Somehow the second Basic Instinct movie came up today. It reminded me instantly of the original, which I had on tape almost immediately after it came out. I don’t remember where I got it, but I was 13 and I loved it. I specifically remember the interrogation scene where she uncrosses her legs and proceeds to show us her fish department (how can you forget, right). I remember this scene, not only from within the context of the movie, but from 4 years later when I watched my Mom throw my “blank” tape in the VCR to see if there was anything on it worth saving. As the VCR begins to play, I instantly recognize Sharon Stone’s beaver followed by a leg cross. Evidently that was where I had finished improperly touching myself. She looked at me mildly horrified and I reacted only as a young adult can when confronted with his early batin’ material by his Mother.

I laughed.

Take good care of your batin’ material kids. Someday this could happen to you.

I got a veggie burger at this place today and it came with a pickle. I finished the burger and took a bite of the pickle. It tasted weird. I kept thinking, what the hell does this taste like? Oh uhm, it kinda tastes like piss. I put the pickle down and kept chewing before I realized that someone probably pissed in the pickles. It wouldn’t be the first time that someone has taken a piss in the pickles, but it’s the first time i’ve personally noticed. I spit out the Pissckle and handled as calmy as I could. I wiped my ass with a $20 bill, paid for the meal and calmly went on my way.

I ran out of names to call people, so, like I always do, I made something up.

Me - “Stop being such a spearcatcher and get me a beer.”

Friend - “I think you mean spearchucker.”

Me - “No I didn’t you fucking racist.”

One of my favorite pastimes is calling PBS when they’re selling something (asking for money). I saw something today about Animusicals or something. It was basically like computer animation and some music over it. They were asking the modest price of $150 for 2 DVD’s and a mousepad. What a deal. So I called.

PBS - Hello, PBS.

Me - Yeah I saw this thing on Animusicals.

PBS - Yes, its a DVD set we have for sale.

Me - Cool. I see that it’s $150.

PBS - Yes, that’s for 2 DVD’s and the mousepad.

Me - Are you serious? That would be 2 DVD’s, that I can get for $30 new at a store, for $150. Oh yeah, let’s not forget the mousepad.

PBS - Well we kind of look at it as a contribution to PBS.

Me - A contribution for what? The freaking hour long commercials you run about buying this DVD?

PBS - We play other programmi-

Me - Yeah like commercials for Monty Python.

PBS - No I was referring to the original material that we play daily.

Me - Oh you mean the commercials for the Tote Bags. Actually I was wondering if there were any online specials or coupon codes for this.

PBS - No actually there aren’t.

Me - Ok, I’ll see if I can find it on Ebay. Thanks

PBS - But uhmm

The worst part is these guys are volunteers. At least I restricted myself to not swear at them. *shrug*

Bill the great is an alcoholic at a place we go to. The question is… where is he from? Riverside? Long Island City? no.. well maybe, but what about Cennunctah? South Philly? The truth is he is from everywhere, and he wears it on his houndstooth sleeve.

He carries himself with the weight of a Myers bottle of rum and has no regard for his handshake strength. He crushes peoples hands while he cries inside; he’s a lawyer. Some kind of legit real-estate lawyer. He obviously knows what he’s doing.. thats evident.. by day. By night, the clouds part, the sun recesses and things become bi-dimensional. You genuinely feel like you have something to learn from this man, but all you can render is “Wow, what a complete waste of carbon”. Let’s sample an actual conversation with the magnet.

Bill - Hurrsbs wherueue from?

Party - We’re from Buffalo, originally Buffalo.

Bill - BAFFILO. *rigorous handshake (2nd instance)* THEY GOT THE CHICKEN. I bet a buffalo would brahhhahrihiharha

Party - Really? *looks at a companion* You’re right about that, poultry is our main beef.

Bill - Beeaf? You meant like Beaf?

Party - Yeah, where exactly are you from?

Bill - RIVERRRSIDDDDDEEEEEEEE, off teh queen-e-bkln-st. I HATE A HOUSE. Sinatra, ITS NOT JUST A STREET IN EASTERN MAINE.

