode of ‘Flip it to Win it’ they are, you shut it off, look down at the ground shamefully, and then inform them that you’re going to have to be a little late to the free beverage and cheese hour at the hotel lounge because there is an inch of toilet water on the floor in the bathroom.

Then call maintenance. Priorities.

Then when maintenance arrives, say something to the effect of:

“I have no idea how that happened”

or

“Does this happen often?”

Then, because your insides didn’t suffer enough the last five days, go eat enough cheese and creamy pastas to block up someone with IBS comparable to that of Pompeii’s eruption.

Rule 9:

Because you got a great deal on Priceline from that guy from Star Trek, you are located on the 8th floor, in a private bode where silence is encouraged and loud noises are frowned upon.

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Take this opportunity to prove to the world that even though you’re not super well endowed (thanks a lot mom and dad), you can still get the job done.

I’m not saying to have the sex loud and rambunctiously while you’re on vacation, but I am saying you should at least spend some time slamming your palm against the neighbors wall while you make noises similar to the ones you’re going to hear when you visit the zoo the next day.

You’ll feel better. I promise.

And you definitely won’t cry by yourself eating leftover room service from the night before because your girlfriend “needed to hit the steam room for some alone time”.

Rule 10:

When you visit the museums your bae wanted to see, definitely opt for the audio tour. Even though they will complain afterwards about how much of a pain it was, it earns you an hour of silence while you pretend you’re listening to your tour but really are enjoying not hearing about how “tired” someone is from all the driving she has done.

Rule 11:

Other states don’t have the concept of always being hungry grasped, so you need to be aware, places like Richmond and Virginia Beach, close down their restaurants at 2 p.m. right at peak “grab a samwich somewhere to tide us over” time and then they don’t re-open until 5 when it’s dinner time.

You should definitely look like a man in front of your new girlfriend and freak out because you’re hangry and there is no where to get a god damn peice of food that isn’t from a seven eleven and you should definitely blow it out of proportion and pout because girls love that shit and when they tell you to stop being dramatic you should definitely blow that shit out of proportion and say things about how you should just break up then because obviously she doesn’t value your relationship when you can’t get a fucking sandwich after walking around all goddamn day and only eating a handful of goldfish.

(I used to have a temper problem and I’ve really been working on it at the request of my mother, and I think we can all agree looking back on rule 11 that we learned a really valuable perspective on how well we’re doing because we haven’t had an outburst like that in a while, and we are super fortunate to have a girlfriend who will at least wait until we get back home to break up with us so that we don’t lose control in a foreign state)

Rule 12:

If you do get pouty, definitely make sure when getting off your exit to go back to your relatives, that you exact revenge on the driver for calling you a princess and telling you to calm down by telling them you know where you’re going, and then saying left here, right there, for fifteen minutes before you end up in a church parking lot and then admit you have no idea where you were going and then when your girlfriend gets upset you have the upper hand and can say things like:

“Now who’s being the drama queen?”

You win.

FINALLY, Rule 13:

Make sure you tweet everything that happens. Broads love twitter. Document the trip, you’ll be better off:

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Still taken but unsure why,

Me.

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A Sick Son-of-a-bitch.

I awoke today with this great sense of self-awareness. I was ready to begin with the vigor that most people see in their day-to-day.

Like if you snapped out of your dream from the night and ‘New Slang’ by the Shins faded in to wake you up, and you just kind of looked at life and thought to yourself:

‘This is the day. I’m gonna do all the things today.’

That’s what happened this morning.

Then I barfed at a diner.

It was actually quite interesting.

You see the new year has been really going quite solid for me so far. Nothing unbelievably out of the ordinary or life-altering. I pinned a few more things to my secret wedding board on Pinterest, I started this blog, and I have maintained my day-to-day interactions with the world around me.

 photo tumblr_mggah0Chnk1rlmi42o1_500.gifBut I have been sick for two weeks now.

Not like…’Guys, we need to have a talk’ sick….

…but sick none the less. You see for me being sick isn’t really a thing. I am not a fan of the doctors and I don’t really go as often as I probably should. It is what it is but waiting rooms creep me out. Anyway, I rarely get sick, and when I do I pretend its like not happening and it usually goes away. We’re talking like once in a blue moon, honestly.

But when I do get sick, it is bad. Incapacitating-bad.

Like…”Mom, do everything for me and can you pour that glass of juice down my gullet because I’m too weak to fend for myself here”-bad.

But since New Years I just kind of assumed that I was basically getting all of my yearly illnesses out of my system. Who the hell wants to be sick sporadically throughout the year anyway. Give me all of it at the beginning of the year. Set me up with the Noro Virus, pink-eye, and a chest cold all at once. I will absolutely be that guy that gets over it and spends the rest of the year watching people get super pukey because their immune systems aren’t used to the toxins of the everyday world.

