Friday, March 14, 2014

Steak & BJ Day

Steak and BJ Day sounds pretty great. I just have a few questions and concerns.

1. Since it's indeed Steak and BJ Day, do I have to be eating steak while getting a BJ? Or can I eat it later, after the BJ--a post BJ snack if you will? Because it might be a little awkward getting a BJ while trying to enjoy a delicious steak. "Oh, I'm sorry honey, but can you hand me the A1? Just reach for it if you can. Further. Just a little further. No, that's the soy sauce. I'd get up, but you're giving me a BJ. So...There it is. You got it. Great, thanks. Oh wait, this one is expired. I guess we have to go to the grocery store. Let's take this on the road. I'll drive, obviously."

2. Moving forward. What is the limit on steak and BJs? Is it just one and done? Well, it's called Steak and BJ Day, "BJ" being singular. However, steak can be both singular and plural. Therefore, I could be getting more than one steak out of this deal. I think I found a loophole. Yes!

3. What if you're a vegetarian (which I am not, but I think it's only fair to them, the vegetarians, that they know how to conduct themselves on this particular day)? I guess it would just be BJ Day for the vegetarians. Better yet, what if you're a vegetarian but your woman isn't? Does she get to eat the steak? Or what if she's a vegetarian? Do you give yourself a BJ?

4. Are there restaurants that open their doors for such a day? For instance, are there any monogamous, couple friendly brothels that happen to serve a nice steak dinner? It's like those strip clubs that have a buffet. Maybe you'll be surprised to find out that the steak is just as good as the BJ. Or maybe the BJ is comparable to the steak--just as rare. Not for me though. Don't worry about this guy.

5. Would someone be allowed to take a personal day from work? "Well, as you know, it's Steak and BJ Day...enough said. I'll see you tomorrow."

6. Would Omaha Steaks sponsor this day? Probably not. But, I'm pretty sure if there was a guy out there named Blow Job, he would definitely sponsor Omaha Steaks.

7. I guess women can subtly tell us how they're feeling by what kind of steak they prepare for us. For example, if my wife fixed me some type of chuck steak, I would know that she's pissed off. Furthermore, I would anticipate a half- assed BJ.

8. It's time for steak...NY strip...not too shabby...Alright, I bought it myself. But, she's cooking it...Nope, it looks like I have to cook it myself.


Wednesday, March 12, 2014

MisadFriendtures of Ryan & Brandon: A Slice of Life

INT. RESTAURANT - EVENING

RYAN and BRANDON are sitting at a table in a restaurant called The Humble Cottage--a restaurant specifically used for dishing out humble pie, in a discreet, literal and metaphorical way.

RYAN
Well, I'm glad we had this conversation. And it's safe to say that someone just got served a slice of humble pie. Eat up.

There's a slice of pie in front of Brandon.


BRANDON
Nah. There must be some kind of mistake. I didn't order this and I most definitely am not in the mood for pie.


RYAN
Well, that’s kind of how humble pie works. You don’t necessarily have to be hungry to eat it. It's like leaving grandma's house. You don't need bags full of expired food, but she's going to give them to you anyway. So, hungry or not--


BRANDON
Oh I’m definitely hungry. I'm just not hungry for pie…What about cake? I can do cake.


RYAN
Hmm…I think that can be arranged.

Ryan flags down a waiter.

RYAN
Excuse me waiter. Can you take this pie and get my old friend here a slice of humble cake?

The waiter brings over a slice of cake and takes away the pie.

BRANDON
That's better...Oh fuck. Wait. I just remembered I gave up all sweets for Lent.

RYAN
Well, it seems as though we're in quite the quandary. You can't eat the pie. You can't eat the cake. How do you expect me to know that you've been humbled if you won't eat a fucking slice of something humbling? The pie's been sent back. We can’t possibly send the cake back too. That would be rude. 

BRANDON
Why don’t you eat it on my behalf?

RYAN
No, no, no. This is your humble cake, not mine. Plus, I've eaten this cake before. I’d be overindulging if I ate another slice. I’d be over-humbled. Too much of anything isn't good for you, especially cake. I’m pretty sure Barry White said that.

