WELCOME TO THE LUXURIOUS AND BEAUTIFUL READING, PA! for Gretchen

Welcome to Reading, PA! I am so happy you survived the drive down Business 422! Yes, you were cut off five times and flipped off even more times than that, but you are alive!

Please be sure to park in a spot where the meter is working, because regardless of the fact that there are no other possible spots within the 5 mile radius you've circled several times, you will get ticketed by a bike cop and laughed at by homeless people watching you from across the street.

Enjoy some of our fine dining at establishments such as the Ugly Oyster or Judy's on Cherry; but if you don't enjoy bulletholes in your neck or face, try to avoid Maria's on Penn St. ( http://www.menuism.com/restaurants/marias-lounge-restaurant-reading-373524 )

When in town, admire the colors of the McDonald's cups and cigarette butts as they create a mosaic of trash on the streets and sidewalk. Don't worry, that mother and father screaming at eachother while holding kitchen knives aren't going to kill eachother, the Mexican gangster doing a drive by will probably get them first.

Make sure you stop by the Sovereign Center to enjoy our famous hockey team, the Reading Royals! If you are fortunate enough to work at a company that owns a suite at the Sovereign Center (like I used to), you'll be too busy munching on complimentary chicken fingers and cookies to care that we are losing our asses off.  Because in Reading, hockey time = beer, and sometimes, that's all that matters folks!

If you're worried about finding a job, relax! There simply are no jobs in Reading. This will leave plenty of time for acquiring a coke habit and an education on growing marijuana. This of course is the perfect solution for your unemployment, as selling drugs is a lucrative business in town.

They have a saying in Reading, "When it rains a lot... we don't have to go to work, yeay!" This is because rain season often brings apocalyptic flooding to the region each and every year! Don't worry about going anywhere, because all of the roads will be under five feet of floodwater. Wintertime is even more fun, as the main roads will be cleared of snow giving your workplace a reason to open - but none of the roads surrounding your house will be plowed, leaving you scratching your head and cursing the television.

There are so many reasons to come and see this town. Try to ignore the nicer, prettier towns on the way here though - the more you lower your expectations before you arrive, the better.

...

Anddd.... I got nothin' else. Haha. Anyone have anything else to add? Haha.

"Phoenixville Is My Home" for Don the Mon (for all Phoenix-villains, and yes I said villains)

Ahh Phoenixville. The place where I grew up, and the place I am moving back to soon. I don't have a specific story to tell, but I do have a lot of memories. I will talk about them in no specific order of importance.

My favorite memories of Phoenixville mostly took place in Reeves park, an annual host of the Dogwood Festival and Parade. I remember punching other kids in the face should they dare enter my path whilst I was scrambling towards a lollipop recently thrown from a parade float on Gay Street. I remember screaming in complete puking agony as I flipped over and over on the Zipper - which was always the best ride at the fair. When it wasn't fair time in mid-May, my middle school friends and I spent hours climbing on the playground and swinging way too high on the swings while four year olds glared at us with their arms folded, standing alongside their mothers. We did a lot of stupid shit there. 

Which brings me to my next memory. The infamous Phoenxville po-po. When they weren't searching for front lawn domestic violence cases on the North side, they were circling Reeves park with their tight pants and shiny bicycles waiting for lawbreakers like me and my friends to stay out past curfew. I remember having frequent fights with my friends in the seconds the officers approached us on the pros and cons of lying about our age. We always told the truth. We were pussies.

My first ever encounter with the police came in 7th grade when I got an escort home from an officer after stealing Skittles and Zebra Stripes from the Gateway pharmacy. I remember sitting in the back of the police car in front of my house and lying to the officer about my parents being home.

"Nope, they definitely aren't home. Take me back to the station I can have someone else pick me up", I said with complete confidence.

"There is a car in the parking lot next to the house, is that your parent's car?" he asked.

"Nope definitely not my parent's car", I said matter-of-factly. 

He eventually stopped anyway, forcing me to face my parents, and subsequently my ass-whoopin'. I made it out alive only to have them pick me up a few years later from the police station at 2am after jumping off of the 40ft bridge at Black Rock tunnel with my friends. Being the last kid in the family, and facing years of terrible wild children, my parents simply said, "Really? You know you're an idiot right?". 

To which I responded, "Yup. And it was totally worth it." 

And that was that. 

Moving on to other memories. I miss the 5 and 10 (Heidu Sue Variety), and Freda's. Good ol' Freda. Her dingy little candy/hoagie shop was like heaven and rainbows to me. Freda used to do these beautiful and skilled oil paintings; she would show them to my father while he waited for his hoagie and I drooled over Sour Cherries and Frooty Tooties.

