My friend used to dine and ditch at restaurants when I was in high school, but I was too polite to do it. We'd be at Denny's and my friend would say, "you down to skip out on this meal?" I'd say, "of course I'm down" just to seem cool. 

My friend would leave first, wait in the car, I'd pay for the entire meal, and thank the waiter for the great service. Then I'd sprint out of the Denny's, hop in the car, and say, "go, go, go!" My friend would say, "did they almost catch you?" I'd say, "yeah man, that was close. Punk ass server ain't catchin' me though."


I was visiting family in Monterey and my cousin's backyard is near a protected area, so there's all kinds of animals in the forest behind their house. We were drinking quite a bit, then her husband (who is from New York) starts telling us how he's seen deer, raccoons, a mountain lions in the forest. Then he said, "you know what the most dangerous thing in that forest is? I said, "what?" He said, "The owl." I replied, "Um...what did you just say?"

He said, "the owl. Yeah man, them owls be flying around with their talons, poking the mountain lion's eye out. Then the mountain lion be runnin' around holding his eye like, "damn this owl is wilin' B." I'm telling you, it's the most dangerous thing in that forest." I shook my head and said, "listen man, I gotta be honest. I don't think you know what an owl is."


Every time I ever took an exam the instructor always said, "you must use a Number 2 pencil." I've never owned anything besides a Number 2 pencil. I never saw anyone scramble through their backpack after that statement in a panic because they had a Number 3 pencil in their hand. 

I have a feeling that Number 1 and 3 pencils don't even exist. I bet if I start looking into it I'll be walking through midtown, a black van will open their sliding door, and five guys in black suits will kidnap me. Then they'd take me to an abandon warehouse, tie me to a chair between huge stacks of rusted barrels, and shove a Gala Apple in my mouth.

Then some vague Russian guy, sitting in a red leather chair with his back to me, hair five inches off his head because he blow dried it on high, will gently ash his cigar, and emit a cloud of smoke into the air. He says, "why you look for trouble? This...Number 3 Pencil business...is...none of your business." I get annoyed that he used the word "business" twice, so closely together in the same sentence. It really took away from the impact it would have had if he rephrased it. Plus a modern red leather chair? That means he bought it at IKEA, put it together with that stupid Alan Wrench that has fifty screws for no reason, and had someone roll it over to this exact spot between the barrels before I got here. 

A guy in the black suit removes the apple from my mouth. I catch my breath and say, "I just wanted to know." He laughs devilishly, "he wanted to know. It's not your concern Chinese boy! Stick to your kimono's and Tapatio." I reply, "First of all, I'm not Chinese. Second, you're mixing up stereotypes with your big ass hair. Why do you have so much bounce on that wig on a Friday? You should really write your speech out and have someone take a look at it." He yells, "silence! You know not what you are seeking. Number 1 & 3 pencils have been protected by our secret society for centuries." 

I say, "Yeah? Well, enough pencil talk my dude. I gotta dip. I have a dentist appointment in an hour and I have to brush and floss before I get there. Just so they can watch me lie to their face when they ask, "how often do you floss?" and I say, "three times per day." Nobody flosses three times per day except serial killers, psychos, and people that leave Yelp Reviews. Then the dentist and his assistant give each other that, "that's odd..." face smirk.

Don't you dare stand over me, while my mouth is pried open with that suction vacuum thing, and give each other the fake concerned face. Gimme my complimentary plastic toothbrush travel pack, with the stupid yellow rubber duck in it like I'm five, so I can leave before I get a parking ticket at one of those meters they installed, just so I can help pay for this god damn arena after they traded our best player for nothing."


I used to be so scared to talk to girls. I had a girlfriend from 4th-7th grade and would sit next to her at recess for 45 minutes and not say anything. The bell would ring, I’d go back to class, write her a ten page letter, and hand it to her through the window of her bus. 

I was so nervous for the first couple minutes I wouldn’t say anything, then five minutes would pass and then it would just be awkward to ask, “so, do you like recess? Born and raised in Sacramento huh? What are your thoughts about that no running around the pool rule? Have you received a lot of sponsorships for the upcoming jog-a-thon?”

No, I’m not saying none of that. I will sit here in silence like a psycho, reeking of five sprays of Aspen cologne, hair unreasonably stiff from too much L.A. Looks Mega Hold 5, combined with holding down the button for 15 seconds on my sister’s Rave Hairspray under a blow dryer on high.

Maybe I’ll talk about the upcoming handball tournament. Then that voice inside my head would say, “Really? You’re gonna let ten minutes pass by and then talk about handball you loser? No wonder why you’re only a white belt in Kung-Fu. All the other kids you started with are yellow belts.” Now it’s been 20 minutes and my eyes are red because I’m allergic to my cologne and I’m sweating so the L.A. Looks is dripping down my forehead into my eyes.

30 minutes passes and I’m just waiting for the bell to ring. My only saving grace is to pick up trash on the ground and show it to the yard duty, so I can receive an “Act of Kindness” sticker. My poor girlfriend picked up some trash too. We were like a fake ass Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie.


Back in college, I had a red 1994 Prelude that I would have to spend ten minutes explaining how to work if someone wanted to borrow it.

Don’t roll the right window down all the way or it will get stuck. If it does, use the rubber pliers in the glove compartment to pull it back up halfway, grab it with both hands, and then wiggle it left right as you press the power button. 

Also, don’t change the song too quickly on the CD player at night, or the headlights will short circuit and turn off. 

My car has been stolen three times, so use the club in the back seat to lock the steering wheel. There’s no key to it and it doesn’t actually work, it’s just a visual deterrent.

Most importantly...if you’re stopped at a red light, turn the car off or it will overheat. A little bit of smoke from the engine is natural. If you get fast food do not use the drive-thru, the car will catch on fire from being stopped for a long period of time. 

