comments 7

Video of the Week – Billy Connolly 1990 HBO Special

I truly want to thank Al Gore for inventing the Internet, because where else would I ever find this classic HBO Comedy Special starring Billy Connolly? It dates back to 1990 and it’s filled with enough swearing and fart jokes to last a lifetime.

I watched this for the first time with my Dad when I was 16, and it’s just as good now as it was then. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. If you don’t think the comedy is funny, you can at least laugh at the hairdos.

comment 0

A Feast for the Eyes

Whenever I can, I take my camera around with me just in case a Kodak moment should arise. Sometimes, however, the most interesting subject is the food I’m eating. Here’s a bunch of photos I took of some good eats and tasty treats. I’m really hungry now.

P1010342.JPGP1010472.JPGP1010473.JPGP1000253.JPGP1000254.JPGP1000255.JPGP1000256.JPGP1000257.JPGDSC02000.JPGDSC02002.JPGDSC02182.JPGDSC02103.JPGDSC01891.JPGDSC01937.JPGDSC01936.JPGDSC01887.JPGDSC01951.JPGDSC01952.JPGDSC01953.JPGDSC02123.JPGDSC02167.JPGDSC00937.JPGDSC00938.JPGDSC00940.JPGDSC00786.JPGDSC00863.JPGDSC00864.JPGP1000045.JPGP1000049.JPGP1000433.JPGP1000460.JPGP1000498.JPGP1000499.JPGP1000592.JPGP1000593.JPGP1000595.JPGP1000598.JPGP1000601.JPGP1000602.JPGP1000605.JPGP1000613.JPGP1010297.JPGP1010298.JPGP1010712.JPGDSC00474.JPGDSC00286.JPGDSC00395.JPGDSC00396.JPGDSC00397.JPGDSC00422.JPGDSC00217.JPGDSC00218.JPGDSC00219.JPGDSC00220.JPGDSC00221.JPGDSC00222.JPGDSC01657.JPGDSC01658.JPGDSC01659.JPGDSC01666.JPGNYC1104 005.jpgRP1004 128.jpgRP1004 129.jpgRP1004 144.jpgRP1004 145.jpgRockyPoint5040058.JPGRockyPoint5040059.JPGRockyPoint5040060.JPGRockyPoint5040061.JPGRockyPoint5040146.JPG102_0258.JPG102_0286.JPGRedElvis0004.JPGcoyotes0004.JPGcoyotes0008.JPGcoyotes0047.JPGLisaChristmas 081.jpgDSC00007.JPG100_0002.JPG100_0003.JPG4-8-04-0009.JPG101_0167.JPG101_0198.JPG102_0216.JPG102_0228.JPG102_0229.JPG105_0585.JPG105_0589.JPG105_0593.JPG7-25-04 010.jpg7-25-04 014.jpg7-25-04 006.jpg7-25-04 007.jpg7-25-04 011.jpg7-25-04 012.jpg7-25-04 015.jpg7-25-04 016.jpg7-25-04 017.jpgPicture 027.jpgPicture 030.jpgPicture 031.jpgPicture 032.jpgDSC00754.JPGDSC00755.JPGDSC00756.JPGDSC00757.JPGDSC00758.JPGDSC00759.JPGDSC00760.JPGDSC00761.JPGDSC00765.JPGDSC02078.JPGDSC00218.JPG
comment 0

World of Warcraft

If you could spend the next 2 years of your life doing one thing for 4.5 hours per day, every single day, what would it be?

Surely you could get a firm grasp on a new language, or learn to play a musical instrument, or get an associates degree, or transform your body into peak physical condition, or spend time with loved ones, or start a business, or master a computer programming language, or any of an infinite list of potentially life enhancing activities.

Of all the things I could have done for the past two years, I chose to play World of Warcraft.

I used to make fun of my sister all the time because she spent so much time playing WoW. I could talk to her on the phone and tell that she wasn’t really paying attention; that she was off in some distant world slaying dragons or leveling up her alchemy skills. I’d tell her, “Sounds like you’re running low on mana. Perhaps you need to cast a Level 3 End Conversation Spell.”

I never saw the game as something negative, it just wasn’t my cup of tea. I preferred more “real life” video games such as baseball, basketball, or some first person war simulation shoot em’ up; something I could play for an hour or so then move on with my life.

That all changed when a friend of mine became ill. During a lengthy treatment and recovery process, she was unable to participate in many everyday activities, and was eager to find something to fill those hours of idle time. A friend of hers suggested World of Warcraft; insisting it was just what she was looking for.

Both my friend and I found the suggestion pretty funny, because neither of us could envision the other playing a fantasy game, let alone enjoying it. Nevertheless, she signed up for the 10 day trial, and I did the same. She and I used to chat on Yahoo! Messenger every day, so I pretty much had to play too if I expected to talk to her again. ๐Ÿ˜›

After the first day, neither of us saw the appeal, and we were both confident our WoW career would end when the trial period expired. After the second day, we were a bit more comfortable with the interface and decided that the game was pretty intuitive and easy to play, but we were still clueless about what we were supposed to do. After the 5th day, we started to appreciate the level of detail and artwork that went into creating such a large virtual world, and we agreed that we could see why so many people liked the game, but there was no way we were going to spend $15 per month to play. After the 10th day, we sheepishly signed up for subscriptions and jumped in with both feet.

I have to say, the folks at Blizzard really understand people and their behaviors. So much effort was put into creating a game that is simple to play yet challenging to master, as well as a reward system that keeps people coming back for more, no matter what their skill level. Adding to the already well-thought-out user interface is an endless selection of third party addons designed to enhance the game-play. When you throw in the social aspect of making friends, creating guilds, and group questing and raiding, World of Warcraft is a potent recipe for a truly addictive gaming experience.

