THE GREATEST THING IN THE HISTORY OF ANYTHING

What you're about to see is the greatest internet video of all time.

In my mind this is the type of thing the internet was invented for; nearly 34 minutes of people hurting themselves, shit blowing up, and anything else that is awesome. The only thing that could make this better would be if they put a picture of my privates on this video. Because believe you me, my thing is worth all the tea in China. Nevertheless, ENJOY!

The ULTIMATE COMPILATION!!!
by phillyblacklite

The Hangover Cure: An American Necessity

Sitting here on "The greatest Sunday in the history of Sundays," RvD and I have had a little discussion on hangovers. Most notably, the fact that I have not had one either of the past two Sundays. As the weather has become more "Big-Bob Friendly" according to Fussy Joe, I've noticed my enjoyment of drinking increasing. Last Saturday was the end of Josephest, and I started drinking delicious Busch Lights at around 1:30. I watched Demolition Man, Talladega Nights and played about three hours of Rock Band....all before the sun went down. We went to a karaoke bar in the evening, and around approximately hour 15 of drinking a new karaoke experience was born. My evil twin, Joe's buddy Orlando, apparently has the same taste for Budweiser fueled singing in front of a room of strange folks. R Von D, Fridge and Orlando karaoke will henceforth be known as DFO Speedwagon. RVD and I did several shots to celebrate how good we were at singing. I drank for about 12.5 hours and really thought I was doomed on Sunday morning. Woke up around 10AM and felt like $1,000,001. I actually felt GOOD.

Anywho, yesterday I walked to a local BBQ celebrating the end of my work's softball team season. I brought a 12 pack with me, figuring this would be an easy kind of night that I would only need 12 beers for and then I'd come home around midnight. Instead, I finished my backpack of beers by 10 and started drinking from the keg. I convinced 3 of my coworker pals that it would be a good idea to sneak out of the party and head down to a local watering hole. At this point I had consumed around 16 beers total, I believe. Once arriving at the Skellig, we ran into RvD and Fussy Joe. RVD and I had a heated exchange with some personal insults being hurled towards one another. (He forgot to take his crazy pills and I was being hurtful and intoxicated.) He pushed me and I accidentally bumped into a woman of small stature.

Bouncer (to Ryan): "You need to go now."
Baron Von D (to Bouncer): "I know."

Joe and I had a good chuckle at Von D's expense and thought about how much he must have been fuming on that lonely walk home. We did a celebratory shot. This put me at (best estimate) 18 beers and 2 shots as my total consumption for the evening. I took a cab to my ladyfriend's house after leaving The Skellig and slept there (I'm sure she was thrilled with my decision to show up at 1:30am smelling like stale beer and bbq food.) I didn't want Ron Von Don smothering me in my sleep. I woke up at 8:30 this morning without even a hint of a headache. I was as amazed as you are, loyal reader. I had two orange cream popsicles for breakfast and had ladyfriend stop at Starbucks so I could get some caffeine into my system.

The moral of these stories is that I for some reason have recently become completely immune to hangovers. Everybody has their own! I generally don't value anyone's opinion but my own. Today, we'll be exploring some of my close pals' own personal hangover cures.

1. MKenn
-1/2 tin of Grizzly Straight
-Rye and Ginger
-The Outdoors
-Black People Music

2. R von D
-Gatorade
-Video Games
-Anna's Taqueria
-Acute Anxiety Medication
-Being left alone

3. Duchess von D
-Pizza
-Advil

4. Gregoire
-5 mile run or 25 mile bike ride

5. Ladyfriend
-As much ice cold non-fat milk as humanly possible

6. Fussy Joe
-"The Grease"

For the longest time, I was the hangover king of the world. I used to feel so horrible after an evening of tough drinking that I would make the people around me suffer too. Even if they were strangers that I walked by in a gas station. My hangover cures used to depend on the situation I was in. If I was on a long car ride home from Connecticut or Plymouth I would usually get at least one Monster Energy Drink and put my window down regardless of the weather. Fresh air was the key component. I would rather freeze my tits off and end up with a chapped face than be overhung when I got home to my parents house and had to face their disappointment, disgust, and shame. Back in those good old days when I used to get hangovers and I didn't have a long drive ahead of me, I used to retreat to my bedroom, watch at least 2 Star Wars movies, drink gallons of water and try to overdose on multi-vitamins.

Bottom line is that we all clearly are borderline problem drinkers in that we've had enough opportunities to develop our own personal cures for hangovers. I suggest you all either copy my lifestyle exactly so that you no longer have those rough mornings or enroll in "the program" to get your life straight.

Dig,
Fridge III, Esq

My Roommates Are Trying To Kill Me: Day 3

We pick up where we left off.


I got up yesterday morning to a very feminine knock on my door. I opened the door, eyes half open to see Fussy Joe standing at my door. He was smiling. Naturally I inquired as to why he was looking at me the way he was, and he then pointed to my feet where I saw a 3/4 full bottle of Pepsi with something white on the top of the dark liquid.

"Is that grated cheese?" I asked.

"Why yes, yes it is," The Fussy One said with a smile "it's got some jelly in there too."

So that was my breakfast. A bottle of Pepsi, grape jelly, grated Parmesan cheese, and just for a little kick, nine whole packets of sugar waiting for me at the bottom of the bottle. Little did this Lilliputian turd know that I have the ability to chug just about anything, so I poured the Pepsi into a pint glass and took the whole thing down like a champ. Hey, at least they turned the volume up, so to speak, and got away from the bags of sour skittles.

The rest of my day was uneventful, I almost fell asleep at my desk, walked around JP prospecting new clients, and bought two new DVDs at the Best Buy down the block. Upon returning home, I found the Fridge in the kitchen making what I consider to be the best dinner I have ever seen. He was cooking chef trimmed, low-fat breasts of chicken with mixed vegetables over white rice. Little did he know that I was gazing around for something to stab him with so I could steal his dinner, but I stayed my hand and opted for some cold pizza as an appetizer to what was to come later on.

So Fussy Joe comes home with the same squinty-eyed shit eating grin on his face. I was playing Call of Duty on XBox Live when I hear Fussy's infamous "ENJOY!" coming from the kitchen. Placed in front of me where two slices of bread, I didn't know what was inside, and to be honest, I really shouldn't have looked, but the sandwich contained the following:


Two pieces of multi-grain bread
Two pieces of sliced chicken
Mayonnaise
Soy Sauce
Grape Jelly
Salt
Hot Cocoa Powder
Marshmallows
Spit (probably)

I took several quick bites of the sandwich and knew that I was in trouble. It was so salty that my throat closed the second it was inside my mouth (that's what she said). I hated it so hard, but I was not going to let that little midget a-hole get the better of R Von D...so I endeavored to persevere. I got the brilliant idea to make the sandwich into two open-faced halves with the chicken, hot cocoa, and jelly on one side and everything else on the other. Looking back, I should have eaten the salty half first because the chicken and jelly went down no problem. It actually wasn't as bad as I had originally made it out to be. The soy sauce, salt, and mayo side proved to be a bit of a challenge. Maybe it was too salty. Maybe it made me gag. MAYBE I had to get up and dash for the trash can. MAYBE I didn't make it in time. MAYBE I threw up on my pants thirty seconds before my girlfriend walked in the door and I had to run around the house cleaning myself up before I said hello to her. Things happened too fast to recall in such detail, but she had no idea what had just happened until Fussy Joe told her about it hours later when he came home from his Gay Pride night at Margaritas.


After that, I sat on the couch with my steady gal, drank three shots of Pepto, and watched "Forgetting Sarah Marshall." Nothing better than a pleasant evening with a good movie and good company. Then Fussy Pants came home and ruined everything. He kept going on and on about how the rest of the week is going to be torture and asking me if I wanted any dessert. I calmly explained to him that for a little pup he does a lot of barking but not a whole lot of biting. Of course, he took offense to such a comment and went in the kitchen to make me a shake. The shake was:

Milk
Soy Sauce (his new go-to)
Mustard
Mayo
Piss (probably)

I got a whiff of this stuff and knew right away I wasn't going to get it down. However, in a bit of psychological warfare, I added about a shot and a half of Johnnie Walker to the drink. He thought I was doing it to look tough, but I was actually doing it to take away some of the mustard and soy sauce smell. Funny thing about milk and mustard is, when combined, they tend to have an adverse effect on each other, and the milk curdles instantly. Nothing like mustard and sour milk to get your stomach going. Seconds later, I was bent over the sink, throwing up the entirety of the shake. BUT, I did manage to get the whole thing down, so it still counted.

The good news is, I was actually able to sleep last night and the Sox won, so the night wasn't a total loss I guess. I must admit though that my confidence in my abilities is a little rocked after last night, but I have only a day and a half to go, and the stupid retards didn't make my breakfast today so I got another freebie. Also, I lamented last night to my special lady that I really am starting to miss vegetables. Like, really. The little fat guy is really starting to miss his greens.

