Wednesday, October 12, 2005


R. Kelly "R&B Opera"

Now i know it has been a while since my last post, but you know what, i deserve the time off. It takes alot of work to be so damn funny for you people but i do it anyway and all i want is a little pity ok. Anyway, i had the privilage of seeing something tonight that inexplicably forced my hands into blogging position. Anyway, the thing i reference would be,

R. Kelly's "R and B Opera."

(yeah i know some of you are going to be like, holy shit, why is this sonofabitch writing about something that is sooo old, and for you, i say kiss my ass, you watch too much tv and are too much into pop-culture. Get Out More! Yeah, You, get the hell up from my blog and get your ass out the door. I can honestly tell you its ok not to know what the next song by "Insert Popular Rap Artist Here" is. So if your going to blow smoke up my ass for being a little late on this, then you can tell someone else that cares because its not me)

That having been say, I would just like to start by saying if you are one of the many people, atleast im hoping its many people, to have NOT seen this, then i hold you in very high regard and extremely lucky. It is easily the most ridiculous music video i have ever seen. Now i warn you that i have seen some ridiculous video's in my time, "Whip It," "Amish Paradise," "The Macarana" but this has got to be just the worst shit ever!

It is just so bad. Its like that feeling you get right before you throw up AND the taste that it leaves in your mouth. That acidy puke taste that lingers in your mouth for about five minutes before you hit the head. Yeah, you know which one.

Now, back to the "video." It is supposed to be this dramatic storyline shown through a sequence of video's, but not only is it the exact opposite of captivating, it's not even what i can reasonably term music. He is just sputtering out words of random gibberish laid over some crabby backbeat. To get even worse, the moron just hit the loop button and decided that his job was over after approximatly 15 seconds of annoying base.

The only comparision i could hope to make for this monstrosity is to compare it to some five year old telling me some meaningly story. It is kind of like that; one long monotone, run-on sentance with no hopes of a general direction to shoot for. Its only redeeming quality is the occasional "ohhhhhhhh" added in their in a desperate hope to appeal to the gay community.

I did some digging and discovered that his "Opera" is available for your pleasure on his official website if you have no idea what the hell im talking about.

It only took me about one minute and forty five seconds to come to the conclusion that it is probably a good thing that he gained all the credibility when he filmed himself raping and pissing on the foreheads of young children, or he might have had some problems getting the green light to make his new project. I thought the general public would have finally become immune to such idiocy, but instead we continue to put up with his creepy attire and a posture that i thought went away when we cured scurvy.

I leave you with my final thought, much like my counterpart on Hollywood Squares, Jerry Springer.

"R. Kelly, i more than likely do not know you, but im guessing we would probably not get along."

Tuesday, October 11, 2005


The Ramblings of a Tuesday Night.

Jim Carrey's teeth sure are white. How good to you have to be at something to go pro. Can i go pro in television watching? If an eagle were to fly too close to the ground? Aviator sunglasses sure are cool. My face is all scratchy. You and me will all go down in history. Why would your generation disagree with my generation. Jon Vitti is a strange name. I wonder whos job it is to inspect cue tips because that is something that probably gets sued alot. Peanut Butter really is a wonderful invention. I have presented you with all of the facts, where would you like to go from here. That sure is a wierd thing to say, and more to the point, to say it twice. If every angle was a right angle, imagine just how different the world would be. Is it not rediculous to write the word nutrition on the back of a Doritos bag. Why would anyone ever want to where square glasses. Why would anyone puposefully walk through the rain? Where do you think Fog comes from, really? There are either twelve or ninety two lights outside my window, which one is less likely. The sentance that was supposed to be right here will never be read by anyone but me, is that not scary. Spoons tend to bend first out of all the tools used in eating. Why do the colors black and white seem to blend so well together? What really makes toupe so soothing? Why do eyes up close always look scared or angry? The are 6 letters before the # nine? But why that choice of lettering. Where do you think you have the right to tell me what to do? Willy Wonka and his chocolate factory in the desert would have been a mucher stranger story. If you can check a documents spelling, why would you ever need to use words. Where do you think you will really end up. Will i, not I, be fine without you? Hesitation only leads to impulsive instincts. If life was a game of tag, would you be it? What will she think of Me in the morning? If you do the same exact thing ever day for your whole life, can you say that you have lived? Screaming back for more...

Thursday, June 02, 2005


Where Has My Ramapo Gone?