Party - Awwwww man, that is CUH-RAY-ZEE. I’m gonna go have a quick smoke, don’t follow me.

Bill - Crazay? I used to breed cantelopes in Jewrheuaselm for tannins.

Party - I don’t know what to think but can we have some space?

{ stage direction : bill stumbles in place like a down syndrome patient with a concussion }

Bill - WHERE AM I FROM? *attempts to handshake*

Party - *politely avoids handshake* Riverside, I think. But what are you doing here, riverside is so far away?

Bill - Sebatical. I’m a lawyer, i know people.

Party - People? I’m confused. People of the earth or otherwise?

Bill - NaAh theywer freum Stanten isllands.

Party - I don’t know if I can handle this pain

Bill - I ;M FREUSM RIVERSAIDE *crushing handshake*

Party - Yo I know. What the fuck is wrong with you?

Bill - MYEArs Ruem. I’m a lauwyear frueam Seaside. Are you a n Asshoel?

{ stage: bill looks at the bartender as if she/he just traded his first born for a cornish hen }

Bill - STAY WITH YOUR FREINDS

Party - My friends pretty much stay with me. I’ve never had an instance of a friend running off, especially when i’m talking with you.

Bill - arGHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ‘RE IM FROM *missed handshake*

Party - Bill i don’t know what you’re after, but i’m not sellin’ it.

{ *third eye blind comes on }

{ *bouncer rumbles over to disrupt bills’ tirade }

Party - Looks like its the end of the road for ya’ Bill…

Bill - Fieurget yousassses. DONEY U KNOEW WHwaure i’em frueam? Steamside!

Party - You have alot of knowledge, some of it is here, some of it is there, but I want it all; away from me.

Bill - *starts to cry*

{this is where shit gets for REAL}

Party - Listen man, its cool — i’m just here chatting with you, we’re talkin bullshit, but you have alot to say.

Bill - ARhghh FERIINS stifck with it or else. If yuuu — THAT AIN”T RUNM

Party - oh man, this dood is all sorts of done

Bill - Buhh..

{bouncer slowly clothlines bill, in a loving manner, and escorts him towards 14th street}

Party - What a fucking terd bergler.

So that’s how the bill saga ends.

…until we see him again for the first time, at the bar, 2 days after tomarrow.

I have a story for the ages that i’ve never written down. I guess I shouldn’t write this but whatever.

I was going to a club in the city on a Thursday. It was a long running club night at a gay bar and it was the non gay night of the week. It was still pretty gay but there were mad girls there every week. They sort of turned a blind eye on drugs too. I won’t say the name of the place but let’s call it “Mlub Carchellas”. I was early20smth years old.

Somehow we end up at my parents house with a few of my friends, psyched to go to the club. We were stoned and needed a ride, so I asked my parents and they loaned me theirs. I get the keys and we get adjusted into the car and drive out of the fortress that is the small town city I live in. There are about 7 blocks to the edge of where I live, so it’s not a big deal if the cops are normal people. As soon as I pull off my street a cop gets behind me. There are 4 people in my parents car and there is a huge bag of crystal meth in my pocket. Foreseeing all this in the rear view I decide to put all this in my sock. By the time I get back up the cops has his lights on and we all have our crystal meth in our socks. We are all baked out of our minds and I pull over. The officer comes to the window.

Officer Dumbass - Where are you going?

Me - We are going downtown to Mlub Carchellas (cop hears “gay club”).

Office Dumbass - Why?

Me - To hear some music. Can I ask what I did?

Office Dumbass - I saw you bending down, what was that?

Me - I was adjusting the lumbar (I point to the lumbar cushion on my seat because my parents need it or something. I am glad it was there because I was putting some bad ass Crystal Meth in my sock.)

Office Dumbass - Oh, can I see your license?

Me - (I reached into my wallet and hand the officer a crisp clean $5 bill because i’m fucking stoned out of my gourd and somehow it makes sense)

Office Dumbass - What is this?

