Append: Even huffing doesn't take away the pain of this

David Mamet's American Buffalo is enjoying an off-Broadway run (again?) at New York's Belasco Theater. Good tickets are probably still available, so, you know, whatever. Go see the play. I bet it's great. Maybe after the show you can go on a ski trip or something, you fuck.

Oh, one other thing: LOOK WHO'S IN THE FUCKING SHOW.

Jesusfuckingchrist. 

It's your Thursday afternoon cheers and jeers!

CHEERS to rock concerts that are well-conceived! 

CHEERS to tonight's twin bill featuring the The Hold Steady opening for (dramatic pause) DRIVE-BY TRUCKERS! 

CHEERS to me for buying a ticket! 

DOUBLE CHEERS to me buying for a second ticket for the cute girl who works at the coffee place by my house! 

DOUBLE CHEERS to the cute coffeeshop girl if she enjoys drinking Jim Beam from a flask that I carry in my pants!

JEERS to cute coffeeshop girl if she prefers drinking beer purchased at the concert venue!

CHEERS to some other awesome double bills!:

Stephen Malkmus & the Jicks / Radiohead

The Walkmen / The Strokes

Heartless Bastards / Lucinda Williams

The Greenhornes / The White Stripes

CHEERS to Drive-By Truckers if they play "Hell No, I Ain't Happy"!

CHEERS to Drive-By Truckers regardless!

CHEERS to Coors Light!

CHEERS to Coors Light while I'm on a break sitting on a stoop near my office!

CHEERS to functional alcoholism!

JEERS to the Nazis! I mean, what's up with Nazis!

CHEERS to readers of this blog who aren't lazy pieces of shit and who can leave a fucking comment!

JEERS to all you other fucking assholes!

Episode V, in which I criticize your new lifestyle, Vice-style

As readers of faggotblog.blogspot.com know well, my previous exercise in blogging was largely dedicated to slandering my ex-girlfriend for the mean manner in which she ended our relationship.

For those of you who weren't with us, here are those grievances again (see Faggotblog for a complete account):

1. Being hot but withholding sex all the motherfucking time

2. Peeing the bed

3. Puking the bed

4. Asking me to move to Columbus, Ohio, only to later submit to a marriage to a Pakistani man, as arranged by her parents, forcing me to move into an apartment with no air conditioning and a meth dealer upstairs

5. Being a bitch

6. Stealing my awesomest band t-shirts (Pavement, Strokes, Wilco) for sleepwear

7. Continuing to withhold sex, then getting angry when she caught me jerking off in our bed

8. Making the apartment smell like garlic and onions all the goddamn time with her shitty Pakistani cooking

9. Continuing to attend Walkmen concerts even after we broke up (I know they're an awesome band; WHY THE FUCK DO YOU THINK I LISTEN TO THEM?)

10. Refusing to separate my white and dark laundry, thereby making my whites appear din in certain lights

11. Not permitting me to watch any sport other than soccer in the house, even the Cincinnati Reds, you goddamn fucking bitch

Before the demise of Faggotblog, I assumed that I would end things by posting pictures of Saleha's wedding, which were generously provided some time ago by my friend Cool Dave, and criticizing them in my traditional, bitter way. For whatever reason I never got around to it, and I quite honestly forgot about the pictures until the other day.

Here, though, straight from my iPhoto album, are photos from the most blessed wedding of Saleha and Nadeer Khan. If nothing else, they serve to demonstrate that non-American weddings are really fucking weird.


The wedding party! What a beautiful family. See the guy in the suit, second from the left? That's Saleha's brother. He has rage problems and had to undergo court-ordered anger management. That's his wife on the left. I guarantee you that she has been hit for talking out of turn.

And then there's the bride, resplendent in orange. Lovely! Hey Nadeer, here's a tip: she will fake pregnancy at least once for every time you come inside her. If you don't like twice-hourly phone calls at work, PULL THE FUCK OUT.

Hey, and there's the happy couple! Quick joke: Saleha's new husband walks into a bar. Bartender says, "Why the long face?"

HIYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Here's a cute shot: the newlyweds in a lighter, casual moment. Not too close, you too! No touching!

Except, wait: is that how Saleha dresses nowadays when she's being casual? In a sari-type thing? Yeah? Oh, okay. I guess I was just expecting something more like this:


Or this:


Get fucked, Mrs. Khan.

My dog's online dating profile

Weird.


