In refreshing contrast to I-95, Route 17 through the South Carolina Lowcountry is a very scenic drive. The highway skims through salt marshes and lush forests that seem to grow straight out of the water. Continue reading
I went to use the men’s room yesterday.
While I was standing there, I looked down.
There was a logo on the toilet.
It said “American Standard.”
And I thought, “That’s more fitting than they realize.”
Today is Yom Kippur. And so on this, The Day of Atonement, I ask for forgiveness for my sins oh Lord.
You might want to sit down.
For starters, I skipped synagogue on Rosh Hashannah. So I should definitely apologize for that. It was VERY wrong to ditch Temple in order to go to the Virgin Music Festival at Pimlico Race Course. I should’ve spent the day listening to the Shofar. Not The Flaming Lips, The Killers and The New Pornographers.
I took Natty for a walk to Fells Point tonight.
She pooped.
I reached into the pocket of my jeans and pulled out a wadded plastic grocery bag.
Placing my hand inside the bag, I bent down and grabbed the poop.
I pulled the bag inside out and tied the handles shut.
On the outside of the bag, it said “THANK YOU HAVE A NICE DAY.”
This is my life.
Today, I’m ecstatic to report that I’ve achieved my life-long goal:
To become the #1 ranked Brian Eden on Google.
Go ahead. Try it.
It doesn’t matter if you put it in quotes or not.
Either way, I’m #1.
This is no small accomplishment. It’s not like my name is Borat Colonoscopopolos. Or Mik D. Manulik.
There are truckloads of other Brian Edens out there, jockeying for first place. (No pun intended, Brian Eden, director of the Sioux Falls Trucking Association).
I made Jamie Oliver’s “Working Girl’s Pasta” last night. “Pasta Puttanesca,” as Jamie explains, is Italian for “Whore’s pasta.” Though he’s not really sure why: “Maybe it’s because the dish was cooked very quickly, with no effort involved, or maybe it’s something the local prostitutes used to eat at home – who knows?!.” Continue reading
Walk a mile in my underpants 