As I sit here sipping a delectable Propel Fitness Water - Flavor of the Day - Tropical Melon. I am reminded some of my favorite people back at Ramapo. So hopefully they will find this funny and not get upset... or call their boyfriend who may or may not get upset. If he does and perhaps wants to go a round or two with the fist'a'cuffs with me, I live at:
426 Maple Avenue
Edison New Jersey, 08880
Its the house with the brown shudders... BRING IT ON!
Until Then... Enjoy
Room Down The Hall
Michael Buck
Four college students are hanging around some dorm room. MIKE (21) sits in the common room watching television eating sunflower seeds. EMILY (20) moves around him and the room cleaning up. RACHEL (21) and LAUREN (21) are in their bedroom.
EMILY wanders around the room cleaning up. She is the average college student, sporting a Aero Sweatshirt and a pair of comfortable sweatpants. It seems to be her mission to clean up everything in the common room.
Mike, do you know where Rachel puts her dirty clothing.
MIKE is sitting on the couch with his feet kicked up in the table in front of him blankly staring at the television. He is wearing a Abercrombie T-shirt and a pair of jeans. Sunflower seeds surround him everywhere.
(without looking away from the television he gestures)
Umm... Yeah... Over there.
EMILY follows his hand hopefully, but it leads directly to the sink.
Yeah, real helpful.
MIKE spits a sunflower seed missing the cup on the table completely. He looks at EMILY who apparently did not notice and slides the remnants of the seed underneath the couch he is sitting on.
Enter LAUREN. LAUREN is toting a small purse and is wearing whatever is in fashion this week.
It is extremely organized out here.
Yeah, I got a little bored, so I cleaned up a little, excess stuff went in the closet.
Enter RACHEL. RACHEL looks ready to go, but is wearing an Army Surplus Green Pinned Jacket over an obviously expensive shirt (WHY!). She seems disorganized but in her own organized way.
(looks around at the clean room)
Telephone rings in the room RACHEL and LAUREN just exited.
(mutters something intelligible)
I got it...
(as she's leaving)
This is why im always late
(to EMILY)
How long you stuck out here?
Until Jessie calms down a little bit.
Telephone continues to ring.
A little fire damage and she flips out. I am almost positive she was looking to get rid of those cosmetics anyway.
(completely missing sarcasm)
I know! You would think she would be over it by now.
RACHEL smirks.
(from other room shouting)
Where Is The Phone!
(Shouting Back)
Buried Somewhere
Telephone continues to ring.
(staring intently at the television)
Does anyone have any idea what I am watching???
RACHEL and EMILY both look over simultaneously.
Not a clue.
Telephone continues to ring
What channel?
Uhhhh, thirty I think.
RACHEL gives a slight chuckle
Come on, what am I watching?
Women's Network.
MIKE shifts around frantically.
Wheres The Remote!
If its not in your hand you know your not going to change the channel.
Telephone continues to ring.
(doing her BEST Rachel impression and singing a little)
(also from other room)
Ohhhhhhhhhhh I Wish I Had A Telaphoneee
Do You Want Me To Come In And Find It!
(full on singing from other room)
Ohhhhhhh Myyyy Teeeellllaaaphhooooooooonnneeee
RACHEL storms off to the other room. Exit RACHEL
Do you want me to change the channel?
(off the cuff, still staring intently at the television)
This is fine.
(shouting from other room)
Enter LAUREN with cord less phone followed by RACHEL.
(presses button on phone)
(pauses for response)
Right where I always keep it.
(to phone)
One Sec.
(places other hand over receiver and looks at RACHEL)
You do not always keep it between your sheets underneath the Captain Crunch!
(to phone again)
Who is this? I can barely hear you, reception sucks here.
LAUREN begins moving around the apartment trying to keep reception on the phone until she finally stops next to the window leaning out of it uncomfortably.
(to phone)
(pauses for response)
Hey Tim... IIII was just on my way out the door, what's up?
(pauses for response)
Your new roommates are cool?
(pauses for response)
(pauses for response, looks totally bored on the phone)
(distracted by television)
Whos Tim?
(to MIKE but looking at LAUREN on the phone)
That guy your afraid of.
(less distracted by television)
Im not afraid!
(to MIKE but looking at LAUREN on the phone)
Good, cause I think he's on his way up.
(Looks up at RACHEL and EMILY spilling sunflower seeds everywhere)
HE IS!?!?!?!?
RACHEL and EMILY share a small snicker but go back to watching LAUREN on the phone.
(starts hiding the sunflower seeds that were dropped)
(to phone)
I don't think tonight is going to be a good night for me unfortunately. Things are looking pretty crappy on my end.
(pauses for response)
I know we were suppose to go out and I am sorry, but tonight was not set in stone.
(pauses briefly for response)
Well for one, I am completely bogged down with work, I am dead tired, and I got tons of studying to do.
(pauses briefly for response)
Twenty five pages on that suicide cult is a lot!
(confused, speaks low tone to RACHEL)
I thought it was ten?
RACHEL shoots her a 'look.'
(looks over at EMILY with a sign of hope)
(to phone)
Sorry, but we even have a bit of drama going on in the suite.
(pauses briefly for response)
RACHEL and EMILY look over at LAUREN with a puzzled expression. MIKE has lost interest in cleaning up his mess and has returned back to watching the television.
(to phone)
You remember Emily right? Well, shee...
She just got into a HUGE fight with her parents, then if that wasn't enough, she
(air quotes)
'accidentally' set Jessie's make up on fire and now they are not talking. She is in pretty bad shape right now. She is getting pretty heavy into the drugs, totally pulling a Robert Downey Junior, "Running from the Mariachi," and I really need to be here for support. The girl is just all over the place.
(pauses for response)
Yes, Emily!
(pauses for response)
No, Not Rachel, Emily!
(pauses for response)
An annoyed look crosses RACHEL's face.
I have no idea where she got the drugs.
(pauses for response)
Tomorrow, definitely. I will see you then.
(pauses for response)
What did I say, tonight is just not a good night. I know I told you to pencil it in.
(pauses briefly for response)
Pencil, you know, so you can erase it later. I got to go. I will see you tomorrow.
(pauses for response)
(pauses for response)
(clicks the button on the phone and tosses it to the couch)
RACHEL and EMILY stare at her dumbfounded.
(quickly responds)
I had to tell him something, sometimes he just does not respond to the fact that I need to study, you know that.
Yeah... Sure.
And I am seeing him tomorrow anyway.
What is "Running from the Mariachi?"
(heads for the door)
I got to go.
(follows her out)
Its just that, I don't think you should be telling people that because they might get the wrong idea.
(cut off as the door closes behind them)
(woman's voice)
Now during pregnancy, you may experience sensitive nipples.
Ok, I am really going to need that remote now.
(slaps her head)
Oh jeez.
RACHEL exits into her room and a screaming is heard from room two.
Why won't this thing just DOOOO ITTTTT!