If it overheats, refrain from panicking, pull over, and add the oil sitting on the passenger seat. The funnel is duct taped to the back of the passenger headrest for easy accessibility.

Last but not least...the car is on empty, so you will need to gas it up.


I hate famous people who act too famous. I was at a casino in Las Vegas at a black jack table and Rihanna was walking down the aisle being escorted by five security guards in black suits. They kept yelling, “clear the way! Get out of the aisle! Move!” Completely unnecessary. Nobody was even in her way and people wouldn’t have noticed her if they weren’t yelling like that.

Fans started screaming her name, but she kept ignoring everyone, trudging forward, head down, becoming annoyed with all the attention she created. I decided I’d say something to get her attention, so I pointed and yelled, “holy shit! It’s Jay-Z!!” She stopped, turned around, looked at me confused, and I said, “yup, there’s people more famous than you.” She got pissed and stormed off.

A few seconds later this guy ran up all excited and said, “Jay-Z is here??” I pointed in Rihanna’s direction and said, “he’s right over there!” and he took off running. I turned back around to the black jack table and the dealer said, “would you like to double down?” I believe I already have sir.


Back in the day, I went to Rite Aid to buy the morning after pill as a result of $2 Patron shots on a Thursday night. The pharmacist told me they ran out. I said, "What? Wait, you can't run out of that. You can run out of peanut butter or birthday cards, but out of everything in here that's THE one thing you can't run out." I left and we stopped at McDonald's before going to another Rite Aid where I paid $40 for the pill. I got back in the car and handed her the pill.

She looked hung-over, emotionally stressed, and embarrassed. So I figured I would provide some words of comfort, "Hey, I can't imagine what you’re feeling and I'm sorry you have to go through this, but I am going to need to see you swallow that pill in front of me right now. That's why I paid extra for the orange juice at McDonald's remember?" She looked at me like she was going to slap me and said she would later. I shook my head and said, "Yeah...that's not gonna work for me. It's not that I don't trust you, it's that I don't trust any girl period. Not to be an asshole, but it did cost me $40."

She opened her carton of OJ and looked down at the pill. I sat at the edge of my seat in suspense, like a detective with a suspect who is about to confess in "The First 48". She swallowed the pill and then threw the McDonald's bag at me. The ride home for her was awkward, but I felt like Jordan when he hit the game winner against Utah in game six, hand extended...crowd silent.

When we got to her place she stepped out of the car with her high heels, sun glistening off the Patron filled sweat beads seeping through her pores, and wearing a pair of my old basketball shorts. Don't worry it wasn't my good pair, it was one with no pockets. I hate basketball shorts with no pockets. I end up having to tuck my keys and wallet into my boxers when I walk to the gym. Either way it's her problem now. She goes to close the door and I said the most famous guy phrase of all time, "Aight then, Imma hit you up later."

She slammed the door and I felt terrible, but just as I hung my head in disappointment I saw the McDonald's bag she threw at me. Are you kidding me? She forgot the bag, meaning I just came up on a McMuffin and an extra hash brown. I never order enough hash browns, those things are delicious. I drove off into the sun and as my throat became parched from the extra hash brown I looked to my right and saw she left her OJ as well. I normally hate pulp, but not on this day. Unfortunately I never saw her again, but if I do I want my fucking shorts back.


I wrote a previous story about hooking up with a girl who had a boyfriend.  Since there's two sides to every story, I re-wrote it from her perspective:

Like most women, I put myself in some really bad situations when I’m emotional.  I was going through some problems with my boyfriend and called ten guys before almost giving up.  I finally scrolled through my phone to find Robert Omoto who I had hooked up with a while back.  The sex was incredible, every movement was…wait that was another guy.  Robert was the guy who tried to spit on his own dick, missed, and ended up bitching about his wet socks.  I hope he doesn’t text me back.

Dammit, he texted me back within seconds and said he was down to kick it “ASAP”.  Calm down there little fella, Jesus.  I can’t believe I'm going to sleep with a guy that text “ASAP”.  I had him come over because I wasn't about to drive an hour to not climax.   

At the time I was with a guy who worked for Apple and was a model.  Not sure what else I was looking for, but I wasn’t going to find it with this Asian guy who looked tiny stepping out of his car.  His clothes were too big for him, does he know he should be wearing a medium and not a large?  I should tell him, but I wasn’t about to start training a mediocre booty call on how to be a man.

I told him to wait in the lobby away from the front desk.  I get downstairs to see this idiot is pacing back and forth eating all of the goddamn Kit-Kats on the table.  I’ve never seen anyone eat that candy, it’s been sitting there for months and there was chocolate all over his teeth.  Why would you eat chocolate right before you see me, were you even trying to get laid?  Strike one asshole.  Wait a minute, is this dipshit wearing Axe Body Spray? How long did his dumbass hold the button down for?  Strike two!  My vagina was literally getting drier with every second that I looked at him.  I swear to God if this douche talks about getting bottle service in a club I am faking my period and sending him on his merry way back down I-80.  Why does he keep staring at the ceiling, oh my god this fucker has A.D.D.

We get in my condo and he immediately starts looking at everything.  Then he said, “I thought you said you broke up with your boyfriend and lived on your own.”  I replied, “I never said we broke up, I told you we lived together.”  I kept thinking, “You should stop talking with that hot ass Kit-Kat breath.”

I told him to put on a DVD and what does this jackass do?  He opens a brand new one, why would you do that?  There were a bunch of opened ones and he chooses the movie “White Men Can’t Jump”, now I have to come up with an explanation when my man gets home.  No girl would watch that movie alone.  God dammit, that’s borderline strike three you disrespectful fishead. 