Name: Madeline W. (New York, NY)

Mood: Horny ;)

Nicknames: Maddy, Black Thing, BT1, The Girl, Little, Muppet, Muppet Baby, Sam the Eagle, Burden, Sugar, Sugar Pie, Sugar Plum, Honey Pie, Honey Bear, Fruit of the Loins, Jew Baby

Age: 4 human (28 dog)

Sex: female

Interested in: men, women

Looking for: dating; activity partners; NSA encounters; long-term relationships

Religious views: Norse

Karaoke song: "Louie Louie," The Kingsmen

Interests: intimidation scenarios; j-offs; newsie roleplay; African-American erotica

About me: No last names.

Get fucked, Haley Joel Osment

As an ongoing service to its readers, BLOG!!!!!!1!1!!!!! will identify people and things that should just go ahead and get fucked. Today's subject: Haley Joel Osment.

One day a few months ago I was walking my dog on 6th Avenue. (Note: "walking my dog" is not a euphemism for masturbation.) It was around 7:30 on a Monday, and I had just treated myself to a few glasses of chardonnay from the Food Emporium. This is not uncommon for a Monday.

 

As we crossed 6th Avenue, Madeline and I passed child actor-turned-creepy grownup Haley Joel Osment, star of such contemporary epics as Secondhand Lions and Pay It Forward. It was a real thrill, because it's not every day that you get to see a washed-up child actor (and convicted DUI offender!) walking the streets of New York with his boyfriend. Maddy could barely contain her excitement. Not only is she is a huge M. Night Shyamalan fan, but she also really likes boys who like boys. And believe me, Haley Joel Osment straight loves boys.

Haley Joel Osment took immediate notice of me and Maddy as well. In fact, he stopped mid-stride to make the following observation of my beautiful dog:

"That dog is weird looking."

Huh. Well, thanks, Haley Joel Osment! Thanks for taking the time to drop that one on us! If I may, I'd like to offer a multi-point response. May I? Thank you:

1. Have you looked in the mirror? You look like The Curious Case of Benjamin Button incarnate, you fucking crazy-eyed gnome. Nice highlights.

2. I see that you are wearing a Boston Red Sox hat. Given that you are an asshole, this does not surprise me. However, why are you wearing a Boston Red Sox hat? After all, your Wikipedia bio lists Los Angeles as your hometown. Shouldn't you be wearing a Dodgers hat or Angels hat? The only logical conclusion I can draw from your hat choice is that you're a fairweathered piece of shit who has gotten caught up in the renaissance of cute that has befallen the Boston Red Sox since 2004. For this, you are a fucking fag. I would also wager that you don't know the first fucking thing about baseball, and that Alex Rodriguez is your favorite player. Again, you = fag.

3. Maddy is fucking beautiful. Way more beautiful than your little man-whore suckoff toy. What's his name? I'm guessing it's Ryan or Jason or Shane. Is it any of these? No? Well, whatever. May your first child be a masculine child, bonerlicker.

Of course, I did not say any of these things, because I was drunk. Instead, I did something far less clever: I yelled somewhat incoherently.

"THANK YOU VERY MUCH, HALEY JOEL OSMENT! I SEE ASSHOLES, HALEY JOEL OSMENT! HEY, DID EVERYONE SEE HALEY JOEL OSMENT HERE? HE'S RIGHT HERE! HE WAS IN THE SIXTH SENSE! CAN I HAVE YOUR AUTOGRAPH, HALEY JOEL OSMENT?"

See what I did there? I embarrassed him with topical movie references. It's like my grandpa always said: if you can't beat them, you should belittle them with topical references to their careers as child actors. Also, never trust Pakistani men with your money. THEY WILL STEAL IT.

In conclusion, Haley Joel Osment can get fucked.

Get fucked, David Mamet

As an ongoing service to its readers, BLOG!!!!!!1!1!!!!! will identify people and things that should just go ahead and get fucked. Today's subject: David Mamet.



David Mamet can go fuck himself.

David Mamet is a prolific writer. By that I mean that David Mamet writes a lot of plays and movies. What I do not mean is that David Mamet writes a lot of good plays and movies. In fact, David Mamet's plays and movies uniformly fucking suck.

From what I understand, it is considerably easier to write lots of plays and movies when all of your plays and movies fucking suck. This fact should be printed on David Mamet's business cards.

Every month, when David Mamet releases his latest piece of shit play or movie, one of my asshole friends will say, "Hey! Do you want to go see the new David Mamet?"

My answer: fuck no I do not want to go see the new David Mamet. David Mamet is the worst thing since 9/11. (Ironically, lots of people in New York really like David Mamet. I refer to these people as "jerks," or sometimes "jerkheads.")