For over two years, I played. I leveled up two characters to the maximum level, achieved virtually all the in-game goals I wanted to achieve, and I even made a few new friends along the way. However, this past Thursday, my subscription expired and I did not renew it. I had decided a few months ago that I would quit the game, and I’m still not 100% sure why. Maybe I don’t like feeling that the game has control over me, or maybe I just want to see what I can do with those extra 4.5 hours per day? Whatever it is, there’s something inside that is telling me it’s time to close this chapter of my life.

It’s been a fun ride, but now it’s time to mount up on my Winterspring Frostsaber and head out into the sunset.

I leave you with one of the funniest World of Warcraft movies ever, “I’m on a Mount”. Enjoy!

comment 0

Get the Gear!

Black Ha ha ha! T-shirtHey, man, is that the new ‘Freedom Rock’ album?”

“No, dude, that’s a genuine reproduction, limited edition Ha ha ha! T-shirt!”

The Black Ha ha ha! T-shirt is the crown jewel of the Ha Ha Ha! Comedy apparel line and gift collection. Setting the bar for quality and craftsmanship, one look at the light-weight fabric and child labor hand stitching, and you’ll know you’re getting the best we can afford to offer.

Whether you’re attending a prestigious, black-tie event, or just lounging around the house, the Ha ha ha! T-shirt is perfect for any occasion.

I like to wear my Ha ha ha! shirt when I have sex.”

– P. Verted, Phoenix AZ

Every Ha ha ha! shirt is made from pre-shrunk 100% cotton (the fabric of our lives) and features the Ha ha ha! logo on the front. The back has been left undecorated due to budget cuts.

The Ha ha ha! T-Shirt comes in a variety of colors including black with silver writing, as well as silver on black, and is available in sizes small through extra-extra-extra-fat.

On the street, these exclusive shirts retail for as little as $15 a piece, but through this special online inflation promotion you can order your Ha ha ha! T-shirt for only $20.99! No marketing gimmicks, no discounts, only one hidden fee, and zero regard for reasonable pricing. $20.99 is all you pay plus a not so nominal shipping and handling fee. We even offer 1 day rush shipping for just a little more than the price of the shirt itself.

Each shirt comes with our industry-leading 30 day no-money-back guarantee. If you’re not 100% completely satisfied with your shirt, simply send it back, and I will sell it to someone else. No questions asked! Order within the next 20 minutes and receive step by step washing instructions sewn right into the collar of the shirt, absolutely free!

Don’t delay, order today!

To get your Black Ha ha ha! T-Shirt, and to check out the complete line of mediocre quality, overpriced Ha ha ha! Comedy merchandise, click on the button below.

Start Shopping

comment 0

New Website!

If you haven’t noticed, hahahacomedy.com is undergoing some renovations. When it’s done, not only will it look pretty, but it will have some added features that are sure to astound the most unastoundable! If you are one of the three people who happen to visit this site more than once in a lifetime, please excuse the mess for now, and check back shortly for the finished product!

comment 0

When Worlds Collide

The first rule of grocery shopping:

You DO NOT talk about grocery shopping.

No, wait… wrong rules.

The first rule of grocery shopping is not to shop on an empty stomach. Everybody knows that, but it leads us to the age old question: where are you supposed to buy food when you’re hungry? Fast food? Try to convince yourself that you’re only going to get the salad and only use 1/4 of the dressing that comes with it? Tonight I took my chances at the grocery store.

My total shopping experience lasted about 2 hours. For the first hour and 57 minutes, my basket contained a bag of seedless grapes, a pack of 60 watt light bulbs, two squishy stress balls, and a new paperback off the best sellers rack. Don’t get me wrong, I touched everything in the store: different cheeses, meats, breads, pastries, cakes, fruits, veggies, pre-made sandwiches and salads, and chocolates (Halloween is coming up and they widened the sweets aisle to the size of a 4 lane freeway).

Grapes were the only edible item to make the cut. I was feeling pretty confident and proud of myself that I didn’t succumb to temptation, but grapes weren’t enough to get me through the night. I decided to pick up a bag of sunflower seeds as well. Wasn’t sure how they’d go with the grapes, but it was the best “not so bad for you” snack I could think of.

With the seeds in the basket, I made my way towards the checkout line, down the snack aisle, and past the Doritos display. I passed it three times already. The first time, I took note of the display’s football theme: two football players running into each other with the word “COLLISIONS” sprawled in high-impact lettering across the top. Football season started up again this weekend, so of course, the consumers need to see an image of two football players colliding, because how are we supposed to know what to snack on during a football game if there isn’t a picture of a football player on the display???

I’m not going to pretend that I’m not swayed by marketing. Believe me, I’ve wasted more than my share of money purchasing products simply because they looked cool or yummy on TV. I just hate the fact that I do. It makes me feel so used.

Anyhow, the second time I passed the Doritos display, I realized “Collisions” wasn’t just describing the actions of the football players, it was, in fact, the name of Doritos’ NEW product, touting, not one, but two flavors of Doritos in the same bag. Oooooh… the FLAVORS were “colliding”!!!! Get it? Get it???

Well, woopdie scoobity doo!!! How ingenious to mix two flavors of Doritos in one bag!

Honestly, who gives a crap, and how stupid must they think we are with their slogan: “With two BOLD flavors in one bag, YOU control the ultimate Doritos flavor combination.”

Wait. What?!? Are you serious?!?! Hold on just a second. You’re not saying what I think you’re saying are you?!?

I control it??? I control the flavor combination???