And then there was evening, and then morning. The Third Day.

My Roommates Are Trying To Kill Me: Day 2

As you are well aware, Fussy Joe, Fridge, and his idiot brother K-Rock have concocted a plan to end my life. They are well aware of my weakness for bets, money, and food and have chosen to exploit this in an attempt to break my psyche and weaken my otherwise superior physical makeup. If this were me pulling off this bet, I can assure you that there would be Danny Ocean-esque precision involved using certain combinations of food that would assuredly get the results I wanted. While I will not divulge any of that information here (for these three idiots are no doubt reading this), I will tell you that my cronies have been somewhat lacking in their creativity.

If you remember, Monday night I was greeted when I got home with a peanut butter and sour skittle sandwich along with a vicious energy drink. I then told Joseph that I really didn't like the whole "sour" aspect of my meal, so what do you think I got for breakfast on day 2? You guessed it. More sour skittles. The imagination that could have gone into something like that probably could have produced several high-end Tim Burton movies, right? Bravo boys, you got me. A little water took the sourness right off those little things and I was on my way to work another twenty hour day.

As an aside, I made 60 bucks slingin' pies last night and my girlfriend now refers to me as Papa Gino. Moreover, I met my first legitimate whore last night. No seriously. She came into the establishment last night from the halfway house around the corner and bought a Pepsi. I couldn't imagine what she needed to chug a soft drink for, but she seemed hell-bent on drinking it as fast as she could. Weird, right? I wonder what she was up to. Perhaps she was parched from the walk. She was a real handsome gal though, a classic beauty. 5'3" 300-400lbs, crooked teeth, and a "mom" tattoo on her boob. Charming gal.

Moving along, I got home and what did I find was for dinner? Oatmeal, cumin, pepper, and YOU GUESSED IT...sour skittles. The Brain trust really broke the bank when they came up with this plan huh? I swear to God you'd find more originality in an hour of Carlos Mencia stand up. You'd find more creativity in a special needs classroom on bouncy-ball day. I swear I come up with better plans to smite my enemies during a mid-afternoon nap. Basically everybody sucks but me.

However, my dear reader, the lack of creativity and originality has only awoken something hidden in me for a long time. When I was a boy of seventeen (thirty years ago?!? HAHA you're hilarious K-Rock! Old jokes are funny!), I was notorious for taking jokes too far. That boy has been gone for some time now, but it seems as though he is on his way back home. When I was a kid, I had a colleague who could get me to jump off roofs of summer camp bathrooms by uttering the simple phrase "you won't do it." Well, that boy is on his way to Waltham with each passing day, and he has enlisted the services of some very powerful and sociopathic allies.

And then there was evening, and then morning. The second day.

My Roommates Are Trying To Kill Me: Day One

Prelude:

As many of you know, having left a cushy teaching gig, I have made my foray into the business world by taking a job in the Marketing and Advertising field. Now, you'd think that my position would be much more lucrative, but you see, things in this country have begun to cost more and more and it has left your humble narrator in somewhat dire straights these days. A second job and a stupid bet later, I am left sitting in my cubicle with swollen bloodshot eyes, no real money to my name, and a severely upset stomach. How did this happen you ask? I'll tell you my dear reader.

To get a little more jingle in my pocket, I've taken a second job delivering pizzas. That's normal right? A 27-year-old bloke lumpin' pizzas to fat college girls at 10:30 PM on a Monday night dressed in a shirt and tie from his day job? You know what? Fuck you because I say it is and you can choke on my goddamn fist. How's your 401k after the Dow Jones did their best NY Mets impression you pile of bull excrement? You stink.

...sorry I'm very tired this morning.

In addition to my new job, I've also taken an interesting bet with KRock, Fridge, and our roommate Fussy Joe. My task is to eat everything they put in front of me for five days, and they will each shell out twenty-five dollars on Friday night. Five days of crap for a little bit of pocket change. Not too bad right? Obviously there are rules to this:

1) Everything they give me has to be edible.
2) All I have to do is swallow the food, what my body chooses to do after that is out of my control and therefore cannot negate the bet.
3) I cannot "manually"purge said food.
4) All food this week has to be provided and prepared for me, at no cost.

"And heeeeeeere weeeeeeeeee...go."











DAY 1:

I wake up and to my delight, the idiots I lived with failed to provide me anything for breakfast. This pleased me because I could go about my day not worrying about when I was going to puke at my desk and start crying. Instead, I worked a day starting at 7:00am and ending at 12:30am the next morning. Awesome.

If that wasn't bad enough, I was met by Fussy Joe as soon as I walked in the door at 12:45 telling me that my dinner was waiting for me in my bedroom. To my delight there was two pieces of bread and a Redline energy drink. For those of you who have not had a Redline before, basically what it is is an energy drink that has a warning label on it saying the following:

"Do not drink while pregnant," "Keep out of reach of children," and "Do not drink on an empty stomach", amongst other things. Some users have reported that they have experienced trembling, increased body temperature, sweating, headaches, and nausea when consumed on an empty stomach. The product also carries labels warning consumers not to use it if they are under the age of 18, and the item tends to be age-restricted in many retail outlets, including Wal-Mart. The Navy Exchange has imposed a limit of one Redline per customer due to concerns of sailors potentially overdosing." - From Wikipedia

So this is what I had to drink at 12:45am after working the entire day. Oh yeah, and the sandwich consisted of peanut butter and sour skittles. Logically, I awoke at 3:15 or so and made a mad dash to the bathroom where I threw up clear liquid and half-eaten skittles while my heart beat faster than Fridge's while he watches Transformers. Best day of my life. To think, I could be sitting in front of a classroom of ungrateful teen aged assholes instructing them in a discipline they will surely never use in real life. Instead, I'm living with piece of shit middle-aged assholes, instructing them in nothing, and sacrificing my pristine physical appearence to make ends meet.

I will say this though; when this week is over my retribution will be swift and just. The D can only be pushed so far, my friends. And when the day of reckoning comes for my associates, I can assure you that no expense will be spared in seeing them kneel before Baron Von D.

And then there was evening, and then morning. The first day.

The Comprehensive List of Female Genitalia Pseudonyms

We recommend you use each of these frequently:

