I don’t know about some of the advice my dad gives me on raising my son. He said, “it gets better, just wait till they get older and you can tell them “NO” just because you feel like it. There’s nothing like seeing the disappointment on their face of having their dreams crushed. The rush you get is amazing. I can’t even explain how good that power feels.” I said, “what are you saying you maniac? I thought you did that to teach me a lesson?” He said, “Yeah, I guess I was...but that rush is amazing.”


My freshman year of high school, I took a pre-algebra class because it was easy. This class was bad though. One time, we had this substitute teacher who thought she’d let us play board games, put on a movie, and relax. Wasn’t happening. It was so hood in this class.

A couple kids were hitting beats on a desk and rapping in the corner of the classroom. Two students were trying to mind their own business and play chess quietly, then this big Mexican dude came up and said, “I’m playing now, I been waiting” and jacked their chess board. I don’t think he even knew how to play chess, he just wanted to punk them for the board. The class was loud and getting out of control.

As soon as she hit the lights and turned around to put the movie on this little dude named Mario walking in the front of the class looked around, smiled, finished his soda, and then threw the empty can towards the back of the class. Chaos ensued. Everyone started throwing shit: paper, pencils, pens, calculators, chess pieces, I took change out of my backpack and chucked it.

The teacher bent down below her desk to take cover. It was dark so you couldn’t see anything, but you could hear stuff hitting the walls. Then someone threw a quarter and it shattered the clock above my head. Glass went everywhere. That pretty much ended it. She turned on the lights and called security. Everyone sat back at their desks.

Security came and kept asking who did it. One of the students who got jacked for the chess board yelled, “hey, someone stole my Gameboy!” Complete silence, no one said anything. The substitute started picking up the broken glass and said, “no one is leaving until we find out who broke this clock and he gets his Gameboy back.” This was the last class of the day and school was almost out.

My dad was picking me up and he did not like me coming out late. I walked up to the substitute and said, “hey, my dad is picking me up and he is gonna be pissed if I’m not out on time.” She said, “I don’t care, I’ll deal with him when he gets here.” I said, “I don’t think you understand, he has a temper and he’ll yell at you.” She said, “trust me, I can deal with it…now sit down!” We stayed in that class for another 20 minutes, they finally let us go, and she walked out with us towards the front of the school.

My dad was walking towards us at the same time. His temper was ridiculous when I was younger and was heated. This was the first time in my life I was glad he was pissed. I felt excited, like I knew I was about to unleash a pitbull on an unsuspecting robber. He yelled at me, “where were you?! I’ve been waiting!”

I turned around with all the students and gave the double point to the substitute, “she kept us.” He went off WorldStar style. Her face turned bright red. All the students started hyping my dad up, “get her ass! She wouldn’t let us leave!”

He started painting all these imaginary “what if” scenarios she had no answer to, “you will not keep my son after class! What if he had to come home to watch his sister because we don’t have daycare! She’s only 8!! She’d just be home alone?! I took off work early and left a meeting! Did all these other kids miss their bus?! Did you call their parents?!! Now they have to walk home?! What if they had to be home to take care of someone with a disability? What would you do if someone got kidnapped?!!”

She looked at me for help, eyes beginning to water. I just bit into an apple I’d been saving all day and said, “told you he’d yell at you.”


Doing comedy has given me thick skin. My girlfriend and I took the baby out for the first time in public to Toys “R” Us right before Christmas. It was packed and he wouldn’t stop crying. She started panicking. I was like, “just let him cry, he’s already been changed and fed.” She said, “all these people are going to think we’re bad parents.” I said, “I don’t give a damn what these strangers think. I just bombed in front of 80 people last night and I was trying to make them happy.”


I moved into a new area six months ago and my neighbors may think I have some anger issues. Around Christmas, all of the houses were lit up and decorated. An older lady from two houses down asked my girlfriend’s dad, “hey, aren’t you guys going to decorate this year?” He said, “I don’t live here” then came inside and told me.

I had the decorations gathered already, but was lagging on putting them up. Now, I am staring at the stupid decorations and realize I can’t put them up because she will just think I am decorating because she said something. I can’t let someone have that type of power over me. She probably went back into her house with an obnoxious smirk on her face to her family and said, “I talked to them. They’ll put something up.” As she watched my house from her window, sitting in a worn leather rocking chair, sipping on Chamomile hot tea while stirring it with a silver spoon like the mom in “Get Out.”

I grabbed four of those candy canes that light up and planted them in the garden near the door. I even brought out a ladder and leaned it against the garage. I was hoping she saw the candy canes, the ladder, and was riddled with excitement. She yelled to her family, “oh my goodness! He’s decorating like I asked! He’s finally in the Christmas spirit!” I never came back outside. That was all I decorated all of Christmas. Just those four candy canes and I never even plugged them in. I wanted to plug them in, but I couldn’t out of spite.

I got a sense of happiness every time I came home to see those four pathetic candy canes. I just imagined her looking through her window mumbling, “Just four candy canes? Why even decorate? Does he know they aren’t plugged in? Why did he take out the ladder?” I would come home and see the boxes full of decorations that could have been put up: lights, wreaths, more candy canes, even a god damn snow man. I felt a small sense of victory.