Holy crap!!! WOW!!! I’m finally in control of my Doritos!!!! Before, I felt so OUT OF CONTROL; like the Doritos were controlling ME!!! In the past, if I ever felt like having two flavors of Doritos, I’d have to buy two bags! But not anymore! Oh no… not anymore!

So the third and final time I passed the display, I gave it one last disapproving glare, and that’s when it hit me. Twice before, I merely looked at the display. All of a sudden, I was actually SEEING it for the very first time. My eyes widened, my lips parted, and the words “No way!” fell out of my mouth and landed right on my shoes. What i was looking at, was NOT, what I had assumed would be, a bag of Cool Ranch and Nacho Cheese Doritos mixed together, but in fact, was a bag of Doritos Brand Hot Wings & Blue Cheese Collisions Tortilla Chips!!!

All of a sudden I was in control of the ultimate Doritos flavor combination!!!

The bag was open before I even left the store.

OMG!!! Did someone order chicken wings? What??? What do you mean I’m not eating real chicken wings?!? Doritos??? Come on!!! Well then how do you explain the blue cheese dressing that I… what??? Doritos too?!? How is this possible??? Waitress!!!

I sat in my car with the engine idling for 20 minutes, widening the hole in the ozone layer, and basking in the flavors of my new favorite snack. Looks like it’s grapes and sunflower seeds for dinner tomorrow.

comment 0

That’s Some Good Grass, Man!

I love grass. Not the sticky icky variety, but the actual green, lush, soft, cool-to-the-touch, sweet-smelling, and (I’m not ashamed to say) quite tasty kind. Don’t pretend you never munched on a blade or two.

Living in the Arizona desert, good grass is hard to come by. Even the nicest looking lawn in Scottsdale is dry and seems to lack the spongy fluffiness one would expect to find in that grassy meadow from your Windows XP default wallpaper.

Not to get all nostalgic or anything, but my grandparents had one of the biggest, nicest, well cared for, lawns in all of Bayside, Queens. I’m sure it was much smaller than it is in my head, but to a 8yr old sports nut, it looked like a football field. Its only flaw was a single tree that always had a knack of preventing me from running back a touchdown. That tree sure could tackle! It did, however, play a pretty decent first base, so I guess I can’t complain too much.

Anyhow, it was this lawn that set my standards for all future landscaping even though, at the time, I didn’t even know what landscaping was. I guess I just assumed my Grandpa planted each blade of grass himself. Since he’s no longer with us, and cannot dispel that myth, I will go on believing that is exactly what he did. In fact, I think George Schneider invented grass. I’ll create a Wikipedia entry after I’m done with this.

So where was I? Oh yeah… Italian Cuisine is to Nigeria as grass is to Arizona. We just don’t “do” grass. For the most part, people here accept and understand this, so they landscape with rocks and the occasional, or not so occasional, cactus. Folks here don’t have yards, they have quarries. Maintenance wise, I’m sure it’s a dream come true, but it doesn’t really stimulate the senses. I mean what senses can rocks really stimulate.

***OUCH!!!***

Fine! They can stimulate our sense of touch, but I’m not gonna taste one!!!

It’s safe to say I’m not a huge fan of “Desert Landscaping“, but given our desert climate, you’re sort of limited in your options. Go figure. I have, however, learned to distinguish between good landscaping and bad landscaping, and I can appreciate the efforts that go into giving one’s home some curb appeal.

I pulled into the driveway this evening, got out of my car, and took a moment to take in the desert scenery. Even someone as anti-Arizona as I am can enjoy a sunset every now and then. As the sun continued its descent below the horizon, I allowed my body to fully absorb my natural surroundings, becoming one with Mother Earth, losing myself in the moment. What brought me back was the abrupt realization of the one sure thing I know will always remain trueโ€ฆ

I will never grow up.

cactus-penis

comment 0

21 Year Old Virgin

I started this blog a little while ago, then my cat sat on my keyboard (which has a “back” browser button) and erased everything I typed. Does anyone want a fat, too affectionate cat before I make kitty burgers out of her?

Anyway as I was saying…

I’m one of those people who never gets sick. However, once every year or two, the “never” turns into “hardly ever” and today is my day to pay the piper. I stayed home from work on account of a sore throat, runny nose, heavy eyes, and some pretty gross congestion. What a perfect opportunity to catch up on a little blogging.

The only real blog worthy event of these past few months was probably my recent trip to NY for Thanksgiving. Every time I go back, I kick myself in the ass for leaving in the first place. The good news is I got to spend some quality time with my family.

The flight over was very turbulent and I had to sit next to some guy who played with his penis for 5 hours. Like, he didn’t just adjust himself repeatedly, he literally rolled his penis between his fingers through his pants the whole flight. Maybe I should feel lucky he didn’t ejaculate. Either way, I was happy to get off the plane. I ran into a two hour weather delay in Baltimore. Surprisingly, however, the flight from Baltimore to NY was much smoother even though I was in one of those propeller type planes.

My family planned to have the traditional Thanksgiving dinner on Wednesday instead of Thursday. So when I arrived at my dad’s house, I was treated to a great meal, highlighted by Grandma Blanche’s stuffed cabbage. I’d been fiending for some stuffed cabbage for about 2 years now. Just writing about it makes me want some more. So good!

Thursday night, we went to Caffe on the Green for the official Thanksgiving Dinner. In attendance was yours truly, my two brothers, Justin and Jordan, Justin’s girlfriend Michelle, Dad, Helene, Blanche, Uncle Steven, Cousins Andy and Phillip, Steve’s girlfriend, Grandma Blanche, and Dad’s gay friend Jeffrey. Jeffrey recently emerged from the closet, but considering he looks and acts just like Christopher Lowell and has the voice of Harvey Firestein, I’m sure no one was all that surprised.

