A Day in the Life: Nicolas Cage pt. 1

4:11 am: Wake up in a wintry sweat having frigidly forgotten his identity.
4:12 am: Curse Matt Damon and Jason Bourne.
4:13 am: Send a note by carrier raven to Matt Damon to apologize for cursing him.
4:14 am: Lift the curse on Matt Damon while the hex on Jason Bourne is still at large.
4:16 am: Send a note by carrier raven to Ray Lewis to thank him for gifting a flock of carrier ravens for Boxing Day.
4:18 am: Send a note by carrier raven to Mike Tyson to apologize for misinterpreting Boxing Day by challenging him to a televised match at Circus Circus in Las Vegas via Periscope.
4:20 am: Google Nicolas Cage image results.
4:21 am: Sit on his laurels for thirty five seconds.
4:22 am: Water his garden of laurels in the conservatory that Molbak's bought for him as a part of their movie star sponsorship package in support of their YouTube Red show, Pruning with the Stars.
4:24 am: Send a note by carrier raven to Google to ask them to kindly select some better options for the top image search results for Nicolas Cage.
4:26 am: Drink a cup of Bulletproof Coffee.
4:29 am: Feel his powers of bulletproofness, which were already higher than the average human being, multiply exponentially.
4:31 am: Ride a tricycle through a pyramid of canned goods that was curiously assembled in his second floor Thinking Room by an unknown source although it's safe to say that it was Nicolas Cage.
4:32 am: Delicately pick several corn kernels out of his left eardrum with a pair of Nicolas Cage-brand tweezers and a prayer to the vegetable gods for mercy.
4:33 am: Donate the canned goods to a troop of Eagle Scouts (because Nicolas Cage only deals with the highest achieving group in any given club) who auspiciously rang his doorbell at this early hour after they overheard a pyramid of canned goods collapse from down the street while they were building a skate park for the needy and decided to investigate.
4:37 am: Serenade his favorite chinchilla, Jan, with the sweet melodies of Seal.
4:40 am: Kiss a rose from his conservatory.
4:41 am: Pick the thorns out of his lips.
4:42 am: It was still worth it.

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A Totally Honest Review of The Boss Baby

Welcome to Pixar meets Ponzi schemes. What a wonderful baby-based movie directed by Steve-O with assistance from the entire cast of Jackass and their exotic pets. There was more physical humor in this movie than a silent film featuring Teller and the tiger that attacked Roy. There was more physical humor in this movie than an episode of Ridiculousness that takes place in the middle of a Tough Mudder race. There was more physical humor in this movie than an average movie. The animation on this film may cause seizures, termination of brain cells and/or cessation of the viewing cycle. This plot is more unbelievable than the idea of a human being walking on The Moon. 

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Mowing the Lawn pt. 4

     As you ride the Triceratops like a bucking bronco (which is what inebriated Broncos fans called Tim Tebow) you see if you can go Waka Flocka on its voluminous booty. I'm talking about a booty more rotund than the rump of any Kardashian you have ever seen on Instagram or wherever you get your current event news. (So rotund, in fact, that Matthew Berry recently founded a roto league based on the sport (or art?) of scouting dinosaur booties and drafted the Triceratops number one (his team name is the Tush-Rexes, narrowly edging out the Velocirumpters and Derriereodocuses.) The expandable water toy dinosaurs went last collectively. Barney was disqualified for using performance enhancing drugs. In a tragic series of events at the draft party hosted by Berry and his cohorts at Circus Circus in Las Vegas, all participants and spectators were eaten alive by Godzilla. Elizabeth Olsen and Bryan Cranston were not present at the time of the attack as they were in the midst of an eleven hour Blackjack binge at Mandalay Bay. In an even more tragic series of events, Olsen and Cranston walked away from the table totally empty-handed after nearly half a day, but at least they had a belly full of complimentary Mai Tais mixed with a hint of catfish sloshing around like they owned the place.) (OK, OK I'll explain it...Mai Tai, Manti Te'o, Mai Tai Te'o...yeah, it was at least a charitable 5K walk to make it through that finish tape. I'll do better from now on, pinky promise. At least a few kids in The Sudan got some Crocs out of it. And not the dangerous kind that ate the village elder. Why would we donate Crocs, what are we doing here? Trying to wrangle up bad memories? Dang it, see I did it again.)