David Mamet, who sucks, owes me $17.50. Here is an itemization for that fuckface and his moneygrubbing accountants:

1. $3.50 for Blockbuster rental of Glengarry Glen Ross in 1996
2. $12.00 for one movie ticket to see Red Belt in 2008
3. $2.00 for Fandango fees for the aforementioned Red Belt screening

Please remit payment by mail, you fucking moneystealing vagina.

(Red Belt, by the way, is a lumpy puddle of ejaculate harvested from a red-assed Mongoloid sloth. David Mamet apparently got tired of writing after a few hours, so he just ended the movie without actually resolving anything. Innovative!)

In conclusion, David Mamet can get fucked.

Blog!!!!!!1!1!!!!!!! Mailbag: Halloween Edition!

Dear Phil,

Why do you hate Halloween so much?

Steve F.

Bed-Stuy

Stevesy,

Because it is the most annoying night of the year. (Note: Gay Pride Day is a day, not a night.) If I wanted to wade through a sea of white trash chicks dressed in sexy cat costumes, I'd go to my stepmom's house. Thanks for writing!

Warmly,

Phil

Dear Phil,

That's so gay...anywhere you go there will be slutty girls looking to get laid. They don't even care, they just want you to play the game.

Steve F. 
Bed-Stuy

Steve-o,

What is this game you speak of? Please tell me it involves a belt and a lime wedge.

Fondly,

Phil

Dear Phil,

You're fine at playing the game, you're just not willing to do it...for example, not going to parties with chicks because you "don't like Halloween"? Halloween's awesome! It's the last day of the year that chicks willingly wear only their underwear. They just want you to put yourself out there in the same way they did. That's literally it. You could wear Groucho Marx glasses and still be knee-deep in it. 

Steve F.

Bed-Stuy

Stevarino,

No offense, but you're coming off a little gay here. Maybe wait until you get home before you start rubbing one out, huh? Thanks for reading!

Best,

Phil

Be sure to submit questions for the next edition of Blog!!!!!!1!1!!!!!!! Mailbag! Thanks for reading!

Everyone is really impressed by your decision to vote for Barack Obama

What? You're voting for Obama? WOW! How progressive! And say, is that a New York Times sticking out of your leather briefcase? And you say you're a subscriber? Well, you're just all sorts of impressive, sir.

Hey, from one Obama voter to another, let me share something with you. Come in close, because I want to make sure you hear me:

I DON'T GIVE A FLYING GAY FUCK THAT YOU'RE VOTING FOR BARACK OBAMA.

How stupid do you think I am? You think I don't already know you're voting for Obama? Look in the mirror, Lampwick. You are a full-on Obama douchebag. You won't shut the fuck up about Barack fucking Obama. You devote every ounce of your New England pretension, every ounce of the brainpower you compiled while earning your BA in Anthropology from the University of Vermont, to telling every poor motherfucker within earshot who you're voting for.

All of us know who you're voting for, you stupid cunt. Everyone is really impressed.

How erudite of you to vote for a black man. How advanced you must be to vote for the guy who isn't suffering from Vietnam-era PTSD. Clearly you have studied the issues at great length, weighing the candidates' Senatorial voting records against their visions for America's future. Also, you read that article in People in which Natalie Portman said you should vote for Barack Obama.

I bet you even wore that cute little Obama lapel pin when you went to your friend's debate party in Park Slope.

Your queerness really annoys me.

Of course I'm being sarcastic here. After all, you are not very smart. You're actually kind of stupid. If you weren't, you would have thrown your support behind Hillary Clinton back when it actually mattered. But it's too late for that, so get fucked.

I wonder what Barack Obama would say if he knew your grandfather still says "darkie" sometimes.

Welcome commenters and fags

Want to be a faggot like this guy? Of course you don't. Because he is gay!

Still, you should probably join him in posting a comment on this blog. Every fifth comment gets a commemorative pin and the satisfaction of time completely wasted. It may also help prevent me from cutting myself, but probably not.

Seriously, if you're going to do it that much, please get a new bed

By Madeline


I hear squeaking.

Jesusfuckingchrist. Is he doing it again?

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUH. Gross.

What a pathetic piece of shit. Part of me wants to go look, but I don't know if I can stomach seeing a pantless 26-year-old man sobbing and pumping furiously to a back issue of Redbook.

Look, buddy, you're gonna rip that thing off if you don't slow down.

I'm going to go take a shit in the dining room.