I remember hanging out at Sal's Pizza Shop, eating terrible diner food at 3am at the Val, karoake nights at Phoenix Lanes (R.I.P), and pissing off the guys at Dunkin Donuts because we always stayed too long and ordered next to nothing. I remember knocking on doors in winter time to offer snow shoveling services for a couple of dollars (candy money), and having so much snow we could barely walk out our own door. I remember waking up to nothing but flames outside of my bedroom windows when the lumberyard burned down, and I remember the fun times "swimming" in the disgusting water that flooded Church Street after Hurricane Floyd.

But most of all I remember always wanting to be older than I was. Thinking life would be so easy once I grew up. At first I wanted to be 13 so I could ride my bike without a helmet legally, then I wanted to be 16 so I could drive a car, then I wanted to be 18 so I could move wherever the hell I wanted, and so on. Looking back I realize I didn't know what I had when I had it. 

Granted, there were bad times. The bomb scares that had us out on the lawns at Phoenixville Middle School for hours at a time, the bullying, the corner fights, some of the horrid people that lived in Phoenixville in general - not all was hunky dory. But without the bad I wouldn't have grown to be as tough as I am today (with the help of my family and friends of course). 

So yeah, Phoenixville. I'm pretty excited to go back, and I can't wait to see you all when I get there.

I love you all and miss you.

THE MOON LANDING: WHAT REALLY HAPPENED for Bryan

The year was 1969. Neil Armstrong had just finished watching "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" when he got the call. It was Zebuton, the alien leader of Underearth.

"Neil, bizzbuzzzingzangwickywacky" Zebuton spoke, in his native language.

Neil, being fluent in Underearthanese, understood exactly what he meant, and what he had to do. It seems the Overearthanese leader, Craputon, had planted a bomb on the moon which he planned to detonate with a big red button in his really big laboratory with all sorts of Bunsen burners and chemicals that have names that are most likely not on the periodic table. It was a dire situation indeed.

Neil quickly hung up the phone and stood up, realizing he needed a shower as he was covered in caramel popcorn bits from his previous movie adventure. He knew that he had to fly into outerspace (which he had done many times before), land on the moon and disarm the bomb before Craputon pressed the big red button, thus destroying the moon, the earth's rotation, and song lyrics for generations to come.

There was only one problem. Neil couldn't find his spacesuit. 

He paced around in his sticky caramel covered underwear and thought of a plan. He picked up the phone and called the one man he knew could help.

"Yello?" The man answered upon Neil's call.

"BUZZ! DUDE! Did I leave my spacesuit at your house last night?? I gotta mission, man I need to find it" Neil started.

"Yooo dude, you need to chilll man, why don't you come on down and smoke some doobs with me dude, 69' ain't gonna last forever brah!" Buzz said, sounding rather stoned.

"No man, I can't party I have to save the moon! Do you have my spacesuit or not?" Neil said, exasperated.

"Yeahyeah, it's covered in beer but I got it, come on down, party pooper!" Buzz laughed.

In true astronaut style, Neil hung up the phone, peeled off his sticky underwear, showered, dressed and raced to Buzz's house to pick up his suit within minutes. Buzz answered the door with beer in hand, joint in the other, wearing Neil's beer-covered space suit. 

"What the hell man? I said I NEED my spacesuit and you are WEARING it! I've got to defeat Craputon!" Neil shouted at Buzz.

"Yo dude, it's all cool man you can borrow my spacesuit, same size brotha, same size!" Buzz said, looking quite comical in the spacesuit while he danced to "Aquarius" blaring from his medieval sound system.

"Actually, I could use your help on this trip - I need someone to watch the ship while I disarm the bomb" Neil said, as he found and dressed in Buzz's suit. 

A couple montages later, Buzz and Neil are sitting inside of their spaceship on the moon. They knew that the fate of the world depended on them, and since Neil couldn't use his normal spaceship - he had to borrow a ship from NASA - which meant that the whole event would be televised. They would play it off as if this was the first moon landing, a historic event, one they would surely be remembered for if they succeeded.

Neil knew that the world was watching as he opened the door and went to take his first step, but before his boot hit the soft surface of the moon - Buzz, still drunk and stoned, tumbled out the door tripping both of them and sending them flying into an enormous space crater. Neil heard a crackling in his earphone.

"What the hell was that?" The responders at Houston spoke.

"It's okay, we'll just refilm it later, make it look all nice-like" Buzz replied. Neil glared at him angrily until he saw a large metal object inside of the crater marked, "BOMB". 

"There it is!" Neil exclaimed. "Now get your ass in that spaceship while I disarm the bomb!"

"Yup" Buzz replied as he started back to the spaceship, but he never made it.

Neil had cut the wrong cord on the bomb, causing it to explode and send the moon and earth into a blackhole and into a different universe. Neil and Buzz survived and had a piece of cake after their harrowing experience, and then decided to refilm the moon landing in their garage, which is the video we all know and love today.