Like maybe get off your Play Stations and see the world!

Don’t you people know you’re supposed to beat the shit out of your body so you get used to the crummy stuff that flies around day in and day out?

As I have gotten older though, I have noticed my regimen for taking care of myself has changed from the beginning, whence I was a baby boy. Back in the golden years my mother and father had one of those nifty measuring spoons you poured the medicine into the handle where it measured the quantity, and then you passed it along to your child who regrettably downed it in hopes that the color of the medicine was going to match the flavor, which it never did.

By my teen years I was fully accepting of trips to the doctor where he would have general conversation regarding my genitalia and how it was changing and then he would prescribe me a Z pack to take care of basically anything my body could have gotten into when I was younger.

But now, as an adult, there is all this expectation that you’re supposed to take care of your body and you’re on your own in doing so. And who the fuck came up with that idea because it sucks.

My doctor is on the opposite side of town and getting there is a pain in the ass so I wait until its at the point that no one is going to want to stand within a five foot diameter of me before I will concede and agree to go sit at an urgent care facility nearby. The doctor will feign his interest in my symptoms and prescribe me something I have never heard of that most likely generally cover a wide array of illnesses.

Well for all that effort I would rather take care of all these illnesses myself! I’m stubborn enough as it is and I don’t really want to take a medical professional’s opinion to heart today. I’d rather say it’s probably this or it’s probably that.

All I know is they make medicine for the day time, the night time, and the kind where you just need to get away from the symptoms. That sounds pretty self explanatory and I know for a fact that the guy next to me on the CDTA is getting irritated with me sucking snot out the back of my throat day after day, so bring on the Mucinex.

Well New Years’ midnight stroke passes and I wake up New Years day with the  abdominal pains of what I can only relate to child birth…like really uncomfortable but not all that bad in the grand scheme…

…right ladies? That’s accurate?

Anyway I proceed to spend the whole day evacuating liquids and solids from my system because, and lets be honest, who wanted them there in the first place? I do the responsible thing and call my parents in Florida to cry over the phone and complain about how life is ending and the world has no light anymore…the usual.

I reach out to my overly-happy and in-love house guests for the holidays, and request they pick me up the biggest vat of gatorade they can find, and some bananas. I’m not sure what the bananas do but my dad said to get it and honestly I haven’t kept anything else down so it’s worth a shot since they’re mushy if they have to come back up.

I am very specific that in my request that I do not want the yellow gatorade because it tastes disgusting and if you disagree we have nothing in common and you should stop reading this now. I don’t pay them back because I’m cheap and miserable and they’re happy and in love so it seems like a fair trade. My bartering skills are top notch.

Somewhere in the following day around noon, my body clams up and decides we’re all set and we can start keeping things inside again…

Then I settle into my cubicle at work the following monday, alive, awake, alert and enthusiastic.

And then I cough.

And then I cough again and its crunchy this time.

About an hour later my eyeballs start getting warm. I made this point the other day to some friends and they looked at me like I had eight heads, but if you’ve ever been sick…which you should have unless you’re Bruce Willis in ‘Unbreakable’, which you’re not…you absolutely understand what that symptom is like.

So I go home and lay on the couch and put on some Boys II Men, and sob softly into the terry-cloth blanket now draped over my face, because I have come to terms with the fact that I am getting sick and I am by myself. Two fever blockers, some melatonin and it’s off to bed for this pretty pretty princess.

The next two days are about as happy as me watching my cat hump the aforementioned terry-cloth blanket while I shovel saltines into my mouth. My face is evacuating pretty much all fluids that are built up inside of it, and the cough that was once crunchy has turned wet and solid at certain points. My body feels basically like someone backed over me with a tractor trailer and I can’t focus on anything because there is steam coming out of those little pink nippley things in the corner of your eyes.

So heres how this goes-25 years old and coming to terms with the fact that you’re not healthy:

You get approached by several co-workers asking if you’re taking anything.

Then they ask if you need them to donate sick time to you.

Then you get the point.

You are officially that asshole at the workplace.

So you take two days off and you make your way over to the rite-aid where you purchase a handle of orange juice, the least expensive cough drops you can find, and two bottles of the store brand ‘Tussin’ that contains absolutely zero alcohol.

And so the next four days of your life are going to be a hazy, exhausting, and terrible barrage of tissues, mucus and regrettable text messages where you come across exceptionally whiney and helpless.

And here we are!

The cough is gone. The mucus is gone too.

