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Thursday, January 20, 2011

Splish Splash

There’s something about someone slipping on a banana peel that makes us laugh uproariously. But these days the banana peel has been upstaged by the smartphone and the idiots who are so wrapped up texting they don’t watch where they’re going.

Cathy Cruz Marrero from Reading, Pennsylvania is a texting idiot. A recent viral video shows Marrero so wrapped up in typing a text that she fell face first into a fountain. Splish splash!



As millions of viewers watched the viral video I’m certain no one said, “Hey wait, isn’t that Cathy Cruz Marrero from Reading, Pennsylvania?” Aah, but a chance at fifteen minutes of fame brought Cathy Cruz Marrero into the spotlight on national television proclaiming how embarrassed she was at the incident. If she was so embarrassed why did she identify herself as the texting idiot?

But it gets better. Today she and her uber-smart lawyer James Polyak announced they want to hold the person(s) who shot the video and put it on the Internet responsible. They’re considering a lawsuit. This definitely has the makings for a movie of the week starring Tori Spelling and Edward James Olmos.

Marrero also had the audacity to tearfully complain that no one from the mall called to see if she was okay. Who cares?!?

And it gets even better. Marrero is currently facing charges for credit card fraud.

Hmmm, something smells fishy and I don’t mean the dead goldfish in the fountain. Maybe Marrero deliberately set the whole thing up so she could have the international attention she so desperately craves, sue the mall, and then retire with her winnings? Now that sounds probable.

What was she texting? She was texting someone from her church. Aah, the church connection. She wants us to believe she’s a God fearing woman... but in truth a soon to be God fearing felon. Praise Jesus!

Marrero should hook up with Balloon Boy’s father. They’d be a perfect pair made in fraud heaven. Amen.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

My Middle Finger Wounded

My middle finger on my left hand, my flipping the bird finger, is wounded. Yes, wounded and I really don’t understand how it happened.

I got on my bike to ride to the gym and noticed that my tires were a bit deflated. I immediately worried that the connoli weight I gained over the holidays was more serious than I thought, but then I checked the elastic waistband of my gym shorts and laughed at the absurdity of the thought. The pants fit me fine. (Yes they did, damn it.)

So off I ride and at the first gas station I see I pull in to inflate my tires. As a prepared bicyclist I always carry a tire pressure gauge gadget with me so I won’t blow too much air in the tires, sit on the bike and have the tires explode like a major fart beneath me.

As I let go of the air hose I glance at my left hand and notice something very strange. The top portion of my middle finger on my left was bent in an abnormal direction. It wasn’t painful, but painful to look at. My beautiful left hand was deformed. That friggin’ air hose hurt me and I didn’t even feel it.

I slowly pushed the tip to the left to straighten the finger but it immediately returned to the right. Because I felt no inner pain I decided it was a minor finger malfunction and continued to the gym where I sweated on the treadmill and pumped up the pecs. Through it all my finger bent abnormally, but I carefully kept it hidden from any inquiring eyes.

Once home I carefully washed my deformed finger and taped a wooden splint to it to return it to its middle finger glory. Until I’m healed...

Typing is now difficult.

Doing handstands is not possible.


Intimate moments will now require my right hand to be the dominant hand.

Piano playing and violin playing will have to wait.

And worst of all... If I don’t heal properly my hand modeling career might be over.

Friday, January 07, 2011

Jesus In Cake

Yesterday was January 6th, Dia des Reyes (“Kings Day”), and to celebrate I took a journey to East Los Angeles to mingle with my Latino brothers and sisters and enjoy some Rosca des Reyes (Kings Day cake). I wasn’t going to let Epiphany pass me by without partaking in a slice (or two or three) of cake with a nice cup of coffee. I love cake and any excuse to eat it is reason enough.

One of the traditions of Dia des Reyes is to place a baby Jesus in the Rosca des Reyes. The person who finds Jesus in their piece of cake is blessed.

Well glory hallelujah I found Jesus. Yes I did. I found a mohawk Jesus with a black eye in my piece of cake.

Of course I wasn’t paying attention to what I was putting in my mouth and I almost washed little Jesus down my esophagus with a gulp of coffee. What would’ve happen if baby Jesus got stuck in my throat? Would my friends have performed the Heimlich Maneuver so I could spit up Jesus and not choke to death?

Luckily that didn’t happened, but it could have happened. And if it did, do you think the sin of swallowing Jesus would’ve banned me from ever entering heaven? Would my name appear on a list of people tacked to the pearly gates with the headline “Do Not Admit these Jesus Swallowers!”?

Oh, oh, oh... A potential hellish crises was averted.

I’m so glad I didn’t choke on Jesus.

I am truly blessed.

Wednesday, January 05, 2011

For 2011 I’d Like...

At midnight December 31st I was more than happy to kick 2010 in the ass and welcome with open arms 2011. And like everyone else I’ve made a wish list for the coming year:

I’d like to be able to pedal my bike to the very top of Griffith Park without dying of a massive heart attack.

I’d like to never have to read about or see another picture of that idiot Sarah Palin.

I’d like this to be the last year of that worn out, insignificant American Idol.

I’d like to cook Indian food and cook it well.

I’d like to find a phenomenal pizza joint in Los Angeles.

I’d like to play tennis more.

I’d like to participate in a live painting re-enactment (preferably one with a Roman theme where I get to wear a toga).

I’d like to have the courage to go up, up, and away in an air balloon.

I’d like to receive a message from my mother in a dream.

I’d like to have coffee and conversation with Melissa Manchester.

I’d like to feast on a big ‘ole plate of deep fried clams (with the bellies), and a side of deep fried onion rings at least once a month.

I’d like to look great in a Speedo again.

And most of all...

I’d like to spend one night as a go-go dancer in a cage suspended above a crowded dance floor swinging to 80s music.