Twitter Not to be confused with this

Things to do on Valentine’s Day if you’re a eunuch

Ave Maria

Play Maria in “West Side Story”

Play “Maria, Full of Grace, Empty of Testicles”

Become Maria

Become Jane or Be Julia

Becoming Jane or Being Julia, decide which is more difficult and which will endure cinematically

Watch “Smash”

Watch “Smash” without masturbating

Watch porn without masturbating

Watch the Throne without masturbating

Hang out with other eunuchs/castrati

Dominate karaoke with your new castrati friends

Get ready for Presidents’ Day

Chris Colfer is your President

Don’t worry about being a baby daddy on “16 and Pregnant”

Worry about being on “16 and Castrated”

Be extraordinarily productive because you aren’t masturbating

Cook a romantic candlelit dinner for two (your testicles)

Remember that February is the shortest month

Remember that you have the shortest scrotum

See Phantom of the Opera with someone you love

Understand Phantom of the Opera

Understand Phantom of the Opera as a metaphor for Phantom Limb Syndrome for your genitalia

Interested in what premise!

Interested in what premise!


Vacation With Little or No Money or Pride

Travel, for a Price!

Tired of those old-fashioned discount travel websites? How about this new website we’ve got that is different. Instead of telling you what a hotel clerk will force you to pay before you can legally cross state lines, this new website here lets you name your price! Then the website will tell you where you can go for that much money!

Sample: Bridget is a mother of 2. With a husband who is a father of 2. She wants to pay less than $100 for her vacation.

Website says: Disney World! Actually, Bridget’s Aunt Jodie’s house but pretend that it’s Disney World!

Aunt Jodie’s house is just like Disney World because Jodie is anti-semitic! Aunt Jodie only wears a bathrobe, like a princess! She hasn’t left the house in a couple years, like Rapunzel! There are lots of mice running around, like Cinderella! There’s a dead fox in the basement, like “The Fox and the Hound!” Aunt Jodie was once arrested for killing a British man, like a reverse Pocahontas!

Other Sample: George wants to treat his wife and teenage daughter to something exotic for the money he saved by using his Shell card at the gas station ($11.27).

Website says: French Riviera! The public beach down the road that with a bit of imagination becomes the French Riviera!

The Barbara Bel Geddes Memorial Beach is a lot like the French Riviera because there is medical waste everywhere because France has universal healthcare. It smells like sewage. Those dirty, bath-phobic Frenchies! Stray cats! “The Aristocats!” Who’s that creepy man with a video camera recording your teenage daughter swimming? Is it Godard? Is it “Paris, Je t’aime”? Can’t afford swim trunks? Swim in your clothes like old timey bathing costumes! Are those homeless people in tents homeless, or patriots? Les Miserables! Do you hear the people sing? Why is that one patriot masturbating while looking at your wife? It’s a nude beach. The French are much more comfortable with their bodies.

Sample again: Hank and Grace are newlyweds on a budget. A budget of free.

Website says: Jolly old England! More specifically, America. Even more specifically, the Windsor Arms Convalescent Home.

Welcome to the Windsor Arms, or should I say old folks’ home or should I say Britain? That lady over there counts five heads on your body because she’s using the metric system. Is that drool or just a funny accent? That man has a tiara! The Queen! These two jokers in the wheelchairs can’t move their faces. Catatonic, or the royal guards? Try to make them smile! Take a picture! A group of women chanting! Druids! (They built Stonehenge)! Charles Darwin’s over there, throwing feces. Oooh, in this room in the basement everyone’s cold and in boxes. It’s Madame Tussaud’s! Also, everyone here plays mahjong.


Things to do with your leftover turkey

Make sandwich

Make turkey sleeping pills

Recreate Marilyn Monroe’s death by eating a lot of turkey to sleep forever and to weigh as much as her

Make a Belgian waffle, turkey on the side

Make nuclear weapons, turkey on the side

Make love not war, turkey on the side

Get it out of your house (your lazy cousin is a turkey, get it?)

Eat it off a gilded piano while trying not to look distracted by the powdered banshee/musical genius feminist belting “You and I” at the head of the piano table

Pardon it

Discover you’re a large, flightless bird (your cousin is a turkey, remember?)

Pardo it

Nick Pardo, remember him?

Save it for the next NBA Lockout

Nick Pardo is a baseball player

Do a reverse craft turkey hand stencil, where you trace the outline of actual turkey meat on a piece of paper and pretend that’s what your hand looks like

Throw it in the trash and scream, “Take that, Ben Franklin!”

I think Nick Pardo played for the Twins

Find a hungry man named Ben Franklin who would’ve also been mad about your wasted turkey

Pretend it’s bald eagle meat and scream, “Take that, Ben Franklin!”

Nick Pardo doesn’t exist

I’m thinking of Martin Prado

Interested in being saved.
Also interested in basketball terminology.