Dinner was very nice (I had the fish), however Helene prepared a banquets worth of pre-dinner snacks right before we left for the restaurant, so I could barely finish dessert. I did give it my best shot. The evening’s notable moment came when Helene (my step-mom) was having a discussion with my brother Justin about what he wanted to do with his life. She told him that whatever his thing was, whatever he wanted to pursue, it should make him happy, and she wanted him to be happy too.

What made this a classic moment was, by some comedic force of nature, the entire restaurant seemed to go quiet right after Helene finished her sentence. So what everyone there recalls was a sudden silence, followed by Justin’s response, which was “What if my “thing” is just hanging out and having anal sex with Michelle all day?” Because just seconds earlier, the restaurant was bustling and exceedingly noisy, Justin practically screamed his remark across the quiet room. The entire place spun around and stared at our table with horrified looks of shock and disgust. The reaction at our table was mixed. Jordan and I thought it was hilarious. Grandma, not so much.

Friday I spent most of the day helping my Dad and Helene tag merchandise for an estate sale they were running. Although it’s kind of creepy rummaging through dead people’s belongings, it’s also fun trying to piece together what kind of lives they lived. After a long day of work, we capped off the evening with some amazing Korean food.

By the way, my father happens to be famous at every restaurant in New York, so if you’re ever there, just say you know David Schneider, and they’ll give you a free glass of water. Seriously though, my dad and his wife are like local celebrities. When we go out to eat, everyone knows who they are, and they get free food. It’s incredible really. One Italian place we went has a dish on the menu called “The David and Helene”.

Saturday was more Estate Sale stuff, and we also went to the Mercedes dealership to test drive a few cars (unfortunately not for me). Jordan joined us for dinner at some sushi restaurant where my dad embarrassed me by letting the waitress know I was single. The funny thing was, before we got there, my dad informed me that she was single as well, but once she saw me, she miraculously had a boyfriend. When my dad introduced me, she said, “OH Meesta David… dis yaw numba won son? Oh.. I’m too old faw heem. Prus I would haf to reeve my boyfriend fust. Ha ha ha ha!” ๐Ÿ˜

Saturday night, I went into the city with my brother Jordan to celebrate his friend’s 21st birthday. After drinking 40’s on the LIRR like a bunch of thugs, we went to some Romanian club where all the women were smoking hot and all the guys they were with were… well… Romanian. They all wore tight American jeans with pointy shoes and were very… um… interesting dancers. We had our own interesting dancer in our group so we were able to take on all dance challenges and emerge victorious. I was even able to simulate Romanian dancing to the point where I was mistaken for one of the brotherhood. One guy in particular put his arm around me and spouted off several Romanian phrases to which I responded “Noooo!” I figured “no” in English is the same as “no” in Romanian. It seemed to work because he just laughed and walked away.

We had a late night snack at a Cuban sandwich shop (deee-lish!!! by the way), and then decided to go to a strip club to look at boobs. Unfortunately we ended up with the only cab driver in Manhattan who didn’t know where any strip clubs were other than the most expensive one in the city, Scores. It cost $30 just to get in the door and we all chipped in to get Mark, the birthday boy, a special on-stage dance in his boxers. We were promised a bottle of champagne as part of the package, but we were totally horse fucked on that deal. The worst part was when the DJ announced Mark’s name to go on stage, he introduced him as the “21 year old virgin”. Ironically, Mark happened to really still be a virgin, and thought we told the DJ to say that. Needless to say, he was terribly hurt and pissed off. I yelled at the club manager, but got no restitution. We didn’t stick around too long after that.

By the time everyone was back in their beds, it was after 6am and the sun was clocking in for another day. I spent most of Sunday watching TV and recovering from pretending to still be in my 20’s. Grandma Flo showed up in the afternoon with Aunt Marilyn. Grandma just turned 81. Happy Birthday Grandma!!!

Monday, I flew back to Arizona without incident, and the gentleman I sat next to kept his hands off his penis the entire time.

comment 0

Ladies’ Man

When we last left our lovable, yet unlucky hero, I was being “evicted” from my apartment. I have since left that crazy situation and found a nice little place only a mile and a half from the last one. Although the commute is not as convenient as it used to be, I don’t have to worry about drug addicts and well… drug addicts. I think that’s enough to worry about.

I’m now shacked up with two new roommates, Seth and Hector; both of whom are 110% gayer than gay. I guess that makes them 420% gay. Seth, however, claims that he’s not really gay because he has no interest in fashion nor interior design, he just sleeps with men.

Being the only heterosexual person in our house, I have acquired a renewed sense of masculinity. I started exercising again, and I was successful in luring two ladies back to my bedroom (not at the same time). Now I’m not going to go as far as saying I fulfilled their every sexual desire, but let’s just say, one of them, I haven’t seen since, and the other is now moving to a different state and doesn’t want to talk to me anymore. They don’t call me Mr. Lova-lova for nothing.

Both jobs are still going well. Tonight was the annual talent show at the retirement community. It was a full half hour of non-stop singing, poetry, and dancing. A grand time was had by all! I really love those old folks. ๐Ÿ™‚

As I watched them sing and dance tonight, I thought how sad it is that many of them may not be around for next year’s talent show. That’s probably the only downside to this job. You never know who will be there the next day and who won’t. So I do my best to do as much as I can for them while they’re here.

That’s about all that’s going on right now. I keep saying I’m going to write on a more consistent basis but you know how that goes.

Hope everyone is doing well.

Schneider… out!

comment 0

“F”

Good morning, childrens! Today we’re going to learn about the letter “F”.

“F” is for FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!

Ok I’m done. So here’s the update:

I called the landlord, Harold, on Tuesday and introduced myself.

