You Suck Bliss

Dear Blog, So sorry I haven't written to you for so long -- I've been busy creating cartoons for The New Yorker and my syndicate. No...Bliss, stop! That's just an excuse and forgive me, Blog for treating you like all my previous blogs. They were whores, all of them, yet there is another blog and it pain me to tell you this, but it's all I can do, ya know? I have to be honest with you and, well, I'm cheating on you. Wait! Don't flip the fuck out! This other blog means nothing to me, you have to believe me, it's just the sex -- jesus, sorry...that came out all wrong.

Look, haven't you ever considered the concept of another blog? Somewhere you can go to get what we cannot give one another? No, well...you're retarded, because all the other friends I know who I've discussed this with...what?! Do not look at me like that. You stare and judge me? Who the fuck do you think you are? Like you've never thought about it! Please, you don't fool me you bitch! I fucking hate you! Get out of my screen! And don't even think about fucking with me by sending me a virus -- that would be something you would do, right? You and your vindictive sense of infidelity...you make me sick.

Wow, I'm drunk...

Fuck off! Sorry, feeling a bit misanthropic today...

Today, I planted veggies in my raised bed garden in my backyard -- tomatoes, spinach, kale, peppers, beets, cucumbers, basil, corn, and corn -- the corn wasn't my idea. I usually have an ice rink in my backyard in the winter, but with the climate getting warmer, global warming, you know, I figured to screw the rink and just plant my own food. Kinda proud too because I used all leftover crap from my garage to build the damn thing. I imagine, if things go well I'll have a bunch of organic veggies to eat by July. I put up some chicken wire too to keep those rabbits away. I like rabbits -- all animals, but they like spinach/lettuce and well, that's a problem. Last week there was a fox in my backyard -- not much to be done about that...sad too, because the damn thing looked like it had been through hell, all beat to shit like it had been in a brawl with a bear. I have to go now because the Blackhawks and Sharks game is on...

I cannot believe that there is that much oil in the ocean and it's not a top priority for the administration -- so nuts and depressing.

The Unbearable Lightness of Being An Idiot

If there 's anything I've learned over the years, it's this: Work hard, be nice, and covet the ridiculous. I'm an idiot, at least that's what some of my friends would say -- not to be mean, but just as a matter of fact, an affable trait they find endearing. I'm okay with this, really, I am. In fact, I'm more than okay with being an 'idiot.' You see, I'm actually a genius.

I'm sitting her watching a hockey game, pretending to listen to my ten-year-old, writing a blog, breathing, drinking a beer, eating chips with salsa, sneezing and making decisions about my day tomorrow, like, will I sleep past noon or not? I'm doing all these things at once and I'm sorry, but that's genius.

Earlier today I finished two hilarious cartoons which I'm certain The New Yorker will buy next week. How do I know they're hilarious? I'm a genius. You gotta believe me on this one, it's arrogant I know, but how do you explain all the amazing things I've done and continue to do or won't continue to do? What I just wrote makes no sense and only a genius would know this. God! C'mon, you have to see the tr-wait, Roni Deutch is on TV. See? Are you still reading this? If you are, I'm sorry. I have no clue what the fuck is going on right now. Seriously, I'm like a pathetic slug glued to the couch in front of two screens, a raging kid, puppy, and two different socks on. Go, do something else. I'm in love with you. See? That's funny! It's ridiculous and that's why I'm God. Wait, no, that's not right, I me-damn, Roni Deutch is hot for a tax attorney. Can you send me all your money? Just consider it, will you? I have to go now for no reason at all and really, I'm sorry for writing this and wasting your time, but just think about the money thing. Okay, I'm outta here.

Back Pain Cure

If there's one thing I know a lot about, it's back pain and I'm here today to tell you all I have a cure! That's right, after years of suffering, I've managed, with the help of an old and dear friend at The University of Rochester, to navigate my pain to the land of euphoria. I've tried many remedies: deep tissue massage, yoga, anal sex -- you name it, I've tried it and with little to no success...that is, until now.

Three days ago I woke before dawn with lower back pain so brutal, I nearly threw up on my dog's face (she sleeps really close to my face -- not sure why). From my bed I called my best friend, Dr. Johnny Lyndren at the University of Rochester. Dr. Johnny has been a lower lumbar spinal specialist for over twenty years and has slept with at least two of my old girlfriends, but he really is a great guy. I told Dr. Johnny of my condition. He listened and empathized for four whole minutes before asking for the number for my local pharmacy. Johnny called in a prescription for some pain medication called Vicodin. Now, I don't know much about drugs or medications, but this stuff really works, especially with a highball, no kidding. For some weird reason, the combination of the alcohol and the pain medication seemed to really do the trick.

Now, I know it's only been three days and who knows how long this Vicodin stuff will be around (you never know with that damn FDA screwing around with everything -- I'm convinced they killed Michael Jackson), so go to www.doctorswithoutethicsorboarders.com and stock up while supplies last.

If anyone out there has back pain, your suffering is over. Just get some of this Vicodin (750 ml) and I promise, you will feel better and you'll have your life back.

H

Why Hockey Matters

If you've never played hockey, you can't participate in this blog post, so just stop reading and do something else...

Okay, all you hockey players out there! Nice to be here with you all and bear with me as I know I'm preaching to the choir when I talk of the often misunderstood sublime intelligence the game of hockey requ-What are you doing here?! I thought I told you non-hockey players to get the hell out of here?! Do not make get Broad Street Bully on your ass! Get out!

Jesus, what the fuck, right? The nerve...

Where was I? Oh, yes...the greatest game ever in the whole universe. Most idiots who can't appreciate the skill, speed and psychology of the game usually have one complaint and that's that they can't follow it, that is the puck and thus, the game itself. The reason for this is simple: God hates people who can't play hockey. It's that simple. It's actually in the Bible, you just have to look for the specific passage where it clearly states "...and on the five-hundreth day God said 'I fucking hate you all, you suck at hockey -- get out!'

Let's move our heads from the clouds and get empirical for a moment. Plato had a theory, the silly bastard had, in fact, many theories, yet, how Plato's theories mesh with or, in layman's terms, have sex with hockey, may surprise many of you. You see, Plato played hockey and he knew that to truly understand the idea of the form (hockey puck), one must have a decent transition game, and without a clear understanding of an 'off-sides' call or a 'hand pass' one needs to grasp the for-

What the fuck are you doing back here? I'm serious, this is bull shit. You know what? Forget it, I'm kicking your ass...