Me - Oh, uhm I dunno?

Office Dumbass - Well that doesn’t look good, does it?

Me - No, actually it doesnt. (I handed him my license and he gave me back my $5 thinking it was a cheap bribe)

Officer Dumbass goes back to his car and runs my license but in the meantime i’m in my car and my friends are telling me that I am the dumbest person in the world. All I can do is tell my friends they’re right and listen to them list off the drugs they all have in their socks. I think I heard someone in the backseat say they would blow Jesus to get away this one time. Truth is I gave Office r Dumbass the $5 because it was the cost to get in the club. I have no idea why I gave it to him. I was stoned. Office Dumbass comes back for the final round..

Officer Dumbass - Ok have a good night. (He hands me my license)

Me - Thanks officer, take care.

He goes back to his car as we try to contain our excitement. He drives away as we sit in the car decompressing. I push the petal to the metal and we drive into the darkness doing rails of Crystal Meth in celebration. And that’s how I tried to bribe a cop with $5. I think I really put him in his place.

*Crystal Meth is actually bad but we we’re doing it. Stay away from it kids : /

Getting older and talking to your parents candidly is awesome. Everytime I tell a story now about when I was a kid, my parents realize what kind of kid I really was. Every mystery my mom ever had has now been discovered. Why my friend puked at our all-star little league baseball game? Zima. The 6 dead birds in the backyard? BB Gun sniping from the basement. Where all the screens in our faucets went to? Marijuana. How that window really broke upstairs? Trying to shoot toothpaste out the window with a water balloon slingshot. Where did all those playboys go? Wait they already knew that.

I can’t get in trouble anymore and now it’s so much fun to tell the stories. Hopefully some day i’ll be able to tell the truth to all my ex-girlfriends but probably not. I would most likely still get murdered.

Do yourself a favor and tell your parents a story that you lied about when you were a kid. It’s really alot of fun. Just trust me.

147 Coronas, 129 Marlboro Lights, Fishing, Golf, unlimited Ocean breeze and a laptop. Just what I needed.

What I didn’t need is to see what the sun does to people who live in Florida. I know that the sun isn’t good for you, but I forgot that the sun will turn your face into a carrot colored first baseman’s mitt. I don’t think that it does anything good for your teeth either. They’re still alive so I guess that’s ok. Thank god I haven’t seen many of these people with their shirts off. That must be the thing to do if you live here. Just tan yourself until your skin turns into a cracked brittle post office style rubber band.

Florida is just what I needed. Thank god I don’t need it for any extended period of time.

Fight Club is one my my favorite movies. I remember first seeing it when it just came out on DVD. New release style. It wasn’t a hard thing to do. The hardest part was walking into Blockbuster. I find the movie immediately in the way only the way a Blockbuster New Release rack can do. 6 copies stacked on each other. I walk towards the counter and pick up some licorice gummy sweettart non-pereil snickers sour patch kids on the way. I hand the video concierge my Blockbuster card which hadn’t been used in at least 3 years. I look out the window as I pretend I don’t know anything about the card being invalid because the account is at least $80 in the hole. I’m good. She gives me the video and I leave with the boner she gave me. (For some reason Blockbuster girls are hot)

I get home. From the beginning of the movie I was hooked into subversiveness. It slowly became clear to me what I needed to do. Screw any company I can. Immediately.

I traded my Blockbuster membership for Fight Club. Fair trade. I encourage all you to do the same.

I got a double pack of French Bread Pizza the other day. I haven’t had it in a while so I figured why the good reason (taste) not. I opened the package up and looked everywhere but my mind. Hoping just hoping that the foil coffin of microwave French Bread Pizza was somewhere around the same area. Turns out it wasn’t there and there are no microwave only instructions/foil coffins for French Bread Pizza anymore. Whattt?

It took about 2 seconds of thinking. Just enough time for me to think about my tongue. The worst burn I have ever had in the oral area came from a French Bread Pizza.