“Hi I’m Eric Schneider, I live at your property in Scottsdale. Do you know who I am?”

“No.”

“Have you ever heard my name before?”

“No.”

“Well then we have a little problem.”

I told him the whole story about how the crazy ass bitch rented out both rooms of his condo, using a fake name, pretending to be the owner, and now she’s living on the couch, has no job, and she’s selling his furniture for extra cash.

Well good ole’ Harold almost had a heart attack. He really liked the part about the furniture.

“WHAT?!?! THAT’S MY FURNITURE!!! YOU CAN’T SELL IT!!! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON OVER THERE?!?!”

“I’m sorry, Harold… it’s gone. Sold, paid for, picked up, and gone.”

I thought he was going to cry. Harold confirmed that Jools was supposed to be renting the place while his sister was away, but he hadn’t received a single penny of rent in over two months. The funny thing is Jools has been charging me $550 and Rob $450 per month, and guess what? Her rent to Harold is $800. She’s been pocketing all the money and using it to buy $50 meals every night and cocaine! I was actually relieved to find this out because there’s no way this story would be complete without a fucking drug addict. Did I forget to tell you she hasn’t paid the utilities either?

During my conversation with Harold, I told him, “Harold, I can only imagine what might be going through your head right now. However, I want you to know I am willing to do whatever I can to help you out. If you need me to make a statement to the police, or whatever, just let me know. In fact, if you want to have someone take over the lease on your condo; someone responsible, with a job, and references, I wouldn’t mind staying. Whatever you need.”

And what do I get for my efforts? What do I get for doing this fuck the favor of informing him of the scandalous shit going down here? What do I get for saving him from further financial loss and having to spend time and money finding a new tenant? A giant, straight on, full force kick to the fucking ball sack. Well, that and he also threatened to call the cops and change the locks, and informed me I’d be receiving anย  eviction order. That’s odd, my birthday isn’t for another 11 days, but one should never underestimate the generosity of your fellow man.

So I have to move out of here as soon as possible; preferably before that nut job, Jools gets back from Lake Havasu.

Before I moved in here, my father warned me to make sure these roommates were alright, and I told him “Yeah yeah… I know. They’re fine.” Needless to say, I didn’t take his advice. What fun would that have been?

Excuse me, can you pass me the cyanide?

comment 0

Kick to the Jools

As entertaining as this story may be, it is just further validation that I am starring in a painfully tragic, yet funny sitcom written and produced by God Herself! For those of you who are not in the know, there is only one God and her name is Jennifer Garner, and I forgive her for that whole Ben Affleck thing.

Sooooo I got a new job. Actually I got two new jobs. The full time job is working for a web development company which builds websites for attorneys. The other is a weekend gig as a chauffeur / activities coordinator for a luxury, independent living, retirement community. Both jobs are great by the way, and I discovered I really love old people. I drove a group to the Cat Show last Saturday, and called BINGO on Sunday. Don’t be jealous.

Anyhow both jobs are in North Scottsdale, and since I had been living in East Mesa, 20 miles away, I decided I should look for a place closer to work. I started checking Craigslist, and after only a day or two, I hit the jackpot. Here’s the ad:

*************************************************
Date: 2006-06-14, 2:22PM

Room for rent in two bedroom, two bathroom condo. Room comes fully furnished, with 1 queen sized brass bed, 1 set of dreeser drawers, a desk, and 1 nightstand. Room has local telephone service and cable. Room has walk-in closet with organizer shelves. Room also has his and her sinks, vanity mirror, and private bathroom. Room has own private patio with sliding doors and private outside storage closet with lock. Condo has washer and drier in unit. Rent includes all utilitys and renter will have full house privilages. Please contact Jools at 480-XXX-XXXX. Will except couples for a hundred dollars more. I am looking for someone A.S.A.P.
*************************************************

Fine, she cant spell, but the place was in a great neighborhood, literally across the street from my chauffeur job, and less than 5 miles away from my full-time job. So really it was practically a no-brainer.

So I called Jools and scheduled a visit to check out the place. When I got there, I noticed there was furniture everywhere. Well everywhere where there shouldn’t have been furniture. For example, there was bed in the breakfast nook, two dinette sets in the living room, and random end tables, shelves, and upholstered chairs scattered here and there.

Me: “Whats all this furniture doing here?”

Jools: “Well, I bought the place from the lady that was living here before, and she sold it to me with all the furniture in it because she didn’t want to move it. We just moved in and now we have extra furniture and we need to get rid of it. In fact, we have more furniture in storage which we’ll get out once we sell this stuff.”

Me: “Who is we?”

Jools: “My friend Rob.”

Me: “Well where does Rob sleep?”

Jools: “In the other room.”

Me: “Where do you sleep.”

Jools: “We share the room, but were just friends.”

So we continued the tour of the house and we came to the room I would be renting. On the plus side it was a very nice sized room, and was pretty much how the ad described it, except for the fact that it was disgustingly filthy. Dominating the entire room was this monstrous king size bed covered in sheets that looked like someone wiped their ass with them. Yes, I know the ad said queen size bed, but as you’ll soon find out, not everything was how it was first represented.

Jools then showed me the bathroom which was even dirtier than the room. Every inch of it seemed to be covered in mounds of hair, wadded up toilet paper, soap scum, and more filth.

Me: “Why is this room so dirty?”

Jools: “This is where the lady stayed, and she left the house exactly how she lived in it.”

Me: “Well if it’s ok with you, I’d like it cleaned up before I move in. Also, I don’t want any of this furniture.”

Jools: “Oh of course it’ll be clean. It’s just that we just moved in and I haven’t had a chance to get to this room yet. And I’ll get rid of the furniture. No problem.”

