Snakes are creatures with a body that is not a body. It’s a flying death arrow. Some of them have a deadly venom that kills you and we don’t seem to have an answer for how to “not die” when these snakes bite you. So that’s cool. They seemingly have no purpose to me. At all. I completely agree with Indiana Jones. Who is a fictional character, and I in no way think that’s odd that I relate to people that aren’t real.

Cats, on the other hand, are what many believe to be the most adorable creature in the world. So much so that some women are content to not form human relationships and, in turn, be perfectly okay with being old and not ever having sex again. That’s how adorable people think they are. THEY WILL GIVE UP ON RATIONAL HUMAN NEEDS for this animal. And I look at this picture, and I almost get that.

It’s gotten so bad that in the past years, people have made a career off of putting pictures of cats in pictures with funny words. Seriously? That makes me really angry at my guidance counselor.

Guidance Counselor: What do you want to be when you grow up, Drew?

Drew: I want to be a writer.

Guidance Counselor: Great! Good move. You’ll make -$14.78 and you will generally have trouble finding work, because your craft is something people learn how to do when they stop throwing up on themselves and shitting their pants. Honestly, at this exact moment, we teach people how to read and write. So way to aim high.

Drew: So I should do something else?

Guidance Counselor: No. Be a writer. You’re really good at it.

In retrospect, I wish my guidance counselor had just told me that, generally, someone will do something that takes no talent whatsoever, and they will inevitably make one billion dollars more than me.

Honestly, though? How much does it piss you off when you see someone link to some picture of an adorable cat? Are we mentally retarded 4th graders and this is what it’s come down to? The funny thing is how it goes down every time.

You get the link. Get angry and think, “Jesus. Stop sending me pictures of stupid fucking cats riding pretend bicycles.”

(Drew clicks link).

(Giggles to self uncontrollably).

“Ha! Silly cat! WHY IS THAT SILLY CAT RIDING A PRETEND BICYCLE! THIS IS THE FUNNIEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN. I’M GOING TO SEND THIS TO EVERYONE I KNOW. I LOVE THIS SILLY CAT!”

I don’t know what that has to do with anything. I just wanted to talk about it. Because it bothers me that cats win every time. And more importantly that people are just really fucking stupid by nature.

The point of this all, though, is that cats have legitimately terrified me ever since I was little. I’ve never been able to articulate why, and that’s always just made it more strange. I have a fear of the most adorable creature on the planet. I have had a girlfriend and a roommate that owned a cat, and both times it took me months to put my hand anywhere near it. Oh, I’ve seen your teeth, cats. I know your true motives.

And this is when it dawns on me why i’m so irrationally afraid of this animal:

Cats are just really fucking small tigers.

And personally? I do not want a pet tiger. I know, we all think it’s some awesome idea to have an exotic giant animal as a pet. You know who tried this theory out? Batshit crazy poorly dressed men named Siegfried and Roy. And do you know what the tiger did? It tried to eat them.

And that is what, I theorize, all cats will eventually do. They will just sit there and be adorable, and when you least expect it? They will try to kill you.

They are essentially tigers. That is their ancestry. An animal that can tear you apart if you saw it in the wild. Because it has ginormous teeth that want to rip your leg off. I do not want to hang out with this animal. That sounds like a lot of not fun.

I will now prove my point with two pictures that clearly explain why a cat will eventually turn into a tiger and kill you.

Exhibit A: Cat jumping for a string (which, by the way, is the only fun thing you can do with a cat: mock it. WHAT DOES THAT SAY.)

Yeah. Not that adorable, huh. It’s not just playing around. It wants to kill whatever is on that string. Look at it. And do you know why I say this?

Exhibit B: TIGER.

Yeah, you know what that tiger is doing? JUMPING AT A THING ON A ROPE/STRING. THE EXACT SAME THING THE CAT IS DOING. They are both trying to kill whatever is above them. Seriously. It’s the same goddamn animal.

Just sayin.

So if you are a girl and have a cat, odds are I will be afraid of dating you. Not for fear of committing. Not because you aren’t great.

But because you own a really small fucking tiger. And that animal, presumably, is just going to kill me.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 30: A Cat Is Just A Really Small Tiger That Wants To Kill You

Disc 1

Disc 2

Stream the whole thing at those two links above.

Or download the whole thing in the two links below in what may or may not be legal mp3′s.

Disc 1

Disc 2

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This is a real conversation I had with my friend Richard the other day. We have these conversations 4,298,768 times a day. Which is a lot. And that’s something I should be pretty damn happy about.

To preface this, this is why Richard and I call Richard my “reality narc”. To answer the question ahead of time: yes, I honestly talk about Jurassic Park this often in my life. To be fair, it’s about dinosaurs. And dinosaurs, in theory, are pretty great.

–

Drew: “Hey, so I hung out with these amazing people this weekend, and I finally met your reality narc’ing match. Instead of taking the crazy things I talk about and ‘reality narc’ing’ them though, this girl called it ‘dream killing’, which I really appreciated. You know, the honesty.”

Richard: “I like that. What did she kill, dream wise?”

Drew: “Well, we were walking around SF and I told them that every time I see Sutro Tower I feel like I’m in Jurassic Park. More importantly, I get really excited about the idea that I may, in this situation, get killed by a freak tyrannosaurus rex. Because how cool would that be? You’re walking around, and BOOM. This gigantic dinosaur screams in the background. We’re all running around..’oh no, what are we gonna do now, blah blah blah’, and then you see this big t-rex come around the corner and it just MAULS you. Like, boom, death by dinosaur.”

Richard: “Okay. Go on, but I’m pretty sure if she told you, ‘why would you want that to occur?’ I’m on the dream killer’s side.”

Drew: “Yeah, she said, ‘Why would you ever want this to happen? Why is that cool? That’s horrific and terrible.’ To which I, of course, disagreed. Because I think a tombstone that said: ‘Drew Hoolhorst: Died by T-Rex’ would be just about the coolest thing on the planet. Who wouldn’t respect that?”