French Bread Pizza Burn Phenomenon

I remember it like it was yesterday. I burned my tongue really bad and it hurt. Badly. Badly as in 2nd degree burns. The cheese is as hot as napalm and the sauce is like hot sauce only not. The worst part is thinking of all the people it must have killed.

Never forget Microwave only French Bread Pizza because it should have been illegal in the first place. Silver coffins for life dogg.

The burn can’t be just me. I encourage you to think back to a moment where you have been orally burned. If you have a favorite, post it in the comment section. I am anxious to see this scientific experiment to get under way.

I’m gonna share a story to let you know what kind of person (kid) I was. I think it was 6th grade and I was at my house unsupervised for the first summer ever. It was bliss. Video games, sports, bb guns and no parents.

It was a balmy wednesday and we were watching MTV (when it was good). We noticed 2 men in suits walking on the sidewalk and them turning onto my driveway. They rang the doorbell and probably saw us if not just heard the tv and us. We answer “Nobody’s home” and hope that they leave. Instead they ask to “Just talk” and insist that they can help us. They will not leave. This continues about 4 times before I suggest that we spray them with my Super Soaker 200 from the top window. For those of you not familiar with this aqua weapon, this has 2 bottles on top for water and one bottle in the back for air. It was the AK-47 of waterguns. Here.

So we decided to take it upstairs but the gun is empty. Since there were 2 bottles I gave one to my friend and he took it into the bathroom while I took mine to the kitchen. I thought to myself, “These guys are real assholes praying on unsupervised kids, I should put some bleach in there”. So I put about a quarter cup of bleach in there and filled the rest up with hot water. My friend comes back and he hands me his bottle. It’s warm and smells like piss. I don’t question it. We go to the second floor which is about 10 feet up but almost on top of the front door. I rip open the window and turn up the sash, my Super Soaker swelling with a great big mass of piss and bleach. I take aim and unload on them like my grandfather taught me to do with nazis and asians. It hits both of their lapels almost simultaneously as intended by my choice of nozzle action. Total moneyshot. They walk away distinctively with the pride only a jesus freak could have.

At this point i’m laughing my ass off in my parents room with a squirtgun filled with bleach and piss. I say to my friend, “Hey did you piss in that”? He tells me that he filled it up to about half. I then tell him I put bleach in mine. Evidently bleach is alot less cool than piss because he started to get mad. Since we were kids, he goes right back to an approving look. We high 5 each other and go back to watching TV. Eyes tearing from laughter I wash out my Super Soaker 200 for the day and wait for Mom to come home. I think that’s when I first fell in love with Summer.

Today I was walking down Lexington and there were tanks of liquid Nitrogen on the sidewalk. I stopped at the corner and touched some of the frost on the outside from the condensation/sublimation of the Nitrogen coming out. I was just kinda flicking it off, killing time for the light to change. I caught the attention of 3 large women. They didn’t notice the tanks until I started playing with them. One woman decided it was time to talk about the subject. Here’s how it went down.

“Ooohhh look they got them tanks of them liquid Nitrogens on the street. That’s dangerous isn’t it? Next thing you know we go off an bomb another country cause the damn USA is all fucked up in the head like that. How can that not be terrorism? ”

I gotta tell you, this was the most fucked up twisted conversation bit i’ve ever heard in New York City. Not only did they jump from random thought to random thought, the two women with her agreed and said “mhmmm” while she was saying it. I stared back and gave her a the best slanted eyebrow I could. It didn’t phase her.

For the trivia of the post, please put whatever race you think these women were in the comment section. The winner gets something awesome.

Today I realized what is great about America. We have freedoms. Did you know the police have freedoms? Did you know that you sort of do? Did you know that cops have the freedom to pull someone over and take a cellphone call in the middle of asking for license and registration at 5:35pm at 87 Seventh Avenue in Manhattan in New York City? Me either. I must have missed that mailing.