The end.

DEATH OF A FACEBOOK TREND - for Amanda

One day, Amanda was surfing her Facebook for the normal common sense and non-annoying posts that she is totally used to seeing, when it happened. Bleep!

"IF YOU WERE STUCK IN PRISON AND HAD TO GET BUTT RAPED BY SOMEONE WHO WOULD YOU GET BUTT RAPED BY?? NO CHEATING OMGG SOOO FUN! REPOSTREPOSTFACEBOOKREPOSTYEAHHHHHHH!!!"

Amanda took her hands off of the keyboard and stared at the screen. Her stomach started to churn, beads of sweat poured down her forehead, and her fingers began to quiver. She glanced at the screen once more to look at the blue name of the offender who had done this to her. The name was Malory. Malory Dreadsy Merwin.

"That fucking BITCH!" Amanda shouted. "What the fuck is this BULLSHIT, I HATE this shit, what the FUCK!"

It was the last straw. Amanda went into the garage and grabbed the crowbar from the hanger on the wall, clutched it with all her might and began the long ascent up the stairs into the attic with a loud, stomping step. She glanced at the spot on the floor where she knew she would see the nail half bent, indicating the correct floorboard. The floorboard lifted with ease as the crowbar did what Amanda had purchased it to do. She removed the board and found the black shoebox marked "ZOMBIE SURVIVAL KIT! DO NOT OPEN UNLESS ZOMBIES ATTACK!". Inside the box was a single revolver, surrounded by ammo. She took the entire box, secured the floorboard in its original spot, and descended the stairs. She grabbed the car keys from the bowl on the counter, and shut the door with a loud "SLAM".

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Malory had just gotten done laughing at all of the people she tagged in the "BUTTRAPE" post. She thought herself pretty clever and decided to reward herself a bowl of chocolate cookie dough ice cream, when she heard a gunshot and a scream.

It took a moment for her to realize that the sound was not a gunshot, just the slamming of her door, and that the scream had escaped from her own lips. Standing in front of her was her good buddy Amanda.

"Jesus Amanda, what the hell are you doing here? You scared the shit out of me!" Malory gasped out.

Amanda said nothing. It wasn't until the eery silence that Malory saw the gun in Amanda's hand.

"Hey uhh, everything alright?" Malory whispered nervously.

"NO! IT'S NOT OKAY! BUT IT WILL BE IN A MINUTE!!" Amanda screamed out suddenly. She raised the gun.

Malory closed her eyes and prepared for the shot. She heard it, but did not feel it. She opened her eyes.

Her computer had been completely shattered by the bullet, keys and plastic pieces were strewn about.

"Dude, what the fuck was that all about?" Malory said, still shaking from her near-death experience.

"NOW YOU CAN NEVER POST THAT SHIT ON MY WALL AGAIN, you BITCH! Oh, by the way are you still coming over for dinner tomorrow night?" Amanda half shouted, half spoke.

"Uhh, yeah sure." Malory said.

And then Amanda left and Malory ate her ice cream, and she never posted those horrid, horrid things again. 

Manny the Manatee - for Shelly

A long time ago, when dolphins ruled the world with their intelligent dolphin brains and their pleasurable sex, there was a small, insignificant sack of lard named Manny the manatee.

You see, Manny was an ugly manatee. He wasn't anything like those cute manatee's you see on the TV nowadays. No sir, this manatee had horns and was pink - an undesirable color in the time of the dolphin rule. Noone knew why Manny looked the way he did, and as a result he was shunned from the dolphin community, and even from his own Manatee family.

He roamed the seas with his horrid pink face, sinking into his manatee depression deeper each day. He spent most of his time looking for shells and pink rocks with which to finish constructing his completely custom manatee house. Upon the completion of his house, he swam back to take a look. It was quite a sight. A completely pink and seashell house, sparking underwater for all to see - but far enough away so that no one but the occasional plankton would ever rest their eyes on the sight.

But then one day, things changed. Manny was reclining in his lava rock chair watching "Manatee News Weekly" hosted by Manfred Manatee and Dolphina Dolphin when he heard a "tap tap" at his seashell pink door. He grumpily swam over muttering "What the fuck is this shit? Ain't noone supposed to know I'm here!", and opened the door to to find the most beautiful green dolphin swimming at his step. 

"Excuse me sir, ... wow. I'm sorry, I've just... " the dolphin began.

Manny cut her off. "Yeah, I know I'm hideous, I get it, what do you want?" he snorted.

"No, no, you aren't hideous at all! I've never seen a manatee so, different, so ... beautiful! You see, I've been shunned by the dolphin community because I am green. So I've been swimming the seas to try to find a new home and live alone for the rest of my days. By the way, I'm Dolores the dolphin."