Interested in being saved.

Also interested in basketball terminology.


Winning is Everything, or what Second Place in the National Geographic GeoBee Says about Occupy Wall Street and Your Career Prospects

What is Judgment Day? Is it when you go to meet God or G-d or Buddha or Gaga or Rob Lowe before he had that wig or Bernadette Peters or Bernadette Peters in Rob Lowe’s wig? Yes. Maybe. Or is it Judgement Day? Or is it Judge Mint Day, a holiday where we crown Judge Mint (whosoever has the talent for determining the best mint flavor) and we allow him or her to decide who among us goes to heaven and who haunts reasonably priced mojitos at a Fairfield Marriott and ruins the marriage of “that guy in sales” for all eternity (in this scenario, “we” are all mint plants, and “that guy in sales” is Rob Lowe)? No. Judgment Day is not like that. But I do hope Judge Mint Day happens just as described (Rob Lowe will be played by Bernadette Peters in Rob Lowe’s wig).

I’m pretty sure Judgment Day comes at a different time for everyone, like SIDS, but is basically the day where the cosmic force for order decides whether you will succeed at every thing you do or whether you won’t. In order to continue reading this post, you should probably believe that there is a cosmic force for order, or at least pretend to believe. It’s like a passive-aggressive, Choose-Your-Own Adventure novel, where you either believe in what is happening (and have an adventure!) or you stop reading and worry about what quitting says about you.

There are obviously people who succeed at everything they do (Della Reese). But those people are so rare that even when you see them, you don’t because they’re rare and you don’t live where angels live (Della Reese). Everyone else has a Judgment Day in their lives where they realize that some level of failure is inevitable. For many, this failure comes when they try to achieve metatheatricality in their first tumblr post (SUCKAS, clearly not me, because you can see what I just did, also this is not my first post [MORE META]). For me, the earliest failure of which I am acutely aware was at the National Geographic GeoBee at Avon Middle School in the year of our Lord (Della Reese) 2002.

I love trivia because I enjoy masking my lack of marketable skills with a quick and inaccurate reference to Corazon Aquino. I also don’t like talking about things I haven’t heard of, but I do like saying, “Oh, I’ve heard of that,” and then making the conversation about how smart I am. Thusly, the National Geographic GeoBee at my middle school was the perfect way for me to engage with something on an extremely superficial level but still prove that I was and am very smart.

If you win the GeoBee (as it will henceforth be called), you are deemed worthy of attending the state competition (henceforth going to State [not like Michigan State or when Honduras becomes a state or state penitentiary or “State of Grace” which was an underappreciated sitcom on ABC Family]). Going to State, I assume, is accompanied by a ride in a hansom cab, a complimentary Tom Ford tuxedo, the ability to digest Double Stuf Oreos as lean protein, and 16,000 boyfriends give or take the “friends” part. Alas, I do not know if that is what going to State entails. I never made it.

My middle school also served as the prime recruiting ground for the Future Fans of LMFAO, so I was desperate to ride the sweet gravy train of the GeoBee as far as it would take me. In sixth grade, I was eliminated from competition on a question about the nuclear waste dumping grounds in China (No Child Left Behind MY A** [don’t leave your children behind any adult male a**]). In seventh grade, I was ill. Nothing but a nuclear disaster or Hepatitis C could keep me from the GeoBee, so let’s assume I had Hepatitis C (as all my fellow students/doctors assumed). Finally, in eighth grade, with all my elder competitors graduated or pregnant or both or neither, I knew I would win. The only possible obstacle was my all-time rival, and you can’t even call her that because she only beat me in vocabulary tests because she was allowed to use an electronic translator, Angela Chen (her name has been changed to protect the innocent or simply to fulfill my lifelong dream of being a customs officer at Ellis Island).

On the day of the all-school final competition in eighth grade, I knew I would win because I always won everything. And I mean everything. I was a little brat with an anger management problem who one time tackled a much smaller girl in indoor kickball because I thought if she dropped the ball I would be safe. She was the pitcher. I even won the genetic lottery by inheriting my mother’s hips and not my father’s eggplant-shaped midsection. I was unstoppable at even a chemical level.

As you can tell by the introduction I gave her, Angela Chen was my last competitor standing by the end of three rounds of inappropriately difficult geography questions (In what country is the Pontcysyllte Aqueduct? Which country launched the Winter War against Finland in 1939 after shelling its own city of Mainilia? Who is Tierra del Fuego?). The last round promised to be much easier as it was America-centric and Angela was a Godless (I assume) non-American and I was just a Godless American. None of the questions were about Godfullness.