I guess freedom isn’t that free since I didn’t get the mailer. It doesn’t matter. I appreciate my freedoms. Not being able to take pictures in the subway. Being able to get randomly searched. Having the use of my N wordism made illegal and allowing my KFC’s to be full of rats. I love it.

This is freedom folks. NYC freedom.

I heard a new word today. It was spoken by some young black men on the train. I guess it could be ebonics. It was Non’t, a clever jamming of two negative logical words into one illogical double negative contraction.

“Non’t you be takin my ipods.”

I never knew you could put a double negative and a contraction together in one phrase. Genius. Pretty soon we will have the ever so popular Neven’t, a combination of Never and Not.

“I neven’t been to no wine tastins.”

Here’s to TOEFL. Trippin’ on English as a Foreign Language.

I was sitting around thinking about knives and shit, and I asked myself that age old question, “Why haven’t I stabbed anyone?”. This is a complex question. This is a question that can be answered in only one way, and with one word. Trees.

Yes, thats right. Trees have kept me from stabbing someone. Some might be confused at this anwser, but for me it’s very easy. Trees have served as a target of every knife i’ve ever owned. The male instinct of “Hey maybe I can throw this knife at that tree and it will stick” took over. Unfortunately, before I had the chance to stab someone, I threw my knife at a tree and broke it.

Consider yourself lucky. Plant a tree today.

The other day the F train arrived and I noticed the actress Anna Paquin sitting by the door. She was sitting quietly by herself like everyone else. Since every F Train is always so packed, I made my way into the car so everyone else could get in. There were no seats available, but I was still determined I would get as close as I could to her. I stood facing her while holding the rail above. I think that I got my dick about 6 inches from her face on what seemed to be the longest subway ride ever. She looked at it once or twice and didn’t seem to mind. Subways rule.

Anna, if you’re out there and you want my dick, drop me a line.

Also, you have beautiful brown eyes.

Stand clear of the closing doors please.

From what I’m gathering about this situation, I think that it’s a relatively common one, but I can’t be sure until I start getting
comments about this.

When I was a kid, I lived in the suburbs. Being in the suburbs means you only have certain little places to play at and the rest of the neighborhood is filled with people who’s sole existence is to yell at you. Anyways, there was this place behind my house that was a pond/swamp/field/forest/general shithole. Next to the pond was this backyard of a house that was between a bowling alley and a VFW lodge. Occasionally we would tread in there and it was fenced up, so it was reserved for when we were feeling saucy. One time me and my friend Tim ventured in there and we found an entire garbage bag full of Playboys and Penthouse. This was a serious collection and I really don’t have any idea how it got there, but let me repeat it; this was a serious collection. This was 4th grade. The age where you really have no idea what to do with porn. The fact was, I had no idea what to do with it,but I loved looking at it. Tim and I would go to this place daily. Keep in mind that it was full of trees and thickets so we could really get into these mags. This went on for about a week and let me tell you, word spread. Pretty soon it wasn’t just Tim and I knowing about these. One day I really got sick of sharing, so on my own, I went into the woods with a small foldable shovel (thanks Dad) and buried these about 30 feet from where we originally found them. From there I pretty much forgot about them.

I distinctly remember going back into the woods in 6th grade on a mission. To find the porn and beat off in the woods to it. Well, it seems like a good plan in theory, but the truth is, imagine porn that has been buried in the woods for 2 years. I dig it up and it has worms, potato bugs and centipedes in it. What else is a 11 year old white trash kid from the suburbs like me gonna do? That’s right, I beat off. It was good. Is that weird?

Or is it even weirder that after I was done I took the worms and went fishing with them?

I stumbled upon this website today Since Sliced Bread and absolutely had to post. It’s supposedly an idea engine but it’s basically a place for pussies to bicker and disagree. My post mostly deals with the best way to end the political seperation in America. That and pussies who are afraid to die.

Check out my post here.
Bvllets’ Final Solution

This one is great. I was quick to review.
Total Homo

Feel free to review mine or even register a few ideas of your own. Place the links in the comment section. Evidently you can win some money or some shit, but I still think that I will win.