BRANDON
Well, I can’t eat it. I'm not a big fan of chocolate ganache anyway. Plus, God wouldn't approve.

RYAN
That's ridiculous. Everyone loves chocolate ganache. Whatever! Fine! We’ll send it back. But you better eat the next thing we order. What about Shepherd’s Pie? It’s savory, not sweet.

BRANDON
What's the matter with you (in Italian gangster fashion)? Didn't I say I didn't want pie? Didn't I just get done saying that? Shepherd's Pie. The word “pie” is in the name. Pie is pie no matter how you slice it. Plus, it’s peasant food.

RYAN
Oh, so you’re too good for it? Is that it? You know, most peasant food is delicious.

BRANDON
Spoken like a true peasant.

RYAN
Your mom was a peasant.

BRANDON
Oh yeah? Yeah? Yeah, she was.

RYAN
Okay then. What about crab cakes?

BRANDON
Jesus Christ, we’re back to cakes again?

RYAN
Well, his highness doesn't want pie. So what doth ye say to cakes of crab?

BRANDON
Actually, I could totally get into some crab cakes.

RYAN
Splendid. 

Ryan flags down the waiter.

RYAN
Excuse me my good man. Can I get some humble crab cakes for my old friend?

BRANDON
Oh fuck, look at the time. Can I get those to go? I really need to be heading out.

RYAN
Are you fucking for real right now? 

BRANDON
Yup. I have to go home and pray with my wife.

RYAN
God damn it. You're definitely going to eat these humble crab cakes though, right?

BRANDON
Definitely. I pinkie promise and swear to God. I pinkie promise God.

Brandon reaches his pinkie upwards and pretends to hook pinkies with God.

CUT TO:

EXT. THE HUMBLE COTTAGE - EVENING

Brandon is walking to his car--doggy bag in hand. An African-American panhandler comes out of nowhere.


PANHANDLER
Hey, psst, hey my man. Let me get a few bucks.

BRANDON
What?

PANHANDLER
Said, "Let me get a few bucks."

BRANDON
Oh, I don't have any money. Sorry.

PANHANDLER
What's that jingling in your pocket?

BRANDON
Really? You're listening for change jingling in my pants? First of all, those are my car keys. Secondly, I wouldn't give you money even if I had it. You'd probably just spend it on drugs or booze. Now, if you're hungry, I have a bag full of humble fucking crab cakes. You're more than welcome to--

PANHANDLER
Pfft. I don't want no fuckin' crab cakes man.

BRANDON
Humble fucking crab cakes. Get it right Jack.

PANHANDLER
My name ain't Jack, Jack.

BRANDON
Well, my name ain't Jack either.

PANHANDLER
Yeah well, you look like a Dilbert or some shit.

BRANDON
Well you just look like some shit. So...

PANHANDLER
That ain't cool man. You don't know what I've been through. You don't know my story. You don't know what kind of tricks I had to turn in order to get this jacket.

BRANDON
Jeez. You had sex in exchange for a jacket?

PANHANDLER
No. I'm talkin' 'bout magic tricks man. I made my bunny disappear.

BRANDON
That's pretty cool. I'd like to see that. Can you show me that trick?

PANHANDLER
Didn't you just hear what I said? I made my bunny disappear. I don't know where the fuck she went.

BRANDON
Damn. That's rough. Well, I'm sure she'll turn up. Rabbits usually like carrots.You should try--

PANHANDLER
Bunny's the name of my wife.

BRANDON
Oh fuck. Damn. Wait, you made your wife disappear?

PANHANDLER
Yeah.

BRANDON
Do you know how incriminating that sounds?

PANHANDLER
She always hated my magic tricks. Now she's stuck in one of them.


BRANDON
Hmm. Do you think maybe your "magic" is just a metaphor for some real reason why your wife disappeared--or left you?

The Panhandler begins to sob.


