Well, at least I think I’m funny.

Ever had one of those days when everything is pretty normal? Some stuff makes you mad, other stuff makes you happy, but in general you know when you look back on your life you know you won’t remember it. You won’t remember it because you didn’t have a big fight or meet your future spouse or win an award or see someone tap-dancing naked on the eiffel tower or run into Jesus or the Tiny Skateboarding Monkey or Jesus AND the Tiny Skateboarding Monkey in a Skate-or-Die for original NES tournament.

That has been my day today.

But then iTunes did something it does only once in-a-rare-enough-while where it plays a bunch of great songs in a row. The streak doesn’t seem to stop. It just keeps going. It picks exactly what you need to hear, what you want to hear, what you haven’t heard in a while, what you’ve been missing musically. I love it.

Anyway, here’s what it played for me (in order of most recent to least recent):

• Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious - Harry Connick Jr., Songs I Heard
• You And I Both - Jason Mraz, Waiting For My Rocket To Come
• Gravity - John Mayer, Continuum
• Uquinsil’ Ubada - Ladysmith Black Mambazo, Raise Your Spirit Higher
• You Don’t Know What Love Is (alternate take 16) - Bill Evans & Tony Bennett, Together Again (Remastered)
• Hip Funk - Grant Green, Complete Quartets With Sonny Clark (Disc 2),
• Straight, No Chaser - Quincy Jones and His Orchestra, Quintessence
• Off the Top (Gravity Wheel) - Bela Fleck and The Flecktones, Little Worlds (Disc 1)

My Thanksgiving break was pretty darn good. Lots of food, some hanging out with old friends, spending a week with the fam, and offending minorities. Yes, apparently I’m racist.

Those of you that know me know that I am not a racist. However, you also know I often times take delight in being disagreeable just because I think it’s funny. One of my common practices is to take something I know someone to like or have some allegiance to and automatically declare that I hate it or that there’s something wrong with it. In practice this often turns out to be hilarious and entertaining to everyone around me and good times are had by all and everyone likes me and we all become the best of friends and I end up making out with a hot girl. Alright fine, so a lot of people think I’m an asshole, but I’m not - alright I sort of am, but for the sake of humor, not because I actually dislike people…most people…some people…anyway.

A girl I used to work with came into the club I was at with Erik and introduced me to her friend. At this point in the night I was fairly far along on my goal of filling up the dishwashers of the local bars so I don’t remember how or why it came up, but I don’t remember asking or mentioning it. Moreso, I think it was just stated to me - “This is my friend, her husband is Puerto Rican.”

If you’ll refer back a paragraph or two, you probably won’t be surprised to learn that my response was “I hate Puerto Ricans,” followed by crossing my arms and shaking my head in an obviously fake sternness.

Well, that was it. The next thing I know the girl storms off and my ECW comes over and tells me I’ve greatly insulted her and her husband. “What?” I said.

“You said you hated Puerto Ricans. You should apologize.” she replied.

“I’m not apologizing because your friends have no sense of humor,” I responded.

I realize it’s not funny to say you hate someone. Actually that’s not true, I don’t realize why you wouldn’t find that funny. I tell my friends I hate them all the time. In fact, if you cruise over to Erik’s blog, you’ll find derogative comments on pratically every post. Don’t even get me started on Jay. Anyway, the conversation continued…

“Andy, they have gone through a lot of crap being an inter-racial couple in central Pennsylvania. It’s hard for them.”

“Okay.”

“So are you going to apologize?”

“No.”

ECW returned to her position at the bar next to her friend (which, by the way, was only about 15 feet from where myself and Erik stood). Now, maybe I was being a bit insensitive, and maybe Erik was too (he was standing next to me during all of this and overheard everything), but we started to come up with all kinds of ways I could “apologize.” And they were hilarious. And we thought so. And so we began just cracking up:

“I’m really sorry…sorry you’re Puerto Rican! Because I hate Puerto Ricans! As I said earlier.”

“I’m really sorry…that you’re a whiny little girl.”

“I’m really sorry that you married this awful biatch of a woman.”

(in a sensitive tone) “Look, I wanted to come over and apologize. I don’t hate Puerto Ricans. I just hate you. And your wife….you’re both very, very ugly. So if you have some attractive relatives, don’t think I hate them. I misspoke and I feel terrible.”

This must’ve looked pretty bad to the offended seeing as how after anytime we were approached by one of their party, Erik and I burst into uncontrollable laughter just seconds after they resumed their seats.

Anyway, Erik and I had pretty much moved on and our friend who manages the place came over and said “Andy, what did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“He says you called him a ‘dirty spic.’”

Erik and Andy commence laughing hysterically.

