NEW BLOG! BOOM SUPPLY

Yes, the time has come friends ... I'm retiring this blog and I'm trading up for something I've always wanted to do: Organized crime. No, however, my new blog is definitely murderous in its content and it's still dripping with absurdity but the new twist to www.boomsupply.com is that it provides a service for men. The quick and dirty about my new blog:

Boom Supply surveys the landscape to unearth the jagged edge of culture: The people, places, pursuits, interests and trends that intelligent and independent homebros want, need, and ought to know.

Exploding with originality, Boom Supply hits you upside the e-head with five daily drops and recommendations for your day. Anything goes. There’s no telling what we’ll write about.

Boom Supply was born and bred in the land of journalism. Meaning we do this for the love of writing and we’re just mad industrious. Every piece of editorial content is chosen for it’s relevance, news value or an honest endorsement. Send us stuff. If we’re intrigued, we’ll try it out and tell everyone about it.

Get some y'all! And I do appreciate all two of you who subscribed to this blog (haha) and the rest of you all over who find the humor in everything.

www.boomsupply.com Paaaaayce!

Let's Count Calories!!!!

Emotional eating for men. Whhaaaaaa????? I don't know. Here's my food diary for today. Whaaaa??? Again, I don't know why I'm posting this ... oh - wait, it's because I'm eating like GODZILLA today. VERY noteworthy. But yes, very girly to care about what I eat.

My Godzilla Food Diary

8 AM AM: Breakfast: Three generously sized hippo thighs. Calories: 782,000. How I was feeling when I ate this: confused, irradiated, hating my size.

1O AM: Exercise: Swiped fishing boats with claws, sinking them (20 reps). Calories burned: 540,000. (Not enough!)

11 AM: Snack: 12 car tires. Thought they were donuts. (30,000 calories)

11:05 AM: Exercise: "Taxi Stomp" (alternating legs, for 30 blocks down Congress Ave.). Calories burned: 148,900,183. I was mad at eating crap. Sorry.

2 PM: Snack: Five Hilton guests and contents of hotel restaurant's fish and lobster tanks. Calories: 1,002,800. Feeling: self-loathing.

2:20 PM: Snack: City bus passengers (18). (Driver fell out when I shook bus). Calories: 3,456,000. Feeling: numb, huge. Why am I still eating? SOMEONE stop me.

Pathetic Dollar Bill Infiltrates P. Diddy's Wallet

There's nothing that ruins my day more than when I'm thumbing through my fat wad of cake and this happens.

Seriously? Are you kidding me? While my lapse in recollection may be understandable to many, since the last time I declared in song that it was all about the Benjamins was more than a decade ago, it should go without saying that I was deeply disturbed and confused. I'm P. Diddy! I have no sympathy for this wack ass dollar bill!

How the hell did you get in my wallet? Why is this happening to me now at the Knicks game? Get out of my wallet. Leave and never come back.

Life Advice Gleaned From My Keys That Are Chillin' In My Locked Car

Points to Remember

Why admit your weaknesses when you can smooth them over with the uneasy realization that at least you didn't lose your keys. There they are. Right there. Right in front of you. Locked in a car while it's raining outside. And all you can do is consider how lucky you are that you did not lose your keys because only idiots lose keys. Disregard those urges to Hulk out and throw punches at the air. There is solace in knowing you don't misplace things.

No matter where you place your wager (on successfully breaking into your car with a soft blend of anger and bitchassness or on convincing yourself that fucking up is fun) things will end up costing you 50 IQ points and $50. I suggest that instead of squandering your wits with worry, you should start in on the salvage, you damn moron.

At least you locked your keys in your car at the gym and not at some rogue porn shop. Just sayin...

When in doubt, dance, do the macarena. You deserve to fall to your lowest point possible.

Call yourself a bitch, bitch.

Check Me Out Broseph!

It’s been a while since I last deposited some money in this little pocket of refried empanada goodness, which can also be considered a blog, depending on the angle you look at it and your appetite.

I can’t promise that this entry is going to be deliciously clever or dripping with one single cogent thought even. In fact, I’m going to just say that there is no destination. It’s going to be a pure and reckless, driving with your knees type of journey. Where to you ask?