Saturday, May 28, 2005


The Offspring

So I just got home for a fantastic one night stay in the good ol' South Plainfield before summer officially kicks in and unemployment hits me like a Mac truck on an icy intersection. Anyway, being that the only TV my dear family has left in my room is approximatly four inches wide by REALLY GOD DAMN SMALL, I was forced to watch the television with my parents. For some reason, they seemed adamatly determined to watch the news and whadaya know, Britney Spears is officially WITH CHILD!!! I don't know about you, but the next time I pick up the New York Times, I expect to see Britney and her retard boyfriend on the cover. (When I say New York Times i mean the New York Times: Trailer Park Edition. The only noticable difference is that the Trailer Park Edition has slightly sluttier pictures of Britney and, more importantly, you can eat it when you are done)

Anyway, Ms. Spears has finally announced her pregnancy to the ENTIRE world, thereby confirming the BEST KEPT SECRET since......

1. Britney Spears is waiting to have sex and will remain a virgin until she is married. (whoops)
2. Britney Spears did NOT have breast implants. (they ARE natural)
3. Britney Spears is NOT a hillbilly. (Louisiana is the one shaped like the boot right???)
4. Britney Spears did NOT allow Kevin Federline to use her as a coverup for his homosexuality.

You know, after rethinking it i do NOT think there are any secrets about Britney Spears that the public has not known about since she has "announced" them.

To continue, I am willing to bet my dollars to your peso's (for those not savy on my lingo, thats the shitty mexican currency) that no one reading this blog has any clue to what it is like to grow up as a child of a celebrity.

Ok, to be perfectly honest, it is exactly ONE celebrity and one random jackass who is somehow capable of wooing pop superstars with: his enormously puffy jackets worn despite weather conditions, doo rags, (sorry if i misspelled that) flat rimmed baseball caps, fubu apparel, and most importantly, his never ending supply of 5 oclock shadow!

I felt it was my ethical responsiblity to prognosticate an organized timeline, or a brief synopsis of the first product off of the Spears / Fubuline (oops thats actually Federline) uterussembly line. Check It Out!

Kevin arrives late at the hospital having gotten lost on his way from a shopping spree at Tommy Hillfigure. He is rushed into the deliver room just as the miracle of birth is taking place. Upon seeing the child, Kevin storms out of the room screaming obscentites, most of which consist of "Cheating Whore."

Four and A Half Hours After Birth-
Kevin returns; he is greeted by dozens of confused doctors and puzzled family members all who are eagerly awaiting the return of the the baby who is at the moment being cleaned up. He is let into the recovery room where Britney is just finishing up her 100000000 crunches a day. She stands, stretches and reachs out for his hand asking about why he is so upset. He pulls away his hands in disgust and responds, "I guess your even stupider than i thought, Apparently you either didn't see the baby that you just popped out, or you're color blind. There's NO WAY that thing came from me." Britney asks everyone in the room to leave so she can talk to Kevin alone. Once they're gone, she asks him to sit down and says, "Kevin, there's something I need to tell you. Something that everyone but you seems to have figured out by now..." Just then, the head nurse wheels the beautiful little white baby in, then shouts in Kevin's face, "YOU'RE NOT FUCKING BLACK ASSHOLE!"