He was scared my man was gonna come home and kept staring at the door like a pussy.  So I called my boyfriend at work and went down on him so he wouldn’t say anything to ruin my relationship.  Jesus Christ, did this pervert spray his nuts with Axe too?  If failure had a flavor then that’s what his dick tasted like. 

After I got off the phone, we ended up hooked up and I faked two orgasms.  He kept staring at Rosie Perez on the T.V. like a fucking creep.  I think this guy watches too much porn, he kept saying stupid ass phrases like, “Whose is it Ma?”  I wanted to say, “Well it’s not yours bitch.  My boyfriend is way bigger then you and I can barely feel anything.  You better go in sideways because whatever you doing ain’t working.  Did you just call me Ma?"  I did scream once but it was because I had a cramp in my leg.   

He went to the bathroom and I saw him walk into the closet.  What the hell is he doing? He'd better not be trying to steal anything.  I thought he would leave, so I started making lunch for myself.  Instead he awkwardly hung around, so I offered him some eggs.  He ate everything before I was even halfway done with mine and didn’t even offer to wash his dish.  Where the hell was this asshole raised?

He looked, tired but it couldn't be from the sex because he couldn't have used that much energy in four minutes.  I didn't have any Red Bull, so I offered him an expired protein shake. The company that made the shake recently recalled them due to causing vomiting and anal leakage.  Maybe I should tell him.  Wait, fuck him he didn't even offer to wash his dish.  He did help me realize what else is out there: disrespectful,      Kit-Kat eating, mohawk wearing, DVD opening, starving ass thieves who drive cars that are way too big for them.  I'm good little man you're welcome for the protein shake.


My girlfriend Steffi wanted a lemon bar at Plutos and said, "I wonder how much they are?" So like a gentleman, I go ask the female cashier and she says $2.10. I tell Steffi and she said "I don't want one after all"... but now I look like I can't afford the lemon bar to the girl at the register. Now I have to buy one just because she's gonna think I'm cheap and can't even afford to buy my girl a... pastry. I can't walk up to her and tell her, "hey just wanted to let you know I can afford the lemon bar, but my girl doesn't want it now." That's gonna seem like I really can't afford it and is probably something someone who is controlling and beats their girlfriends says.

Now the cashier is gonna post on her Facebook, "Guys need to treat girls the way they need to be treated. Give her what she wants or someone else will!!! #cheapasses" Then I'll run into that cashier later down the road and she'll be like...that's that cheap Asian I was talking about to her cop friend and then he pepper sprays and arrests me downtown for jaywalking. All he says is, "you like to treat women like shit huh? You make me sick you chink" before forcing me on my knees as a single tear rolls down my shivering cheek.

He then shoves his ice cold bitter stainless steel revolver into my mouth on J street, as parents watch and a Mexican kid spills his nerds on the urine infested pavement and a gay man in jean shorts roller blades right over them. Even the next day I was thinking I should go back when she is working and buy one, but then that will just look like I needed an entire day to come up with the $2.10 to buy the lemon bar, like I had to cash in cans or something. I'm screwed, I have to go back there and buy thirty of them now which is now a $63.00 purchase.


Like most guys, I put myself in some really bad situations for sex. Back when I was single, this girl I had hooked up with called me and said she had broken up with her man and now had a place of her own. Why the hell would you leave him? The guy was a model and worked for Apple. His abs were ridiculous, what else are you looking for? You weren't gonna find it with me. At that time I was bartending at club, had a mohawk, and a cat.

Anyways, I drove an hour away and finally arrived at her condo. She text me to wait in the lounge area, away from the front desk. I thought that was odd, but whatever. She peeked her head out of the elevator and told me to hurry up and get in. I didn’t know what the rush was, the concierge guy was looking at me weird because I kept eating all of the candy on the table. I started over analyzing the situation.

Was I not supposed to eat the candy? Then why the hell did they put it on the table in a big ass bowl? That asshole probably thinks I'm broke. It was just a couple of Kit-Kats, I should buy a bag and replace the ones I ate. Was he mad that I didn't eat that stupid candy corn, that's the worst. Anyone who likes candy corn was probably molested. Maybe they were for tenants only? Really, tenant only Kit-Kats? Just then my A.D.D. was interrupted, “DING” the elevator stopped and we had reached our floor.

We walked into her place and I noticed that there were moving boxes and pictures of her boyfriend up everywhere. Some of the pictures looked like engagement photos. I realized, this was his place and she had just moved in. Felt like I was on an episode of the show “Cheaters”. I was expecting a camera crew to come in with those bright lights and that greasy ass Italian guy wearing his perverted ass black trench-coat interrogating me, “What are you doing here? You have an obligation as a man to respect a woman’s relationship!” As try to leave and yell at his crew, “get that fucking camera out of my face!” But that didn't happen.

I simply asked, “I thought you said you broke up and lived on your own. It looks like you just moved in together.” She replied, “I never said we broke up, I told you we lived together.” That's weird, because you're straight up lying to my face. She said, “stop trippin and put on a movie. He just bought a bunch of brand new ones in that stack over there.” I kept thinking this is beyond wrong, I should leave...then I saw “White Men Can’t Jump” hidden like Waldo in the stack of DVD's.

Are you kidding me? I didn’t even know that was out on DVD. What if there is an alternate ending, deleted scenes, or even better a gag reel? I can't pass up on that. I memorized that movie, even the Jeopardy part when Rosie Perez says, “What is a quince." I knew it was wrong to open his new DVD, but the evil voices in my head rationalized my poor behavior. They kept saying, "You are doing him a favor. He’ll come home from a hard day of work at Apple and now he won’t have to deal with that stupid plastic wrapping or the hassle of actually putting it in the DVD player."