And you wake up with every intention of furthering your frequenting of diners on the weekends. You meet your coworker. You order your usual rye toast, coffee, and side of bacon.

Then you get light headed, and a quick a minor sweat sets in and you realize you wore a tank top and a hoodie to brunch and there is absolutely no logical reason you should be a furnace at the moment. So you make your way to the bathroom, excusing yourself politely, and come to terms with the fact that there is a person pooping in the only stall available (by the way this is a huge problem in my opinion…what if more than one person has to go?) and the man standing at the urinal is unfortunately going to have to watch you toss it like a prom queen into the garbage.

It was embarrassing and I composed myself pretty well for being that guy in the bathroom at a diner throwing up the only food he had put into his body today. But then you get back home and you sit and you realize, what if you’re back to the stomach virus?

What if you just keep getting sick?

What if this is a never-ending circle of doom and gloom for your insides and you just gotta get it out?

Well, personally…it is not making me look very forward to the week ahead.

But it is making me re-think my tactics for healthcare at this point in my life.

Look at you 2014. Teaching all kinds of lessons.

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Throwback Edition: Excuse me, do you have this in a size impossible?

Dear Paris Hilton or anyone who starts a fashion line,

I dress like an asshole. I said it.

Now feel free to judge, although who are you now, really?

I was brought up on a budgeted shopping style and if my mother taught me anything, it is that everything goes down in price eventually. She calls it “bargain shopping”. Some refer to it as “being fiscally sensible”.

So it is no wonder that when I enter a store with the sole purpose to pick up garments, I legitimately b-line for the clearance rack faster than a Kardashian’s farce of wedded bliss.

I will admit, that in highschool, amongst the superior Abercrombie and Hollister models that walked the halls, with their frayed strapped flip flops, AE logoed ball caps, and seagull encrusted zip-zip hoodies, I adorned the most comfortable shoes I could slip on without using the laces at all, jeans that ranged, from falling off my ass, to putting my testicles in an ever-lasting chokehold with their tag team partner my thigh, all to be topped of with a t-shirt, usually of the graphic orientation.

I know. Teenagers, am I right? And like it wasn’t that I didn’t WANT to wear the clothes that the large chains had to offer, it was just that I usually waited until they appeared on the marked down rack in the local Marshalls.

“It’s just a phase, he’ll grow out of it.”

Absolutely. And no sooner did that happen, did I graduate from college and, you know, never have to see people that would care again. But did it make a difference? Of course not!

Let’s check out my old styling pick up lines:

“Hey Ladies, who wants to date this attractive man, donning a pair of DVS skate shoes covered in muck from working late nights at Cold Stone?”

“Bet you never saw a smurf-parody of The Sopranos on a t-shirt before, generally more attractive woman than me.”

“Really though miss, are these pants that look like they could be my mother’s really not doing anything for you?”

Thank the lord I was not able to walk into bars/clubs/opiate dens back then. I would have been chewed up and spit out, trying to product place my face into a girls memory, no matter how sloppy of a mess she was finishing off her 8th appletini.

Then came that wonderfully awkward point in life when I realized, while trying to actually start shopping for myself when it came to clothing that wasn’t a standard jean or t shirt, that my body is just ever so delightfully the shape of a pear sitting in an ice-cream cone.

Pants? Forget about it. What you mean you can’t find a size 42 waist with a 32 inseam? You mean, I will never be able to wear anything they even sell at the chain named stores because they only go up to 38 waists and their button ups are slim fit? Are you really trying to tell me that some men have large chests, and are just screwed if they happen to have a small body for the large width, they were ever so disgracefully granted in their genes?

A big-and-tall section, will not, and never has been a savior to me.

Im not sure what it was exactly that sparked the change in body shape but I got there eventually, to the point where I could actually fit into the clothing I WANTED. I didn’t have to spend fifteen minutes choking back tears in a dressing room anymore after realizing that none of the eight pairs of pants I brought in with me were going to fit.

I still have not adjusted to the what to wear when, what patterns should not be worn with which patterns, and how stripes work, but I am a work in progress as far as my style is going. Find me without a mismatched pair of neon colored socks, and it probably means I’m at a dressy event-wedding, interview, etc. I have officially managed to blend into the adult world now. Shirts tucked in, belts on, dressy shoes kept clean and shined. Pick me out of a crowd in their cubicles, you could not, unless you know me obviously.

Still to date I haven’t managed dressing appropriately for the cold weather. So that is why I delved into this diatribe against my dressing decisions, because I am officially sick. Laid up, in bed, with a head full of more pressure than a math major’s expectations for her son in school.

(sorry mom, I’m trying)

With Love,

Alex

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