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Radio Haikus

Why can't we all be
Wave splitters like Drizzy Drake
Toronto's sixth man

Cardi Cardi B
America's best stripper
Welcomes the spotlight

Gosh Nicki Minaj
In the dictionary there's
Your pic by "booty"

She's Barbadian
And a movie star, RiRi
A wide Umbrella

Beyonce, Jay Z
They met playing Space Jenga
Sunk her battleship

Lady Gaga, shants
Hosts poker night at her crib
Forgot to bring cards

Who could KeKe be
Perhaps Starbucks barista
Pumpkin Spice feelings

Empire State of Mind
Belt out that chorus baby
Cookie, I'm hungry

Eminem...Marshall!
Why are you yelling at me?
Stop yelling at me

Demi was in Glee
I hope she feels glee again
I Lovato you

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Another Totally Honest Review of Coco

Ernesto de la Cruz, more like Ernesto de la Boooooo, am I right? No, you didn't like that one? Too warm? Ernesto de la Cruz makes Bill Cosby look like Bill Cosby. What, too cold? My B. (This just in, hot off the Hollywood press, Bill Cosby will be starring as a villain in the next Batman film. Two Face, not the Joker, silly. Yeah yeah yeah, we get it nerds (sorry, nerds) Two Face fell to his death in The Dark Knight. But can't you suspend your disbelief for just a second in regards to this movie franchise about a whispering grown man who runs around saving people in a cape and Spandex?) Ernesto de la Cruz lives inside the Mind of Mencia. Just right? Good, I'm glad that you enjoyed it. If Ernesto de la Cruz tried out for American (Mexican?) Idol, Simon Cowell (Mexican Simon Cowell?) would tell him that listening to his voice is like trying to snowboard in the Mojave Desert then he would end up mysteriously missing with his last trace being a half drank glass of Coca (Coco) Cola. So I just Googled it and apparently people actually DO snowboard in the desert. It's called Dune Shredding; whaddya know, you learn something new every day! Coincidentally, Dune Shredding is what I call Roger Ebert's one star review of David Lynch's 1984 epic science fiction film... Do I have to spell it out for you? Have you really not heard of Dune? Do you want me to do your laundry for you as well while we're at it? Have a great day. 

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A Totally Honest Review of Up

This is, without a doubt, the craftiest move by Pixar since they almost tricked us into liking NASCAR with Cars. Wow. *says Owen Wilson after shotgunning a Bud Light in the infield of Talladega Superspeedway and inadvertently popping a kid's balloon with his nose*

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Garage Sale Haikus

Fifty seven cents

Bob Dylan Live at Red Rocks

Go sit in a hole 

Negotiable 

Or non negotiable 

Most are the former 

Shouldn’t it be called 

A driveway sale or something 

Garages rarely used 

When is the last time 

You spent a hundred dollars

On weird furniture 

Rolling in quarters

We be rolling in the change

Paying for these tolls 

Why don’t we use it 

Why don’t we always wear them

Fanny packs for life

You pray for sunshine 

Really hope it doesn’t rain 

Who gave God coffee

VHS table

Why is that even a thing? 