BRANDON
I'm sorry man. I didn't mean to make you upset. I'm just really good at deciphering shit. Listen, why don't we go inside the Humble Cottage and I'll buy you a slice. Do you like Shepherd's pie?

PANHANDLER
It's my favorite.

BRANDON
Of course it is.

PANHANDLER
I thought you said you didn't have any money.

BRANDON
Of course I have money. I just told you that because I didn't want you--

The Panhandler pulls out a knife.


PANHANDLER
Gimme that money fool!

BRANDON
Oh fuck...is that a real knife? Or is it a prop for your magic show?

PANHANDLER
I'm not really a magician, man.

BRANDON
And what about Bunny? Is she really lost inside a magic trick?

PANHANDLER
No man. I just said I'm not a magician. There ain't no real Bunny.

Brandon hands over the money.


BRANDON
Damn. My man! You went all method on me. You really had me convinced. Have you ever thought about acting? There's a great workshop right around the corner. They have classes on Tuesday nights. You should really check it out.

PANHANDLER
(Real British accent)
I'm currently starring in an off Broadway show which I won't disclose to you because then you'll know how to find me. But, it's going rather well. Future's looking bright. I don't get paid very well though. That's what this is all about. It gives me the chance to practice my craft as well as have a steady income.

BRANDON
Right on...Well, I wish you nothing but the best.

PANHANDLER
Toodle-oo!

The Panhandler runs off. Brandon stands there in amazement. He reaches in his doggy bag, pulls out a crab cake and bites into it.


BRANDON
Tooda-fuckin-loo.


FADE OUT:





Monday, March 3, 2014

This Is So Us: Handy Stud

INT. BEDROOM - DAY

AVA and BRIAN are staring at a wall. There are a bunch of little nail holes in the wall.

BRIAN
I misplaced my stud finder. So...I tried to improvise.

AVA
Well that clearly worked. Do you even own a stud finder? I mean, I've seen your tool box. You have like one tiny screwdriver, a tack hammer, one circular saw blade but no actual saw--
 
BRIAN
Duh, ninja star.
 
AVA
And one massive plumber's wrench that's literally too big to fit in our bathroom. What's up with that?

BRIAN
That's just me baby. I'm a handyman. I use my hands. I don't need a bunch of fancy tools to do a job.

AVA motions to the wall.

AVA
Really though? One extra tool would have been nice.
 
BRIAN
I'm a man's man Ava.
 
AVA
Who's man? Is his middle name Leslie and does he enjoy candle making, macrame, and Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman?
 
BRIAN
Say one bad thing about Jane Seymour.
 
AVA
I can't. But I can say that your fantasy is a little weird.
 
BRIAN
I'm very proud of my fantasies. They're very detailed and elaborate. And they have soundtracks to them.
 
AVA
Like Dr. Love by KISS?
 
BRIAN
Yes, exactly. So what if I'm Dr. Love and I do some "work" on Jane Seymour? I'm a doctor--
 
AVA
Of love.
 
BRIAN
--working on another doctor, who is simultaneously working on me. It's ironic!
 
AVA
And creepy.
 
BRIAN
That's the last fantasy I tell you about.
 
AVA
Whatever. Give me the hammer and a nail.
 
BRIAN
(CHUCKLING)
Why? Are you going to give it a go? No, that's perfect. This should be funny.

AVA puts her ear up to the wall while knocking on it with her hand. She quickly finds the stud and hammers the nail in.

AVA
Well what do you know? It looks like I found the stud...a real stud.

Brian looks thoroughly disappointed.

AVA
Okay. Now hand me the picture.

Brian hands Ava the picture and she hangs it up. It's a macramed picture of Ava and Brian.

BRIAN
At least it covers up the other holes.
 
AVA
Yeah...It looks really good.

Brian smiles passionately at Ava.

BRIAN
Thank you. I worked hard on--
 
AVA
No, I mean the hang job. It hangs nicely. It's symmetrical...I'm just kidding. You really do know how to macrame some...macrame.
 
BRIAN
Thanks. You know, when you say it out loud like that, it does sound kind of...lame.