vagina, bearded clam, vertical smile, beaver, trim, hair pie, bearded ax wound, tuna taco, fur burger, cooch, cooter, punani, snatch, twat, lovebox, box, poontang, cookie, hole, love canal, flower, nana, pink taco, cat, catcher's mitt, muff, roast beef curtains, the cum dump, chocha, black hole, sperm sucker, fish sandwich, warmer, whisker biscuit, carpet, love hole, deep socket, cum craver, squeezer, slice of heaven, flesh cavern, the great divide, cherry, tongue depressor, clit slit, hatchet wound, honey pot, quim, meat massager, chacha, stinkhole, black hole of calcutta, socket, pink taco, bottomless pit, dead clam, cum crack, twat, rattlesnake canyon, bush, cunny, flaps, fuzz box, fuzzy wuzzy, gash, glory hole, grumble, man in the boat, mud flaps, mound, peach, pink, piss flaps, the fish flap, love rug, vadge, the furry cup, stench-trench, wizard's sleeve, DNA dumpster, tuna town, split dick, bikini bizkit, holster, cockpit, snooch, kitty kat, poody tat, grassy knoll, cold cut combo, Jewel box, rosebud, curly curtains, furry furnace, slop hole, velcro love triangle, nether lips, where Uncle's doodle goes, altar of love, cupid's cupboard, bird's nest, bucket, cock-chafer, love glove, serpent socket, spunk-pot, hairy doughnut, fun hatch, spasm chasm, red lane, stinky speedway, bacon hole, belly entrance, nookie, sugar basin, sweet briar, breakfast of champions, wookie, fish mitten, pocket, hump hole, pink circle, silk igloo, scrambled eggs between the legs, black oak, Republic of Labia, juice box, Golden Palace, fetus flaps, skins, sausage wallet. Holiest of Holies, sugar hole, The Death of Adam, home plate, Deer Hoof, Golden Arches, Cats Paw, Mule Nose, Yo Yo Smuggler, Mumbler (Aussie), Dinner Roll, Crotch Waffle, Piss Fenders, crack, Melvin, Dove Breast, Brakepads, Vedgie, Slurpy, Vacuum Vulva, Pastrami Flaps, Hot Tamaki Walk, Buffalo Gums, Rooster Jaws, Wagon Ruts, Beaver Teeth, Mumble Pants (Sweden), Ninja Boot, Marcia (Aussie), Skin Canoe, Fatty, Mossy Jaw, The Big W, Chia Hole, Lip Jeans, Beetle Hood, Hungry Minge, Sausage Wallet, Front Bottom, Welly Top, Frum, Pancake Fold, Tongue Roll, Bologna Flap-Over, Furrogi (Poland), Fortune Nookie (China), Bearded Taco, Calamari Cockring, Displabia, Slot Pocket, Bluntfrunt, Fishamjig, Pole Magnet, Pocket Pie, Clamarama, kitty cage, Chicken's tongue, Conch shell, Crack of heaven, Dog's mouth, Door of life, Fly catcher, Fruit cup, Jelly roll, Lobster pot, bunny tuft, KNISH, her neighbor, lotus, nappy dugout, moneymaker, womens weapon, tackle box, bone hider, red sea, pizzo, JIZZ RECEPTICLE, The Helmut Hide-A-Way, hairy heaven, furry 8 ball rack, crave cave, arbys with fur, fish canyon, toolshed, snake charmer, Furby, Enchilada of love, Ham sandwich, Camarillo brillo, Brazilian caterpillar, dick rack, boy in the canoe, flesh tuxedo, Mound of Venus, queef quarters, Venus butterfly, cooter, cream canal, poontang pie, wet mark, private area, thresher, punash, salami garage, tunnel of love, slurpee machine, pink cookie, penalty box, ground zero, meat crease, bait, birth canal, holy grail, pole hole, pork pie, fuzz bucket, one-eyed python trail, bubble gum by the bum, stink rink, theme park, saloon doors, pink truffle, bitter & twisted, burger bar, meat counter, temperamental ringpiece, python syphon, big bud, the Wombsday Book, the condo downstate, snake lake, the indoor barbecue, pound cake, beef tomato, tickled pink, launch pad, horn of plenty, the indoor picnic, hamper of goodies, flapped bap, bonefish, close encounter with the turd kind, sperm bank, man's charity bash, bush tucker, midnight dip, the one-door vulva, the welcome opponent, the Twatlantic Ocean, temporary lodgings, field of dreams, bean, cooze, old catchers mitt, devil's hole, lucy, pish buffet, pooswaa, poonaner, davey jones locker, pink panther, tinker bell, south mouth, dick eater, wonder bread, wolly bolly, foxhole, hot pocket, head catcher, Lawrence of A Labia, silk funnel, dick driver, purple people penis eater, meat curtains, ponchita, cherry pop tart, fat rabbit, s, pee jaws, mingus, The Notorious V.A.G., stench trench, poon jab, nappy dugout, babyoven, penis parking, cooter muffin, the promised land, pocket, cha cha, the shrine, bitch ditch, fury pink mink, mammal hole, ever-lasting cum stopper, the toothless blow job, happy flappy, wilt chamberlian's daily glove, the code defierthe salt water taffy factory, mommy's pie, the easy bake oven, the deflower patch, the virginator, the schlong sucker, the dea bone patch, the vegitarian's temptation, the vegan store, the blow hole, the pump protector, bag pipe, Spitball Bullseye, meat wagon, pickle stinker, jezebel's smell, yoni, willys haven, scrumpter, peach, sweat box, yeast pocket, penis warmer, tampon tunnel, penis pothole, cucumber canal, egg drop Box, sperm shack, dick dungeon, curator, b.o.b.'s bungalow, mommy parts, tuna pot pie, nice slice, peter vise, sock, rack of clam, peters grove, penis purse, grandest canyon, fish dish, banana box, tuna spread, pink portal, count fapula, red river gorge, happy valley, revolving in/out door, baby zipper, richards house, stop-n-pop, bone polisher, packin shack, weiner wrap, clap trap, camel toe, dildo hotel, axe gash, pearl hotel, sea food six pack, clam canal, coose canal, dick deposit, wand waxer, vidgie, erie canal, candy kiss, gauntlet, round mound of beehound,lick n' stick, lap flounder, tomahawk chop, chin-chin, pachinko, ry pie, lip tip, the big casino, one eyed worm hole, amazon forest, cave, donut, coochie pop, babby, wet seal, pissy froth hole, bald biscuit, the unmentionable, mans ruin, peeshie, hairy potter, courtney cocksleve, panty hamster,deep pink, jaws of life, gizmo, faith, magnet, slippery slide, Meat tunnel, pink heaven, squid, dick basket, hot spot, poochika, pudding, bowl, love cave, squeeze-box, quim, honey pot, the bone collector, goodie basket, depository, pink turtleneck, bread-box, little debbie, pole hole, pandora's box,snail tracker, zilla, homebase, pud pocket, bear trap, indiana bones and the temple of poon, chanch, big montana, noochie, choot, golden valley, nappy roots, dick mitten, mystical fold

Happy (Belated) 4th of July, You Sunsabitches From the Pen15 Crew

If you fuck with America, we'll come to your house with socks filled with bars of soap and fuck your commie mothers while we strike you with said soap-filled socks.

Sidenote: Fireworks rule.

Kisses,
The Pen15 Club

R Von D "Takes the Morning Train"

While the people of the internet have long heard me prattle on and on about the shortcomings of a teaching career, I am proud to announce that my stint in the Connecticut wilderness is all but forgotten. For the past month I have moved on from teaching children the ancient values of Roman culture, and into the fast lane city-livin' I have always dreamed of. Day to day I sit in my cube. I do not miss six day weeks. I do not miss the summers off, leaving me with nothing to do and nobody to hang out with. And, I do not miss sniveling children and their well-to-do parents. To put it bluntly, my life is kickin' ass right now. Here's the typical work week for me.

7:00 - I wake, hang out with my man Fridge and head off to work. Sometimes I get stuck in traffic on the Mass Pike going from most glorious city Waltham to Boston. Do I care? No, because I get to listen to Opie and Anthony. Nothing is better than listening to the sexual exploits of Jim Norton early in the morning.

8ish - I stroll into work with my little briefcase and say hi to everybody, I then go to the corner to Starbucks where I get myself a grande redeye with skim milk and two splenda. This will keep me awake for the next four hours.

9:00-11:59 - The three hours until lunch are spent cold calling people. While you might think this is dumb and played out, it is an interesting time for me to play games with people. I try different sales tactics, see what works and what doesn't work, and figure out ways to harass people over the phone and try to get them to meet me in person. Most of the times this doesn't work, but the times it does, I am ecstatic.

Noon - I go to lunch at a 40% discount at Boston Billiards, just one of the perks of my job. I chat up the bartenders there and take my time before going back to work.

1:00-5:00 - More calls, maybe some appointments, more coffee.

5:00-6:00 - This time is spent winding down and maybe going down to Starbucks to take a dump. There is something strangely satisfying about taking a dump in such a yuppy establishment such as Starbucks. The grin on my face as the Brooks Brothers crowd smell my feces is something we all should experience. Next time you're around a Starbucks, drop some heat and then see people try to order a Orange Mocha Frappacino while getting a whiff of your brand of awfulness. Try to keep a straight face. In reality though, I'm just too timid to poop in my office right now.

6:00 - I sit in my cube and wait to see if all three of my bosses have left yet. Then, after they leave, I leave and go to Waltham where my lovely lifemate is there waiting for me with some broiled chicken and some ice cold Coor beers. I then wait to do it all over again, you know, workin' for the weekend and all of that.


And now, R Von D's top five things about the American Work Week:

1. Bagel/Casual Friday - For my money, nothing is better than this. I get to wear what I want, eat what I want and just be comfortable while doing my job. What is better than that?

2. Sitting in traffic - As stated prior, I like traffic. I sit in air conditioning, listen to good music, and I'm in a car where nobody can give me shit. The only thing better than this is doing the same thing in casual clothing. Best thing ever.

3. Sunday Funday - Friday is pretty good, Saturday is a great time, but Sunday Funday is where it's at. The gentleman of Waltham take the time on the Lord's day to eat a healthy brunch, usually some Irish fare, and slug down a couple of mixed drinks in the process. The best part about that is we drink enough where we pass out around 7:00pm and I get a great booze-filled night's sleep for the week ahead.

4. Repetitive Tasks - Say what you want about this, but I have spent the last three years studying the male mind. I know how this shit works. I'm an A to B person. Give me a task and I'll complete it. Tell me when, how, and where to do something and it will get done. You don't even have to give me a why, just tell me to get it done and it will get done. I like linear thinking. Can I think outside the box? Yes I can. Am I of superior intelligence? You bet your fucking ass I am. But, I'm smart enough to know when I've found a good thing and not to fuck it up. If they don't expect me to sell anything in my first three months of work, I'm not going to bust my ass. A lifelong mover once told me "Don't work harder, work smarter." These are words to live by and you should all learn how to do this.

5. Bosses - On the subject of repetitive tasks, the one thing that makes this better is if it comes from one single person. I always hated the tangental conversation that took place around the school I worked at. I would have lunch with a person, talk to them about their day, then five minutes later get an email from them asking me to do something for them. Now I get a single person telling me what to do, face-to-face, no bullshit. There is something to be said for that and I like it.