Waste of a table

Don’t get offended

When mini vans drive by you

Staring and judging 

Comedy CDs 

Too many Louis CK

Pre-controversy 

Two cars pulling up

Looking for a parking spot

Suburban standoff 

Rusty bicycle 

Ten dollars or best offer

I’ll give you my soul

Master haggler

Thank you born again browser

Discount Magellan 

The ping pong table 

Not for sale, it’s just a prop

Question of the day

XBOX twenty bucks 

Including a dozen games

And a NOW! CD

Cassettes from your youth 

A wall of Bowie posters

Labyrinth lover

Crazy cat lady

She loves a deal more than fur

Pusher of buttons 

Next time we do this

Let’s all get matching visors

And do our taxes 

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Hempfest pt. 2

     You wake up with a mouthful of dirt and a down jacket stuffed with regret. You are lying face first in a pile of leaves underneath a few trees, next to a chain link fence that is blocking railroad tracks. You can't really feel your body other than the fact that you are experiencing an excruciating pain that begins in your Achilles heels and ends in your eyebrows. You flop your arms over, or should I say you attempt to flop your arms over as you turn your bare belly to the blue, cloudless sky.
     The last thing you can remember was eating one of those Reese's peanut butter cups. Where did you get those candies? You drill yourself with this question as you begin a line of self-interrogation that you hope will excavate the remains of your day. Ah yes, the Vietnam vet. You picture his janky smile and it warms your aching heart that feels like it just became the recipient of ten thousand Swiss army knives being dropped onto it by Yao Ming. The brown leather elbow patches on his jean jacket give you the feeling of catching fireflies on the back porch, burning a warm August night away before you had figured out the purpose of time. What the heck was in that Reese's peanut butter cup?
     You need to find this old man, you tell yourself as you try with everything you have to wrangle up the energy to hoist yourself upward, back to normalcy. You know the March of Progress picture that represents evolution? Imagine that except littered with half drank Mountain Dew Code Red one liter bottles, chewed up hot dog buns and the emanation of mental disarray. Basically, think on it like an episode of Hoarders where the person becomes buried by their own collection of old newspapers and needs the help of the producers to climb their way to safety. The Reese's peanut butter cup is your ten foot high pile of old newspapers from the Ford administration. The nameless Vietnam vet was your Carl Bernstein. You are buried by your own sense of wonderment.

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Sensory Deprivation Tanks pt. 3

     The Paris Floating Club is an elite social and athletic club that encompasses the highest rungs of society. This is some super elite stuff, like Jason Bourne level of clearance. The Paris Floating Club only has 48 members because that is the limit for how many members it can have for some unknown reason. The Paris Floating Club meets once a month at an unspecified location. Only the 48 members of The Paris Floating Club are allowed to be privy to this information; if anyone else is found to be in possession of it, they will be eliminated by a rabid pack of guard hounds released by Mr. Burns.
     The club was established by a French writer, Francois Chevalier, in a Parisian steam room in 1823. Chevalier was taking his usual fifteen minute steam before retiring to the cafe to work on his memoir when one of the steam room servants entered the room and asked if he would like anything to drink. Chevalier thanked the young woman for the offer but politely declined before asking her what she would like to accomplish in her life (what her Baguette List is if you will; that was terrible, I know, but let me have my fun). The young woman, Ines, said that one day she would love to float in a tank of water without being able to hear or see anything; that was her dream. When pressed on why that was something that she would love to do, Ines said because she would like to get just a few moments of silence as a reprieve from her pair of awfully annoying twin little brothers, Enzo and Gabin. She told the French writer about a particularly terrible incident in which she was attempting to work on her studies when Enzo and Gabin barged into her room and snatched her book. They passed it back and forth as they sprinted down the hallway of their home, losing themselves in a riot of laughter the whole time. Ines was so perturbed and off put by the act of aggression that she threw Gaetan, Enzo and Gabin's guinea pig, into the family's backyard well (Gaetan thankfully survived the tumbled thanks to a combination of an amazingly soft pile of dirt and leaves at the bottom that acted as a landing pad of sorts in addition to his background as a stunt double for the Kia hamsters.) (Gaetan is a time traveling guinea pig if you find yourself questioning the validity of his prolific career). It took their mother and father several tireless hours to rescue poor Gaetan, a clueless rodent who was roped into an sibling dispute about the merits of academics compared to having a jolly old time. Chevalier became incredibly inspired by the young woman and went on to invent the sensory deprivation tank as well as initiate The Paris Floating Club with the help of his wife, Louise, who agreed with Ines's sentiment about getting some much needed quiet time.
     The purpose of founding The Paris Floating Club was twofold. First, the club was established to create a breeding ground for social wisdom and new age ideas such as floating in sensory deprivation tanks and having heated debates with ducks over not finishing the precious bread crumbs that you thanklessly tossed their way out of the good of your heart. Second, and perhaps most critically, the club was formed as a platform for the Lily Pads. Who are the Lily Pads? You don't want to know. I'm telling you, you really don't want to know. If you find out, someone in a red jumpsuit and purple Crocs will most likely show up at your house in the next 96 hours and drop off a cardboard box. Get in your car and drive fifteen miles (at the least) from your current location and throw that cardboard box as far as you can out of the window. Speed off and don't look back; don't ever look back. Never return to that location and don't tell anyone about the cardboard box (now you can't tell me that you weren't forewarned; keep an eye out for purple Crocs).
     Why do I tell you all this? Because if you open that cardboard box, you become a Lily Pad. And you don't want to know what happens next if you become a Lily Pad, I can promise you that much. You really don't want to open that cardboard box. If you open it, your life will never be the same. Once you become a Lily Pad, a target is placed on your back larger than the logo of Target and Walmart put together in some sort of bizarro superstore that has set out to once and for all take down the mighty Costco, the entire Kirkland Signature brand and the free sample industry. Once you become a Lily Pad, you are no longer free and your journey has just begun. Once you become a Lily Pad, when people ask you what you do for a living you have to tell them that you drive for Uber, write folk music and enjoy long hikes in the mountains. Why do you have to tell them that? Because if you told them the truth you would have to cut their face off and put it on your face like John Travolta does Nicolas Cage in Face/Off. And why would you have to do that? As a tribute to your hero, Nicolas Cage, in your trek to becoming the most lethal Lily Pad in the storybook history of The Paris Floating Club.   