You're right, I'm opening up this DVD. I couldn’t concentrate on the movie though, I was freaking out and kept staring at the door. Her boyfriend was in phenomenal shape and if he catches me, over this 12 story balcony I go. I told her to call him to make sure he wasn’t coming home. She called and put the conversation on speaker, but each time he spoke she proceeded to give me head.

I thought two things. One, she was the fucking devil. Two, I should stop her…but I didn’t. The voice in my head rationalized the situation again, "What are you gay? You could die tomorrow then what? The whole time waiting in line to get into those pearly gates, you'll think why did I stop a girl from giving me head? You finally get to meet God and he asks, "What were you thinking yesterday? I put that woman there to give you one more day of enjoyment before joining me here in heaven.”

You're right voice in my head, I got the message loud and clear. I ain’t disappointing God over no blowjob. Plus the movie was at the part where Rosie Perez was naked, so it was like a threesome. I knew something greater was controlling this moment like Game 6 of the NBA Finals. I had to be like Ray Allen in the corner just react, stay calm, and follow through. Swish.

We hooked up and I went to the bathroom. On the way I noticed his closet and saw all these brand name clothes he had to be sponsored by. I thought, I should jack some of this shit…especially those jeans. But luckily I have a conscious. Not really, the only reason I didn't was because I held the jeans up to my waist and they were too big.

Dammit! I hate being so small. I sat on the couch and she offered to make me lunch. Like a gentleman I said, "yes, please." It was the best meal I had ever eaten.  I could taste the infidelity and betrayal with each bite of those fluffy Juevos Rancheros. Pass me the Tapatio please. Mmmmm, a couple more drops of treachery and ratchetness made that meal complete.

After I finished, she asked if I wanted one of his protein shakes? I thought about it. I had burned some calories during intercourse earlier and I was also trying to bulk up. Wait, was I doing chest and tris today, or was it back and shoulders? Don’t tell me it’s a fucking leg day? I can’t remember…whatever, give me the goddamn shake. It was at this moment as I was drinking the protein shake I thought to myself, I deserve to die if he walks through that door.

With each gulp of that delicious mango shake, I thought about what I had done: I opened a DVD he hasn't even watched yet, contemplated stealing his clothes, ate his food, and was now drinking one of his protein shakes in order to replenish the calories I just burned banging his girlfriend on his kitchen table. He probably would have been able to let everything slide; the DVD, the cheating, but the protein shake crossed the line. I can't blame him, I think I would have killed me at that point.


I think people over exaggerate about how hard having a kid is.  I've seen irresponsible people I know have kids and they did okay.  Sure he may be coming off the bench in right field in little league, but he's alive.  FYI, if he is coming off the bench as a right fielder that's the coaches way of saying maybe your kid should try something else, like making out with guys.  That doesn't stop you though does it?

You still wake up hung-over bringing those stupid orange slices to the game, only to see every kid pass up on them for the brownies the cool parents brought.  You stand there with that sticky zip lock bag and your luke warm oranges wondering what would've happened had you not taken that last shot of Patron six years ago and gotten pregnant during that experimental threesome at the Red Roof Inn, all because you wanted to knock it off your "To do before I die list."

As you reminisce, a salty tear falls from your eye while the sun glistens off your dampened cheek like a freshly polished wine glass on the patio of the Cheesecake Factory. You glance to the right only to see that kid that smells like urine knock over your Kiwi Strawberry Snapple all over your fake Gucci purse.  You resist cussing him out and raise your left hand to wipe away your tear and see your wedding ring, that reminder of eternal love...only the glimmer is not what it once was.  You grab your son and cuss out the coach screaming, "You don't know shit about stickball queer!" (Why you would be making derogatory homophobic allegations is beyond me).  

You get in your salvaged apricot Prius and head to a local pawn shop to have your ring appraised. A handsome young man named Ramon, resembling the Cool Water cologne guy helps you. He informs you that your ring is a fake, and gently slides his hand on your shoulder.  You tell your kid to wait in the car and listen to the Celine Dion Christmas mixtape you made, as you walk to the back of the store where he bangs your lifeless body on top of an unplugged mini refrigerator.  Right before you climax, your hamstring cramps up from overdoing it during a Zumba class yesterday.  You kick a shelf and a vase falls, hitting Ramon in the head knocking him unconscious. You begin to see blood and check his pulse....he's dead.

You open a cabinet and find a bottle of purple Fabuloso and frantically mop to erase all the evidence.  On a desk is a pipe filled with OG Kush, you take a few hits, but you smoked too much.... now you are paranoid.  You steal his weed, empty his safe, and light the building on fire.  As you sit in your car and reapply your melted cherry Wet n' Wild lipstick your son asks, "what's wrong mom?"  You smile at him and say, "son...how about you shut the fuck up and mind your own business."  As you slap the IPad out of his hands, cracking the screen and destroying any chance he had of passing level 92 on Candy Crush.  He cries, but you don't care because you are high and just murdered someone.  Anyways back to my point, kids aren't that hard.  I'm willing to bet money I could have a kid AND keep it alive.


My girlfriend asked me if the same question every girl asks the other day. She asked, "would break up with me if I got fat." I said, "yes, an now that you know that, if you do get fat I'll assume that's your way of saying that YOU want to break up with me.  And let me tell you something baby girl...I'm not in this relationship to get my heart broken."


I always imagine the worst case scenario in my head. I was bartending and this lady called the bar asking if Mike was working today? I put her on hold, asked a co-worker, and found out he was. As I walked back to the phone I started thinking.  I don't even know who this lady is.  She could be trying to serve him with child support papers.  As soon as I say he's here she shows up and bam!!!! Wage garnishment. Now he has to buy a suit to go to court next week, which puts him in overdraft.