Look, I'm not saying you're stupid just because you don't like the new Walkmen album

Here's what I am saying, though:

1. You have shitty, shitty taste in music.

2. You probably have shitty taste in everything.

3. Your parents probably had shitty taste in music too. (This one is particularly damning. I mean, my dad listened to Don Henley's solo albums, and look at me. I'm fucking awesome. My nickname in college was "Impeccable Taste.")

4. If your parents did not have shitty taste in music, then your mother must have been addicted to peyote while she was pregnant with you. That is the only plausible excuse for this otherwise-unforgivable fault in your musical taste. Plus, your mom sure has a lot of Injun friends (the alcoholic Injuns, not the smelly Injuns).

5. You are gay.

6. Your father is gay, and I know because I blew him.

7. Your mother is a slut, and I know because she wanted to blow me but I was too busy blowing your dad.

8. You probably stole my iPod, you fucking fag.

9. Fuck you.

10. I'm willing to bet you spent a good part of your childhood in Boston, which would account for your shitty taste in everything, including music and sports teams.

Actually, now that I think about it, you are stupid.

BREAKING NEWS: iPod stolen, suspect awkwardly black

Well, fuck. Some asshole up and stole the iPod from off my desk. It was sitting under some papers, and when I came back from my afternoon poop, it was gone.

Additionally, fuck.

With much of the staff attending a conference in Seattle this week, there was a skeleton crew working in my part of office today. So let’s take a look at the two primary suspects:

SARAH H.

Age: 29
Residence: Park Slope, Brooklyn
Occupation: Associate Editor
Born: Boston, Massachusetts
Education: Dartmouth, 2001
Marital Status: Recently married to some guy who does some stuff with some hedge fund
Children: “I’d really like to have a daughter named Edith.”
Celebrity Lookalike: Claire Danes
Hobbies: Reading, television, running, being Anglo

JABBAR S.

Age: 22
Residence: Trinity Park, Bronx
Occuation: Mailroom Assistant
Born: Trinity Park, Bronx
Education: Trinity Park, Bronx
Marital Status: Single
Children: Yes
Celebrity Lookalike: Cutty from The Wire
Hobbies: Holla'in at chickenheads with his T-Mobile Sidekick 2

I’m no racist. Heck, my dog is black, plus I love John Legend. But does anyone else get the feeling that Sarah had something to do with this? I mean, don’t know Jabbar, but based on his profile, he seems clean.

Ever since you got pregnant, all I can think about is how hard you probably got fucked

Look, I'll be honest. Until a few weeks ago, I wasn’t that into you. Sure, we would say hello when we passed each other in the hall. Maybe we would politely ask about each other’s weekends if we found ourselves sharing an elevator. But it’s not like I was going out of my way to chat you up. Yes, you're kind of hot, but you also live way the fuck out in Long Island and share an apartment with a guy named Jason or Shane who’s taking community college classes and wants to be a fireman.

Point is, it would’ve been stupid for me to sit around pining for you. In fact, until recently I’d never even thought about you while jerking off.

But man, ever since I found out you were pregnant, I can't stop thinking about how you probably got the absolute shit fucked out of you.

Suddenly your entire body has come alive in my mind. It's as if nature and circumstance have conspired to make you the sole object of all my wanton fantasies, populating my mind with thoughts of all the parts of your body that I would like to know in the most intimate ways imaginable.

One of the things I think about is your vagina, because that thing probably got railed to fuck while you were getting knocked up.

Also, I think about your boobs.

During your first trimester, I suspect that there won’t be much change in your sexual habits and proclivities. If you like missionary, you’ll probably continue to do missionary, because your stomach won’t be that big yet. However, due to the pregnancy, your vagina will be much more sensitive, making both your orgasms and your sex drive heightened.

(Ed. note: I have no idea if the vagina becomes more sensitive during pregnancy, or whether any of the above claims are true. I am not a physician, and these are just guesses.)

If you like doggie style—and in my mind, you do—you will probably love having pregnant sex. It is really the most practical sexual position for a woman with a huge abdominal protruberance, the sort of protruberance that you will have in your second and third trimesters.

If Jason Shane will not fuck you doggie style while you are pregnant, I will gladly do so. In fact, we should probably fuck at some point before you give birth, just because I am going crazy thinking about it. Also, the second that thing comes out of you, your vagina is going to lose all the sweet, sweet tension that got you into this predicament in the first place.

Also, and in conclusion, I will probably not want to have sex with you after you give birth.

I wonder if that lady would laugh if I pretended like I was kidnapping her baby

Ah, morning.