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Sensory Deprivation Tanks pt. 2

     A knockoff of the Slip-N-Slide has been manufactured inside your flotation tank as you splish and splosh through the streets. That's right, you read sentence correctly. You are straight up splishing and sploshing through these streets in your tank like Homer Simpson unknowingly being repossessed in that episode where he and Lisa go all Burning Man on the audience in their quest to become more enlightened by trying a float and it is very confusing. Well, at first you were confused. Then you were angry for a few blocks and finally hungry once you pulled up outside a taco food truck.
     What's going on here? Who knows. Are you safe? Probably not. What do we know? We know that you are flying down the streets of Paris at a rapid pace in a sensory deprivation tank. What can you do about it? Nothing. There is absolutely nothing you can do to stop the flood that is coming your way (and I'm not talking about a flood of saltwater, either.) No, unfortunately for you, you didn't read the fine print when you were signing up for The Paris Floating Club, a popular isolation float club from the the City of Lights (or should I say the City of Neon Tank Lights; nah, I'm just gonna stick to the City of Lights. Thanks for letting me ponder the decision though.)

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Hempfest pt. 1

     You have made a series of terrible decisions but let us start with the first one. The first terrible decision that you made on this fine Saturday afternoon on the Seattle waterfront was taking candy from a stranger. Candy with drugs in it, specifically the ganja to match the theme of the day at the festival. Or so you thought.
     Reese's peanut butter cups. A delicious snack, a constant companion and reliable friend that will always have your back no matter what goes down. But what about Reese's peanut butter cups that are infused with a series of seriously lethal hallucinogens that could cause you to do absolutely bonkers activities such as taking a nap on the Ferris wheel, getting your caricature drawn by a street artist or signing up for a subscription-based podcast.
     You pop the first one in your mouth and brace for the impact like when you eat a cookie that has been sitting out on the kitchen counter for a long time and you don't know how long it has been sitting out, maybe even days, but you are going to take a bet on the treat because you are the proud owner of quite the sweet tooth and the not so proud owner of a crippling gambling addiction that has caused you to make the biggest little regret of your life by investing in a timeshare in Reno, Nevada. The nice looking Vietnam veteran who sold you the candy informed you that it would kick it, "when the tide turns". When you pressed him further on the issue, the veteran let you know with a completely straight face that you shouldn't worry about eating for the rest of the day after you have the peanut butter cups because, "you won't be able to feel your face or remember where you put your mind."
     As long as everything goes according to plan, you are about to be in for a wild ride. If the afternoon goes according to the plan of the Vietnam veteran who looks like he created Sons of Anarchy, then so be it. You probably won't recall much other than the fact that you had an awesome time and couldn't feel your face or remember where you put your mind (ah yes, you probably left it in the fishbowl in the foyer that you use for car keys, Burt's Bees chap stick and other nicknacks.) (By the way, I think now is a good time to point out that I had the Vietnam veteran with the fishbowl in the foyer so I win that game of Clue.)