Six Hours After Birth-
Britney and Kevin had asked the doctors not to reveal to them the sex of the baby before birth. Kevin makes the decision that "Now that the baby is born and all, maybe its time to figure out whether its a boy or a girl this way they know what to call it." Britney contemplates suicide but instead nods in agreement to Kevin and takes a look under the Blanket over the baby and sure enough, its a girl! Britney can not help but crack a smile and say, "Either that or its an anatomically correct version of Justin Timberlake." Kevin looks at her but either does not get the joke, or just does not feel that it is that funny. After long and tedius arguement, Britney is finally able to convince Kevin that 'Joseph' is not an appropriate for their new baby girl. Kevin only concedes to this under one condition, they have to use one of those "High Up Comma Thingies" in the baby's name. They are finally able to settle on a combination of both their names and name their child, "Brit'totalidiot." Britney lovingly refers to her child as "BabyBrit" or "BB" for short. Kevin just grunts like a caveman.

Four Days Old-
Britney and Kevin bring their baby home for the first time and decide that it would be the perfect time for BB's first bath. Britney fills the sink while Kevin sits idly by with a blank look on his face. And with that first gentile sponge bath for baby BB, she exceeds the total number of times Kev has bathed since she was concieved over nine months ago.

Five Days Old-
While changing from his daytime wife-beater to his bedtime wife-beater, Kevin begins laughing quite heartily for no apparent reason. Britney curious to what was so funny inquires with Kev about what he is chuckling at. Kevin responds, "Because Timberlakes dick is so small," confirming that he was laughing at the joke Britney told five days earlier.

One Month Old-
Kevin has just returned home from a long days shopping spree to report that his ATM card did not have enough cash on it to cover everything he was purchasing at Toys R Us. Britney rushes to the phone and speed dials her accountants! They confirm that thanks to her husbands excessive spending on NASCAR collector plates, vintage lunch boxes, caterer stomped Cheetoh Dust, and thousands of gallons of Hurricane Ice -- In the past year she has gone from multi millioniar to the verge of bankruptcy. She thanks her nice accountants and tells Kevin that they are Bankrupt. Kev responds, "Just Like Mom and Dad!" and begins rooting through the Toys R Us bags. Britney asks, "What did you get BB?" while looking at the Toys R Us bag. Kevin stares at her blankly, pulls out a glow in the dark toilet seat and starts "playing." Britney is forced to resume touring, and thanks to her husbands ineptitude, is forced to bring little BB with her.

Six Months Old-
Britney is pregnant again! It appears that K-Fed's adament reassurances that "Safe Sex" was just "Pullin and Prayin" was not exactly "accurate." When pressed on the issue from Britney, Kevin just responded with, "Who knew my boys could swim through such an impenetrable strategy???"

One Year Old-
Its Little BB's First Birthday Party!!! All the cake and presents have already been taken care of and the family members are on their way back to their mobile homes parked outside. Kevin just realizes that little BB has been scratching herself a little bit more than usual. Kevin becomes worried that the fleas from his psuedo beard have spread beyond his reach to little BB, but Britney is their to dispell his concerns when she says, "Don't worry Kev, these do not taste anything like your fleas." Later they discover that what they thought were fleas was just Oreo crumbs from BB's birthday cake, relieved, Kevin goes happily back to not cleansing himself.

Thirteen Years Old-
Little BB is growing up. Her body has begun changing from a girl to a woman and Britney and her have, "The Talk." Britney takes BB out to shop for some womanly things. When asked what it was like the first time Britney had to wear a training bra, Brit responded, "You know what, i don't actually remember wearing one. I just remember the scars took forever to heal."

Fourteen Years Old-
BB has begun worrying about her physical appearance. Her face has taken an unfortunate turn to the nasty -- what with the Braces and horrible acne and all. She runs to her mother to voice her complaints begging her for the plastic surgery that Britney supposidly "Never Had!" Britney angrily responds, "I don't want to hear you EVER complain! Look at Kevin! You soooooo lucky that you got MY looks and your fathers brain!" Thirty minutes later, BB responds ". . . Huh?"

Sixteen Years Old-
Puberty continues to take its course and little BB is not so little anymore. She realizes that maybe boys were not really all that bad at all to have around. Sitting around the house one day, BB begins flipping through stacks of old Entertainment Weekly, US Weekly, and People magazines.(which fortuantly double as the family's photo albums) She asks her mom why in the world she would settle for someone like daddy when she was with someone as rich, talented, and good looking as Justin Timberlake. Britney quickly makes good use of Kevin and orders him on another diaper run. She sits down next to her daughter and whispers in her ear, "I have Down Syndrome." Minutes later Kevin comes rushing in holding the diapers triumphantly. BB takes the diapers and proceeds to change his for him.