Richard: “Well, here’s a thought: why not ‘not die’? I mean, this is where you’re perplexing: how is it in any way cool to die? Who thinks that? That IS horrible. Are we talking Richard ‘now’ Richard? Or like, Richard ‘really old’ Richard? Because maybe if we were both really old, and then I got mauled by a T-Rex? Sure. But why on earth would you be walking around thinking about how cool it is to be eaten by a dinosaur? No. It’s not. That’s like, maybe the last way I’d like to die. And maybe just ‘don’t die’, just in general, is a better option.”

Drew: “I mean, here’s what I think you guys aren’t getting. If a T-Rex eats you, theoretically, it’d be really quick and painless. Maybe the first chomp would be painful, but then it’s like, you’re dead. You don’t even exist anymore. So you don’t know that it hurt, because you aren’t alive. So it’s probably just like falling off a bike. You know…OW THAT HURT and then it’s over if you had died. You’d never know it hurt really bad. And T-Rex’s eat you top down, so it’d bite me at the mid-section and I’d be dead before I knew it.”

Richard: “Ok, another reality narc moment: I love that in your ‘Drew’s brain’ world, all dinosaurs obviously just chomp top down, so you’d never feel it. What if you were running? And it grabbed your foot? And then did the head left-to-right thing whipping you around? Why are we even talking about this? DINOSAURS AREN’T REAL.”

Drew: “I can go over again how they could be. Mosquitos have been fossilized, etc. But that’s a moot point. Furthermore, I know that they eat you that way because that’s how they eat you in Jurassic Park.”

Richard: “That’s a fictional book that TURNED INTO a movie. About dinosaurs. That are real. Which, in fact, is not real. Do you read Harry Potter and just presuppose that we can, in fact, be killed by Voldemort?”

Drew: “Entirely possible. Again, entirely possible.”

Richard: “Here’s a hint: we’re right and you are wrong. It is not cool to be killed by dinosaurs. Also, dinosaurs are not real. Maybe you just have some weird fetish and this is it surfacing. Like, some people have sexual fetishes about feet. You have some fetish about dinosaurs killing people, and this is how it surfaces. I don’t even know what that would be called. Dino’ing?”

Drew: “Rexing? I’m into rexing? That sounds pretty good actually: ‘You’re into bondage? Wow, that’s gross. I’m into death by t-rex. Rexing.’ The only problem is that sounds like Rex Manning. You know, from Empire Records. That’d be funny, too, though, if I was into dino death and also people who only got excited from people saying, ‘oh Rexy, you’re so sexy.’”

Richard: “I like how that’s what’s weird to you. Another fetish that is made up that make believe people have that only you would think up. When are these girls coming back? I think we’d be good friends.”

The answer to your question, Richard? Not soon enough. Those kids aren’t coming back soon enough. It was fun, Mel and Kate. Let’s talk about dinosaurs again soon. Richard can come, too.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 29: Death By Dinosaur or Bust

Stream the whole thing at that link up top.

Download the whole thing right here.

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That word is an understatement for me. It’s like saying a porn star is “kind of” into having sex. That level of understatement.

It’s funny most of the time. Because sometimes I wonder if I could be any more of a Jew if I tried. I love hanging out with my Mom, I have a big nose, I completely and totally relate to Larry David and Jerry Seinfeld. Most importantly, though…

I’m a gigantic hypochondriac.

I can’t just be sick when I’m sick…I’m dying. I’m dying of a disease they haven’t heard of yet. Anything to me is a sign of some gigantic symptom the doctor’s missed my whole life. Malaria. Maybe polio came back. Who knows. I probably have it if I get a runny nose.

Sometimes I’ll call my Mom or brother and this is how the conversation will go.

Mom: “So what’s new, bub?”

Drew: “Not too much. I’ve been kind of tired lately. I don’t know, it weirds me out a little. I started having this weird chest pain…which may be because i’m not sleeping. I don’t know. I think it’s from Advil. I read the warnings and it could have something to do with that. My arm hurts lately, too.”

Mom: “I meant ‘how are you’ in a more…not crazy way. As in how’s work. Or have you seen any movies lately. And it’s Advil, Drew. Nobody dies from Advil.”

Drew: “Actually, I looked it up. They have. Did you know you can OD on Advil? Oh, and I saw The Lovely Bones. That movie is shit. Don’t watch it. How are you doing?”

This is pretty much a conversation from a Tuesday. Like, any Tuesday. Pick a Tuesday. I’m dying then.

Living alone, when you talk to people less…it’s got me thinking about how neurotic I am when no one is looking. All of the sudden, I turned up the dial on “batshit crazy” because no one can tell me when they come home, “Hey Drew, stop acting batshit crazy.” To this point, I started making mental note of things I think I’m probably slowly dying of or what chronic disease I have that will never go away.

- I fully believe I have Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. Why, you ask? Because my thumb hurts lately. I stretch it awkwardly during the day. It’s probably because I’m going to lose my hand and will never be able to write again. What’s even more ironic is writing about the fact that you have Carpal Tunnel, a disease caused by writing too much. Hey irony, come in. I made you dinner. If you don’t believe I’m actually neurotic enough to think I have Carpal Tunnel, please see the photo below of a product I bought, and wear every night lately.

I like that it’s energizing. Like, what? What does that even mean? Anyways, my hand is going to fall off. I’m not even questioning if I have Carpal Tunnel. See a doctor? Of course not. Would you call a doctor to talk about having this disease even if you had it? No. That’s embarassing. I’d rather get tested for STD’s. If it’s not Carp Tun it’s MS. Because that is (obviously) the only other thing that could cause my symptoms. Obviously, I’m hoping for the Carp.

- I think I have ruined my stomach by taking Advil. I take too much Advil. Because of this, both my liver and stomach are slowly deteriorating and I’m dying. I’d stop, but at this point why bother, the damage is already done. It would never have to do with poor eating habits or the fact that sometimes people get heartburn. Instead, I’m sure that it’s a larger case of “I’m dying” caused by ibuprofen. I’m not joking, I actually have said out loud “I think it’s because I take too much Advil.” Which, yeah, I’m fairly sure is impossible. But I’d rather go with my gut. HEY oh!

- I have two cysts in my arm that, as has been explained to me by family, are just things many of my family has had a history of and are benign. A doctor even told me they are in no way problematic one time. However, I irrationally believe they are growing. They are probably cancerous and it’s certain that one day I’ll wake up and my arm won’t work up. Instead of, again, doing something about this, I plan on waiting until the arm falls off, at which point I will use my other arm to call my Mother to say, “I TOLD YOU SO. I TOLD YOU SO.” I feel confident in the strategy.