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Sensory Deprivation Tanks pt. 1

     Check your salinity level, it's finally time to hop in the tank again. Time to make like a reality TV show and isolate yourself from society. You are beginning to feel that the amount of time that elapses between each of your floats is getting shorter although you have stayed true to that once a week clip that you established nearly two years prior. The neon lights glow on your spaceship of a float tank as you pop in your ear plugs and take a quick shower, mentally preparing yourself to be completely relaxed and at one with yourself and the water. You wanna be the H 2 its O. If you ever wanted to hear what your soul's ringtone would sound like, dipping your toe in one of these beasts is the only way to properly do it.
     Everything is going fine and dandy once you begin your float until it isn't. Out of nowhere, the water begins sloshing back and forth like you accidentally jumped into a washing machine. The walls of the beast start to shake rapidly, more intensely than any turbulence you have ever experienced, even from that tiny puddle jumper that nearly drove into George Washington's forehead on Mount Rushmore. A miniature wave pool is inaugurated before your goggles. You curse Joe Rogan (also the whole sport of Mixed Martial Arts for some reason) for turning you on to the new age fad. Did you know future NBA hall of famer Steph Curry is a fan of the floating trend? No wonder he shimmies down the court with such grace; his body is in a state of permanent afterglow from his devotion to the wonderful tank and also from being the closest human replica of a catapult that strictly launches three pointers and giggles with the glee of being great.
     You summon the courage to crack open the lid of the tank and take a peak to see what all the fuss is about. What you see baffles your mind, locking it in a Chinese finger trap. As you peak out of the aquatic spaceship, you witness something that would anger you no matter what condition you were in...traffic.

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Mowing the Lawn pt. 3

     You suddenly find yourself in a dinosaur-themed escape room where the only way out is...well, you're still trying to figure out that part. A pack of marauding Triceratopses begin bounding toward you and your time traveling lawn mower at an ungodly pace. You don't know what to do so you do the only thing that a person in this exact, insane situation would do; you leap on the back of the smallest Triceratops and begin riding it like a cowboy would a horse or a Bachelor contestant would a horse.
     And it's pretty much the most awesome, memorable (and only up to that moment) dinosaur ride of your life. The Triceratops tries with everything it has in itself to buck you off its back but you won't let go of your death grip on one of the beast's many layers of neck fat. The creature looks at its friends but they don't really know what to do because they have never seen such a brave human being (in fact, they have never even seen a human being let alone one crazy enough to attempt pulling off a stunt this bold. It would be like if aliens came to our planet and the first thing they saw was Evel Knievel jumping a rocket into the Snake Canyon so then that would be the aliens' baseline for typical courage displayed by a person. The aliens would be let down by everything after that, even the Super Bowl, unless it included someone bungee jumping off the top of the stadium in which case they might give it a glance.)
     Then you make a grave mistake. You try to showboat a little even though there is no one even there to witness it. It's as if you were filling up your car with gas in a grandiose manner at 3 am (that's actually what Rob Thomas is singing about in that one song; you should really pay closer attention to the lyrics, it can open up a whole new world to you). Who are you trying to impress at that point, the family of raccoons who is rummaging through your collection of Dave Matthews Band CDs in the backseat? Raccoons are total DMB heads. No one loves a funky jam session more than these dumpster diving, night prowlers who you can often find loitering outside the local Seven Eleven (and no, I'm not referring to the band's devoted following). Their favorite song is Ants Marching because that means there is a picnic nearby that they can raid.