“All I said was that I hate Puerto Rican people.” I then found using this as a defense to being accused of calling someone a ‘dirty spic’ hilarious for obvious reasons. I then explained to my buddy how it all went down and he said something to the effect of “I knew you wouldn’t say that and I told him that.”

After a little while I noticed my bladder was full of urine. I decided I’d go to the bathroom since that’s typically the remedy for such a dilemma. After I took care of business I walked to the sink. Looking to my left, I noticed my buddy talking to the enraged Puerto Rican guy. At this point I felt bad. Not for saying I hate Puerto Ricans. But for my friend (the bar guy) who had to deal with this whiny girl of a man. Having to put up with idiots gets old fast so as I approached the sink I look at the Puerto Rican guy and say: “Hey man, sorry about that, just jokin’ around.”

His response?

“I’M NOT EVEN FUCKIN’ TALKIN’ TO YOU RIGHT NOW!”

“Nice. Okay, see ya later.”

See? I tried to do right by him. He really is a whiny little girl. I needlessly apologize to this stupid jerk and he explodes and swears at me. If I would’ve been wearing a hat, I might’ve turned it sideways and said “THAT’S IT, YOU WANNA GO?! YOU WANNA GO RIGHT NOW?!” I might’ve thrown an “esse” in there somewhere to really get him riled up.

On my way out I stopped by the guy’s wife and ECW just down the bar from Erik.

“Hey, I just figured I’d apologize before this gets blown out of proportion. You see, I live in a Puerto Rican neighborhood in New York and I doubt I’d be able to set foot there if I actually hated them all. I was just joking around.”

Her response was a much nicer one and she was able to accept my apology, rather than swear at me. Though she ended her comment with something a little stupid, at least she tried to make a reasonable argument…she failed, but at least she tried.

“Thank you, I really appreciate that. It’s just that we’ve gone through lots of crap living in this area and being a mixed racial couple. You shouldn’t joke about stuff like that. How would you feel if my husband walked in here and called you a stupid white-cracker?”

“…Bad…?”

What I wanted to say was: “I would assume he was joking and would tell him that I hate Puerto Ricans. And if he seemed serious I’d write him off as a stupid asshole, and tell him I hate Puerto Ricans. Because I’m not a small girl…you know, like your husband Sally over there.”

(Me, needlessly apologizing…at least she was receptive)

Maybe I don’t understand this hyper-sensitive undying allegiance to a country you don’t live in just because your parents were born there. Or a country you left behind years ago. Or to the color of your skin. It could just be me. Does that make me racially intolerant? I hope not. I tend to get along with pretty much everyone as long as they’re not a stupid asshole - but whether or not you’re a stupid asshole has nothing to do with where your passport is issued and if I happen to think you’re one, I promise it’s not because your skin has a darker hue than my own. It’s because I just don’t like you as a person.

My hope is that in the future when people hear me say something like “I hate ____ ” they know I don’t actually hate it. It’s called sarcasm. I learned it from Roseanne Barr and the Golden Girls.

Thanksgiving has always been a great time of year for me.¹ The family gets together, friends come back home, and a general good time is had by all. Aside from the occassional boredom that sets in due to State College being a holiday ghost-town, I typically have a blast.

This year will only be slightly different as my only good friend to be cool enough to come back to town is Erik.² Yes I’ll be drinking $2 drinks in uncrowded, smoke-filled bars, populated by townies come home to devour turkey and hangout with each other; one of the few times of the year the crews get back together to see how everyone is doing and say hello to the people from high school they never really talked to and then walk away saying “that guy is pretty cool afterall.”

I also have a huge reason to be thankful this year. My apartment search yielded a cool apartment containing some cool roommates in a cool area of town for a cool amount of money…is it just me or is it getting chilly in here?

Yes, my roach-infested kitchen and rain-soaked room heed way to a waterproof apartment and pest-free cookery. It’ll also be nice that my euro-trash afflicted-I’m-cool-with-it-so-you-should-be-cool-with-it overly-sensitive passive-agressive pot-smoking non-dish-drainer-emptying hippy-roommate will not only no longer annoy me, but she’s moving to Japan to boot!³ And her lame, easily-confused over-protective possibly-female over-every-night boyfriend won’t be around anymore either⁴. So a shoutout thanks to the new roommies (who could possibly be reading this right now if they googled me during the roommate search process), you’ve already improved my life.

So I hope that all of you have a great Thanksgiving too. Go home and get stuffed on stuffing and other Thanksgiving foodstuffs. Take your triptifan-induced naps and burn your eyes out with hours of football all the while enjoying “pass the gravy” and “nice to see you agains” and the “remember when…”’s and all the other great things that come along with killing an overweight bird, cramming celery and stale bread up its ass and toasting to the year’s successes. Happy Thanksgiving to one and all.