My final round question about the Civil War was written either by a good ol’ show queen with a soft spot for the Golden Age of American Cinema or by a good ol’ boy with a soft spot for the Golden Age of American Racism. The fact that I struggled with it is very disappointing as I try not to disappoint either of those demographics out of fear of bodily harm. These 10 long years later, the only thing I can remember about that fateful question is everything: “What city did General Sherman burn to the ground on his March to the Sea?” Any 13 year-old gay boy in suburban Connecticut worth his weight in confectioner’s sugar (about 26 pounds, soaking wet) knows the answer to that question. He knows the answer to that question because he has seen Gone with the Wind enough times to know the answer to that question (one time is enough times to know the answer to that question). The answer to that question is Savannah, GA.

“No? Not Savannah? Isn’t there a scene in Gone with the Wind where Scarlett goes to Savannah for some reason? Probably for pretty dresses?”  “Doesn’t matter, 13 year-old gay boy. Get out of here, and don’t be late for West Side Story rehearsal where no one has the heart to tell you that your New York accent as Riff sounds like a drowning Bobby Kennedy. The answer is Atlanta.”

Atlanta. Land of Coca-Cola and land of World of Coca-Cola. It also sounded like Angela. The other thing that sounded like Angela was “GeoBee Champion,” because that’s what she was. Her question was something about the Freedom Trail in Boston. That’s a question I easily could have answered because there isn’t a Clark Gable film about the burning of Boston (which, come to think of it, isn’t a bad idea). I’m not sure if her electronic translator helped her, but if the translation of “crusher of little boy’s dreams” in Korean is “Angela Chen,” then her translator works perfectly.

I have no idea where Angela Chen is today. I prefer to think that her encyclopedic knowledge eventually led to interminable geographic ennui, and she can no longer analyze the topography of Aconcagua without entering a post-modern shame spiral in which her shame manifests itself as calories and she’s fat. But I know this is not true. I know because of a very brief Facebook search that Angela Chen is either working for Agilent Technologies (career gurrrrrrl, amirite?), has changed her name ever-so-slightly to Angela Cheng, or is a 12 year-old South Korean with a profile picture of heart clouds that I’m sure are meant to be cute but look terrifying. So, no matter what, she’s doing fine (she could still be fat).

Therefore, I am currently unemployed because I lost the GeoBee in eighth grade. But I am OK with being unemployed also because I lost the GeoBee in eighth grade. Judgment Day came and went, and I know that failure is inevitable, especially due to (as a writing teacher would one day tell me) my emotional unavailability and my reliance on pop-culture references (Corazon Aquino/Della Reese). There is always a Clark Gable movie or a Korean girl with an electronic translator waiting in the wings to strike me down. But I’ll cheer up! I’ll work hard, because nothing will be handed to me other than maybe a paycheck and maybe an engagement ring. From a man. In Wyoming (sorry to get political, but I’m not gay I just want to get gay married!!!!).

Angela Chen is the reason I both believe in and don’t believe in these Occupy movements. I support OWS because I’m pretty sure my sister has it, but also because I lost the GeoBee. Everyone fails, and it’s nobody’s fault but your own. Therefore, if you work hard, you should be able to succeed. But for those same reasons, I don’t want to believe in OWS. And as for things I don’t want to believe in, that is a very long list (spoiler alert: Angela Chen’s not being fat is numbers 1-23 (the number 23 is Angela’s lucky number because I assume she loves that Jim Carrey movie because it has a 7.9 score on Metacritic and I’ll take those odds)). I believe that everyone should have a chance to succeed no matter who they are, where they’re from, or how they were born (backwards, frontwards, or butt). So, if OWS is about giving everyone a fair shot, then I’m for it. But if OWS is about blaming the government or banks or what have you for failures, then all those protestors are relying too much on their electronic translators. Maybe they’ve just never had a Judgment Day, or maybe they had a Judge Mint Day and didn’t understand it because of Bernadette Peters’ slurring her words. And then there’s nothing we can do but give her a different wig.

Interested in advertising.

Interested in advertising.


Ways the Greeks can raise Money $ to deal with the Debt Crisis

Stomp more grapes

Grow more legs for stomping more grapes

Make sure those legs have feet (I can do that, you can hire me to tell you if your legs have feet)

Stop confusing themselves with Italians

Replace Apollo with his faster, cheaper half-Asian/half-brother, Apolo Anton Ohno (twice the speed, half the L’s)

Sell the virginity of their olives

Charge more for extra virgins

Have the Olympics every year

Buy the copyright to the Olympics

Reverse the order of the last two options

Have a bake sale

Donate their excess eyebrow hair to Locks of Love

Buy Locks of Love and make it a private organization that gives money to Greek banks for hair

Sell the excess vowels in “spanakopita” to Pat Sajak

Sell the excess vowels in “Zooey Deschanel” to Pat Sajak

Rob Pat Sajak

Robert Pat Sajak

Pat Pat Sajak

Have an “only one child (born of throwing your severed genitals into the ocean)” policy

Greece 2

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