Tuesday, May 10, 2005


Revenge Is a Dish Best Served Kosher

A middle aged man sits in his living room on comfortable looking red velvet chair, his feet are outstretched and crossed unnervingly on a similarly colored ottoman. In his right hand he holding an old fashioned fountain pen and in is left hand he is fingering a moist can of soda.

After moments of quiet reflection his hand moves down to a sheet of paper and he begins to write.

(Narrating his letter)
Dear Mr. Salinger

As I sit here sipping my Mountain Dew the bubbles tickle my upper lip, as I have always dreamed they would. My mind is forced back to the thoughts of my mother. What would she think if she saw me right this second, sitting here on my son of a bitch Father’s prized ottoman swigging a soda, right from the can mind you, while wearing my brand new Red Oshkosh Turtle Neck Sweater. (Dickeys are for suckers and I turned in my sucker credential a long time ago!)

I just know it would have killed her, If only those damned natural causes hadn’t gotten to her first! But I have waited thirty years for this moment and plan on savoring every single delicious sensation!

Rueben paused to take another decadent sip from his frosty mountain dew and couldn’t help but giggle with anticipation. He returned to his letter.

(Narrating his letter)
The South Plainfield High School Class of ’76 was gathering tonight for its thirtieth high school reunion blissfully unaware of the Tsunami ready to wreak havoc on their tragically ordinary lives, a Tsunami named ‘Rueben Stein!’ (By the way, that’s me, I am Rueben Stein)

Rueben lifts his pen for a second, goes back and scribbles furiously at the words in the brackets.

(muttering to himself)
He’ll Just Know...

Reuben shifts uncomfortably in his chair and reaches behind him to the back pocket of his slacks, or trousers, he had not decided which category they fit into being that they were hand me downs from his grandfather. He pulls out a dog-eared copy of Catcher in the Rye, and thumbs through it for a moment.

Reuben sets the book on his lap and returns to writing.

(Narrating his letter)
As I sit here with a copy of your book, Catcher in the Rye, in hand I am reminded of our old paper boy, Stevie. He had let me borrow it some odd years ago, and in his haste to go to college, then to med school, become a doctor and have a family, he had foolishly forgotten to retrieve it.

Rueben smiles while writing.

Sucker! I thought you would be interested in knowing that your book provided me a philosophical blueprint for this night’s glorious triumph to be. I just thought you might like to know that of all the people who may have read your book throughout the years, you can be rest assured that at least one person “got it.”

Reuben tossed the book to the ground on his mother’s favorite rug. His mood darkened as memories of his fateful past began to resurface. Reuben returned to writing, but he returned . . . angrily.

(Narrating his letter)
In case you were wondering what spurned tonight’s evening of reckoning, I will inform you. Thirty years ago, my parents made the fateful decision to move to this torturous community half way through my senior year! The torment I received from my new classmates was almost more than I could bear. The cruel mocking echoing through the hallway still haunts my nightmares to this very day! “Excuse me, your name is Rueben, right?” “Do you know where the math hallway is Rueben?” “Hey, Rueben, I think Richard Nixon is going to be the best president ever!”

Tears stung Rueben’s cheeks and dripped onto the surface of the letter as he sat recalling the wretched echo of the names being hurled at him throughout the hallways of South Plainfield High. Rueben splotched the tears away with the sleeve of his red turtleneck and continued writing.

(Narrating his letter)
I shrieked out for them to end their constant taunting but my cries went unheard! Didn’t I insist on a nickname! Brooksy had a nickname! Bengay had a nickname! EasyE, Smush and Brunswick too! Even Ol’ Shitbreath had a nickname! No, I was destined to spend the last four months at South Plainfield High School without the renown and camaraderie only a nickname can bestow!

Rueben stopped writing and pulled out a small notebook the he kept with him at all times. As he pulled it out he glanced lovingly at the cover, “Rueben’s Big Book of Nicknames.” He gazed at it longingly and thumbed through some of his favorites he had come up with over the years. Brady ‘Bunch’ Anderson, Jim ‘Hey’ Abbott, Roberto ‘Remember The’ Alomar, Ty ‘Corn on the’ Cobb, Dwight Gooden ‘Plenty’, Chuck ‘New Kids On The’ Knoblauch, Gary Sheffield ‘Of Dreams’, Daryl Strawberry ‘Shortcake’, Tom ‘Leave It To’ Seaver, and his all time favorite, James ‘Teenage’ Mouton ‘Ninja Turtles’

Rueben couldn’t help but chuckle at the last one as he quietly swore revenge on Chris Berman for stealing his ideas. Rueben made a mental note to attach a (copyrighted) copy of the list of his favorites to Mr. Salinger just in case.