Another day, another subway ride to work! I'll just head down these stairs, swipe my card, and walk over to the ol' uptown 6 platform. From there it's just three stops to my place of business! Thank you, mayor of city, for inventing public transportation!

Hey, look! A baby!



Hello Baby! Boy, you sure are cute, Baby. Nice boots, too. And who's this person with you, Baby? Is this mommy? It's probably mommy. If you were a white baby, I might question whether this person was your nanny. You see, Baby, many white babies, especially here in Manhattan, have nannies who are not white, but rather some shade of brown. But since you are not white, Baby, I will assume that this person is your mommy. Also, I will not ask where daddy is.

Well, Baby, it looks like you and mommy are getting ready to climb the stairs to exit the subway. Maybe you and mommy are going to do some shopping here in Union Square. There are lots of cool stores in this area, Baby. There’s even a Babies-R-Us! Haha, Baby. I think you and your mommy will have a nice time shopping today, Baby.

I sure hope one of those men standing next to mommy has the good sense to help her carry you up the stairs, Baby. After all, you're heavy, Baby! Too many bottles for you! Haha, just kidding, Baby. The pediatrician says your weight is healthy.




Well, this is disappointing. Baby, it appears that neither one of those fucking Hasids is going to stop and help mommy carry you up the stairs. Those two guys are real fucking assholes, Baby. I suppose their conversation about curly sideburns and/or diamond selling is too important to help you and your mommy climb the stairs. After all, it's not like they have the entire train ride to Midwood to discuss such matters. Time is money, Baby, which means that time is VERY important to the Hasids.

Okay, Baby, I'll help your mommy carry you up the stairs. No problem at all. Let me just grab the bottom of your stroller here, and … there we go … hang on Baby! Here we go, up the stairs!

You’re very welcome, Baby’s mommy. My pleasure. Sorry about those fucking inconsiderate Hasids.

Boy, you sure are cute, Baby. Very clean and personable. I like these traits in a baby.

Hey Baby, you know what would be funny right now? If suddenly I grabbed you out of your stroller and started running away. You know, like I was trying to kidnap you or something? Hahaha, don’t you think that would be funny, Baby? Would mommy think it was funny? I wouldn’t run very far—probably just like five or ten blocks—but I would run very fast and in an erratic pattern so as to make it appear that I was really trying to kidnap you. Also, I will probably wave a gun. Then if the police stopped me I would laugh and show them the gun, which of course was only filled with blanks. At that point we would all probably all have a good laugh, Baby, and the police would be relieved because it was all just a lighthearted prank.

It’s the simple things that make life special, Baby.

Well, here we are at the top of the subway stairs, Baby. Off you go with mommy! I’m off to my job authoring children’s books! Have a great day, Baby!

I wish my bed didn't squeak so much when I masturbate

My bed was purchased at a garage sale. My bed is old and made of brass. It is also very squeaky. When I roll around in my bed while I am sleeping, my bed squeaks. When I throw clothes on my bed, my bed squeaks under the weight and quality of my imported garments, many of which are from Banana Republic. When my dog rubs her ass on my sheets, my bed responds by squeaking. If I were to give my bed a name, it would probably be Squeaky, because my bed squeaks like pretty much all the time.

My bed also squeaks really fucking loud when I masturbate.

I have masturbated in many beds during my life: my bed, my parents' bed, my siblings' beds, the bed in my grandma's guestroom, my first girlfriend's bed, my college bed, my college girlfriend's bed, my college roommate's bed, my college roommate's parents' bed, my second college girlfriend's bed, and the beds where I've slept any time I have been housesitting. I have also masturbated in a number of hotel beds. I have masturbated in many beds, and I have never encountered a bed that squeaks as much when I masturbate as my current bed. My current bed squeaks like a mouse full of secrets every time I masturbate.

It is possible that my bed was built in a pre-masturbation age and is thus not equipped to handle the vigor of my self-pleasure. I don't think there is any masturbation in the Bible, so it's possible my bed was built in Bible times. (I'm pretty sure they had brass in the Bible, so this would kind of make sense. Like I said, my bed is made of brass.) If this is the case, I would not blame the bedmakers who made my bed, because hey, they were just making due with what they had, which I guess was mostly brass.

Still, it would be nice to masturbate without all that squeaking.

I really can't masturbate if I am constantly worrying that the neighbors can hear my bed squeaking while I masturbate. Once I save up some money, I am probably going to buy a new bed, one that doesn't squeak so much. I will also probably buy some DVDs.