I don’t know, but here’s something hollerific to rub your face in and smile.

I plowed through the Internet with a Mack truck like zeal and found dads in short shorts or really hot girls with plungers. But let's not forget the clever fingerbangin' site.

Now that we got that out of the way, it’s safe to say that I simply want to hang out with other men and revel in rugged masculinity today. Send me an e-mail if you’re a hambro and want to arm wrestle or exchange punches in the arm, pop collars, and collectively gel our hair into dangerous spikes, all in one sweeping motion! Yessssss!!!

Douche. Bag. Don’t mind if I doooooo!

Stay tuned. I’m graduating from this bullsh** blog to a real professional Website in the coming days, so prepare for penetrating insight and rigorous scholarship, wisdom and drawn out excuses why it’s OK to eat a banana in public.

Told you. This entry was loosely strung together by the thread of resignation and fleeting thoughts about your mom. Ooooooh she’s so good. MMMMMMpenada good actually.

Birthday Wishes ...

My birthday is this weekend and a dude gets what he wants on his birthday, right? I've never asked for much, but I'm turning a new leaf this year and I'm asking for a little sumpin' sumpin' ... Here's a brief list: ...

1) I want to be told a funny joke by a beautiful woman.
2) Someone should photoshop my face in a Dos Equis "Most Interesting Man in the World" ad.
3) Equestrian. (I don't need to say more than this).
4) Let it rain. I want to wax and milk the day away.
5) Everyone should get excited!

It's going to be a good day.

Open Letter to My Erased Hard Drive

Dear Mac,

I thought I was just buying a simple Macbook whose operative goal was to make me look cool, but you've turned out to be so much more. Your ability to juggle two different applications simultaneously puts you in a league of your own. You reach insurmountable speeds when that technicolor pinwheel spins in a general demise, informing me that the best things in life come to those who wait. You are so hot, and I love it when you sit in my lap and warm my goods like an accomplished lover. Your cunning acumen and reputation culls my mild desires for a long-term companion who I can share all my most secret information with.

We sleep together and the first thing I do is roll over to you and turn you on like you do me, stroke your touchpad, finger your keys. Your wireless convenience allows me to take you everywhere, and where you go, I also follow. Sometimes to the depths of no man's land where people talk with parking lot drawls and have never heard of wi-fi.

Your hard drive makes me whimper, your gigabytes make me swoon. But you said you needed space yesterday in the coffee shop (out of memory and no room) like I was smothering you and you couldn't handle all my needs anymore. I knew this was true when I tried downloading R. Kelly's "Computer Love" and I was denied repeatedly. Out of memory. Incapable of opening up and collecting yet another piece of me. I tried to convince you that it was just a bad day and restarted you, but I quickly learned that your drives were no longer compatible with me because you kept warning me with a prompt that said 'FAILED.'

This broke my heart. So like a fool in love, I went out and bought you that dream RAM you always wanted (4 gigs) and even an external hard drive for moral support, hoping that maybe that would be the answer in giving you the space you needed in our relationship, but you tricked me. You lied to me. You fucked me over when I tried upgrading your operating system to 10.6. You tossed everything we had into the trash without my permission. And now, four years of my life are gone. So much time and energy invested in you. All the pictures we had, music, movies, love letters and spreadsheets. GONE. ALL GONE.

I can't explain the empty feeling of having no data left in our relationship. It's like I don't even know you anymore. I no longer trust your "user friendly" ways. What does that even mean? You freaking whore tart face! Thinking that a relationship counselor would solve our problem was very ambitious of me, especially when the Apple genius tech support told me to get over it and move on because it's impossible to recover data once it's gone.

Initialize me, RAM me, drive me, I don’t give 32 FUCKING bits, I am software at your service. I would do anything to have the data we once had back in our lives. All I wanted to do was make you happy and you screwed me over. I am skeptical of Macs now. But I'll probably get over you with another one in the near future, who will take me to unimaginable places at mind-blowing speeds. I've learned everything and nothing from an erased hard drive. But I will miss you and I will always think fondly of you.

Your helpless user,

JJ