¹Stuff it Jader!
²Stuff it Nolan, Gavin, JB, and Franklin!
³Stuff it old roommate and stuff it Japan! (oooh! The double-stuff!)
⁴Stuff it, jerk!

What happens when Chuck E. Cheese gets in trouble? Does his mom scream:

“CHARLES CHEESE YOU GET DOWN HERE RIGHT THIS INSTANT!!!!!” up the staircase?

Probably.

Franklin: You know Indiana, I’m having a really great time flying with you.

Harrison Ford: Thanks, but my name is–

Franklin: And I love your work. Say! Did anyone ever tell you you look just like Han Solo?

Harrison Ford: *exasperated sigh*

As I was checking my Yahoo! mail today I saw the above advertisement in my inbox

Naturally my first idea of emailing a jerk chicken was that Yahoo! had somehow acquired a particularly rude fowl and were trying to teach it simple internet functions and typing skills. “Amazing!” I thought to myself, “that has got to be one smart bird!” Then I wondered what people would write to a Jerk Chicken, and what exactly a chicken could do that it would be qualified as a jerk?

Look at him. Thinks he’s so cool. What a jerk.

Does he sleep with the hens and not call them back? Does he eat all the corn? Peck at children? Oppress the gays and blacks? I can’t be entirely sure…but of course I can always venture a guess in the form of a preposterous scenario:

(Andy is walking down the street, minding his own business, on his way…somewhere…when all of a sudden he bumps into a chicken…)

Jerk Chicken: Baw-kawk!

Andy: Pardon me sir-chicken! I didn’t see you down there. I profusely apologize and hope you have a lovely day.

JC: Why am I here?

Andy: Jesus? Oh I see, there’s some confusion. You see, Jerk Chicken abbreviates to JC. Which happen to be your initials as well.

JC: Ah, I see. Well then, carry-on, I’ll just be on my merry way.

Jerk Chicken: Baw-kawk! Bawk bawk!

Andy: Sorry about that sir chicken. Anyway as I was saying, I’m very sorry, now if you’ll ex–

Jerk Chicken: Bawk bawk ba-kawk!

Andy: Well, that’s rude of you to say. And I’m neither gay, nor black! I merely bumped into you by accident. I didn’t mea-

Jerk Chicken: Ba-kawk! Bawk bawk bawk! bawk…….bawk bawk!

Andy: Sir, if you please! There’s no reason to bring mothers into this.

Jerk Chicken: Baawwwwwk! Bawk bawk ba-kawk!

Andy: Well screw you too you stupid bird! I have half a mind to-!

(Jerk Chicken begins pecking at Andy’s feet and legs, and doing that thing where chickens don’t really fly but they kind of try to, and it’s pecking at Andy all the while)

Andy: God! Stop! This doesn’t even hurt it’s just annoying! And you smell like a barn!

Jerk Chicken: *peck*peck*peck* BA-KAWK!

Andy: Ahhh!! This chicken is such a jerk! Someone get this maltempered roost-dweller offa me!

(Tiny Skate Boarding Monkey comes skating around the corner)

Andy: *gasp* TINY SKATEBOARDING MONKEY!

(…and gets hit by a car)

Andy: awwww. DAMN YOU JERK CHICKEN! YOU KILLED TINY SKATEBOARDING MONKEY!

Jerk Chicken: Ba. Kawk.

Andy: You don’t care? Well, one of these days Jerk Chicken, you will get yours…one of these days…

(flash into the future. Andy is at work checking his email when at least he sees an opportunity for revenge)

Andy: Email a Jerk Chicken! FINALLY!

Dear Jerk Chicken,

Remember when you killed the Tiny Skateboarding Monkey? That was terrible. He was only trying to help. Shame on you.

Love,

Andy

There, that’ll teach that bastard.

Yeah, that would teach that bastard. Stupid Jerk Chicken.

Hello readership. For those of you who are actually brave/bored enough to come back and read my blog, it’s time to update those blogrolls!

The new site? Why it’s quite simple:

andylykens.com

Now honestly, could that have been any easier?

I’m going to be working on classing up the whole joint - see if I can’t get the new crappy blogger-beta to import to Word Press - but in the meantime, switch those links!

The other day Erik and I were talking about how funny it would be if there was a pan-fluting championship. A pan-fluting championship that was reminiscent of the underground hip-hop scenes in 8-mile.

Guys with totally pimped out pan-flutes toot-toot-tooting their way to fame, glory, and bitches. And of course, the ultimate role model being Zamfir. I decided to use my below-average photo shopping skills to pimp out Zamfir. Peep it.

Oh Zamfir, you get all the bitches. Toot toot.