Rueben glanced up at the two T-shirts that hung from his parent’s entertainment center. He had personalized both of them for this glorious night. Would he go as the ‘Avenging Spirit of Destruction?’ Or would he go as, ‘The Ruester.’

Rueben threw down the last of his Mountain Dew and laughed the laugh of a man about to be born again! And then he coughed, as some of the delicious nectar went down the wrong pipe.

After the coughing fit ended, Rueben set back to work vigorously on his letter.

(Narrating his letter)
I thought you may be interested in my plan, a relatively simple one as far as thirty year revenge schemes go. Here is a list of my final checklist.
1. Be Rejected by the ‘in crowd’ at new High School. (Large Check Mark)
2. Wait thirty years to avenge wrath. (Large Check Mark)

-Here, you may be asking, “Ruester, why did you wait until the Thirty Year High School reunion and not the ten or the twenty year High School reunion instead?” I would have to respond,
“Jack Daniel (I figure we are probably on a first name basis by now and referring to you by J.D. seemed in appropriate) Thanks for using my nickname, it is very much noted and appreciated. I have asked myself the same question many times and figure that the ten or the twenty year high school reunion would not allow maximum surprise and preparation. Also, with my parent’s recent demise, I am no longer bound to their strict ‘in bed by 9’ policy.”-

3. Give yourself a nickname. (Large Check Mark)
4. Utilize science know-how to create a monster. (Large Check Mark)
5. Learn to drive. (Large Check Mark)
6. Drive monster to thirtieth reunion and unleash horrible terrible.
All Systems are Go! Engage!

Rueben smiled devilishly, borrowing terminology he recently had heard from Jean Luc Picard on some astronaut show.

(Narrating his letter)
Well, as I glance at my ‘Hello Kitty’ wrist watch, I realize that I may be late if I go on any longer, I’ll be sure to pen you a letter about how it went.

- All The Best –

Rueben ‘The Ruester’ Stein

Rueben stood from the chair and stalked into the kitchen to put the finishing touches on his home made Blintzes. - all attendees of the reunion were required to bring a potluck dish - At least he had inherited some of the qualities he admired from his parents as well. From his father, a healthy curiosity about science and an obsessive need for revenge. And from his mother, the proverbial green thumb for cooking, hence the delectable blintzes, and the soft curves and pouty breasts that kept him from every going in the community swimming pool.

He removed the Tupperware container from above the freezer and as he packed away the Blintzes he could barely contain his excitement.

Rueben wandered over to the bay window and stared impatiently at the monolith that was South Plainfield High School. A cold chill embraced him as he saw it; the front tire was flat on his parents 1983 Chevy Station Wagon. The cerulean carriage that was going bear his instrument of destruction lay immobile on the pavement. Thirty years of planning and sacrifice lay in shambles on the shag carpet beneath his feet.

Rueben looked at his watch, the long paw was on the nine and the short paw was almost on the eight, time was of the essence and he had already used the spare tire to construct majority of his monsters mid section.

Rueben needed an alternate plan and he needed one immediately! It briefly occurred to him that he may be able to lock all the exits to the reunion and create a firestorm inside, but that would require supernatural powers that unfortunately he did not possess. He could egg their cars. . . but that seemed unworthy of a thirty-year plan.

Just as the icy grip of defeat seized in on him he saw light at the end of the tunnel. If Rueben could only convince the monster to walk the four blocks to the high school. . . and carry the drinks. Rueben could carry the Tupperwared blintzes and the yearbook. They wouldn’t need a car. It sounded crazy. . . but maybe just crazy enough to work.

Rueben stared at the padlocked door to his private basement laboratory. Beyond the door lay the fruit of his labor, his sleeping monster. He felt a curious mix of elation and trepidation, an emotional cocktail usually reserved for the nights he would sneak downstairs, (the nights his parents forgot to deadbolt him in his room) and steal a glimpse of Baywatch as his parents foolishly slept through the night. Rueben hadn’t hated his parents, but at times he’d resented their overprotective meddling. He recalled the years that they had kept him in a plastic bubble after seeing the beginning of a movie about a boy with no immune system. They released him only after seeing that very same boy surviving what most feared was the end of the world. His parents reasoned that if this Gyllenhaal boy was now healthy enough to survive for several days without heat in the New York Public Library, it might be safe for Rueben outside the bubble as well.

He took a deep breath, unlocked the door and stepped down into the abyss of his basement with only one thought on his mind... “I should have changed the bulb earlier, I am kind of afraid of the dark.”

To Be Continued...

