Am I the only one disturbed that the “gourmet Chinese” restaurant, Panda Express has decided to name their newest dish after a Japanese warrior? I mean, I know, I know, it’s a stretch to call Panda Express Chinese food anyway, but c’mon… Weird vegetarian pandas getting excited over a mostly meat dish named after a Japanese warrior ad...

Still racking your brain looking for that perfect holiday gift? Here is my ultimate go-to when you need a present that’s thoughtful, quick and could actually put money back in your pocket!  There’s no need to rack your brain or worry about shipping or standing in long lines. It’s good for just about everyone from family to co-workers. Time is running out for your holiday shopping and my blogumn is here to help! So, as soon as your are done reading this – head on down to your local news stand or grocery store and pick up a pack of instant scratch off lottery tickets! You can be the hero of their holidays if they hit a big cash jackpot! With a simple $10 or $20 you can give a gift that can keep on giving. In a pinch, you can even get a nice holiday card or envelope and stuff a bunch inside. You can give them to your boss, a friend, or your grandmother. (Mine loves getting them!) I’ve done this for years, even giving to co-workers in the past. I was given a stack for my birthday this year and I kept winning over and over. It was a great feeling. I played for a few months by winning free tickets and small cash amounts that I simply cashed in for more. It’s up to the player how they want to spend their winnings, but the odds are pretty good they’ll at least receive a free ticket. Growing up in Pennsylvania, the Pennsylvania Lottery airs this holiday classic commercial, that is simply revised every season (or as of last year, redone shot for shot in high definition.)  The ad agency simply overdubs the new games to match the original jingle. Lotteries have enabled governments to fund all...

Individuality. A healthy upbringing with a loving family. A well rounded education. Countless free hours of playing with friends. These are just some of the things that will win you jack shit as an Olympic gymnast. Olympic gymnasts should be raised in a box like veal – separated from their families and confined so tightly they can’t turn around and look at the childhood they left behind. At least veal calves get fed. Plus, veal calves are butchered privately – out of sight of the diners who consume them as delicious PETAschnitzel.  Nobody makes a veal calf put on a purple spangly leotard so that it can be slaughtered in public by a cold-eyed Bulgarian judge in front of millions of people for the unforgiveable sin of taking a half step out of bounds and then served to the public as a national disgrace. Just think, most of us will never have the opportunity to disgrace our nation and gymnasts get to do it before they’ve had their first period! Livin’ the Olympic dream! But if the gymnast is good enough and lucky enough to win the gold then she gets to bask in the adulation of her nation by starring in a Subway commercial with Apolo Anton Ohno and Jared unless her accomplishments are overshadowed by her hair. She might even get to compete on Dancing with the Stars and be mocked by the tabloids for getting fat. Seriously, leave ShawnJohn alone – she starved her whole life to bring four fucking medals to this worthless, ingrate lard-ass nation of ours. Let her eat a fuckin’ doughnut. Some people go into the desert to see god. Others go to find themselves, to make art, to commune with nature, to have visions, or to...

Jerry Garcia died the day I left Albany for good, August 9, 1995. In an apparent murder-suicide, he took my childhood with him. (NOTE TO MILLENNIAL FUCKWADS: I don’t want to hear how old you were in 1995. Whether you were in Middle School, Elementary School or Diapers, I don’t want to know about it. And wipe that patronizing “listening to Grampa Simpson tell his Lollapalooza Mosh-Pit Stories for the 10,000th Time” smirk off your soul-patched, hipster side-burned, weasely little face. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the suckers who showed up too late to the Great Global House Party of cheap gas, music videos and nuclear anxiety that was the 20th Century and arrived just in time to mop up the puke, save the polar bears, and recycle our empties to pay for healthcare. Have fun with that, kids. Hey- if you’re lucky, maybe you can scrape out a little resin ball of Contentment from the huge bowl of Prosperity we smoked last century. That was some gooooood shit.) Anyhow, I always felt like by dying right as I left my hometown for the Big City, that Jerry was looking out for me, protecting me from myself. It’s like he was saying: “Hey man, I know you’re moving to New York to follow your dreams and that’s groovy and all, but it’s going to suck major dog-balls for the first few years, so, if you don’t mind, I’m just going to go ahead and die That way, while you’re telemarketing credit cards to old people who can barely afford the minimum payment, or cleaning toilets in comedy clubs for stage time and tips, or getting turned down for that sweet job at Brookstone (fucking personality test- I was this close before they made...