"Oh shit! Yeah, naw that's cool - hey you want to come inside? I've got plenty of gummie fish treats and other shit. You could sit down with me on my seashell couch and we can talk about how everyone else hates us and how most other dolphins are bastards and assholes. I'm Manny the manatee" Manny said with his weird, pink smile.

"That sounds amazing and delightful!" Dolores replied.

After five minutes of watching Manatee News Weekly and eating gummie fish treats, they decided that their awkward coloring was really a twist of fate - and that they were meant to be together forever. Dolores eventually became pregnant with a whole bunch of dolphin/manatee babies, and they were all different colors of the rainbow. Soon after, Dolores and Manny had a big fight about changing the seashell house from pink to green, so Dolores ended up packing up her dolphin belongings, took all the rainbow dolphin/manatee babies, and moved in with a red whale named Wally. They lived happily ever after, and Manny ended up eating a rock that he thought was a fish and died.

The end.

An Open Letter To The Piccadilly Circus (WARNING: A LOT of curse words and disturbing and sarcastic language)

Dear creators of the Piccadilly Circus (Reading Edition),

I try not to be a hater. I try to find the good things in whatever I'm doing, whether I'm stuck in traffic (just look at the scenery!) or cleaning the pee off my daughter's sheets for the gazillionth time (well they probably needed to be cleaned anyway!). But this shit that you had going on tonight was straight up busted. BUSTED.

FIRST OFF, you need to get your shit TOGETHER. When I walked into the Sovereign Center tonight, the first words out of my mouth were "what the fuck?". Half of the arena was blocked off, and there was one, not three but ONE small area that I guess you would consider a ring, and then the rest of it was a FUCKING PETTING ZOO. There weren't even interesting animals to pet! It was all shaggy looking goats and llamas that were either fighting with eachother or shitting all over their pens (which we had the perfect seats for watching). And of course the kids were moshing just to get a chance to touch these most likely diseased animals, which you charged 4 bazillion dollars just to look at.

THEN, after a somewhat cool, death-defying motorcyle stunt, you BROUGHT OUT THE CLOWNS. Now I think everyone here can agree that clowns are creepy as fuck. The last thing that I want to do with my Sunday night is watch these motherfuckers running all over the place, squirting water in people's faces and ABUSING HORSES AND DOGS with whips and shit. Fucked up.

After what seemed like maybe twenty minutes of stupid, unfunny, nightmare-inducing clowns, yes you did have some talented people doing weird shit with their bodies, rollerskating and bending in ways I only wish I could. But then you were like "ALRIGHT INTERMISSION"  - which basically means, "ALRIGHT, EVERYBODY GET OUT YOUR WALLETS AND THROW ALL YOUR MONEY INTO THE RING BECAUSE WE ARE GOING TO PARADE SOME BALLOONS AND LIGHT SABERS AND SUPER EXPENSIVE SHIT IN FRONT OF YOUR KIDS UNTIL THEY CRY AND SCREAM AND KICK YOU TO GET THEM ONE!". And of course all of the parents around me are like "Here little Bobby, here's 20 fucking ballons and light sabers because you are amazing and a wonderful child and isn't the circus just great?" And I'm over in my seat with Ireland and she's pointing out every other child's cool shit that they got and saying "MOM WHERE'S MY SHIT" and I'm like "'FUCK IT I'LL GET YOU ONE IF YOU JUST SHUT UP!'". Yeah. I spent so much money on tickets ($90) and then food ($30) that the last thing I want to do is shell out twelve fucking dollars for a Spongebob balloon that my kids going to end up popping before we even get home, causing more tears and drama. Fuckers. Wallet rapers.

Good Lord. I remember going to Barnum and Bailey when I was younger and being amazed at the trapeze artists, and LIVE TIGERS that they had straight up jumping through hoops and eating fire and shit. THAT was a show. 

But this shit you have going on here? Not worth the money. Not worth the time. Not worth praying to God that we don't get a ticket for parking in an area that somebody told us was probably free. Not worth my child refusing to sleep due to a sugar overdose. 

So please, shut your shit down, let those poor deranged senile animals free, and go to a REAL CIRCUS and TAKE SOME GODDAMN NOTES. Because your pickle-dick circus, or whatever the fuck you call it, is a joke.

Sincerely,

I WANT MY MONEY BACK

I love writing, and have decided that  I need to do more of that. 

Therefore, I'm going to post some of my Facebook notes/stories on here for all to see, and am going to continue writing stories for folks on Facebook. I chose to keep them in a blog instead of Facebook, simply because I keep forgetting where the link for Facebook Notes is. Every.damn.time.

So yeah, enjoy, and let me know if you have any new ideas for stories! You will get a shout out on the blog, and the link will also be posted on your Facebook page.