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Summer of Athena Haikus

Summertime basking

Relaxing poolside, fleecing

Aquatic good vibes

Inflatable swan

Stole my heart at Home Depot

Only 18 bucks

Grassy ideas

Mowing lawns and taking names

The whole thirteen yards

Backyard corn mazes

Wanted: Garden Hose Mover

What up my gnomie 

Vacant bowels, cold eyes

Splayed in front of the stairs fan

Taxidermists skulk

Joe Rogan pocast
Why do you love random things?
Cage match of science

Hey there Bert Kreischer
You should host a TV show
Boxing kangaroos 

Natasha, Moshe
Delicious comedy pair
Podcast fodder

Take my mind off dogs
Oh I know, write some haikus
Mostly about dogs

A summer puppy
Departed dog days, summer
Funny how things work

It's tough saying bye
Realizing mortality
Grasping at banned straws

Collar facing west
How you properly honor
The sweetest mutt ever

Durant and Curry
Ought to take a brief lesson
Canine warrior 


You had a Chuckit!
We used to launch tennis balls
Across a wide field

I took you for walks

Really you were walking me

Your poo in my hand 

Someone should tell you

When pick up your cute puppy 

One day it will die

It wrecks your psyche

If you watch an entire game
Of the Mariners

Good dog, Athena

You did such a good job, girl

Apple orchard-bound

Burlington Petco

Outside Burlington Petco

Drove a minivan

OK let’s do it

What we always said we would 

Make a kung fu film

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Football Haikus

Special teams players

A long snapper’s diary

Tantalizing some

Do you like offense?

Or do you prefer defense?

I’m new to the sport

What’s in those headsets?

Coaches always throw around

Telemarketers 

Hike, I love this game

Tons of terminology

Someone teach a class

Jon Gruden, my man

Grinders grit overflowing

Does he ever chill?

Monday Night Football

American tradition

Red, white, blue collar

Fantasy football

People get real crazy

So many regrets

Kneel, don’t kneel

Roundtable up everyone 

No one agrees? Cool

Russell Wilson faith

Future converted to the past

A dull interview

The Foxborough hole

Belichick sleeve GPS

Texting militia 

It’s Pigskin Sunday 

We got cold beers and pizza

Grandma’s in the pool

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Mowing the Lawn pt. 2

     You try to shake the Velociraptor off your Jordans like a Taylor Swift song. You shake the Velociraptor with all your might but you can't seem to break its undying cling. A little known fact about the Jurassic Period is that Velocipators were known to fall in love quicker than any other species of dinosaur. If you ever wandered into a circle of dinosaurs shooting dice or sitting at the bar and watching the game while tilting back some cold ones, you would most definitely catch wind of this phenomenon. Many a yarn has been spun about countless disastrous love affairs with the beautiful creature, love affairs that always started well and came to a conclusion in a fiery orb much like to one that wiped out the dinosaurs. Imagine overhearing next to the Skee-Ball at the local dinosaur Elk's Club which is actually called the Albertosaurus's Club, "This one time I was going steady with this Velociraptor broad, you know what I'm talking about Bill, for a little over a year when out of nowhere, kaboom; I come home from work to see all my stuff on the front boulder!"
     You try to run but all the dinosaurs are faster than you. You try to hide but there is nowhere to hide, not even the slightest hint of a crack in the earth to pencil dive into a turquoise body of water that you somehow knew was there. You try to cry but the dinosaurs don't seem to be too adept at reading human emotions. You are basically a sitting Pterodactyl.

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Golf Haikus

Luscious green fairways 

Crisply ironed pants abound

Quiet gallery

Get in the hole guy 

You should be in 300

By the Pit of Death

Hushed announcers hunched 

Over steaming coffee mugs 

“Best Announcer Ever”

Tiger Woods is back

Perkins stock just skyrocketed

Cadillac dreamin

Tiger's backwards hat

Situation on the links

He'll ice your caddy

Adam Scott golfer

Parks and Rec, eat shit Derek 

Weird putting style

Brooks Koepka looks like

Fraternity president

Born collar pre-popped 

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