- I stubbed my toe bad when I was a kid. Pretty sure I broke it. To this day, when it rains, my foot hurts. While this could just be because I probably broke the bone and it didn’t set right (it’s my pinky toe, if you want to up the ridiculous factor), I’m pretty sure it’s because I have gangreen and one day I’m going to wake up and my whole foot will be black. At this point, I will realize that I never broke the toe after all and I will be a glass half person and be excited about that. Then my foot will fall off. Because I have gangreen.

- Every time my back hurts and I then get a headache, I am positive I have meningitis because I read some thing about meningitis sometime. I can’t even tell you anything about meningitis. I probably have some form of it that won’t present itself until I get a headache. So essentially, if I have a headache, that’s because I have meningitis.

I could probably go on for hours. I just got a headache (seriously), so that’s probably just the meningitis acting up. Writing this has also caused my arm to hurt a bit (the carp tun, obvi), so I should probably put my brace on. Believe me, it’s difficult being me.

So if you want to hang out, I suggest we do it soon. Seriously, hurry up. I’m dying. All the time.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 28: Hurry Up, I’m Dying.

Stream the whole thing above.

Download all the mp3′s right here.

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During my recent move, I figured I’d sell some stuff that doesn’t fit in my apartment. This consisted of basically anything that wasn’t my underpants and my “anything that wasn’t my underpants.” The logical place to do this? The internet’s burning man: craigslist.

Now don’t get me wrong. I hate burning man, so that’s a bit harsh to craig and his “not that attractive at first glance but it has a GREAT personality” list. I have seen the magical wheels of craigslist in motion. I’ve bought concert tickets. I’ve read the rants. Golf claps, Craig. You are hours of entertainment.

However, trying to sell things on there for this particular go-round has mainly involved:

- Talking to people who don’t get simple concepts like “reading”.

- Dealing with people who do not understand that I am in no way willing to do anything to personally accommodate your needs in order for you to purchase my posted item.

A few direct shout outs to my favorite responders.

- To the guy who wanted to buy my $8.00 coffee table (that cost me $100) but only if I was willing to deliver it to South San Francisco (and I quote) “ASAP!!” (yes I’m serious, two exclamation points): Stephanie Tanner called. How rude. Honestly, guy? It’s an eight dollar coffee table. I would expend less money buying a burrito, eating it off of the coffee table and then throwing the coffee table out of my window. No. I do not want to drive to your home to deliver something I’m clearly not even interested in delivering to my own new home. Please get in touch with “anyone who delivers anything”: that costs money. Even pizza…THE TIP IS HOW THEY FOOL YOU, GUY.

- I was trying to sell an audio receiver. In the post, I included a summary of the machine from amazon.com entitled “specs”, a picture of the machine, and what part of the city I live in to pick it up. This was, by far, the most amazing email chain I have ever been on.

(completely non-fabricated material, that’s the best part.)

From: (anonymous craigslist buyer)
Date: Monday, May 3rd
To: sales1712-ntaxkl@craigslist.org
Subject: Yamaha RX-V465 for sale.

Hey,what are specs of the receiver?

–
From: andrewhoolhorst@gmail.com
Date: Monday, May 3rd
To: (anonymous craigslist buyer)
Subject: re: Yamaha RX-V465 for sale.
Hey there,
The specs were that first link. Titled, “specs.” Let me know if you’re interested.

–

From: (anonymous craigslist buyer)
Date: Monday, May 3rd
To: andrewhoolhorst@gmail.com
Subject: re: re: Yamaha RX-V465 for sale.

Interested in the buy. Can you tell me what the receiver looks like? I have 30 dollars to spend.

–

From: andrewhoolhorst@gmail.com
Date: Monday, May 3rd
To: (anonymous craigslist buyer)
Subject: re: re: re: Yamaha RX-V465 for sale.

There is a gigantic picture attached to the post. I also wrote that the receiver could be seen “in the picture attached to this post” in case that wasn’t clear. I asked for $150, so $30 seems a scosh low.

–

From: (anonymous craigslist buyer)
Date: Monday, May 3rd
To: andrewhoolhorst@gmail.com
Subject: re: re: re: re: Yamaha RX-V465 for sale.

I will take it for $20. Can you tell me what part of the city it’s located in?

–

From: andrewhoolhorst@gmail.com
Date: Monday, May 3rd
To: (anonymous craigslist buyer)
Subject: re: re: re: re: re: Yamaha RX-V465 for sale.

Seriously? Did you just ask three questions about the only three things listed in the post? Did you read the post, or do you just aimlessly click “respond” and ask random questions on random posts?

–

No response yet. Let me tell you, I’m waiting with bated breath on that one. I can only hope he asks what the item for sale is in the next reply.

Also, yes. I’m a smarmy asshole in real life, too.

The Toyota Prius finally gained the freshman 15.

Is it me, or has the Toyota Prius finally become that hot girl who gained 15 pounds, had two kids, isn’t a cheerleader and REALLY doesn’t look like her yearbook picture anymore?

Remember when (if you live anywhere near California, this hits home) there were maybe two hondas, four ironic people who drove hummers to safeway to grab a bag of groceries, and then everyone else in the state owned a Prius? Like, there was no other option? Just a bunch of quiet little “holy shit someone’s gonna get hit by that thing because it’s too damn quiet” cars whizzing around?

You don’t see as many of them out there on the road anymore. Turns out people discovered that other people make hybrid vehicles. Or just…vehicles. In general. Also turns out that people learned that the one little thing Toyota forgot about doing with that car was making sure that you probably won’t die in it. Because you know what’s ironic? Saving the earth’s life but dying in a car crash in the process. You know what’s even more ironic? You’re still driving a fucking car: this is not saving the earth’s life.

That’s like being upset that you are fat, saying you’re going to do something to change that, so instead you eat two bowls of ice cream a day instead of the four you were eating. You know what you won’t get? Not fat.

I’m not sure if that metaphor worked at all. Since you and I are both wondering too hard if it did? It didn’t.