BRIAN starts walking out of the room.

AVA
Where are you going?
 
BRIAN
To buy some power tools, some lumber. I don't know, maybe find a more masculine hobby.
 
AVA
Okay. Pick me up some tampons while you're out.

FADE OUT:

From The Thinkpad 2

The Whistler
Sometimes I like to whistle. I do it pretty well. Not that well. Actually I'm pretty fucking terrible at it. I rarely hit the right note. However, I will keep whistling until I find it. I have that kind of desire and determination--the kind that may or may not annoy someone. I must admit, I am a little sloppy with my whistling--much like Jimi Hendrix was with his guitar. He could bend any string and find the right note. His guitar was an extension of his body much like my lips are like an extension of my body--some might say they are an extension of my body. So yeah, I'm pretty much the Jimi Hendrix of whistling.

I have this phobia of whistling outside. I'm afraid if I whistle outside, all of the neighborhood dogs are going to chase me. I don't like whistling in public places either. If I whistle in a certain way, people might think I'm trying to hit on them. But really, I'm just trying to prevent them from getting hit, by a car--which I guess could distract them from actually seeing the car. I am a bathroom whistler though. I'll admit to that. Bathrooms usually have great acoustics. It just seems to be a natural reflex to whistle whilst taking a leak--whistling with your lips that is. But, it's not normal to whistle with your fingers while taking a leak. That would look a little weird. You know the form, thumb meets pointer finger or middle finger and you blow--which I can't successfully perform by the way. Then there's the pinkie meets pinkie form, which would look even weirder whilst peeing at a urinal. Why anyone would have to whistle like that at a urinal is beyond me, but it's just an example for you to see the distinction.

Keep It On Your Face
If you're a performer of any kind, I think it's important to express most of your emotion through your face. It's crucial to look as though you're angry--borderline confused, or just angry by the fact that you are indeed confused. It makes you appear to be a pretty complex individual. However, in actuality you're probably concerned with whether or not you turned off your stove or something like that. But remember, art is pain, art is suffering, art is love--and as we've learned from Nazareth, love certainly does hurt.

Small Concerns
Is miniature golf technically just called golf if midgets are playing it? Or do you call it something different like eenie golf? Can golf get any more miniature at that point? I don’t think so. Also, if a midget is brief and isn't divulging crucial information, is it inappropriate to accuse them of being short with you?

Roles
We all do our part in our relationships. We all have certain skills and attributes. For instance, my wife handles most of the financial matters and...pretty much everything else. I guess you could say she wears the slacks in the relationship. Don’t get me wrong, I do my fair share of things. Take for example, ironing. I do all of the ironing. It’s actually pretty amazing how terrible my wife is at ironing clothes. I always had to step in and smooth things out, so to speak. It’s fine though. That’s just part of what makes our union so strong. Sure, she wears the slacks. But...I iron them. So…

Preference
My wife likes her shower water pressure to be that of a fire hose. But, I can't handle that. Further more, my balls can't handle that. "What did you say dear? You would like to have more kids? Well, I'm sorry, but your precious Super Dee Duper shower head destroyed my precious balls. Call a plumber because the drain is probably clogged. I have big balls is all I'm trying to say. What's that? Oh, you took them away a long time ago? Okay,well, your boobies are my boobies--always have been...Yeah, you're right, it doesn't sound as harsh. What about your ovaries? Can I at least pretend, figuratively, that I possess them. Yes, it will help me sleep at night. And don't use all of the hot water please, because that affects my balls too. Let's just assume that everything could potentially harm my balls. Thank you."