The judge makes him take a drug test that day, he fails, loses custody of three his kids, and his house. Now he's out blowing dudes in the street for change all because I said he was here.

Even worse, maybe I say he's here and she sends some hitman because he was a drug mule and stole twenty kilos. He's just working with me as part of the witness protection program and I just blew his cover.

Now I'm an accomplice to a homicide and I go to prison for the hit. I'll tell you what I'm not getting raped for Mike, you, or anybody....So I said, "Mike ain't here, but who is this?" She replied, "It's his mom." Yeah right, nice cover...he still ain't here.


So, here's a free lesson to any guy trying to date multiple women. You have to treat your place like a crime scene...leave no evidence. Not regular cleaning either.  I'm talking about lint rolling your bed to get any accidental hair left from another girl, including the pillows.  Rub some of your dirty laundry on your pillows, so the other girl will suggest that you wash your sheets.  Don't have another girl come over when your sheets have just been washed, it's suspicious and she will immediately launch an internal investigation.  

Place any and all items not belonging to you that were left overnight (earrings, bracelets, fish net gloves, etc..) in a designated lost and found box to be hidden at all times, preferably a shoe box.  Get a mop or swifter and go over all of the bathroom floors to pick up any hair that may have fallen on the ground due to women "shedding."

Empty every trash can in your house, especially the ones in the bathrooms.  This is one of the first places girls look.  I'm sure no girl I talked to ever noticed, but there was never any garbage in my trash cans. Who doesn't have trash in their garbage cans? This guy, that's who. Which isn't a coincidence; no one...and I mean no one is that clean.

Finally, when the new girl comes over you have to be banging something into the wall with a hammer.  Preferably a shelf.  As soon as she walks yell, "goddammit, I can't get this shit straight."  She will offer to help you and ignore the sweat dripping from your forehead that was from the pre-marital sex you just had with another woman.


I saw an infomercial for a camera in your house which can be monitored from your Iphone, so you can make sure it doesn't get burglarized and your kids get home safely. It showed a mom smiling as she looked at her Iphone when her daughter walked in and locked the door. Thank god, home safe. What if that isn't what you see? Let’s be more realistic here.  What you would see is your teenage daughter coming home, her eyes red from smoking some of the prescribed weed she stole from your sock drawer in the morning.  She appears to be home safe and just as you were about to turn   your phone off she waves in a 17 year old teenage boy. 

He goes through your fridge and grabs the leftover tri-tip you were looking forward to eating after work to make a delicious sandwich. He heats up some olive oil, 1/4 cup red onion (chopped), 1 teaspoon garlic, 1/8 cup white wine, 1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce, 2 1/2 cups beef broth, and 1 teaspoon flour.  Wait a minute, did he just eat the last of my bread and make his own Au Jus dip from scratch?  You get upset, but can’t deny that was one hell of recipe.  You write it down, damn that Au Jus looked amazing.  

He rummages through your cabinets and finds a bottle of Patron Silver.  He then grabs some triple sec, lime juice, and sweet and sour. He makes his own margarita and even layers it with the last of your Chambord Liqueur. You keep thinking how does this teenager know how to do all of this shit?  He walks back to the living room to join your daughter on the couch with his refreshing rocks margarita, restaurant quality sandwich, and Au Jus made to perfection. God damn that recipe. 

He kicks his feet up on the table and grabs the remote and begins scrolling through your DVR. He deletes all of your shows and sets recordings for CNN, Discovery, and National Geographic.  He shakes his head in disgust as the afternoon reports of the NASDAQ come in, angrily pointing at the TV.  Hold on…I’m an adult and know nothing about stocks; does this kid have investments gaining profitable returns? 

The boy gently rubs your daughter’s leg and your heart beats with infuriation, then she slaps him. You are relieved and feel inherently proud you raised a responsible daughter.  You look back at your phone and she slaps him again and they start making out. She claps twice and all of the lights go out, she claps once more and a dimly lit fluorescent light in the corner of the room comes on.  You didn't even know you had the clapper or fluorescent lighting.  Who installed all of this shit? 

You watch furiously and call her cell phone as you continue to watch the video. You see her pick up her phone, laugh, and then clear your call.  You want to leave work to catch her, but you can't because you used your last vacation days going to your cousin’s bachelorette party in San Francisco last weekend.  That same party where she lost her cell phone, got kicked out of a karaoke bar for yelling something racist, and then threw up on your shoes.

You continue to watch the video and pray your daughter makes a wise decision.  He moves his hand up her shirt, but she grabs his wrist and screams, "NO”. You breathe a sigh of relief. She gets up and you think great she is finally going to kick this Au Jus cooking, well educated, financially stable bastard out.  She goes up stairs and brings down a stainless steel briefcase.  She opens it up, but you can't see. Then you zoom in…oh my god…my daughter owns… A BALL GAG.  She proceeds to pull out a leather swing and fastens it to the ceiling using a one of those small wrenches you get at IKEA to assemble everything.  You are confused.  Does IKEA sell leather sex swings? No they don't, but the ones in Germany do.  We all know how Germany likes to get down. 

Luckily you made this wonderful home video security purchase to see that not only is your daughter home safely, she is into S&M which has now scarred you for life.  You weren't prepared to see your daughter pouring hot wax on some teenage boys chest like they were both in a fucking Ricky Martin video.  You close the camera app in disgust just as you receive a text from your daughter, “Hey mom, got home safe.  Sorry phone was on silent, just home studying.  I made some Au Jus for you and cleaned up the house.  I even scrubbed the couch!”  Now you can't even finish that $5 foot long sweet onion chicken teriyaki sandwich from Subway you went into overdraft for.   No thank you home video camera, I’d rather get robbed.