*editor’s note: I say this all after I bought a diesel car last year. Keep in mind I did this in no way to save the earth. I wanted the tax break and a sunroof. I will not buy a hybrid car until it flies in the air and Doc yells the word gigawatts at me riding shotgun. Otherwise, I see no point to these vehicles yet. As of now, they are nothing but silent cars driven predominantly by assholes. (except for you, Lesley.)

A woman who takes pictures of herself naked  making a sex tape is not a sex tape: it’s a home video.

Hey, Kendra Wilkinson. Let’s play the honesty game. You pose for pictures nude. Making a “reality television show” after you posed naked in pictures does not now make you an actress. Therefore, moving pictures of you having sex is not a leaked sex tape. That is a home video. Thank you. Good day.

On that note.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 27: People On Craigslist Don’t Read Good.

Stream the whole thing at the link above.

Download all the songs in good looking mp3′s here.

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That’s what moving is like.

The funny thing is, however, that there is a lot of hilarity that comes out of it. I mean, what IS all this crap that you own? You start finding things that not only do not make sense, you’re not sure you even how you acquired them. More importantly, you wonder how, in about four other moves, you had decided that this…yes, I need this. This must come with me wherever I go. Seeing as I’ve never used this item, nor do I ever plan to, I should definitely take this with me on my life quest. Below are the items I found, and other discoveries I have made in my month of moving hell. If applicable, I have noted my solution to the item.

I found two pairs of shoes that are size 9. I am a size 11. (ladies?)

To say this is peculiar is an understatement. Did I believe that, at some point, my feet would shrink, and should this occur it would not make sense for me to buy a pair of shoes at said time to accommodate this “that’s not possible” moment? What this means is that I have taken with me, probably since I LIVED AT HOME AT THE AGE OF 16 OR SOME WEIRD AGE LIKE THAT, two pairs (not one! two pairs!) of shoes that do not fit me, nor will they ever. Really, me? Maybe I should start buying baby clothes just in case I ever find a time machine or a magical mischevious elixir that ages me in reverse. If anyone is in the market for a pair of size 9 Nike’s, make sure to ask me before you go to Foot Locker.

I own far too many DVD’s that I do not watch, and I own far too many copies of the film Bring It On, which is one copy.

Turns out you can rent movies. Turns out I was a stoner in college, and felt a need to buy any film I ever enjoyed. Ever. Titles include, but are not limited to:

• Bring It On
• Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (1 & 2)
• Jurassic Park 3 (not 1, not 2…Jurassic Park 3.)
• A Beautiful Mind (I hate Russell Crowe, and more importantly have never seen this film and have no idea how I own it. Thanks, Marijuana!)
• Two copies of the film Hook.

I’m so confused as to half of these acquisitions and am more curious than ever at the powers of marijuana. If I were a credit card company, I’d sit in the quad of every college campus with a kiosk that has a bong, an application and a free copy of the film Fantasia 2000 for anyone who applies. I’m already searching for this job on Craigslist as we speak.

I found 4 swiss army knives.

Apparently, if I’m ever stranded on a desert island, I’m banking on three swiss army knives inevitably failing, in which case I will have my trusty fourth one on me. Hopefully I will have brought my copy of Bring It On with me in this situation, as well. I’m guessing I will have broken the first three knives frantically trying to open the copy of this movie, though, so it all makes sense. THANK GOD I THOUGHT AHEAD.

I found a life size replica Star Wars light saber that makes sounds when you swing it.

Sidenote: I don’t have a girlfriend.

Other sidenote: this item was not thrown away or donated and is still in my car until I can figure out what to do with it.

I found that I own 28 glasses and 15 plates.

Luckily, I took them all with me (keep an eye on the tv show Hoarders, folks, pretty sure my episode is coming up). So just in case I ever go on a hydrating binge, I’ll be able to pound glass after glass of liquid and still have about 20 glasses left. If at this point I want to eat 15 different items of food on 15 different plates, I have that option as well. Of note: I own triscuits, apples, almonds and hot sauce. So I’m pretty sure one plate or less would have covered it. If I ever plan on having a dinner party in my -2,476 sq ft apartment though…boy, am I covered for a dinner and then some.

I own 6 pairs of wool ski socks and have gone skiing -13 times in the past “ever plus infinity.”

Don’t worry, I donated 3 pairs, and decided in some arbitrary manner that three would in fact be the number of pairs of wool ski socks I’ll need while living at this new apartment.

Basically, moving to this apartment has made me call into question more than 90% of the shit I own. But the most important find was this…

I own(ed) a T-Rex Headlamp.

Don’t believe that someone would create such an item? Exhibit A:

Yeah, shit just got real. I OWNED THIS.

Every year for Christmas, my mother buys me ridiculous stuff. It’s adorable and I love her for it. But I just don’t know what to do with a dinosaur headlamp, as I’m pretty sure owning this is a deterrent in the “no seriously, I’m 28 and a viable option for mating with” department. At any rate, I of course kept this.

My new apartment is amazing, and it’s most amazing feature so far is the small Mexican kid that lives down the hall. So far, our interactions have been him staring at me, me yelling “Hola!”, followed by him throwing action figures at me. So I’ve been taking his subtle hints that maybe he’s not crazy about the quirky Jewish gringo moving in down the hall.

So the lightbulb goes on.

In what I imagine to be training for actually being a father someday, I realized the one way I could get this kid to like me: I would bribe him with eccentric goods that his mother would be REALLY pissed off that I gave him in order to make him think that I’m the good guy.

One night, I walked down and placed the headlamp outside of his door. Like Christmas morning, I waited by my door to listen for when he found it, like baiting a mouse or something and waiting for the trap to snap. Sure enough, about three minutes later, I hear the door open, and I immediately hear the immense roars of a T-Rex coming from what I now assume to be his head. Victory.

In doing this, I imagine I’ve pissed off the grownups he lives with, but what’s important is that I have made peace with him and will no longer have action figures thrown at me in the hallway. It’s the small victories in life.

Moving to a new area is funny. You aren’t yourself for a while. It’s like being a freshman in college again. People laugh when you kind of don’t get your commute yet and get on the wrong train. Or when you move to the mission, it’s basically like trying to sit at the cool table when you’ve been playing dungeons and dragons in the corner for like 4 years. No one wants to talk to you, you’re like the mouth breather who wore sweat pants to homeroom.