Thursday, May 05, 2005


Secret Tape - Part 2

*I know its been a while since my last post and I promise You, and when I say you, I think you know who You are, that a long one is on its way but hey, its finals time and I am a bit busier than not busy at all*

Here follows what I like to call the “Continuing Adventures of Marco.” Every since April 9th when I recorded Marco during the late night incident, I have made it a point to leave my computer recorder on just in case something else happens. Fortunately for Me, You, Cheney, and the Good Ol’ Red, White and Blue, May 4th was our day. The following conversation was transcribed from tapes made during the final Wednesday I would be working during the day and unable to take part in such a conversation.

May 4th, 2005: Marco Buonomo, Jessica Taylor

2:41 – 2:45 P.M., Redwood H – Room 2

(The rustling of paper.)

Buonomo: (laughs) Oh, Charlie Brown. . . When will you learn?

(A door opens.)

Jess: What’s goin on, Marco?

Buonomo: Hey! Jess, What the fuck are you doing here? C’mon in. How are you? Want some coke? (A glass breaks and a can hits the ground. Sounds of fiz.) Sonofabitch!

Jess: Umm… I’m good, You have to sign this, its about all the classes you missed.

(Papers rustling, followed by a short silence.)

Buonomo: I can’t sign this.

Jess: I told you, the Professor needs you too-

Buonomo: I don’t have a pen. . . I had one, but fuckin Mike took it away. I bet you didn’t know that a pen fits almost perrrrfectly in your eye?

Jess: Holy shit, you can use my pen.

Buonomo: Seriously!? (whistles happily) That’s a beauty right there! What kind of pen is that?

Jess: Are you fucking serious?

Buonomo: It looks like it’s made of gold. They must pay you a pretty penny where you work (mumbles) on the corner (aloud again) if you can afford a pen made of gold.


Jess: Its not made of gold idiot (Angrily.) Just sign on the god damn line!

(Long silence.)

Buonomo: This sure is some pen.

(Long silence.)

Jess: Holy Shit! You can have the god damn pen if you just sign the fucking paper!

Buonomo: You don’t need it? I mean I love the pen, but if, you know, you need it, well, I would understand. . .

Jess: Sign The Paper and Keep The Pen! I Have To Go To Class!

Buonomo: Are you serious? Wow. That’s… That’s just super! I really. . .don’t know what to say. This is some beauty.

Jess: Marco!

Buonomo: Right, right. This paper?

Jess: Yes!

Buonomo: Okay, Here we go. Signing my name. Here we go. . . (Long silence.) Um, could you do me a favor?

Jess: What?

Buonomo: Can you hand me that thing?

Jess: (Annoyed.) What?

Buonomo: My Driver’s License. It’s in those pants on the ground.

Jess: (Annoyed mumbling and rustling of clothing.) This?

Buonomo: Does it have my name on it?

Jess: Yes.

Buonomo: That’s the one. Thank you. Okay. Here we go. (Slowly.) Capital M, little a, (Short silence.) It’s okay if I print, right?

Jess: I don’t give a shit!

Buonomo: Man, this baby handles like a dream! (Unintelligible sounds.) Wouldyalookathat! Jess! Guess what!

Jess: What?

Buonomo: Did you know that both my names end in O?

Jess: Yeah, whatever, thanks a lot, (Papers rustling.) I’ll talk to you later.

Buonomo: No, Thank You!

Jess: (Quietly) I really shouldn’t have given him. . . (A door closes.)

Buonomo: Sucker! This little golden beauty. . . (Short silence.) Ahhhhhhhhhh! My Eye!

Tuesday, April 19, 2005


God - I Heard You Loud and Clear

I would like to start off with an apology to you Gentle Reader. I know my absence has been longer than usual but I assure you that I had a first-class reason for not keeping an up to date blog. I got pretty sick, and I am not talking like fourth grade “cough cough, please let me stay home mom,” sick, I am talking, “Hey Mike Buck, is that your esophagus on the floor?” sick. But now that I am cocked, locked and ready to rock, things will go back to the way they were. I think it is time that we jump in to my grievance, and since my absence has been so long, I decided to finally air my complaints with someone worthy of a ten day absence, and inacordance with that, my equal. So God, this one goes out to you… ummm… damnit?

Just recently I had some homework due for class, and from time to time I occasionally make a conscience decision to not complete it. Now this is not because I am too lazy to finish my homework because while capable of being lazy, I can always find time to do it, or because I forget about it. Sometimes I like to take a trip to the “slacker inside all of us” and sit around for a while, usually eating some kind of breakfast cereal and generally waste time until class arrives and be satisfyingly unprepared.