The first time I learned not to snitch was in high school as a freshman.  I was on the basketball team and sat next to a teammate we will call "Deion" on the back of the bus one morning. Everything was normal until...he started smoking smoking weed on the bus, right next to me which is fucking insane.  Like any considerate person would do, he asked if I wanted to hit it.  I said "no thank you."  Mainly because it's 7:15 in the morning, we are on a bus, and I've never smoked before in my life.  

The week before I had seen Deion pull a plastic liter of Popov Vodka out of his Carolina Panthers Starter jacket, so who was I to judge.  Dude was a savage, he didn't even had a chaser.  If you haven't tried Popov Vodka, then you've probably never had unprotected sex with a complete stranger in an alley before either.  Good for you.  

He took a hit and told me to open the window.  I hate school bus windows, you had to use both index fingers and click those grey things together and the window would always get stuck halfway down.

With every hit, he would stand up and try to blow the smoke out of the window.  I tried not to stare as he leaned over me, so I drew 3-D boxes on the foggy windows as we drove down San Juan.  That's all I ever draw is 3-D boxes and the sides are always uneven.  I'm a terrible Asian I don't draw, tag, break dance, or race cars. 

Each hit he took lead to beads of L.A. Looks Mega Hold 5 infused sweat dripping down my forehead, piercing my eyes like the chlorine in a public pool.  The scent of the weed also overpowered the five sprays of CK1 cologne I had on. It was awkwardly quiet, as students began to whisper, "is someone smoking weed on this bus?"  I kept looking forward thinking, "Yes, someone is definitely smoking weed on this bus.  That person is also wearing red Franklin batting gloves."

I got to school and immediately the vice principal Mr. DeArco pulled me out of history.  He asked if I noticed anything strange on the ride to school that morning.  I said, "Strange?  No. Nothing out of the ordinary."  My heart pounded like we were playing Texas Hold Em' and I just went all in pre-flop with a 2/7 off suit.  Mr. DeArco asked, "Really?  Who were you sitting next to?"  My inner voice screamed, "It's a wrap, he knows!!! I'm fucking done!!!"  I calmed myself down, don't be a bitch Robert.  I replied, "I sat next to Deion I think.  I was pretty tired from practice last night, so I fell asleep right away."  He cut to the point, "I heard there were students smoking weed on the bus this morning?"  You know someone is lying when their response is, "whaaaaaaaaaattttttt?That's crazy."

It was at this moment, I had an epiphany.  Not so much an epiphany, as seeing one of the most hood dudes in the school hiding behind a pillar directly in back of Mr. Dearco.  Well call this hood dude "Craig."  Everyday he wore the same maroon Natomas track suit to school that he never returned.  I could see Craig over Mr. DeArco's shoulder shaking his head at me as if to say, "You better not say shit, or it's a wrap for you bitch."  This was like a poor reenactment of the movie "Dangerous Minds", only Michelle Pffeifer can't save me with her fake ass leather jacket.  

I knew Craig vaguely, he would come over to hoop and after would leave on his bike to steal Kit-Kats from Albertson's.  One time Craig was eating cherries off my neighbors tree and my neighbor came outside pissed yelling, "I hope you know I sprayed those cherries with pesticide."  To which Craig had the greatest comeback known to man, "I hope you know I sprayed yo' momma wit pesticide!" As he continued to eat cherries off his tree and threw the pits at him.

Anyways back to the weed story.  Why is Craig outside right now?  Does he have a hall pass?  How'd he know Mr. DeArco was even talking to me?  I had a new thought, it would suck to get my ass whooped so that Brandon Williams and Rodney Toole could clown my ass in the cafeteria when they see I have two black eyes.  Fuck this lazy eyed guy Mr. DeArco and his irregular Ross dress shirt (his left sleeve was way longer then the right, but that's irrelevant). 

I shook my head, "Like I said I was asleep. I don't even know what weed smells like."  He persisted, "What if you left a list of names in the trash can right here and I was to come by and pick it up?"  I looked over Mr. DeArco's shoulder to see Craig still shaking his head at me.  I envisioned myself getting pinned against a chain link fence absorbing furious rib shots to the bitter sweet melody that was Craig's swishing track suit reigning down upon my frail 130 pound body.  I imagined waking up in a bloodied daze to some Mexican dudes wearing Nike Cortez's, with Tres Flores glistening off their slicked back hair telling me to get up.  Un moment, por favor carnad.

I snapped out of it, this is real life.  This ain't the Karate Kid, ain't no Mr. Miyagi gonna teach me how to fight in one day.  Craig is gonna catch my crane kick and I'm gonna get hit in mouth with a red Franklin batting glove.  Then I'm gonna get kicked in the stomach so hard that the buffer flies out of his Grant Hill Fila's and the blood from my mouth ruins my  brand new Jnco's.

Besides this dude is my teammate.  I ain't going to practice to have that red headed super tall freak Kyle Gabanni head butt me with his goggles, getting my Penny Hardaway's scuffed, as I fall back into the gravel ruining my Izod pullover.  Fuck you Mr. Dearco, I ain't see shit.  


Here's a blown story. I got drunk and blacked out with my friend Gabe recently. I do remember being in Zebra Club talking to a ghetto ass Mexican dude selling Norco's. He said he had a 1,000 and showed me a whole zip lock bag full of them. Since I like to lie and mess with people I said, "That’s it? Just 1,000? That’s cool you’re movin that shit, but you need to step your game up homie and start pushin that Meth. I know dudes movin’ duffle bags of that shit." I absolutely don’t know anyone that sells Meth, but again I’m a liar.