The second thing happened this morning. I woke up in a bad mood because I was up with the baby all night. My girlfriend was driving us to work. When we got into the car there was frost on the windshield, so I got out of the car to scrape it off with a squeegee. As I was scraping it off she accidentally turned on the windshield wipers and they hit my hand. I didn’t even want to be squeegeeing. Come to think of it, I don’t think I am ever in the mood to squeegee anything.

I completely lost it and chucked the squeegee in the air like I was throwing a javelin in the 86’ Olympics. I watched it fly majestically through the air in slow motion like a bald eagle soaring over the Grand it landed on the roof of my house. All of my anger was gone, as I realized how irrational I was being. I knew there was a small chance my neighbor was again staring at me through her window, sipping homemade apple cider that she immediately spit out, as she saw the squeegee land on my roof. I can’t wait to get home to see that squeegee. I’m up 2-0 against an old lady who doesn’t even know she’s in a war with me.


I’m not that Asian. I don’t like racing cars, can’t breakdance, and hate karaoke. I can’t wait until I’m that old Asian man walking with my hands behind my back and sweeps up random sidewalks in downtown for no apparent reason.


I enjoy finding out about someone’s personal problems out of nowhere. I was eating at a Denny's with some friends and we were all sharing food. My friend Chris was picking food off the sampler plate. When the bill came we split it evenly, but he didn’t put any money in.

He said, “I didn’t order anything.” I replied, “yeah, but you were eating off the sampler plate. Just put a something in.” He argued, “If I would have known, I wouldn’t have eaten anything.” I said, “just leave the tip.”

He finally just broke down, “alright you guys...I got fired from my job today! Is that what you wanted to hear? They found me sleeping on a couch.” I was said, “Jesus man, they fired you for that?” He looked down and mumbled, “it was the third time they caught me doing that this month.”


When the Kings used to win a home game you used to be able to get a free Western Bacon Cheeseburger from Carl’s Jr with the purchase of a large drink. In high school, when me and my friends were hungry I’d always suggest Carls Jr. I never had any money, but I always had Kings tickets since my godfather was a season ticket holder.

We’d get to the front of the line to order and I’d tell my friend, “never mind. I’m not that hungry, I’ll just wait till I get home.” I’d stand next to him and wait until he ordered his combo meal. Then I’d slam my Kings ticket down in front of cashier and say, “bam! Plus a free western bacon cheeseburger!”

He’d get mad, “why don’t you go halves with me?” I’d say, “dude, just act like I’m not here. The money has already been spent in your head. Nothing has changed in your life. Besides, me buying something defeats the purpose of the burger being completely free. Food always tastes better when it’s free. What’s done is done. It’s in the past. Now let me get a few fries and a sip of that soda to wash this bad boy down.”


I always hated pitching in baseball, but I could throw kind of hard so they kept putting me on the mound. During a game against Sacramento High, I walked a guy and then hit two batters in a row. The whole crowd was staring at me, the batter I hit was pissed, and now the bases were loaded with no outs.

The coach came to the mound to talk to me. I was relieved thinking, “thank god he’s taking me out.“ He said, “you’re aiming it Robert. Just let it fly and throw it as hard as you can.” I said, “maybe you should just take me out. I don’t have it today.” He replied, “you’ll be fine.” I nodded my head thinking, “he’s right, I am aiming it. I should just let it fly.” Then he walked away from the mound clapping and making a fist, “you can do this.”

The next batter stepped up to the plate and I looked around to see the bases loaded. I could tell that two of the runners were still mad I just hit them, but this was my moment of overcoming adversity that you see in every movie. I stood on the rubber and got the sign from my catcher…fastball down the middle. I nodded, adjusted my grip, took a breath, and started my wind up. I kept thinking about what my coach said, “just let it fly and throw it as hard as you can.” This was my time to become the hero I was destined to be. I cocked it back and threw it as hard as I could. Strike! Right down the middle.

Nope. That’s not what happened at all. Life isn’t a Mighty Ducks movie. I threw that ball as hard as I could and it hit the batter right in his head. He was livid. He slammed his bat to the ground, threw his helmet, started pointing, and yelling at me. The umpire held him back and gave me a warning.

I kept thinking, “dude, I didn’t do it on purpose. Why would I hit three batters in one inning? I just walked in a run. It’s only the second inning and now we’re losing. You saw my coach just come and talk to me. You think he said, “hey, maybe it’d be a good idea to hit the next guy too.” The coach came back out to the mound walking with his head down and said, “welp, that didn’t work. Maybe you were right, today isn’t your day.”


I was taking a test in college and saw this dude trying to copy off me. I covered my test and shook my head no at him. He whispered, “come on man, I didn’t study last night.” I said, “alright, it’s all good. I got you.” I waited for the teacher to look away and turned my scantron towards him. He gave me the thumbs up and a head nod.

We got our tests back a week later and he was pissed. He was like “WTF man, I got an “F”. I was like, “I tried to tell you not to copy off me. I’m on academic probation and don’t even have the book for this class. I’m not like...a good Asian.”


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 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 wanted a lemon bar at at this bakeryand said, "I wonder how much they are?" So like a gentleman, I go ask the female cashier and she says $2.10. I tell my girlfriend and she said "I don't want one after all."  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, " 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.