I will tell you this, dear reader; a 9-5 is awesome. For all of you who bitch and moan about it, the grass isn't always greener, and if you still think it is then whatever. The point of this whole entry is to let you know that my life away from Connecticut rules now, and I'm sitting on my couch watching a Red Sox game with Dana Complaina and Fridge while drinking beer. Fuck summers off. This is where it's at.

Yes sir,
R Von D

Frankie Says Relax

We know, we haven't blogged in a while. We have been busy with things like moving, new jobs, a new beginning, and God forbid, a girlfriend. So we at the Pen15 Club ask you to kindly keep your fucking shirt on.

Coming soon:

Bringing out the worst in each other: Los Hermanos Fantasticos Begin to Live Together
RVonD takes on the American work week.
Fridge's analysis of the usefulness of women in the work place.
Dana Complaina moves to Southie.
The C studies for the bar.
K-Rock graduates college, remains a retard, continues to suck as a contributer.

Hugs and Kisses,
The Pen15 Staff

Vote RvD + Fridge in '08

"We are not here to be your leaders. We are not here to be your role models. We are here as your cultural and emotional assassins. Every 'scene' you try so hard to be a part of. Every 'cause' that you get involved in. We are here to bring them down and to point out flaws in everyone, including ourselves. We intend to run a campaign based on brutal and horrific honesty. Do we think all ugly women should be forced to work in the stock rooms of grocery stores, hidden from all of society? Not if they have a decent rack, we don't. This isn't the kind of campaign you are going to get from any of those other 3 candidates. Toeing any party lines is not something that your humble writers are interested in. We are the Pen 15 Brigade, and we've reported for duty."



Give'er,
Los Hermanos Fantasticos (R Von D & Fridge)

Spring Is In the Digital Air: R Von D Attempts Online Dating

I've touched upon this a thousand times before, but I must reiterate again that my social life leaves a lot to be desired. Granted, this will all be over at the end of May when I move to the glorious city of Waltham, MA and get to have bunk beds with the Fridge (I already called bottom because of my small stature, and I'll enjoy watching his fat ass climb up every night). However, at the beginning of this month, I lost faith in my abilities to go out and meet people. I began to think that I was so undesirable to the opposite sex, that I delved into ninth circle of dating hell...online dating.

My experience here has done nothing but affirm my suspicions that I am going to be the cranky old man in the neighborhood who shoots kids with pellet guns when they step on my lawn. I did, however, find out some new things:

1) Fat girls LOVE me: Now I'm not talking "curvy" or "full figured" or "Mother Earth goddess" types here. I'm talking FAT girls. Girls who's ideal date is sensual food play with a fucking turkey drumstick. Oh, and all these girls list their body type as "about average"...right. I don't get it. I mean I was once in great shape, and have admittedly not been in the gym as much as I ought to, but come on. I'm not fat, and can't understand why "normal" females* do not find me attractive. This leads me to my second point:

2) All women are delusional: If you think writing "easy-going" or "loves movies" is going to somehow set you apart from the herd, you're fucking crazy. All girls think they're easy going. What is that shit? The reason you're on this site in the first place is because you're NOT easy going. If you were, you'd take the approach that 'things are going to work themselves out' and not whine and complain about how you can't meet the right people. That is the EXACT OPPOSITE OF EASY GOING, you stupid woman. Side note: Everybody loves movies, who the fuck do you think you are? I mean, granted you look like Roger Ebert, but that doesn't make you a film expert.

3) Every single girl on match.com is taller than me: No bullshit, every "wink" I got was from a girl who was 5'11" or taller. What do they want on a first date? Me to balance on a ball, juggle, and have them throw me across the room? Move onto the next profile, Gigantor, I'm short and stocky and do not need your sympathy or kinky sex acts that involve me dressing up in costumes. I mean...not that I know anything about that or anything...fuck off.

4) My home state is a Greek Tragedy: Seriously, you should see the single girls New Hampshire has to offer, they should seriously have their own fucking telethon.

Now, those are all facts, these are things that I actually witnessed. This is what I have come to. Just this morning, I took a peek at my profile to see that I got an email from a girl who listed her interests as the NRA and the last book she read was something regarding "Fantasy Dragons." Yeah, and did I mention she was 28-years-old and reading fantasy dragon books while going to monthly meetings of the goddamn NRA???!?! Is that fucked to anybody but me? Here's the thing: I majored in classical languages and Asian studies in college. I own several Frank Miller graphic novels, and Coheed and Cambria is one of my favorite bands, but am I THAT big of a goddamn dork?

Here's the thing; I used to be a social guy. Not to toot my own horn, but when I was more of a strapping young man I could throw the claw up and get it down in a crowded room of girls. Now it seems, I attract Dungeon Masters and girls who wash themselves with a rag on a stick. Perhaps I'm being unkind, perhaps they're really nice people and I've just had too much coffee today, but HOLY HELL I need to get out of here.

Okay, enough of the rant, and now onto the real problem with online dating.

The real problem I see here is that decent-looking girls who are on these sites and are "sick of the bar scene" are just as impossible to deal with as they would be in real life. Admittedly, I've done whatever I could to kind of break the ice with every girl who fit my criteria, and even if we seemed like a dynamite fit for each other, I am the first person in the history of online dating to strike out in the email department. Really. I can't even get an online girl to find me to be witty, charming, and perhaps a bit attractive. I'm beginning to think that I peaked sexually at 18 like everybody told me I would, but perhaps I'm putting too much pressure on myself. After all, this was just an experiment for me, just to see what I was up against in the dating world. But I'm beginning to feel like Sisyphus pushing that boulder up the hill** and God is punishing me for ever becoming a Latin teacher in the first place.

Today my own flag is at half mast. I am mourning the loss of my dignity and any social life I thought I had. Take a moment moment out of your day for observed silence for me.

Fucking fantasy dragons,
R Von D




*There are, of course, no normal women left on Earth.
**Classical mythology reference alert!

I Traveled 3000 Miles For This?

Spring 2007

My former college roommate, Mike, was now living in Chicago and I hadn't had any debaucherous activity with him in almost 2 years. We decided that a trip to Phoenix, AZ to catch the Red Sox play the DBacks was a wise plan of attack, as we had clearly won our battles with the East Coast and Doon had staked a strong claim in the Midwest. 2 of Mike's high school buddies, Matt and Craig were up for a vacation as well. And so it was settled, Friday June 7^th we would all fly to Phoenix. Matt, Craig and I would fly from Logan Int'l in Boston and Mike would depart from Chicago. We settled all of our reservations in early April and the anticipation mounted for a few months.

June 7 2007

5:45 AM (EST): Three chubby white men boisterously make their way through the Air Tran Airways security checkpoint at Logan. We are all dressed appropriately for an early summer's morning. Jeans and hooded sweatshirts as it is before 6AM. This was to be my first flight since I was approximately 7 years old and take note that I had refused to go on several vacations in previous years because of a fear of flying after 9/11. Obviously, I ended up with the seat across the aisle from Matt and Craig. During take-off, I think I legitimately reached for Matt's hand twice across the aisle for comfort. A relatively uneventful 90 minute flight to Atlanta ensued. I think it was the free XM radio featuring an entire station of Kelly Clarkson hits that saved me from a panic attack.

9:00AM (EST): Do not ever ask for Pepsi products anywhere in Georgia. Someone pulled out an Uzi on me just for seeking out Mt. Dew. The headquarters of Coca Cola is somewhere near ATL and they are all real homers down there. We boarded a new Air Tran flight, now bound for Phoenix. By this point we (note, college educated adults in their 20s) had realized that we could make transvestite jokes out of the name of our airline. This became exponentially more amusing when something that resembled Buffalo Bill from Silence of the Lambs boarded our flight. I would spend the next 3 hours staring out the window to avoid eye contact with the it sitting 3 rows away. (Note: If you keep in mind the fact that we were in an air conditioned airplane then airport for the entire duration after our exit from New England, the next part of this story will be funnier.)

9:00AM (PST): "Folks, we'll be touching down at Phoenix's Sky Harbor International Airport in about ten minutes. The time is currently 9AM Pacific Standard Time, the sky is clear and it's a gorgeous summer morning. It's currently about 105 degrees and we thank you for flying Air Tran Airways." Oh no.

9:30AM (PST): Matt, Craig and I found Mike in the airport, as he had arrived a few minutes ahead of us from Chicago. We stepped outdoors, started sweating profusely, and hailed a taxi van as quickly as possible.

10:45AM (PST): After checking into our hotel in downtown Phoenix, we realized that it was actually more like 2 in the afternoon back east. We needed to feed. Being newcomers to the West Coast, we sought out the closest In 'N Out Burger. Unfortunately, it was 20 minutes away in Tempe. We took a $60 round trip cab to Tempe just to eat 3 cheeseburgers (4x4 animal style.) During our return to Phoenix, we saw billboards galore for something called "Miller Chill." It was clearly a Miller Brewing Company product, but it was being advertised with a Mexican theme. This needed to be investigated further. After arriving back at our hotel, we set out on foot (AWFUL IDEA IN 110 DEGREE HEAT) to hunt down Miller Chill. We brought beverages back to our hotel and started saucing up. To our great bewilderment and surprise, Miller Chill was the cerveza of the gods.