He was so convinced, as I schooled him on the drug game I knew nothing about. Most of my information came from Breaking Bad and Scarface. Gabe was busy talking to people at the bar so every time I said, “ain’t that right Gabe??” he would just agree, making me even more legit. I made him try his own product in front of me because that’s what drug lords do in movies. He gave me half of one, but I’m fake as hell so I put it in my back pocket and acted like I took it. I told him to take his and he washed the Norco down with a shot of Jager. The Mexican dude seemed so depressed after my conversation with him about how much he isn’t doing it in this city. I took another shot and this is where I started blacking out…

This is what Gabe told me happened mixed with parts of the night I remember. Apparently, Gabe and I wrestled each other on someone's lawn in likeI was 19, and then took a LYFT to Safeway on 19th.We got some food and then walked to my place. I live nearby in a loft that has three other tenants. We get to my door and I realize I lost my jacket that had my keys and cell phone in it. We’re locked out. I calmly look at Gabe and say, "Kick it in." He was like, “What?” I was still in my Scarface movie mode, so I said, "You can't hear? Kick in my fu-ck-ing door." He tries but can’t. We leave the groceries we bought in front of my door. We head back to Safeway and on the way out I see he spilled an entire family size bag nacho cheese Doritos all over my steps and hallway. Straight up disrespectful.

Gabe takes a LYFT home and leaves me, but I am still locked out with no phone. It’s cold outside and I don’t know where to go, so I start walking around Safeway. I was still hammered and could tell security was watching me. I didn’t want to get kicked out, so I decide to buy something to look less suspicious. I grabbed one of those big green bean casseroles. Security kept an eye on me in line, so I offered to buy them something. I thought I sounded fine, but I was slurring and pointing a Reese’s peanut butter cup at them while I was talking. If you point food at people while they talk, you’re a dick.

I went back to my place and dropped off the green bean casserole in front of my door. I wasn’t gonna keep carrying that shit around. Now in front of my door was an empty bag of Doritos, Reese’s peanut butter cups, a green bean casserole, and two other bags from Safeway filled with the stuff we bought earlier. It was freezing in the hallway and I thought I could hop my neighbor’s balcony to get into my place. Great idea Robert. I knocked on my neighbor’s door. No biggie, it was only like 4:00 AM and I never met them before. She answered and I introduced myself before saying, “I know this is gonna sound crazy, but I need to get on your balcony.” She said, "Fuck no, it’s 4:00 AM." I am officially “Creep of the Year.”

I went back to Safeway and walked around the grocery store for another hour. Security wasn’t watching me, but to avoid suspicion I still bought a family size thing of pre-cooked loaded mashed potatoes. I went back to my place and dropped off the mashed potatoes with the other groceries. It was still too cold in the hallway, so I went back to Safeway and this time Starbucks was open. I was still drunk, so I got some coffee. I felt like I needed some positive karma, so I stood in line and paid for the next three customers that came up. I stood at the register and every time a customer’s total came up I would say, “I got that.” The barista would have to explain, "Don't worry, he's been doing this for half an hour." It was 6:30 AM and I still hadn’t slept.

I left and walked back to my place. The sun was out and I decided to knock on my other neighbor’s door. He answered and let me get through to my place using his balcony. I got into my place, grabbed all the groceries in front of my door, took a shower, and passed out. I awoke to Gabe saying, “Thank God you’re here.” I didn’t know what the hell was going on. He has my phone and jacket, but I don’t remember anything except Zebra Club.

He tells me what happened and I start to remember parts of the night. We swapped phones on accident last night, so he used an app to locate his phone. When he pulled up to the address there was a note stapled to a tree that said, “If you lost your phone and jacket call this number…” He called it and a guy came outside and said he found the jacket on his lawn. I must have taken it off when we wrestled.

I started remembering everything, but was pissed. I told him how disrespectful he was for leaving me and making a mess with the Doritos in the hallway. He said, “Are you kidding me?” I said, “No, I’m not. That shits not cool man.” He started laughing and said, “You don’t remember what happened? You told me to kick in your door and I couldn’t. Then you ripped open the bag of Doritos, threw them everywhere, and started stomping on them like a maniac. I tried to get you to come back to my place, but you kept saying no. I went home, but had no idea what happened to you. I had to call Steffi this morning.”

What did you even say to her? I just said, “Hey Steffi, ummmm…this is Gabe…don’t panick, but have you heard from Robert today? I went out with him last night, we got locked out, and I don’t know where he is.” Great, how the hell am I going to explain all that to her? Gabe left and I went next door to apologize to my neighbor. I knocked on his door and gave him a gift card to Starbucks. He said, "Dude, it's all good. I work the graveyard shift, so I got home this morning. I saw the groceries and chips everywhere and thought a homeless person broke in and had a party."


I had one of those awkward days not too long ago. It was one of those days where a weird string of events happened right before my eyes. I went to the gym and as I walked into the locker room there was a guy blow drying his nuts right near the sink with his foot on the counter when I walked in. It seemed completely unnecessary and obviously this guy was just abusing his membership privileges. There was pubic hair flying everywhere, but this guy didn't care.  The guy behind him did though as he kept trying to knock it away from his face.  From my point of view it looked like he was a contestant in one of those money booths, but why would anyone be trying to grab pubic hair out of the air...that's ridiculous.  So I just kept on walking.

I get to my locker and am putting stuff away when this guy comes up next to me wearing just a towel.  I’m polite so I say, “here let me move my bag.”  As I go to pick it up, he takes his towel off and he is fully erect. I do a double take at it to make sure I’m not imagining things, but sure enough he is hard as a rock.  Not that I touched it, but it wass bouncing up and down like a diving board after a fat kid just jumped off it. 