Me: “Great! Another thing, I notice you have a small TV in the living room. I have a big screen which I was thinking of selling, but maybe I should just bring it with me.”

Jools: “Don’t bother, I have a 50 inch in storage, and once we get rid of all the old furniture, I’ll move it in here. That small TV came with the house.”

Me: “Oh ok, then I’ll sell it before I move. One last thing, I noticed you have a full-size bed in the breakfast nook. If that’s an extra bed, maybe I’ll sell my current bed, put that one in my room, and you can sell the king.”

Jools: “OK sounds good to me.”

So, I told Jools I’d take the room, and she and I spent the next few minutes getting to know one another. Jools told me she was originally from New York, so, according to her, we were bound to get along great. She said she was in a band, she was a chef, and she also ran her own clothing business. “Have you ever heard of 4Hate0 Apparel? Like the area code? 480? Get it? Get it? 480? 4Hate0? Get it? That’s my business.” Got it. ๐Ÿ˜›

So, that was the short version of my first visit, but if you’re a fan of my writing, you know its also a set up for the total unraveling of all my expectations.

After I left Jools, I headed home and immediately put my couch, dinette set, TV, coffee tables, and bookshelves up for sale, and within 24 hours, everything was sold. I hadn’t planned on selling my bed right away, but the person who bought my shelves was looking for a bed too. I had to sleep on the floor a few days, which I don’t recommend doing.

The night before moving day, I decided to stop by the new place with a pizza in order to introduce myself to Rob, and to make a little nicey-nice with the new roommates. Rob seemed nice enough: younger guy, not too quick witted, but whatever. Before I left, I took one last peek at my room to make sure it was ready for move in. It wasn’t. It was still full of furniture and shit and dirt, but Jools assured me that she would get the room cleaned out before I got there.

The next day, I spent about 8 hours packing, loading the truck, and cleaning my old apartment. I showed up at the new place during the hottest part of the day, exhausted, sweaty, and smelly. I hoped since I brought over a pizza the night before, they would be eager to help me unload the truck, but I was wrong. Rob said, “I’d help, but I had a hard day at work, and I’m really beat.”

Jools, however offered to help. First, she went outside with no shoes on, picked up one pillow from out of the truck, and slowly padded back into the apartment. She put the pillow in my room and flopped back down on the couch. “PHEW!!! It’s fucking hot out there!” And that was it.

Oh yeah, guess what? The room was still filled with furniture, and covered in filth, but at that point, I had no choice but to move my stuff in. It took me a few hours to unload the truck and find a temporary spot for everything. When I was done, I returned the U-Haul and went back to my old apartment to pick up the kitty.

The very first thing I wanted to do once I got back to my new place was take a shower, but there was no way I was going to get in there without scrubbing the shit out of it first. I grabbed my cleaning supplies, and turned on the shower to start rinsing off some of the grime. I reached up to adjust the direction of the shower head, and CRACK!!! The whole fucking shower arm popped off, ripping a giant hole in the wall! Water sprayed out of the opening all over the bathroom and behind the drywall. As fast as I could, I turned off the water, and called out for Jools who came meandering in to see what I wanted.

Me: “Hey Jools! What the fuck?!?”

Jools: “Oh shit! Ill call the handyman tomorrow to fix it. Good news is, we don’t have to pay for it.”

Me: “Why don’t we have to pay for it?”

Jools: “Well the owner pays.”

Me: “You said you were the owner.”

Jools: “Well actually, my dad is financing it with the owner, and until its paid off, the owner pays for repairs.”

Me: “Oh.”

So, you’d think Jools would offer to let me use her shower instead. She didn’t. I found that very strange at the time, but it would all make sense soon enough. I ended up sleeping on the dirty sheets, on the dirty king sized bed, in my dirty clothes, and went to work dirty the next day.

I called Jools from work at 8am and asked her if she called the handyman. She said she did, and he told her he’d be over in a few minutes to fix it.

At 4:30 pm I came home from work, the shower was still broken, and no one was home. A few minutes later, Jools walked in the front door, spotted me, and said, “Oh, didn’t the guy come back yet?”

Me: “What guy?

Jools: “The handyman.”

Me: “Come back? From where?”

Jools: “He was here and I guess he needed to get his tools or something.”

Me: “No, no one came back. I thought you said he was coming at 8 am. What time did he leave to get his tools?”

Jools: “A while ago.”

Me: “Then why did you leave and lock the door if he was supposed to come back?”

Jools: “Uh… I didn’t know when he was coming back. But he should probably be back pretty soon.”

Jools sneaked off into the other room, but I could hear her making a call from her cell phone: Beep bop beep beep beep bop bop. “Hi is Bob there? Hi Bob, this is Jamie from 120, there’s a leak in the shower, can you come over to fix it?” PAUSE “Uh I don’t know I think it’s…” PAUSE “Um, I don’t know.” PAUSE “You know what, hold on, I’ll let you talk to Eric, and he can explain it to you.”

So Jools (or Jamie?) came back into my room and handed me her phone.

Jools/Jamie: “Here, it’s Bob.”

Me: “Who’s Bob?”

Jools/Jamie: “The handyman.”

Me: “What does he want?”

Jools/Jamie: “Explain to him what’s wrong with the shower.”

Me: “I thought he was here and saw it.”

Jools/Jamie: “Oh.. no he sent over one of his guys, and I guess they couldn’t explain to him what was wrong, so maybe you can.”

Me: “So the handymen sent over another handyman with no tools in order to report back to the first handyman what the situation was, but he was unable to describe a broken pipe?”