6:30PM (PST): We stumbled towards Bank One Ballpark. We watched the Sox smoke the DBacks. Uneventful part number 1 of trip. We sat in a luxury club suite section where Long Island Iced Tea quickly became the drink of choice.

10:30PM (PST): We found a cab after game. "Take us to the finest Gentlemen's Establishment within your city limits." Somehow, we failed to realize that Phoenix's city limits are about 2000 square miles wide. Our second expensive cab ride of the day later, we were located at Phoenix's lovely BOURBON STREET CIRCUS. Just the name of this place was awesome. As an experienced customer of gentlemen's establishments, I can easily say that this place had the cleanest and least creepy restrooms I'd ever used. It actually had those old-school saloon doors to get inside. An un-named member of our party actually did a Pac-Man Jones impersonation and made it rain onto the stage.

June 8 2007

2:00AM (PST): Sleep.

8:00AM (PST): Wake up and watch Sportscenter on loop for 2.5 hours in hotel room.

11:00AM (PST): Mike, Matt and I decide it's time to get started. We leave Craig alone in hotel room rubbing on himself. We found a lovely Mexican place called "los hermanos." Nothing like a tall, cool Budweiser at 11am to get you feeling a little sad about yourself. Matt reminded Matt and I that it was well after 12 noon where we were really from. This time zone business really fouls up your feelings of self-worth. After a few hours spent at "los hermanos" and your humble author feeling confused about not being able to find any $1 bills in his wallet, we set out back for the hotel.

2:15PM (PST): Your confused and slightly hungover/drunk author realizes his cell phone is conspicuous by its absence. Matt remembers seeing me place it down on a table during a "dance" the previous night. Luckily, I had several ATM receipts in my wallet from the Bourbon Street Circus, so it wasn't tough to find the phone number. One easy phone call later, I knew that the proprietor of the Circus was going to hold onto my phone for the afternoon if I would like to retrieve it. I took a lonely $40 cab ride outside of my comfort zone and entered a strip club by myself and while it was sunny out. Yuch. At least I had my phone back and wouldn't have to explain that one to anyone when I got home.

4:00PM (PST) The Four Horsemen decided to hit the hotel pool for a quick dip and cool off. Unfortunately, we found that every other awful Red Sox fan at our hotel had the same idea. I actually heard arguments debating whether WAAF or WBCN was a better station. We also found out that residents of Revere and Everett do not enjoy each others' company and are willing to do cannonballs into the pool to prove that they are tougher than one another. This basically looked like the parking lot at Gilette Stadium before a pre-season Patriots game where you get those weirdo fans who can't afford regular season tickets, but there was a pool in the middle. It was awful and I apologize to Hyatt Regency Hotels' staff for being a willing and active part of it.

7:00PM (PST) We again stumble into Bank One Ballpark. Spend 9 innings sitting right behind the DBacks bullpen harassing their middle relief. Uneventful part number 2 of the trip.

10:00PM (PST) Mike had done some recon on the Phoenix area before the trip and found a karaoke bar for us to visit. I brought the house down with an epic rendition of Justin Timberlake's "Cry Me A River" and such Karaoke Revue staples as "Just a Gigolo" and "Mack the Knife." You'd be surprised how much the residents of Arizona appreciate Diamond David Lee Roth as performed by el Fridgerino. Our associate Matt stepped outside to vomit into the bushes and with this we were informed by the staff that closing time was at 1:30.

June 9 2007

1:15AM (PST): Matt and I decided we needed some food. We left Mike and Craig behind at the bar with two large women in their late thirties. We walked through a drive-through of a taco place and ate our food walking back down the street towards the bar. We heard a strange noise come out of some sagebrush on the side of the road. I couldn't tell if it was a human-sized scorpion or a 60 foot long rattle snake. In a move reminiscent of Ron Von Don on the streets of Hartford…all in one motion I hailed a cab, opened the door and threw Matt into the backseat to get away from the mutated creatures that stalk white boys on the mean streets of outer Phoenix. We got back next to the bar and we informed our chauffer that we had 2 more riders. Craig happily joined us in the cab while Mike spent 10 minutes entertaining the thought of spending the night with his new ladyfriends in Mesa, AZ. (Mapquest it, he would have been 45 miles away from Phoenix, moron.) I started pleading with the driver to leave him in the parking lot, telling Craig and Matt that Mike would "pay for this decision," but those two (being more loyal friends) made sure that we didn't leave him. Even screaming "don't go home with those fat c's" out the window of the cab couldn't make his mind up. It wasn't until one of us yelled something about the ladies being part of the Arizona Cardinals offensive line that Mike was convinced to rejoin us.

2:00AM (PST): Sleep.

10:00AM (PST): I get pulled out of security line for trying to sneak a Randy Johnson bobblehead onto the plane. Apparently having a pock marked pit faced doll with you on an airplane is now a federal offense.

4:00PM (EST): We arrive in friendly Atlanta again. This time, we do not order any Pepsi products.

10:00PM (EST): I arrive home in Nashua. Sunburned, tired and still confused where all my $1 bills are.

Who Loves Irony!?

As of right now (March 24th, 2008 10:22 AM) I am sitting in a seminar for teachers discussing appropriate web site usage in the classroom and I am writing this while some Canadian frog is going on and on about appropriate web usage. Why am I doing this instead of paying attention? Two reasons. One, I really don't care what the kids do on the internet in my classroom, if they fail they fail and I will smile while their parents grovel at my feet for better grades. Two, I'm R Von D and I do what I want, when I want, how I want to do it, and who I want to do it with...so put that in your back pocket.

Any questions, concerns, please direct them to Fridge, K-Rock, or The C, or Dana Complaina, 'cause I don't give a shit.

Two fingers, One love,

R Von D

R Von D's Internet Videos of the Week: Vol. 2

Back from vacation, thought I'd break you assholes off somethin' proper.

1. The Best Scenes from "The Wicker Man:"
If you haven't seen this Nicholas Cage box office bomb, here are the best parts. And by "best parts" I mean "unintentionally absolutely goddamn hilarious parts" like Cage punching women and getting a helmet of bees put on his head. Please to enjoy.





2. Midget Wrestler Tossed Into A Sliding Face Plant:
There are very few things in this world that make me happier than a retard with an ice cream cone. Three of these things come together in one glorious internet clip: midgets (or "little people" to be politically correct), professional wrestling, and face plants. Watch how far this little bastard slides across the ring. Don't you just want to pick him up and hug him after that?


Midget Tossed Into A Sliding Faceplant - Watch more free videos


3. The Ipecac Vomit Prank:
Glorious prank I wish I could pull off on one of my friends that doesn't like me all that much (K-Rock comes to mind). I think this kid's reaction is a bit much. I like to think that after the searing pain in my stomach subsided and there was no more stomach fluids for me to flush out, I'd have a good laugh. At least I think, I may kill some people first, guess we'll have to wait and see right?


Ipecac Vomit Prank - Watch more free videos

4. Canadian Reporter Gets Smoked By A Sled Mid-Broadcast:
This happened to me once so I should feel bad right? Wrong. This happened to me when I was fuckin' five and not a grown man broadcasting on live television. Take that, queer.


Reporter Owned By Sled - Watch more free videos

5. A Video From the "Are You Serious?" Files:
Meet Sharon and Fred. They make movies. They're also married and are probably the two creepiest people I have ever seen. The cuts are awful, the dialog is horrible, the animation is worst thing I have ever seen, and I pray to God that these people don't have kids. Oh, and how about mentioning the anniversary at the end of this? What are these two going to tape on their anniversary? Could you imagine Fred piping Sharon with some Loch Ness Monster animation in the background? Yeah, have fun with that image in your head the rest of the day.


Worlds Best Video Production Company - Watch more free videos


Enjoy ya bastids,

R to the D

Dana Complaina's Gripes of the Week, Vol. 1

In keeping with the overall theme of my nickname and attitude towards
life, I give you my top 5 gripes of the week. Just a few little things
that are really chapping my bottom this week.

1. Tagging on Facebook. There is nothing more invasive, annoying and
inconsiderate than receiving an email alerting me that someone has
"tagged 50 photos of you" on facebook. Here's the thing, sure we had a
great time last weekend. Yes, I'm glad you took pictures so we'll
never forget it. But what gave you the idea I wanted everyone I went
to high school and college with, met at a bar that one time, made out
with two years ago, or currently work with to know what I did, who I
was with, and the poor decisions I made? Is it really necessary? Are
you that desperate for attention? Do you have a life? Are you just
dying for people to see on their news feed that you've posted pictures?
Grow up. Get a life. You're dumb.