Today is voting day. People get up early or leave work early or go on their lunch break and go cast their votes for people that hold positions that don’t really matter to me, other than the fact that my taxes pay their salary and also for the programs they institute that will likely fail or have a very small impact on my everyday life.

But I shouldn’t say “I don’t vote” because it’s not entirely true. I do vote if I think there’s someone out there who deserves it. Someone who isn’t a complete jackass who’s just going to make things worse when they go into office. Someone who doesn’t spout mindless political garbage, answers questions directly, and does what they think is right, not what will get them more votes. Alright, maybe I should say I never vote.

Idiots really bother me. To me, most all politicians are complete idiots…or assholes…or just completely irresponsible. The main reason I can’t vote for these morons is because I think to myself “which person was this in high school?”, “do I think they’ve changed since then?”, and “Am I smarter than them?” I tend to have a high opinion of myself, at least when it comes to doing the right thing and being an overall decent human being - so they typically miss out the latter question. The two former are fairly inconsequential, because typically the answer is “that kid who wanted to be everyone’s friend so he bribed them with candy” and “no.”

And what’s up with the ads on TV? Honestly. Who bases their vote on seeing them? They’re all the same! They just slander the other candidate, or say they don’t slander the other candidate and do it anyway. I want to see a really funny political
ad. Maybe one with a poop joke. Or something like “don’t vote for X guy, he’s a nerd!” I don’t want someone who tiptoes around peoples feelings. Call babies ugly, tell people they’re fat, and for God’s sake outlaw reggaeton.

People that vote get to me too. Telling other people to go out and do their civic duty. Go to hell. I don’t want to have support someone because I hate them less. That’s like me giving you two choices at dinner, and forcing you to like one of them. And the choices are poop and vomit. Vote if you want, cast your worthless opinion, watch your elected official piss away your money on some programs that mean well, and then jack up their salaries and pensions and live in gorgeous apartments.

Chances are my biggest problem in politics is that I don’t know enough about it. I’m sure most of you think I’m some big dullard now who is uninformed. But why is it important for me to be informed about someone else’s opinion? I can see the importance of voting, but not in voting for a lesser of two evils, or between two people who are both going perform at the same amount of ineffectiveness.

Far be it from me to judge peoples’ parenting styles. I don’t have any kids (as far as I know) and I don’t really want any for at least a while, but it seems to me there are a lot of crappy parents in New York New Jersey and Brooklyn.

Now when I say “crappy parents” I don’t mean these are bad people. I mean they’re stupid people. And as we all know, stupid people shouldn’t be allowed to have kids.

You’re probably wondering why I’m on such a tirade about this today, and it’s because I spent a decent amount of time on the trains and subways this weekend. During the week its not so bad. I guess the kids are in school or something. But on the weekend, coming back to New York from Trenton on the train, if I see a lady with kids, I immediately try to find a car farthest from them.

Last night I get on the train and there is a lady and she’s got, I dunno, a couple kids. And I immediately thought “alright, I am not sitting on this car because as soon as the train starts to move and I close my eyes, those kids are going to begin shrieking.”

So I went one car down, took my seat, and waited for the train to depart. As the engine started tugging the cars down the track, sure enough I hear the kid immediately begin screaming at the top of his lungs - through my head phones, an entire car back. I’m glad to have learned my lesson not to sit in the same train car as misbehaved children and their parents who try and shut them up with soda, candy, or severe public beatings (I once saw a woman on the subway literally push her 3 year old son the face, slamming him into a subway chair, when he made too much noise).

Then on the subway after my train ride I’m happily riding home when we stop at 14th street and 3 “moms” come on, each with a kid - all rowdier than the last. These kids, who can’t be older than 3 or 4, have yo-yos. Now, in case you’re not familiar with a yo-yo, it is a plastic sphere split in the middle with string wrapped around. These kids had their yo-yo strings dragging all over the floor of the subway, and then were putting them in their mouths. Then they started hitting each other with the yo-yos and the moms just laughed and laughed. Then the moms took the yo-yos away to which the kids demanded “GIVE IT BACK!” and started to scream. Of course the moms complied and the kids continued to hit each other and make plenty of noise to disturb everyone on the train.

Yeesh. These “moms” were maybe 22 years old. MAYBE. They were definitely younger than me. I can’t imagine having kids now, not to mention 4 years ago. Anyway, nice job moms. I’m sure your kids won’t grow up to be whiny, spoiled jerks.

What’s the point of this post? I don’t know. I hope I don’t become a terrible parent someday…of course, I will probably be 30 before I even have a kid so I won’t have to worry about Math homework or catching Maury Povich on the TV in the process. That’ll allow me to concentrate more on listening to reggaeton at obnoxious volumes parenting.