I had decided the week before that Tuesday was going to be one of those days! I had a single story to read for my American Short Stories class and had come to the rational decision that I was just not going to examine it. Now I want you to realize right now that I had plenty of time to do this homework and probably could have had the story read in a good 45 minutes. Now despite how much complain about my schedule, finding 45 minutes during the day is not that absurdly hard but when that time came, I decided that I would enjoy a nice “man sized” portion of Kellog’s Fruit Loops and sit around and generally do nothing. (By nothing I mean I totally wolfed down those fruit loops)

My scheme to not do my homework was coming along quite well. It was Monday night around 11:45 pm and I had managed to avoid the American Short Stories book all weekend and was completely unprepared for the following 2:00 pm class in which it was due.

I work from 9:00 am to 1:00 pm every single Tuesday a monumental distance away from school (like 15 minutes), so by the time 2:00 pm the next day would come about, I would have absolutely no time what so ever to complete my assignment and you know what, it felt good . . . damn good!

It is still Monday night and I can see the book where the story is located nestled safely on the confines of my desk. I drifted off into a relaxing sleep knowing that tomorrow would bring a non-homework completed day. The next morning I wake up to the kindhearted sounds of Outkast’s ‘Hey Ya’ emanating from my phone alarm. After hitting the snooze button an obscene amount of times, I finally make my way out of my bed.

Here is where I can waste time explaining my morning, but instead you can fill it in; Insert daily morning routine filled with a shower, black coffee, honey nut cheerios, a nosh of diet mountain dew, a four cheese pepperoni hot pocket, and some old pop rocks that I found underneath my desk, and I am off to work.

Now this is where God did not get the interoffice memo that stated in plain English, (and Hebrew just in case) everything is NOT under his jurisdiction.

I arrive at work at my normal 6-13 minutes late. Now upon my arrival, I was greeted with some unusual circumstances, the power was curiously out in my building, and strangely enough, my building alone... I think to myself on the way in, I guess it is just going to be phone calls today but as I arrive at my office, I am pleasantly surprised to find out that the phones do not work either.

(Also, an exceptionally important side note, for some reason I have brought my backpack with me upstairs and being that it is a Tuesday and I do not have a lunch break, this is highly unusual, almost divine intervention if you will.)

So I begin pretending like I have work to do while everyone around the office flutters around pretty much doing the exact same thing I am… nothing. No one has the balls to come right out and say, “Without our computers, we are basically useless.”

So I pull out my cell phone thinking that this would be the perfect time to download some new ring-tones, perhaps a lil P-Diddy or some Ja Rule, but puzzlingly enough I found that I received no service this particular day... Now normally, I get pretty decent service in my building, but this day was different, THIS day it was not under my, nor Verizons, nor any cell phone company or human beings, control.

Then I started looking around for something to do. There is nothing, literally nothing to pass the time for the next few hours while the power is out. Just then, I remember I have a bag of delectable Baked Lays Barbecue Potato Chips just lying dormant in the nether regions of my backpack. So I grab my backpack with my superhero like speed and tried to bring it closer to where I am sitting, and would you look at that! A Divine Zipper Malfunction! The only thing that falls out though is the book that my assigned reading was in AND it falls out upside down in like an Indian Teepee shape.

Now, so far, you can chalk this all up to some weird occurrences and perhaps some idiots working at General Electric, but when I picked up that book with my thumb in between the pages and found it on the exact page where the story I was suppose to read, I was convinced that either God really wanted me to read a story about three men hunting in the woods, OR my professor, the Gregarious Mrs. Molinari is in fact masquerading as a professor and was in fact God … herself. Either seems perfectly plausible to me at this point.

Now I can be quite oblivious to a lot of things that go on around me and I kind of take a weird pride in that, but when The All Mighty Himself sends you a text message you better make damn sure your phone is on. (I was going to say “God Damn Sure” but I figured it would be some how inappropriate) At this point I was completely convinced that I, Michael Cornelious Buck, was the just another Jesus in Gods divine plan. So I picked up that book at read more furiously then I have ever read anything in my entire life. I have to say, Webster and his book of many words would have been proud. I completed that story in a little over twenty five minutes and just as I closed it and tucked it safely into the bowels of my pack, the power came back on in my building.

So God, I was just wondering what you think your doing when you were interfering with my clever scheme. I would like to let you know that my scheme was extremely well thought out and I didn’t appreciate your meddling. Why don’t you stick with the things that you do best, maybe a couple plagues, help a few more guys that have poor shaving habits, (cause I hear that Keanu Reeves likes to let himself go from time to time) heck, I even support your decision to keep a bush burning for long periods of time but you know what, my Homework is Out Of Bounds! That’s right; you booted a ball outside the third base line and the umpire ruled, Foul Ball!

So God, this is Michael Buck saying that the next time you decide to send a message my way you can save yourself some time by perhaps sending it my way through e-mail, because you know what, I check that pretty regularly. I do not need your fits of divine intervention interrupting my work, or in this case, my lack their of.

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