So moving crap like this is why Rocket Shoes has been MIA for a good while. I have been basically trying to figure out my life in my first big boy solo apartment, and it’s probably taken me a good month to figure out where to put things like dinosaur headlamps. Don’t you worry, I’ll get back to writing petty “shit white guys complain about but it’s funny because it’s ironic and it’s like I’m talking to him!” rants. I missed you, too.

So Hola, small Mexican children. Stop throwing your action figures at me for not writing. I’m back.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 26: Yes, I Honestly Bribed a Small Mexican Child With A Dinosaur Headlamp

Stream the whole thing right there.

Or you can download the whole thing in kind of legal but who knows if it’s legal but probably not legal mp3′s right here.

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I have simply never believed in it. For some reason, I have staked many an argument on the fact that it’s a ridiculous game with no worth in the real world. For some reason, I never applied this logic to the game Hungry Hungry Hippos (as I apparently thought someday…SOMEDAY…I would encounter a wild pack of reallllly hungry (hungry) hippos, in which case oh I’d know just what to do…). Anywho.

Why, you ask, have I opposed Scrabble? Because I’m like a grandpa when it comes to that crap, apparently: If you can’t use the word in a sentence, you should not be given points in a game for outwitting someone who’s using non-narnia words like OH I DON’T KNOW, ANY WORD IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. I just don’t think it’s fair that if I write the word “quick” on a Scrabble board, someone can destroy me by then using this word to spell the word “qi”.

You know when I use the word “quick”? A lot. I can “quick”ly do something. I “quickly” just judged you for being a smartass whilst using a fake word during our Scrabble game.

You know when I use the word “qi”? NEVER. I NEVER FUCKING USE THE WORD “QI”, AND NEITHER DO YOU. So it bothers me that I just lost a game to you because you used a Chinese noun that, translated, is the circulating life force whose existence and properties are the basis of much philosophy and medicine. Guess what: I just looked it up, and they don’t even have a sample sentence to show how it’s used. This, to me? Equals NARNIA WORD.

So here’s the problem.

The other day, I was having a drink with a friend and she mentioned to me that she thoroughly enjoyed playing some game on her iPhone named Words With Friends. Basically, it’s just Scrabble but they couldn’t use the word Scrabble but still wanted to make money off of someone else’s idea (which I have learned, the older I get, turns out to be a great way to make money). I made fun of her, went off on my Scrabble rant, and then proceeded to do what I always do: caved into peer pressure and downloaded the game on my way home to play against her (logically).

I can’t stop. It’s like crack. I feel defeated.

You play a word and then wait. When your friend plays, it notifies you with an adorable little “edoggydog just played a word!” note. It’s like the Christmas morning Jews never had, except OVER AND OVER AND OVER. Presents just FLOODING in. And considering I love writing words down that have no meaning (re: what I do for a living), this is like someone telling me there’s a game for that, and everyone is playing it. You are FINALLY rewarded for never shutting up. I KNEW I WAS ONTO SOMETHING, GOD.

At start, I played totally in what my opinion was fair. In some crooked way, I felt that I would be the one that changed it all: I would only use words that I could use in a sentence. If they wrote something tricky? I’d simply play some simple word like “rat” or “cat” (which, if you play Scrabble, is like the equivalent to someone showing up to a baseball game with no arms trying to hold the baseball bat while everyone just kind of feels bad for the cripple who just reaaaallly wants to play).

Then it happened. “Qi” got played on me. On a triple letter square AND a double word square. Which equaled  66 points. Which equaled me getting nerd angry and starting to play nerd-aggressive fake narnia words, because I wasn’t having that crap.

All of the sudden, I was throwing out “QINDARKA”, “CACIQUE”, “DIQUATS”…whatever it took. I was now dropping steroids on my game.

(*writers note: I am not smart enough to know any of these are actual words. I just looked them up. Google exists. Google the word “google”. Shit’s genius and is great for writing witty blog posts).

But no, I was actually using words like “za”, laughing as the points racked up. I was irony encapsulated. Hypocrisy realized. But I was winning.

The other day, I had “qi” played on me again, and I thought I’d be all clever on the other side of the board and drop a “whatever letter you’d like” letter into a spot where I would successfully spell the word “qi” TWICE in return. I felt like I was about to drop an atom bomb of nerd truth on this person. Turns out when you use a “whatever letter you’d like” letter, it only gives you one point. So I scored a whopping two points total on them.

And that’s when I got it: Scrabble is just about winning. It has nothing to do with being smarter than the other person. It just has to do with winning. And you know what? I take it all back. I can get behind something like that.

So without further ado…

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 25: Songs That Go Well In A Sentence With The Word “Qi”

Disc 1: Stream / Download Mp3′s

Disc 2: Stream / Download Mp3′s

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So I was at Best Buy the other day. First of all, I kind of wonder if a hoarder is organizing the store. You walk in, there are washer/dryer’s to the left of you, random opened electronics in a bin that they are trying to sell back to you that are priced out in sharpie and/or magic marker to the right (professional, Best Buy! I came here to buy premium electronics, but if you are offering me a torn box with a random pink iPod in it that is being priced out with a teal magic marker, I may rethink things…), cell phones randomly in the middle…it’s all over the place. Just slow down, guy organizing the products in the store. Maybe think this one through a bit harder.

My favorite thing that I saw, though, was this: Best Buy is making a hard push in the front of the store selling electric bicycles. ELECTRIC BICYCLES.

Got that? Because usually, when I’m in the market for a DVD or two, I impulse buy electronic “why the fuck would I ever buy that”s! Really though, what’s amazing about this to me is just the concept in general: you ride a bike to get exercise. Someone was so lazy, they thought, “man, you know what I hate about riding a bike? The fact that I have to do anything.” So they put an electronic engine on the thing, overpriced it and told you you’re saving the earth. You know how you save the earth? YOU RIDE A FUCKING BICYCLE. If you’re this lazy, just buy the goddamn moped. It’s way cooler looking and you were never lying to yourself in the first place. It’s like wanting to walk somewhere, but just really hating the walking part, so you buy electric shoes that walk for you.

If you’re this lazy? Seriously? Just stay home. I have more respect for grown men who ride razor scooters. Which is to say that I have zero respect for grown men that ride razor scooters.