2. PT Cruisers. What retard decided that designing a turn of the
century"gansta" car would be a good idea? Do you see the people who
drive these things? Holy smokes. Yeah guy, you're looking real tough
in your purple PT Cruiser. Your vanity license plate it killer too,
how long did it take you to come up with "GNGSTR?"

3. Recycling. Now I realize green is in, but come on. I got an email
from HR today saying that a "concerned staffer noticed plastic bottles
piling up in the trash" and that drastic measures will be taken to
resolve the issue. Drastic measures? What are you going to do, have a
trash monitor? Are we in 3rd grade, we can't handle throwing our own
trash away? And who takes the time to take an inventory of what's in
the trash at work? Looks like someone needs a little extra work to do
instead of poking around the receptacle. Maybe you should just quit
and start working for Greenpeace, I heard they need a few extra hands.
Weirdo hippy.

4. Movie rental late fees. They no longer exist. This sounds like a
good thing to the common person, but a true movie lover knows this is
poison. There are 3 movies that I'm dying to see. Michael Clayton,
American Gangster, and Jesse James. I've gone to Blockbuster on 3
different occasions over a week and every time I go the outcome is the
same, NO FREAKING MOVIES. How can this be? How can a movie rental
store, that's what they do, provide movies for rent and return, not
have ONE copy of any of the hottest titles out right now? I'll tell
you how, people are not being punished for failing to abide by the due
date. This is ludacris. Did you get in trouble if you passed in a term
paper late? Yes. Did your parents ground you if you were late for
curfew? Yes. I certainly get a ticket every time I forget to fill the
parking meter. Then why shouldn't you be punished for not returning a
movie on time?? I know it's sitting on your coffee table. You watched
it once, your done. You could have had it in the next day, but no.
Instead you're punishing me. I hate you.

5. Buffet Restaurants. Now I understand this is a sensitive subject,
especially for our two original authors, but I gotta get this off my
chest. These have to be the most disgusting places on earth. I have an
idea, let's semi cook food and leave it out for hours then charge
people $30 a head to eat as much as they can. Sounds like a plan to
me. Oh wait, let's make sure we pack it in with people who have NO
respect for personal space. Everyone all up in each other's nut, yeah
that sounds good. Little kids running around your ankles grabbing at
food. Arms reaching across you chest like savages who have never
tasted food before. That'll be great. It'll be a hit. People will love
it.

Fridge's Five Stages of Work Related Anger

I have a very nice job. I work at a solid, respected company and have my own cubicle. By no means am I miserable like Dana Complaina. In fact, I tried to get Miss C a job at my company. I don't know what went wrong, she probably brought her negative attitude into the interview and screwed it all up. The point of my writings this evening is to tell you, dear reader, about my five stages of anger that I express during the average work day. I have a kickass iPod boombox on my desk at work and over 4000 songs to choose from, and I could just use multisyllabic words (like RVD would) to describe my hate and disgust. Instead, I'm going to let you imagine my demeanor based on my musical selections at each of these five stages.


DEFCON 5 - 311/Incubus
Here, I'm still at the point where I think that music with positive vibes can cure me. One of my coworkers has generally asked me a repeated question that I explained to he or she (probably a she) at least twelve times before. Perhaps my GChat isn't working so I can't communicate with Ron Von Don and Dana Complaina. Most mornings bring some bad news though...Hillary Clinton still allowed in public without a muzzle, the Red Sox signing an obese Bartolo Colon, the Celtics signing an alien looking Sam Cassell, or me getting poked inappropriately by one of K-Rock's idiot PSU friends on facebook. Oh well, maybe things are looking up.

DEFCON 4 - TOOL/Smashing Pumpkins
I've passed the point where music can positively effect me. I'm at the stage where I need to tap my feet to the beat of a song or else my foot is going into the back of someone's head when they are stupidly staring at their computer without being able to comprehend the work in front of them. The general creepiness of Maynard J Keenan and Billy Corgan amuse me to the point where I (unfortunately) probably still seem approachable to people at the office. I guess subconsciously I'm listening to 7th grade rock because I had no responsibility then, and wish it was the same now. Someone please stab me with a letter opener.

DEFCON 3 - Iron Maiden
More than likely, sweat is beading up on my forehead because I've realized that I have at least six more hours of this douchebaggery to deal with. It's two hours into the work day and the best conversation my cube mates can come up with is to discuss the congestion on Rtes 128 and 90 that morning. People should only be allowed to complain about things that they can't control...like "Wow, that Condi Rice still won't give me the time of day, even with the naked pictures I sent her,"... perfectly acceptable. But choosing to live 40 miles away from your office and complaining that it took you two hours to get to work will henceforth be met with a very, very dirty look from two angry eyes in my bald head. I find that "Number of the Beast" gets me through the 10am hour fairly well due to the fact that I can pretend I'm playing Guitar Hero.

DEFCON 2 - Kelly Clarkson
All I want is to be left alone. I can see lunch coming, but I know my phone is going to ring and that stupid Outlook email preview window is going to pop up at least twice before I can feed. Miss Independent is my only hope at this point. The topic of conversation has moved from traffic to the weather now. Everyone has also mentioned at least twice that they have headaches and are really tired. Hearing KC's voice and picturing her hazel eyes is my only hope to make it to lunch without committing a homicide.

DEFCON 1 - Daughtry
I get back from lunch and find out that no one has quit, my phone has voicemails and my computer still works. Power buttrock ballads are my only hope for 3 more hours of work. This music really gives me a chance to meditate on the real struggles of other middle class catholic straight caucasians. Maybe I don't have it so bad. After all, I could be a high school Latin teacher.

Cheers,
William Perry

R Von D Vs. The Norovirus

On Wednesday of this week I, out of the goodness of my heart, decided to take one of my students to go see his brother (a former student of mine) play in a minor league hockey game. During the car ride my current student, we'll call him Kyle, and I were shooting the shit. He was telling me how excited he was to see his brother play and how he had just gotten over a terrible stomach virus that had him throwing up for the past two days. I then, in an almost insanely foreboding tone, told him that if he had an immune system like mine, he would not have to worry about such things. You see the ironic twist that is coming? Let me tell you about the game first:

To be honest, the game itself was not the most interesting part of the evening. But let me tell you this. If I were in charge of the Bridgeport Sound Tigers, I would have shot all of my full-time employees at the end of this contest. Here are some highlights.

-During the first intermission, some tarted up little wannabe on-air whore came out of the tunnel with a bunch of little kids. To the crowd, she announces that these kids are going to be playing musical chairs the grand prize of which will be a t-shirt. Mind you these children are going to be running around and pushing each other on a near frictionless surface with no safety equipment. I'd fee bad, but all of these kids were from either Long Island or Bridgeport, CT, so if any of them cracked their heads open I really wouldn't have cared, but what if there were a well-adjusted kid out there by accident? Cover your bases.

-In an even more inexplicable lack of safety precautions, the second period saw both an old lady AND a developmentally disabled lad who were sitting next to each other in the handicap section BOTH get struck with pucks flying into the stands. Both of these literally happened within five minutes of each other. First the old lady took one off the dome, then the poor kid sitting next to her got vulcanized rubber right off the jaw. The elderly and the mentally handicapped do not ask for much. All they need are shiny things, some Play-dough, maybe the occasional puppet show, and to be sat behind the tall glass at a hockey game. Not too much to ask.

So the game ends and Kyle and I leave the wretched crowd amidst the throng of ugly people, fat people, and ugly fat people from Long Island and make our way home. Before we got back to school though, we made a stop at a local fast food establishment for some comfort food. Kyle told me he hadn't eaten in a couple days so he was psyched to eat something. We exited with our value meals and took the show on the road. Along the way, as we were talking, I made a grab for a soda, took a sip, and a feeling of dread hit me. I had taken a sip out of Kyle's soda. I was more worried that he would notice than whether or not I was going to get sick because come on, I'm the D...and the D never gets sick.

Around 3:30 AM on Thursday though, I woke up with what I thought was a back spasm. The ache in my back was almost unbearable, so I rolled out of bed to stand up and stretch. As I arched my back while standing, it hit me. The wave of nausea was so great that I had no choice but to sprint to my bathroom. I made the fifteen foot journey in about three steps. You might not know it to look at me, but when I need to I have the agility of a fucking puma, for God himself blessed me with the sweet-feet. So there I am puking in my bathroom for a solid forty five minutes. I had not thrown up due to an illness in a ridiculous stretch of time, over ten years at least. Needless to say I did not handle it well at all. You ever watch that show "Celebrity Rehab" when Jeff Conway was puking into his trashcan? If not, I probably sounded and looked a lot like this (the fist part not the second part):


So when I got done doing that, I eventually found some way to fall back asleep for like an hour at a time before having to get up again. This went on for the entirety of the next day. I did manage, however, to get out of the house to pick up a few things at the local apothecary. Here are the list of items I picked up:

-NyQuil
-Orange Juice
-Pepto Bismol
-Baby Wipes
-New York Magazine (Lindsay Lohan cover)
-Sour Apple Altoids
-Tylenol PM

From the looks of my basket, and the way I must have looked for that matter, you would have thought my name was Ricky and I drove a windowless van around the suburbs but I was way too sick to care what anybody thought.