The Dancing Guy
Sometimes it's weird seeing people out of their element. Take for instance the dancing guy at your local bar. He's always there cutting a rug. Well, not too many bars have rugs, which is probably a good thing. So we'll say, he's always there cutting up some linoleum--without fail, and he doesn't even look good doing it. You start to take comfort in the fact that he's always going to be there cutting loose, foot loose. Then one day you see him in a Walmart. The conditions are just right: a freshly waxed linoleum floor, some sweet ass 1990s R&B song playing in the background, and a Red Bull in hand, minus the vodka--but it's all good. However, this motherfucker isn't dancing--he isn't even bobbing his head. Hell, you don't even know how to address him because you don't even know his real fucking name. An awkward conversation ensues and next thing you know, you're agreeing to meet up with him for sushi next week. You run off and tell your friends with real names that you sighted the dancing guy at your local Walmart. And the first words uttered by them are, "Was he dancing? Tell me that motherfucker was dancing. Dancing right through the check out line I bet." Then sadly, you have to explain to them that, "The conditions were just right: a freshly waxed linoleum floor, some sweet ass 1990s R&B song playing in the background, and a Red Bull in hand minus the vodka." And one friend exclaims, "But, it's all good!" Then you say in a somber tone, "No...no. It wasn't all good. It wasn't even some good or partially good. Not even a smidgen of good, dog. I couldn't even mistake his movements for a jig. He had no bounce in his step. Anyway, his real name is Gerald. And he'll be joining us for sushi next week."

O.C.D. Apparently
I realized recently that I have a minor case of O.C.D. Actually, I just might have some serious pet peeves. I don't know. Anyway, it bothers me when time is left on the microwave, especially if it's blinking. Just clear it out, return it to zero or back to the clock. Also, it bothers me when I tear off a paper towel from the roll and expect it to tear where it's perforated. But it rips through the paper towel, leaving a little strand of paper towel stuck to the roll. Then I get mad and try to tear off that little piece and end up tearing off more. Next thing I know I'm drying my hands with thirty pieces of paper towel.

Church Chimes
I don't know if it's just me, but I think church chimes are eerie. They always sound just a little bit out of tune. There's a church right across from where I work. The chimes are always ringing when I walk out for lunch. There's nothing I can do but listen. So, one day I decided to rap along to the tune--spitting out inappropriate obscenities. It's an odd little justification but hey, I'll try to explain. There are enough things in this world to fear. And church chimes should not be one of them. Make them sound more pleasant and I'll stop rapping. Okay God? Deal?

G To the Love
Whenever I put on a pair of leather gloves I feel like I'm about to conduct some handy work which involves not leaving any fingerprints behind--if you know what I mean. What if a hit-man goes to a guy's house, whacks him, suddenly realizes that he has to take a dump and pops a squat right in his bathroom? Does he still wear his gloves whilst wiping his ass? Because if he takes off his gloves briefly, there's a good chance he's going to leave fingerprints somewhere. And does he cover the seat with toilet paper? Because what if the cops dust for ass prints? 

Sometimes I get the urge to slap people in the face with a leather glove. And they definitely don't have to deserve it. I think most people would be shocked, appalled and quite speechless if it happened to them. You couldn't get away with slapping someone in the face bare-handed. But, for some reason whipping out a glove and swinging it at someone's face seems more reasonable. Most people would question that pretty hard like, "Wait. Did this guy just slap me in the face with a glove? What did I do to deserve this? I probably said or did something dickish." And they would probably end up apologizing for God knows what reason. But who knows, maybe they would read into it too much like, "Did he just slap me, with a glove? I wonder what brand it is. Is it even real leather? He swung with his left hand. I wonder if it was actually the left glove. Does he have both gloves? Or does he walk around with just the one glove?"

Driving Me To Drive Like A Crazy Person
I really wish there was a way to remove all terrible senile drivers from the road. It would be great if someone could invent something similar to a proton pack and a ghost trap like from Ghostbusters, but instead it would be for old farts that don't know how to drive. I could stand on the side of the road and blast them with my proton pack. Of course the trap would have to be big enough to fit a Lincoln or a Cadillac Wagon into. But, it's definitely something that could be worked out. If anything it would create jobs--real jobs that might boost the economy. We'd be called the Fogey-busters or Almost Ghostbusters or They're So Old They're Almost Ghosts-Busters. I'll figure out a real name later. Anyway. "Oh there goes another one. Buick, 12 o'clock." Zap! (Or whatever sound it'll make).