I would buy one toothpick from Amazon.com, just because they promised me they will send it to me in two days or less.

So I was talking to my brother the other night, and we were discussing the utter genius of Amazon.com’s Prime shipping service. If you are unaware, Amazon came up with an idea where they charge you a once-a-year rate of $80 and allow you to have anything shipped with you 2-day air for free. You know who this is a great idea for? People who love to get shit sent to them because they are too lazy to go to the store to buy things, AND because they think for some reason if something comes in a package in the mail, that’s exciting. You know who I am? That guy. You almost start buying things for sport, just to see if they hold up their end of the bargain. Not only that, you will begin to order the strangest collection of items just to try to throw off the system. A recent purchase I actually made: a book about the history of Motley Crüe, two new toothbrush heads for my sonicare, socks (this will become funnier later in the post), and a used copy of the film Club Dread (a movie that I’m pretty sure me and two other people on the planet like). I did this at about 2pm on a Tuesday. 4pm on Wednesday, and my package had arrived.

I began to joke with my brother that they probably have some crack squad of little gnomes that just run and gun down the aisles with wishlists, grabbing items off the shelves like an intense episode of supermarket sweep. Like little carrier pigeons on crack. And this is when the knowledge bomb of all knowledge bombs was dropped on me.

Adam: “Wait, do you not know how they fulfill your order?”

Drew: “I mean, I assume people just package your order and ship it to you.”

Adam: “No man. They have robots that get your order and electronically go through the warehouse putting it together.”

Drew: (Complete silence)

Adam: “Robots.”

Amazon.com just got about 8 bagillion trillion gazillion times cooler to me. I’VE BEEN EMPLOYING ROBOTS FOR YEARS AND HAD NO IDEA?

Here’s what my brother and I propose, Amazon.com: you should offer “robot cam” with every order. Wait for it…

When I place my order, there should be a box I can check asking me if I’d like to pay a dollar extra to watch the robot go retrieve my order. You know why? BECAUSE I’D PAY AT LEAST 20 DOLLARS FOR THIS. YES I’M SERIOUS. If I could see that little guy scavengering for a pair of socks and then scurrying off to grab the obscure film I requested? I would lose my shit. The future is now, Amazon. The future is now. Call us.

I guess I throw away my socks for sport.

Like every human being, I seem to lose socks at an alarming rate. I have no idea why this is a worldwide epidemic, but I just seem to be missing socks left and right, all the time. But I think I’ve figured it out.

Every night when I go to bed, I take my socks off and throw them over at my hamper. If this is when I’m drunk (re: often), it means I just kind of fall backwards and try to throw them in that general direction, which usually doesn’t go so well. The other night, I was going to bed and went through this ritual, and noticed I had shot well short of the hamper and thrown my sock directly into the trash can. At first I thought this was hilarious. Then, when walking up to the trash can, I looked inside and saw another sock. And it dawned on me: I’ve been throwing away socks on what seems to be a semi-nightly basis.

This doesn’t even include the amounts of times I’ve thrown t-shirts, pants (laaadies?), whatever over at that hamper. How many of my clothes am I just aimlessly throwing away? HOW MANY PAIRS OF SOCKS HAVE I THROWN AWAY? I am the stupidest human being alive.

Also, who keeps their trash can by their hamper? That’s gross, me. Stop it.

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Yes, read that back. Doesn’t it sound like a villain in a movie should say that amount whilst snickering? Now realize that someone is ACTUALLY doing this, and then realize that the person doing this just also:

- ACTUALLY did a serious interview with someone whose first name is “Niecey”
- ACTUALLY had said interview about how she was a hoarder of things like “shoes, old cups of coffee”, etc.

Serious fucking journalism for a serious woman (sidenote: who is named Niecey? That’s meanspirited to call your child anything that could even be whittled down to this in a nickname).

So here’s the best part: she’s doing it because she feels that a superbowl ad that was run about a “milkaholic” baby who’s the other woman in a fake baby relationship was modeled after her. To which brings up the amazing part about this entire debacle.

To accuse someone a commercial about a BABY who drinks too much milk is about you is admitting that:

A) You think that you’re an alcoholic, even before a talking baby with a milk problem reminded you of this and

B) Someone showing a talking baby in a commercial who supposedly drinks too much milk REMINDS YOU OF YOURSELF.

Maybe you should work on things. Just in general, if this is the case.

It’s amazing to me that nowadays you can sue someone for something like this. FOR A HUNDRED BILLION TRILLION DOLLARS. This is the equivalent, in my opinion, to me watching a commercial during the superbowl saying that men can’t say I love you to women because really they actually just love their Miller Light more and then suing Miller Light because my parents got divorced and I’M SAD INSIDE AND CAN’T YOU SEE THIS WAS REALLY TOUGH AND MAYBE SOMETIMES I DON’T LIKE MAYONNAISE ON MY SANDWICH AND THIS IS YOUR 100 MILLION DOLLAR FAULT MILLER BREWING COMPANY.

Stop it. Maybe just drink less and/or stop being so goddamn sensitive about talking babies, which is a larger issue if this ACTUALLY reminds you of yourself. I don’t know what narnia you live in, but babies don’t have girlfriends who have drinking problems. You just have a drinking problem, and that is not a commercial, that is a “that’s your life”.

I’m beginning to wonder how it’s possible that I am not, in fact, gay.

Let me clarify this one, while also making blaring generalizations about people because then it’s easier to make silly haha jokes.

I was talking to my friend the other day, and actually made this joke:

“I should move to the Marina, and/or apply to law school and change my name to Elle.”

First of all, you’re right if you have your finger on your nose and are pointing at me: that’s not a funny joke. Second of all, what heterosexual male makes a joke that goes deep into the plotlines of the film Legally Blonde, knowing not only the lead character’s name but that the general plot consists of her trying to win back her boyfriend and/or prove to him that she can be as smart as he, even if she’s just a ‘dumb blonde’?

I then began to ponder other things about my behavior that are seriously questionable.