So the rest of that day was spent whacked out on drugs and drinking as much fluids as I could. While I was awake though I did manage to take some hot showers. Interestingly enough, I managed to throw up on myself while in the shower once. I thought I was just gonna make a little burp having just drank some warm ginger ale, but it was not to be. There are very few things worse than cleaning puke off of yourself, and one of those I'll mention later.

So after the first day I was feeling a little better. My stomach was feeling a bit better and I was not as nauseous, but I still didn't feel right. As it turns out, my dear reader, the norovirus, or GI Bug as it is more commonly known, is a fickle bride, and once she is tired of spewing from one orifice, she then favors the other. So, day two of my illness was nothing but photo-finishes and fear. Why fear? You try and spend an entire day of your life scared of your own farts. The mystical things that used to bring me so much joy in life suddenly turned on me. What if you had a dog from when you were very small until now? What if you raised that dog, had wonderful times with it, and raised it to be your best friend? Then one day, as you were both older, that sweet puppy tried to rip your throat out? That was the second day of my illness. I was scared for my life. The one thing I could always count on to make me smile, my own flatulence, had turned on me. And that, my dear reader, is no way to live. Luckily for me, and unluckily for people like Michael Vick and Bad Newz Kennelz, they make medicine for my predicament, and it is called Immodium.

Why am I telling you all of this? What greater good does this serve? Many will say none. Some will say it made them smile. Few will say it reminds them to keep a bottle of purell in their house and to stay away from germ-infested scumbags like teen-aged boys. They are the source of all that is wrong in this world and it is times like this that I revel in the fact that I only have two months left at my post at Fort Scum. Oh, and here is a little something that Gregoire sent to me after I told him of my plight:


See you in hell, my friend
-R Von Diz

The Revue's Hatred for K-Rock

As you may know, myself and Ron Von Don (right and left in photo above) are really the bread and butter of the Pen15 blog. My younger brother, K-Rock, on occasion has contributed. We have felt compelled to allow his writings to let our readership see a younger, less-mature point of view, and also so he won't smother me with a pillow in my sleep. RvD and I have decided today to let our true feelings towards this fat idiot fly.

We leave you for the weekend with a laundry list of reasons we dislike the aforementioned K-Rock.

1. Watches the Music Choice channel (just audio, no videos) for hours on end. Has slowly started to memorize the "fun facts" about people like T-Pain, Young Chris, Young Joc, and Young Jeezy that their own families are not aware of.
2. Cannot keep his eyes open once he passes the 20 beer threshold, but is still conscious and willing to outdrink you.
3. Hates R von D for no reason other than he is smarter and more well-refined.
4. Sits down whilst playing Guitar Hero.
5. Has a tendency for vomiting off of the back deck at our parents' house in the middle of dinner.
6. Can manage to dip while passed out.
7. Is not attracted to women.
8. Did not appreciate sexual advances from Dana Complaina (see No. 7)
9. Is a walking contradiction insofar as he will be a law enforcement agent in the next 12 months.
10. Is attracted to Scorpion Drink.
11. Thought Jar Jar Binks was a "dynamite addition" to the Star Wars franchise.
12. Voted for Ron Paul.
13. Is a Communist (see No. 12)
14. Refuses to run during softball games.
15. Does not adequately track fly balls (see No 14.)
16. Refers to Vincent Chase as "my favorite character on that show."
17. Will be armed with a government issued weapon within the next 12 months (see No. 9)
18. Uses all the hot water at our parents' house without concern for others' desire to not freeze in the shower.
19. Sucks at karaoke really really bad.
20. Once bought us Budweiser Energy drinks.

Thank you for your time,
Los Hermanos Miserables

Dana Complaina's Office Space

She has been mentioned countless times before. Her story is one of griping, bitching, frustration, and the occasional drinking binge. The Pen15 Club is honored to introduce Dana Complaina to the Pen15 Club. And without further adieu...


I never thought at 24 I would be wasting away in a cubicle, staring at a computer screen, worried about whether of not to put a cover page on a client's status report or that my Swingline Stapler was out of SF 400 Premium Staples (not to be confused with the SF 500 which can cause quite the problem - Stapler jams can really bring your day down). But here I am. As a close personal friend of our usual authors, a huge admirer of MKenn, and an avid reader of the Pen15 Blog, I decided it was time to pen my own words of wisdom on the workplace or as my so called friends say complain about all the shit I deal with on a daily basis. So here they are, my Top Five Office Gripes:

Gripe Numer One Co-worker: "Did you get my email?"
Obviously I got your email. We all have our Outlook's open 8 full hours a day. You're office is directly next to mine. You can see me staring at my emails. I even get a little reminder in the lower righthand corner of my computer screen while I'm watching YouTube videos or reading the latest Britney gossip. I got your email and I'm ignoring you. Deal with it.

Gripe Number Two
"Why are you CC'ing me on emails that have nothing to do with me?"
Fans of the brillant comedy "The Office" may find this familiar. Scene: Jim Halpert immitating Fatty Stanley. While I'm a huge Jim fan, I gotta side with Stanley on this one. I don't care that you have to reschedule an interview with a client because your son/daughter/husband/wife/dog/cat/lizard is sick and you need to tend to them. I already receive hundreds of emails a day asking if I'd l ike to enlarge my non-exisstent penis I don't need to hear about what troubles you've got going on. Keep your personal life out of my Outlook.
Gripe Number Three
Sharing an Office
Now I admit this is selfish, but what the f. There's 18 actual bodies in my office. There are 25 actual offices. I didn't take math in college, but i'm pretty sure there's enough space to go around. But myself and my title counterpart (Account Coordinator Number 2) are forced to cram ourselves into one interior office, the only one without a window, divided by the oh-so lovely cubicle divider. Is this absolutely necessary? You already pay me shit for money. I'm essentially your bitch. Would it be so terrible to give me a little space to spread my wings? How about a window so I could see the sun every once in a while? Maybe my own door to close? Just sayin....

Gripe Number Four "Can you cover the phone while I take a 2 hour lunch?" -Receptionist
Um, no. I went to college for four years so that I wouldn't have to spend my days answering phones dear. If I wanted to be a professional receptionist I sure as hell wouldn't have spent $160,000 on an education. I would have gone straight from high school to Gold's Gym and answered phones there. At least I could have gotten a free gym membership out of it and spent my days scouting the talent that walked in the door. God.

Gripe Number Five
"[Insert co-worker name here] will be working from home today."
I don't know about you but I get at least one of these a week for various "reasons" most commonly "We're having baby-sitter problems," or "There's a school delay." Here's the thing, we all know you're lying. You're not working. No one actually gets shit done when they "work from home." We all know you're sitting on your ass watching Tyra and Maury while we pick up the slack for you. And sure, it may seem like a good idea to "check in" on your email, send a few out every few hours, but come on. Don't try to play me. Just say you're dicking around all day. I won't tell and you'll still make 3 times as much as I'll make today while I do my work and yours. K thanks.

Words to end with, "Right now this is just a job. If I advance any higher in this company, then this would be my career. And well, if this were my career I'd have to throw myself in front of a train."


xoxo,
Dana Complaina (Cube Monkey)

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The Abridged Encyclopedia of Hate

-Guys who wear rings-
For my money, there is nothing creepier than a dude with excessive amounts of jewelry on their hands or anywhere else for that matter. What's the point? Moreover, do these men have boxes for this jewelry that perhaps features a spinning ballerina? My point is this: Never trust a man who wears rings. Chances are if you are a man with hand jewelry, you are either the effeminate weirdo who lurks at either the end of the bar or in the shadows in a Sam's Club parking lot...weirdo

-Guidos-
Not to beat a dead horse, but a lot of these 'roided out shitbags typically wear rings...just sayin'. Also, what is the fascination with showing your abs in public and making that half-pucker face that you grease-balls always make in the pictures you take of yourself in a bathroom with your really sweet sidekick. Being a descendant of Irishman, I think it is simply in my blood to despise Italy. Being a Latin teacher, this does prove to be quite a challenge at times, but you can bet your baklava that these gelled-up, bronzed idiots will always and forever be a staple on lists like this.