Ok, intelligent readers, you can see where all this was going. Lie after lie after lie after lie. Bob did come over, and I talked to him. It turns out that Jools never called him until I got home from work, and he didn’t have “another guy”. Go figure. He also wasn’t a handyman, but that’s not really pertinent to the story. I ended up paying $125 bucks out of my own pocket for a real plumber to come out and fix it.

I’ll spare you the rest of the play by play for everything that followed, and instead, summarize the rest of the lies Jools told me:

  • Jools is not her real name. Not even her nickname. Just made it up. Her real name is not even Jamie. ๐Ÿ˜›
  • She doesn’t own a business.
  • She doesn’t work as a chef.
  • She doesn’t work anywhere.
  • She used to follow a band around, but was never in one.
  • Her dad is not buying the house. It’s owned by a real estate investor named Harold in Seattle. Harold has no idea she’s renting out the rooms, but a nosy neighbor called him to let him know that Jools has two men living with her. Now Harold is pissed off.
  • She doesn’t share a room with Rob, nor does she share his bathroom. She sleeps on the bed in the breakfast nook and lives in the living room.
  • She used to live in my room, and it was her filth that I had to clean up when I got there. Now that I’m there, shes been using Rob’s bathroom without his permission and telling Rob she’s been using mine.
  • Rob had no idea she was getting another roommate until I walked in with the pizza the night before.
  • She doesn’t own any of the furniture in the apartment, and has no right to sell it. I found this out after I sold the dresser and the king size bed. Now I’m stuck with no bed and I’m sleeping on the floor again.
  • She told me she gets $3000 per month because she’s part of a Native American tribe. She told Rob that she is petitioning the Tribe to get her share which is more like $500. Rob and I both think she’s not even Native American.
  • It’s very possible, although not verified, that Jools is only subletting the apartment temporarily while the real tenant is away for a few months visiting her brother. Her brother just happens to be the owner, Harold in Seattle. This is only a theory, but we’ll see.

There’s a whole slew of additional lies, but they don’t tie into the story very well, so we’ll overlook them for now.

To top it all off, I came home from work today, and my women’s intuition told me to check the history logs on my computer. Sure as shit, she’s been snooping around on my computer while I’m at work.

Honestly, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I haven’t confronted her about anything yet, but Rob and I had a meeting of the minds and compared notes. Everything that she told him is different from what she told me and none of it is true. She’s supposed to be going away for 10 days, so were going to enjoy the peace while she’s gone, and when she gets back, we’ll kill her. Just kidding. ๐Ÿ˜›

Neither Rob nor I want to move out because it’s such a great friggin location! Were thinking there might be a way to contact the real owner, get Jools evicted, and then take over the lease.

What a fucking headache!

comment 0

Carlton Sheets Has Left the Building

My real estate career has officially come to an end, and I can safely say, it was a complete and utter failure. I sold a total of zero properties, and in the process, managed to incur a letter from my former employer’s attorney threatening a law suit and criminal prosecution for stealing and distributing client lists. That’s untrue by the way.

Fortunately my newly acquired unemployed status doesn’t impact my financial situation, since, for the past 6 months I haven’t earned any income. So my confidence is high because it appears that things can only get better from here. No wait, my toilet sprung a leak yesterday and flooded my bathroom and my bedroom. So things can only get better from there. No wait…

comment 1

MySpace Invaders

I have been officially invaded, violated, and infiltrated in the worst possible way! My mother found my Myspace profile! What once was a haven of relative privacy is now just a haven for my relatives! ๐Ÿ˜›

My mother is no stranger to the Internet so I suppose this was bound to happen sooner or later. I just happened to be at her house when it did. I was sitting in her living room watching television, when, from the office, I heard her scream out, “OMG, Eric, you have a Myspace?!?!” followed by, “Who are these people on your friends list? Do I know them? Hey look it’s your sister! She has a Myspace too!!! I want a Myspace!!! How do you make a background on your profile? Will you make a profile for me??? Who is this Tom guy?”

Granted, I don’t have anything to hide; I don’t secretly stalk teenage girls, and I don’t post naked pictures of myself hittin’ the bong, but honestly, I don’t know if I can continue to maintain my Myspace identity with the level of scrutiny with which my mom will surely monitor my profile. So, I am unofficially announcing my Myspace retirement. Unofficial because I will still log on and read various people’s posts and such, but more than likely, my blogging days have come to an end. Ok, maybe not an end, but much less frequent than before which was virtually never. Well, fine… nothing really is going to change, but I’m going to call all of YOUR parents and show them YOUR profiles just to make me feel better!

myspace-invaders

comment 0

Sex, Lies, and Real Estate

Ok there’s no sex, but two out of three isn’t bad.

Hello peoples! First, I want to thank those who have recently checked up on me to see if I’m doing ok. I am alive and well. My real estate career, however, has taken a little turn for the worse.

After 4 months of busting my butt building a strong relationship with my only real client, I finally wrote my first contract on a small apartment building. We were supposed to close on the deal this month. Unfortunately, everything unraveled and turned to shit faster than I could say, “My boss is an evil lying, cheating, unethical, money-grubbing douche.”

See, what happened was, my boss left out a few minor details about the property I was selling. For instance, the tiny fact that the seller on the contract didn’t really own the buildings he was selling yet. You might ask yourself, “How can someone sell something they don’t own?” Well they can’t! There was a pending deal between the actual seller and the person on my contract, which I was obligated to disclose to my client.

Because the pending sale (or lead deal) hadn’t closed yet, the tenant lease agreements provided by the “fake” seller weren’t really accurate. They stated that the current rents each lease was $150 more than they really were.

*Real Estate Lesson 101: When someone buys an apartment building, they’ll calculate how much income they will generate based on the current rents. Often, right before someone sells, they’ll increase the rents to make it look like a more attractive investment to a potential buyer. Unfortunately, since the “fake” seller didn’t own the building yet, he hadn’t really raised the rents. Essentially lying about the potential profitability of the investment.