- I use the stairmaster at gym, and use it so frequently that I know the other ladies (men do not seem to use this machine) that use it frequently, by first name on many occasions. Think I’m joking? I commonly look for my friend Rachel here, because we both know that the stairmaster is “SOOO hard to get, I mean, doesn’t that bitch know that there is a 30 minute limit?” I also know Tara, who taught me how to turn from left to right so as to make sure my ass looks even better and i’m working the muscles from all angles. Wow.

- I have a hair dryer, I use it daily. When I told this to a girl, she asked, “Oh to use it on your junk?”, to which I responded, “no, sometimes I’m just running late and hate it when my hair is wet and I can’t put product in it.” (This statement to her presumably cemented the fact that I will never sleep with this woman, ever. Not even if I told her I had a 3 foot long penis, she will never once look at me as possible sexual partner again.)

- I own the film Bring it On. Honestly. I find it to be a really great film and in no way thought it was weird to buy it, even when the girl behind the counter looked at me with that pat-you-on-the-head “good for you, you’ll come out soon” look.

- I listened to the Indigo Girls a lot in middle school (red flag) and own almost all of Ani Difranco’s music (burning rainbow flag).

- I bought bliss spa face wash. I thought it smelled good, and in no way thought it was peculiar when the email I received after purchasing it said “Hey girl, spoil yourself!”, nor did I find it odd that when said package came to work, I hid in the stairwell to open the box and then hid the product in my bag before anyone could see. Couple of metaphors there, if you look closely, I’m not sure.

- For my birthday this year, my family bought me: a high priced vacuum cleaner, a popcorn maker (that I was UPSET I didn’t get for christmas), and a nice bottle of champagne that came in a purple velvet bag. To quote my Aunt: “This is starting to look like a girl’s bridal shower!” (…)

I also own seasons of Sex and the City that I don’t put out for public display in fear of people thinking that’s a little weird. By don’t put on public display, I mean I hide them in my closet (again: alarming metaphor). IT’S THE OTHER TEAM’S PLAYBOOK, THAT’S ALL.

Last Friday had to be like Black Friday for pot dealers when the movie Alice in Wonderland came out.

The box office gross of the movie for one weekend was $116,000,000. I’d imagine more than 115,999,990 of those dollars were spent by big fucking stoners. Because the movie didn’t look good; it looked STONED good. There is a huge difference. Movie makers, take notice: start making movies for stoners, no matter what. You know why? Because stoners will see anything that is terrible yet has three dimensional bunnies in it. This is a demographic that should not be ignored. Imagine some of the movies that could have made so much more money just by being more stoner friendly and/or chucking 3-D into the mix.

- The Tooth Fairy: Keep the plot entirely the same, just have the Rock fly out of the screen in a tutu and randomly turn to the screen and say, completely out of context, “can you smell what the rock is cookin’?” BOOM. Stoners see this in a preview and think, “haha TUTU haha WRESTLING haha ILOVEPOT haha I’DSEETHATSTONED.” I know, right?

- Anything with Brendan Fraser in it. This movie is probably terrible, yet if three-dimensional and had like, some explosions or a volcano in it, stoners would see it.

- Any chick flick that was kinda sexual and maybe had borderline sex scenes in it. 3-D sex/boobs? I just solved the “my boyfriend won’t see that” problem. You’re welcome, Hollywood.

- Anything with ninjas in it. You know what stoners love? Ninjas. You know why? Because they do cool shit. You know how they could do cooler shit? IN 3-D.

You know the only movie that wouldn’t be better in 3-D? Titanic. Fuck you James Cameron, we already paid you enough money for Fern Gully with guns. Stop being so damn greedy. I don’t care if you don’t think that’s funny, your oscar winning ex-wife does. BOOM. ROASTED.

Without further ado, here’s Rocket Shoes Mixtape 24: If You Think A Fake Baby With A Fake Drinking Problem Is You, You Need To Work On Yourself

Click here or the link up top to stream the whole mix.

As always you can download the entire thing in MP3′s right here

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I have a sleeping problem. Of course I do: I’m a white guy! We are always “concerned” about something, or have some problem that is just “so tough on us”, you know, like the fact that our Prius has brake warnings or some shit like that. Oh, white people. The advent of the iPhone app store, though, has been a serious boon: you can download a program that has soothing sounds that lull you to sleep. Great concept. However, they have some really poor execution it turns out.

Ambiance, the application, comes with a billion sounds that you can download, and most of them are standard: rainforest (you know, for all those times you remember falling asleep…in the rainforest), thunderstorm (re: white people), ocean (re: rich white people), etc. And then there are the other sounds available for download. Let me run down a few. (note: I am not making a SINGLE one of these up)

- Emergency Room (because the sounds of screaming and people dying always puts me right out)

- Heart Monitor (maybe you enjoy the sound of something that monitors if you are going to die or not)

- Muzzle of Bees (everyone is scared of bees, so this one is logical for “things that calm me down”)

- Electric Knife Sharpener (um…)

- Forest Fire (!!!)

- Warfare (wow.)

So basically, you can choose between “tranquil sounds of nature” or “you’re going to die/biblical plagues and things that kill you”. Does the app double as something you can use to torture people to get information out of them at Guantanamo Bay? Just for fun, I just searched “death” as a joke in the application and got the results “snake pit” and “FerrariF456″. So apparently, they need to work on their search algorithm as well. (Snake pit?!? Really?!?)

Tiger Woods doesn’t have a sex addiction problem, he has an “I shouldn’t have gotten married” problem.

The Tiger Woods thing is just getting weirder and funnier by the day. In a classic celebrity twist, he held a press conference with select people to tell them that he was sorry that he was a jerk, but that more importantly he has a “problem” (and by “problem” he means he likes to do it with girls and made that silly mistake of getting married) and needs to go seek help at a rehab facility. Is the rehab facility called “I’m a dick and cheat on my wife”, Tiger?

Here’s the thing: I don’t really care. It turns out you just held a press conference called “I’m a guy and wanted to have sex.” Great. You don’t have a sex addiction problem. You have an “I’m a dickface” problem. And honestly? That’s cool! Turns out I just like watching you hit a little white ball and don’t really care in turn who you sleep with or what your favorite color is. I just want you to hit the ball really well. Hold a press conference with your wife, because she is the one who actually cares what you do with your bits and pieces. He could honestly wear panties during the Masters, and as long as he keeps being really really ridiculously good at golf? I’m fine with that. Have at it, bud. My only request is that you start sleeping with better looking women if I have to watch the press conference about it. I feel like a guy with a friend who keeps hooking up with ugly chicks at the bar and then telling me later he really regrets that. Just stop hooking up with the ugly chicks, then.