I need to get my towel which is near his foot so I say, "excuse me sir." I don’t know why I called him sir.  Probably because he was packing some serious heat and I was nervous. I said, "excuse me sir, is that your towel or mine?" He replied with a deep voice, "it’s yours" and watched me as I had to get eye level with this thing. That was by far the closest a dick has ever been to my face…that I can remember.

The next day I told my friend what happened and he asked what he looked like? I answered, “I don’t know man, it was all a blur.  Almost like I was in being held at gun point, there was no way I could pick that guy out of a lineup." To be honest I still think about that guy at least once everyday.


Sophomore year I had this Algebra class with a blown ass teacher named Mr. Krieger.  He was a Veteran and talked to us about drugs sometimes, “when you’re out there, you try everything” as he stared off into space.  I always assumed he was reliving the time he chopped off some Asian guys head a la the movie “Dead Presidents.”  I know what you are thinking, “you should have been in Geometry as a sophomore, you’re Asian.”  Fuck you.   

This particular class did not have the most motivated individuals.  The same guy on my hoop team I called “Deion” was also in this class.  The classroom was huge and had a linoleum floor.  One day Deion tried to sneak into class late, as Mr. Krieger turned around to write some long ass equation on the whiteboard.  He sprinted and then proceeded to slide across the linoleum floor like a quarterback avoiding a tackle.  Luckily his Goose Down jacket gave him some padding, but it wasn’t even quiet he slammed into his desk and it screeched.  Without turning around Mr. Krieger then said, “I saw you Deion.”  Deion’s eyes were visibly red from being high whispered, “damn.”

A few minutes later this Mexican dude yelled out, “Ayyyy, who stole my leather gloves?!!”  Mr. Krieger still writing on the whiteboard responded, “I’d check Deion.” Deion was obviously offended yelling, “What the fuck?  I just got here.” Mr. Krieger still writing with his back to us shook his head and said, “Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah…I don’t know, I’d check Deion.”

Deion was pissed and stared viciously at the back of Mr. Krieger’s head for the next ten minutes.  I could only imagine, you come to class with a nice high and its ruined when you are accused of stealing leather gloves while you are wearing red batting gloves.  Deion sat behind me and when I turned around about twenty minutes later, I saw him doing something completely normal in an Algebra class.  He was shooting craps on the linoleum with the Mexican dude.  Not only was he rolling the dice, he was snapping after… as you should in any math class.  They weren’t playing for much money, but Deion was screwed he had hit a bad point of four.  I watched to see if Deion would come through in the clutch, as he shook the dice in between his batting gloves Mr. Krieger said, “I know you’re shooting craps back there Deion!”  Deion rolled the dice…crap out…7… as he angrily replied, “I ain’t shooting no craps!”  That's an odd thing to say when there are dollar bills on the ground and you can clearly hear the dice ricocheting off the linoleum.

My junior year I was the teaching assistant for Mr. Krieger and it would be Tuesday and I'd say, “I’ll be right back, I’m going to drop off my baseball bag.”  Then I would bounce and not come back the rest of the week.  I’d come back in Friday and Mr. Krieger would ask, “where have you been?”  I would be thinking damn, I’m about to get in trouble as I answered, “I told you I was dropping off my baseball bag.”  He would pause and look up at the ceiling before saying, “oh, that’s right” as he turned around to write on the whiteboard. 

Sometimes he'd give me a hall pass to leave the school to buy supplies.  I would take my time walking around Albertson's eating cookies without paying, or if I was feeling like a baller I’d stop to get a whipped creamed filled chocolate bar next door at Fancy Donuts.  That was risky for him though, I’m a frail Asian teenage boy with a caved in chest and you are sending me alone across the street?  I could have been kidnapped and all you would have found was a pair of blood stained Anchor Blue “Beyond Baggy” jeans next to my Jansport backpack.  They would have drugged me with heroine, placed a wig on my head, and I’d be the most highly requested “Thai Boy” due to my soft Jergen’s Original Scent moisturized skin. 


I tried parallel parking on a busy street in Downtown Sacramento. I pulled up to a Starbucks and saw a spot directly in front, between two cars.  The patio of Starbucks was packed and as soon as I stopped and turned my signal on, everyone stared at me. Is there ever a time more when a man judges another man than when they watch them parallel park. 

I was with my girlfriend and began to feel the pressure of all eyes...waiting, watching, judging.  I couldn't let my girl down in front of all these people. If I don't park in this spot, then all these guys will think I'm not a real man and try to fuck my girl (at least that's what I assume they were thinking). I start to back into the spot and I can see in my rear view one of the guys on the patio mouth the words "too sharp" and shake his head. I tried spinning the steering wheel as much as I could, but I hit the curb and people began to shake their heads. The light behind me turned green and oncoming traffic now stopped right behind me.

I try and give it another shot. This time I didn't cut the turn sharp enough and now I am about to hit the car in front of me. I look at the patio the same guy is shaking his head, motioning me to stop before I hit the car. Now I have a serious dilemma. Do I listen to the guy on the patio, or let my pride force me to continue backing in until I hit the car? 

As I was contemplating, the driver in the car behind me was getting visibly frustrated. He went around and looked at me as if I was an asshole.  My girlfriend lowered her head in embarrassment and said, "you're so whack." My heart was beating fast and nervous beads of sweat trickled from my mocha almond colored forehead.

Should make another attempt? Even if I was able to park in the spot, now I would have to get out and walk by all of these people who are trying not to laugh in my face. No sir, not me, not today. I checked my rear view and took off.  No way I going to park some where else and walk up so everyone on the patio could laugh at me and whisper, "I can't believe that girl he came with actually sleeps with him. That's so gross."  My girlfriend said, "why did you leave?" I said, "I don't deserve the coffee if I can't parallel park...I'm not a real man."