Enjoy!

Well, after sending an e-mail I realized this is my 1 year anniversary of moving to NYC. It’s been good. Except for the hate mail and comments i’ve been getting on here but I suppose they were well deserved. Definately well deserved, i’m an asshole. This place teaches you things, thats for sure.

**********I’ve learned

-How to go to bed at 10am.
–How to wake up at 6pm.
—How expensive drugs really can be given the wrong location. ECKERD SUCKS!
—-How to check the calendar to see if it’s a holiday before you go all the fucking way crosstown to the bank in Chelsea with no money so you don’t have to walk all the way back to Brooklyn.
—–What it feels like to walk from Chelsea to Brooklyn.
——How to fill up a DVR by recording mass amounts of stuff to i’ll never watch. Sealab 2something20something on Cartoon Network in 15 minute episodes makes it seem to take double the amount of space when it’s full.

**********Amazing realizations *like woah

-Finding out CSI isn’t a bad show because youve actually filled up the DVR with stuff you’ll never watch because it’s too hard to erase them. It’s easier when you don’t have to change the channel.
–Not to not let your friends from home bring Old World Style Super Mightys because when you’re hammered and half passed out they’ll brush your teeth with them and put their girlfriends shoe on you. Oh yea, and take pictures of it.
(Old World style is Meat, Lettuce and cheese because in the old world they only threw tomatoes for bad performances and public hangings or had festivals with them. Plus I don’t like them.)
—It’s never a good idea to whistle the song from the movie Broken Flowers walking by an angry black man you’re paying no attention to because he will hunt you down a dark street and threaten to kick your ass in front of your girlfriend and call you a racist. Really embarassing.
—-Don’t talk to strangers about business ideas when you’re wasted because they’ll leave you voicemails in terrible dialect about things you can’t remember and that they’re going back to Romania for a week and a half and how you really need to call them back because their uncle has something you talked about and needs to talk to you immediately.
—–Dipping french fries in bourbon is actually quite tasty.
——Not to tell a girl you just picked up off the train and went back to her house with that her cat is going to die because you definately won’t get any.
——-Not to pick up girls on the train because they spend lots of money for treatment on their cat that is going to die.
——–Not to go to Movida.
———You can’t have too many friends.

And thats about it folks. Party at Radio City Hall Musical tonight for the awards! Stay tuned for comments about other things i’ve learned in the comment section. Feel free to post your last years worth of things you’ve learned. Pre-Fall reflectionism. Or at least share your Jewish New Years resolutions. Thanks!

I really love it when I get an email that says it’s from a husband and wife. ie.

Dear bvllets,

We would appreciate it if you were less funny or would at least shut the hell up. We can’t seem to keep our urine in our bladders.

Sincerely,

Angie & Bob Davis

Like Angie and Bob both sat down and compiled their thoughts and wrote a joint email telling me how funny I am. I can see it now.

“Hey Angie, you know, I was thinkin that bvllets guy sure is funny and I keep pissing myself. We should write him an email.”
“Oh Bob, you’re so right. I keep pissing down my leg every time I read his blog too. He also makes my vagina as moist as a fresh Better Crocker cake. Let’s do it!”
“Oh Angie, you’re so cute when you talk about your moist Betty Crocker Vadge.”

The thing I can’t really figure out is if Bob and Angie typed alternate words, letters or collabrated sentences over many drafts. How convenient that they both feel the same way. I would hate to create a rift in the family.

People, I don’t care if you’re married or not. You’re 2 seperate people no matter how much til death do us part crap you believe. The thing is, i’m onto this tactic. I always know it’s the wife whos writing it. How weak. What husband is going to put his wife on there if hes making the argument? Let me think, uhm, zero.

Let’s make a proposition banning wives who use their husbands name gratuitously for argumental purposes from voting. Anyone who can’t make an arguement themselves shouldn’t be allowed to vote. Mysoginstic? Prolly a little. Do I care? Not really.

Thoughts?