-Skinny Black Guys and Fat White Women-
Now say what you want about the Pen15 Club, but one thing we never are is racist, and I'm not about to start now. What I'm talking about here is a sociological thing here. What is the appeal between these two, seemingly poler opposite groups of people. I find it a little fascinating and a lot gross. Having studied a great deal of Eastern philosophy, I am aware of the duality of nature and the yin and yang of the universe. I am also aware that for every right there is a wrong, and for every day there is a night, but let us not forget that more often than not, these things don't typically go together (with the obvious exception being Hoodsy Cups, which I feel we all agree are the greatest things on Earth). Even so, I hope the glaring dichotomy I see on a daily basis on the Maury Povich Show is worth my scorn. I just have a hard time believing that ALL little skinny black guys are THAT into ass. It's just not possible.

-Good-looking women with fat, ugly friends -
Nothing upsets a man more than a CBFSK (Cock-Blockin'-Fatt-Side-Kick). This is the "we came together, we're leaving together" girl who makes it nearly impossible to approach attractive women. Here is what I generally feel about people. Not everybody is born to be attractive, that's just the way it is. I rate myself about a 6.5-7.0 on most days. But I bring other things to the table that seemingly make me worth a drink. Now, if you're going to be ugly, at least be easy to deal with. It's not my fault that you look like a foot, and I know how angry you must be at your parents for having shit genes. However, if you choose to hang out with pretty, interesting people at least be pleasant, you pig.

-The Writers' Strike-
Bring my programs back, you bunch of fucking babies. I don't ask for a lot in life. I need my anti-psychotic meds to keep from killing all of you, I need video games to keep me occupied, and every once and a while I require some sort of cheap whiskey and a bottle of store-brand ginger ale. All I ask in return is to be able to watch The Office on Thursday nights at 9pm. Not too much to ask is it? You're writers, and not to toot my own horn, but you're not that goddamn important. Just a point of fact, Kathy Griffin is your biggest supporter. That's how important you are. Kathy FUCKING Griffin. Nobody else came to your rescue ya bunch of c*nts. Pull up your skirts, act like you got a pair and shut the fuck up.

-People Who Make Fun of My Shoes-
While most of you look on my shoes to be nothing more than flashy colors and whatnot, I will remind you that both Bathing Apes and Ice Cream shoes are at the forefront of street fashion. Look it up you uneducated bastards. And yes, that goes for you Fridge and K-Rock. The minute over sized football jerseys, mesh shorts, and sweatpants are all the rage in Tokyo and New York you can let me know, dicks.

-Teenaged Boys-
For my money, there is not a more misinformed and unpleasant demographic on this Earth than the male aged 14-18. Nothing but sarcasm, and an utter lack of hygiene comes from these people. I know because I work with them. Granted, all you have to do is tell them to do push ups if they anger you, but I of course never do the bare minimum. If you have a younger brother or know somebody with teen aged sons, take a moment to criticize everything this boy does. Make him feel like the piece of crap that he is and try to take him down a peg. After all, these are the future leaders of the free world, and they need to be put in their place while we can. Not only that, but I feel that laps should be instituted into the American Justice System. Make inmates take laps for whatever crime they committed. Five hours of lap time is far worse than three seconds in an electric chair as far as I'm concerned.

-HJs-
Ladies, it's time to give it up. For one, we are not in Jr. High School anymore and the appeal has seriously worn off. That's not fun for us. Secondly, I have and will always do it better than you and you need to get more creative as we get on in years. Grow up. As our one lady-friend the C always says, "A hand job is a man's job, a blow job is yo' job." And that's coming from a girl...so put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Now I want to end this on a positive note, so here are a couple things that I like:

Cranky, Old People
Nothing makes me happier than to sit at a table and listen to an old person gripe about something . I find the elderly to have a great sense of anything and everything that pisses them off. I also enjoy the fact that they, like my grandmother, feel that they no longer have to be nice to anybody. I've mentioned this before, and I will echo again that I simply cannot wait to be the old guy who nobody likes in the neighborhood who shoots bee bees at kids who are trying to get their frisbees out of his back yard. That's going to be awesome.

Saving Silverman
While I consider myself to be a bit of a film buff, I can say without a shadow of a doubt that this is the greatest Sunday afternoon movie ever created. I would bet money that this movie was made with the intention of being aired on Comedy Central between the hours of 1:00 and 6:00 pm on the Lord's day of rest. This movie is awesome, and if you don't think so, I am going to enter your name in both McCarthy's list of suspected communists and the Mitchell Report.


Wii
I have been playing video games for a very long time. Over twenty years if you can believe that. And while I was stand-offish at first about the design of Nintendo's latest console, I can tell you that I have never had more fun than when I won my first game of Wii golf. It was amazing. I actually holed in a second shot on a par 4 on my second time playing. This machine has opened doors for me and has taken another great step towards things like fully simulated games and more importantly, fully simulated porn. You all laugh at me now, but the second that shit comes out, you're going to thank machines like Wii and companies like Nintendo for thinking outside the box. Get your fat ass kids off the couch when they play games. Everybody wins. You get your kid off the couch, and he doesn't have to shower or go outside.



Hatefully Yours,
R Von D

Guidelines For Any Professional Man of Leisure

As permanent fixtures of the bar scene, we at the Pen 15 Club fancy ourselves Godfathers of all things leisurely. From our collective intellect, to our high daily caloric intake, to the amount of men's magazines read on the john, we are unmatched in nearly every arena. And so, we wish to impart upon you people a few guidelines for any man looking to become a professional man of leisure.


- If you are going to make less money than your female spouse, only these positions are acceptable: Teacher, video game tester, bartender, police officer.

- If you have a hi-definition television, you are obligated to host Sunday afternoon/evening get-togethers for sporting events.

- Disney movies, romantic comedies, and "The Notebook" are only acceptable for viewing if coitus is provided after said movie.

- It is socially acceptable to pop cedar when making out with or slow dancing with a young woman.

- Misogynistic jokes and jokes about handicapped people are always socially acceptable.

- It is a social faux pas for a group of men to get together for a soccer game.

- Whether in billiards, darts, video games, or wiffle ball; winner stays, loser pays.

- When seated at a table for dinner, it is customary to ask people to pass condiments...unless that condiment is Frank's Red Hot. In the case of Franks, one must simply grunt, reach across the table, and use half the bottle for a single chicken breast.

- When watching Caddyshack, it is polite to quote as much of the movie aloud as possible whether in mixed company or alone.

- When one gentleman buys another a 7+7, he expects one in return.

- When one gentleman buys a group of gentlemen a pitcher of Scorpion Drink, he expects some suckling assistance on the other straws.

- When one gentleman uses a public rest facility, he is expected to double flush to prevent staining of the bowl.

- You are also obligated to leave a space of one urinal between men. If there isn't a space, you use the stall, if the stall is in use, you wait.

- It is perfectly acceptable in a social setting to eat a chicken wing in a single bite.

- The video game "Guitar Hero" must be played standing up, no exceptions.

R Von D's Internet Videos of the Week: Vol. 1

As I have been dubbed by K-Rock and Fridge as the undisputed "King of the Internet," it is my duty to bring to you various and awesome internet videos for your viewing pleasure. As I am funnier, thinner, less angry, and significantly shorter than Patrice O'Neil, I feel as though I am the authority on internet humor. Away we go:

1. Death Metal Alf

This video combines two things that I love more than anything in the world: Alf and Heavy Metal. No internet videos encapsulate who I am as a person better than this:




2. The Trailer For "Strange Wilderness"

Say what you want about the state of Hollywood movies. But, any movie combining Kevin Hefferenan (Farva from 'Super Troopers'), Steve Zahn (Cowboy Wayne from 'Saving Silverman'), Jonah Hill (the fat kid from 'Superbad'), the guy from Grandma's boy, and the guy from the Mac commercials, you got yourself a winner. Seriously, this is like my comedy Justice League. Also, if you don't laugh at the part with the buck-toothed shark at the end, you're not a human being. You're a son of a bitch communist.




3. Australian kid throws party, 500 people show up, cause $20,000 worth of damage, kid refuses to take his sunglasses off.

That pretty much sums it up. There is nothing about this kid that isn't awesome, except for maybe his nipple ring and the fact that he's from a continent that was founded as a British convict colony. Other than that though, I want to hang out with this kid.



4. T.O. Is A Crybaby Bitch

Why are you crying about Tony Romo? For one, he sucks. Two, Jessica Simpson's career and saggy boobs suck. Her dad sold out Romo and pimped out his daughter to the paparazzi. And yet, T.O. (not to be outdone), has to put on the waterworks during a press conference to show the world that he's an attention whore who cannot bear to not have the cameras on him. Enjoy the extra month off-season you miserable C. We all know your "quawtabag" will nailing yesterday's news. That doesn't sound to "unfurr" now does it T.O.?



5. Swing Backflip Goes Wrong.

YES!!


Swing Backflip Goes Bad - Watch more free videos


I hope you enjoy these and there will be more of these to come in the future.

- R Von D