People need to stop going to rehab facilities for sex addiction, because i’m pretty sure the facility is called “don’t get married”. Now hit the white ball again, please.

Traveling with an iPhone is like finally figuring out what it’s like to be a meth addict without the cool “I’m a drug addict and can write a memoir about this later” part.

I was at SFO recently waiting for a flight, and since my flight was delayed I decided to play solitaire. Some people have friends they call, I have solitaire. And I’m okay with that. I digress. The iPhone’s greatest feature is that it runs for about 13 minutes after you charge it.

So this is what iPhone owners have become: creepy guys with cords scratching their face, searching for outlets they can mainline off of for like, 2 minute intervals. JUST TO GET MORE JUICE. I NEED MORE JUICE. YOU GOT MORE JUICE? It’s sick. I feel like I may as well be mumbling to myself while eating random crumbs of a muffin out of my pocket or something creepy like that.

You just wander around, randomly searching for outlets and when you find one, you plug in and sit there Indian style on a floor just to get your fix for a few minutes. You know who else has behavior like this? Drug addicts. So that’s cool. I’ve been whittled down to a meth head just to get my fix of solitaire or to figure out if anyone has tweeted anything funny recently. Sometimes I’m so white it hurts my feelings.

I also realize that I just wrote “Indian style”, and when reading that back, I realized that this is, in fact, not okay to say, ever. But saying sitting cross legged just doesn’t get the point across. Oh, accidental racism. I wish you didn’t work as a perfect imagery device.

On that note.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 23: Songs That Are Better Than Tiger Woods At Picking Attractive People To Sleep With Them

As always click on the link above to stream it.

Or you can download the whole thing in all its mp3 glory right here.

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So when buying some clothes this evening at American Apparel (don’t worry, i’m judging myself already so feel free to join in), I had the strangest exchange with the lady at the counter. She told me, immediately, “just so you know, you can’t return opened or used underpants.”

I was floored. WHO is returning used underpants? Who thinks this is okay? This has been a cardinal rule that you were taught since, I don’t know, you could wear underpants: you do not share your underpants. Once you wear your underpants, they are your underpants. You know why? Because they go on the part of your body that you are legally not allowed to show other people unless they consent to it. The garment, itself, is even a bit awkward to buy. “Hey, where do you sell the stuff that I hide my junk in? Right there? Cool, thanks.”

What’s more amazing to me is that someone didn’t just think “hey, I wore these underpants and they just weren’t for me, I’m going to take them OFF OF MY JUNK and return them”…they weren’t too embarassed to go give this pair of underpants BACK to a complete and total stranger who is working at a retail store.

Please don’t try and return your dirty underpants to a store. And don’t give me the, “I just opened them, realized before even trying them on that I didn’t like them and then put them back in the bag,” routine. You tried them on. That pair of underpants has touched your bits and pieces. They are yours now. Knock off your gross shenanigans.

Why is ANYONE still driving a Mazda Miata?

Growing up, my family had a running joke about Miata’s, as we thought they looked like a bathtub on wheels. As the internet doubles as a “no wait I have proof” accountability machine that will disappoint you and reveal that a Miata does not, in fact, look like a bathtub on wheels at all, this joke is no longer funny.

I bring the Miata up, though, because the other day I saw a decent looking guy walking out to a parking lot, and I saw him get into a HARDTOP white Mazda Miata. Really? You splurged on the designer jeans and the nice haircut and clearly seem to have some self respect, and you decided that the car for you is a white, not even convertible Mazda Miata? Was the sweet teal babe magnet Geo Metro not available?

Don’t give me the “it’s a cheap, affordable car” argument. You could trade it in and get a Ford Taurus and I’d have more respect for you. If you don’t know what that car is, we aren’t the same age, because I think everyone had a friend who had a Mom who drove this car when I was growing up. No, check that: you could honestly ride around town on a razor scooter, and I’d STILL be more okay with that.

And you didn’t even get the convertible? At least then you could let your sweet hair blow in the breeze while you zoomed by the ladies, who are ironically wearing fashion now from when this car was okay (that’s about 1988-1992).

This is the kind of person who, if told that they could trade their car in for ANYTHING in the world, would presumably finally get that PT cruiser of their dreams.

Spam comments on blog posts aren’t fucking around anymore.

So when you get a comment on a blog post, if the computer suspects that it wasn’t written by a human, it stores it in a “this is not a human comment” section that you can review before it posts. I know, sorry. Next I’ll teach you how a keyboard works and what that crrrrAAAZY “mouse” thing does that is attached to your computer!

A few days ago, I received a spam message from reader “Exhibit Develop” that seemed to actually have been written by my personal insecurities. And I kind of respect Exhibit Develop because of it. It reads:

“Great post. It is clear You have a great deal of unused capacity, which you have not turned to your advantage.

The way you write shows you have a need for other people to like and admire you, and yet you tend to be critical of yourself.

It seems to me that while While you have some personal weaknesses you are generally able to compensate for them.”

What I respect about Exhibit Develop is that he doesn’t waste any time getting down to the nitty gritty of what I’m all about. And that he uses the word “while” twice, choosing to only capitalize it once (deeper meaning, Exhibit Develop? I’ll forever be curious). And I don’t know what’s more sad…that a spam bot is wasting it’s time spamming MY blog…or that it pretty much has me down to a science. He also left me a link to a website letting me know how to analyze the grading of diamonds. So there’s that.

In honor of Exhibit Develop, I present:

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 22: A mix of unused capacity that tends to be critical Critical of itself

There is WAY too much good music going on right now, so this guy is about 30 songs deep. Think about it like the Smashing Pumpkins album Millencollie and the Infinite Sadness: it didn’t need that many songs, but the asshole making it couldn’t decide on which to cut out.

Stream the whole thing right here.

As always, you can download the whole shebang in all of it’s mp3 glory right here.

See? I even made bad album art that took me five seconds to create in photoshop using real spam images! Hooray years of work at a production company amounting to the remedial graphic design work of an eight year old!

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