Now here’s where everything really gets F-ed up. My boss was in cahoots with the “fake” seller and knew what was going on. Rather than tell us the situation and give us a chance to put together a strategy, she instructed me to lie to repeatedly lie to my client. I, of course was unaware I was lying, and eventually when all the information surfaced, and the dust settled, my client was left with the impression that I was either trying to pull a scam on her, or extremely incompetent or worse… both. Either way, my client got pissed off and dropped out of the deal, and I lost a $13,000 paycheck.

I have had zero income these past 5 months, and spent every penny of my savings trying to establish myself as an Agent, so really needed to land this deal in order to continue building momentum. Needless to say, I was pretty upset. When I confronted my boss about why my client dropped out, she nonchalantly said, “Well, she must have not been really serious about buying.”

After making 3 trips to Arizona, renting 3 cars, paying for 10 nights in a hotel, forfeiting $1300 in inspection fees, and handing over $5000 in earnest money, my client wasn’t really a serious buyer. I guess she won’t be a serious plaintiff either when she tries to sue me.

So, after giving it a bunch of thought, I’ve decided to quit my job, and I’m going to work with my Mom’s girlfriend, Carol, doing the same thing. Carol used to work with me at this office, but she quit in January in order to branch out on her own. I have no idea if I’m doing the right thing, but I guess only time will tell. I’ll officially resign on Tuesday or Wednesday. It depends on which day my balls feel their largest.

With all these upcoming changes staring me in the face, and coming to the realization that I’m dirt poor again, I haven’t been much in the mood for blogging. These next few weeks, however, will likely provide plenty of material for future blogs.

Until then, keep your head up.

comment 0

I’m Watching You

I was reading an article in PC Magazine today about Government requesting search engine data from Yahoo!, MSN, and Google as part of an effort to reinstate the Child Online Protection Act. The writer, like so many government-fearing Americans, suggests that divulging search engine information poses privacy law issues and is one step closer towards a Big Brother government structure. His direct quote is “I worry that even well-intentioned U.S. actions that place minor restrictions on the Internet are sending the wrong message.” He goes on to insinuate that the advancement in content filtering software is a sufficient substitute for actively monitoring would-be threats on the Internet.

In a day where the Internet has become a haven for child predators and other criminals, it really fries my ass that people aren’t willing to sacrifice some anonymity in order to make it a safer place. Collecting search engine data in order to compile profiles on potential criminals, and other online predators is not only necessary, but long overdue if you ask me. It’s absurd to think that allowing it would be a precursor to having microchips embedded in our skin. It seems that people have become more afraid of secret technology and conspiracy theories than they are of current real threats. What about the fear of child rapists and murderers? What about the fear of people building homemade bombs in their basements? What about the fear of troubled teens plotting to shoot up their schools?

When something terrible does happen, the “concerned” public shakes their head and says “Can’t something be done?” But what they really mean is, “Can’t something be done that doesn’t require me to do anything or sacrifice anything?” For the good of the country, and a safer Internet, I’d be willing to share my grocery list with the Government. I’d certainly give up the ability to remain 100% anonymous.

What really bothers me is the same people who whine about protecting their privacy are the same people who whore out all their personal information to unknown online companies to sign up for “special” offers, or to enter contests, or to see if that “Get a free iPod” thing really works. Hell, if you fill out almost as much information as you would put on a credit application at dentyne.com, you can get a free pack of gum! Wouldn’t you rather have minty-fresh breath than contribute to stopping online child predators?

UPDATE: PC Magazine published my response to their article in their “Feedback” section. You can read it in the April 25, 2006 issue of PC Magazine on page 17 of the PDF (p. 14 of the magazine).

comment 0

A Brief Story

When I went to California in January, I forgot to pack underwear. I befriended the hotel bellman and asked drive me to Wal-Mart so I could buy a few packages. Now I’m not one to bargain shop when it comes to emergency necessities, but I happened to find two packages of undies marked at $3.99 hidden among the $5.99 packages. What a find! I figured they must have been leftovers from “last season’s” underwear before the prices went up. For as smart as I think I am, I truly amaze myself how retarded I can be. ๐Ÿ˜›

When I returned to my hotel room, it didn’t take long to figure out why they were cheaper. I misread the package! What I thought had read “Boxer Briefs” simply read “Briefs”. For those of you who are not up to speed with men’s underwear lingo, they were tighty whities. Technically they were tighty bluies, redies, and blackies.

I hadn’t worn nut hugger briefs since I was 12 years old, but I wasn’t about to go all the way back to Wal-Mart to exchange them. So I strapped on a pair, took one look in the mirror, and it instantly took me back to the days of Underoos (except with a lot more body hair). I used to have the Batman set, and I when I put them on, I would spin around in a circle, pretending I was sliding down the Bat Pole. The whole time I’d “sing” the Batman theme song: Da na na na, Da na na na, Da na na na, Da na na na na, BATMAAAAAAAAAN!!!! Do you know how hard it is to put your underwear on while spinning in a circle?

Well that was then and this is now. I can’t even comprehend why they would continue to make briefs for adults. Between the elastic strangling my bean bag, the back riding up my ass, and my wiener getting caught in escape hatch, I can’t figure out what was is more uncomfortable.

The only problem I have now is I can’t get rid of them. It goes against my religion to throw away underwear before they have at least 3 holes in them. The briefs have made it into the underwear drawer here at home. I’m even wearing a pair right now. I think I need some sort of underwear intervention.

Da na na na, Da na na na, Da na na na, Da na na na na, BATMAAAAAAAAAN!!!!