My compadre Aaron B. believes his extremely stupid and pointless ‘hard gravy/brown gold’ invention is better than my extremely stupid and pointless sticky tape hazmat suit for pets and/or people. He believes he is the Greatest Inventor of All Time. Better than Leonardo da Vinci, Thomas Edison, and that Englishman who invented the Magic Bullet (make salsa in three seconds!). He believes he is better than me.

He is obviously high on little something that rhymes with ‘rack docaine’.

Guess what, Aaron B?

I AM CHALLENGING YOU TO A GRAND INVENTION DUAL IRON CHEF DEATHMATCH CHALLENGE INVENTION-OFF. There will be one winner. There will be one loser. That winner will be me. That means you will be the loser. THE LOSER. I HOPE YOU LIKE TO LOSE BECAUSE YOU ARE REALLY GOOD AT IT.

I have taken off my glove and slapped you across the face. How does that feel, bitch? Does it sting? IT WILL STING WORSE WHEN YOU LOSE. My invention will kick your invention’s ass and stuff it in a locker. It will be an ass-whooping of such epic proportions that you will have to poop out of your mouth because you will be lacking in the ass department on account of the whopping I delivered to your ass only moments before.

The winner (i.e. me) will win one billion dollars and a chance to meet me and an autographed copy of my own book.

We need rules. Aaron B. (THE LOSER) and I leave it up to the readers for the rules and parameters (i.e. invention to do a specific task, invention to use a specific material, invention to make ANNIE A WINNER). Then Aaron B. (THE LOSER) and I will choose three judges based on their skills, background, and dashing good looks.

IT’S ON.

I think this will be fun especially because I WILL WIN.

I eat a lot of toast. I think I have mentioned this before, somewhere. I eat many pieces of toast a day. In the process of making and eating toast, I sometimes leave crumbs. I happen to be very conscientious about leaving crumbs, but toast is full of crumbs. In fact, it’s like crumbs stuck together and shaped into a piece of bread. So no matter how careful I am, I leave crumbs. Then I have to vacuum, etc. Sometimes I want to chase myself around my apartment with a vacuum cleaner while I eat toast.

So, what if I made some kind of bib out of sticky tape? Then all the crumbs fall and hit the tape. OH MY GOD I AM BRILLIANT. I WILL BE RICH DO NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT STEALING MY IDEA.

Then I was thinking how all my friends with pets always have lint rollers and complain about the hair situation. So why not make it easier by making some kind of overcoat or smock out of lint rollers? It’d be a lot easier than shaving your cat. Then when you leave the house, you can take it all off and ta da your clothes are pet hair free! Or you can make a lint roller outfit for your pet. I mean if pets can wear sweaters and hoodies the can certainly wear lint rollers. I should get the patent on this pronto.

Frank Gehry has a patent on the “fish shape.” Can you believe that? I didn’t until someone showed it to me on the U.S. Patent Office website. It seems ridiculous that one can own a patent on a shape. You’d think that fish would own the patent on that one. If I were a fish, I’d be pretty pissed. I’d get a patent on Frank Gehry-shaped things and then sue him for being shaped like Frank Gehry.

I got more Homies! They are beautiful. Stunning even. When you see these you are seriously going to wet yourself (in a good way). I should send an extra pair of undies along with each Homie because it is going to freak you out. You have been warned.

Anyway, for those of you who want one, please send me your address. Even if you sent it to me before, please send it again. My inbox is packed full of emails from people who are really concerned about my penis and wonder if my penis can really please that special lady, so things are a little confusing for me right now. Thank you for being patient with my penis.

For those of you whose Homies got Homie-jacked by the evildoers of the United States Postal Office (shame on you, and the finger!) please give me your address again. I’ll send you another one. It won’t be as good as the one you lost though. Just know that. But somehow you will find the strength to move on, I know.

I made soup last night. I made enough soup for ten people, which was nine more than I needed. I don’t know what happened, but all of the sudden I had enough soup to feed a nation. This is one of those situations, like the Homies, where I’d MAIL SOUP to people. But if the USPS is going to steal Homies, you know they’re going to steal soup. Everyone likes soup. Like everyone. I mean it. Every culture/country has a soup. Hmm, they think, all I have is this carcass and a turnip and I am hungry and oddly thirsty too. I wonder what I can make? Ding, ding, ding SOUP.

The soup is roasted butternut squash. It looks like pureed sunshine. And it tastes delicious. It tastes like fairies. If you do not know what fairies taste like, then all I can say is that it tastes like my soup. I had a squash sitting on top of my fridge for a week and I got sick of looking at it. I mean I lugged the thing home from the store and it just sat there taunting me on top of my rice cooker which is on top of my fridge which is on top of my floor which is on top of my downstairs neighbor who is about a thousand years old and smokes so much I can smell cigarettes when I pass his door. So the squash says to me, ha ha ha, I am going to rot before you eat me, you suck! I hate you! So then I got severely angry and thought, hey squash, you know what? I’m going to eat the crap out of you and we’ll see who will be taunting who, you jackass. Then I realized I was sitting in my kitchen, which is also my bedroom, talking to a squash.

So, I thought I would roast it. So I roasted it. Then I thought, hmm, it is cold outside. You know what would be delicious? Soup. Let me make a soup. So I did (roasted onions, carrots, an apple, vegetable stock, cardamom, cinnamon, thyme, a muddy boot, fairies, children, and fairy children). Then all of the sudden I was pureeing for like half an hour and had more soup then I knew what do with. It’s not like I can make anything else out of soup, you know? Like I can’t bread it and deep fry it or something. So I had about a quarter of a bowl and decided, you know what? I’m gonna go out to dinner. Because quite frankly, I was sick of the soup even though I hadn’t really eaten it. I don’t know if that ever happens to you. But I cook something and then I never want to eat it even though it’s perfectly delicious. So now my fridge is full of soup. SOUP!

I keep getting outbid on Homies, it’s really irritating. I looked everywhere for a vending machine. Please sit tight I will have Homies shortly.

Chuca feels empty inside. She thinks. She ponders. She thinks some more in a ponderous fashion. She wonders what it all means. She is confused. She has many questions, but who has the answers? She wants to take a pilgrimage to “find herself.” Chuca doesn’t actually know what she will find, whether it will be herself or someone else. But she decides to go to the one place that always has all the answers.

No, not India. Michelle’s apartment in Portland, Oregon.

Michelle explains quickly that it’s pronounced “Or-uh-gun.” She hates it when people say “Or-uh-GONE.” Don’t sound stupid, Michelle warns, or else no one will like you. Chuca nods. She understands. She has been around a lot of stupid people and understands what that’s like. Michelle introduces Chuca to some very spiritual people. One is a reformed race car driver. He used to drive very fast but realized that while driving very fast, he was letting life pass him by. He came to Michelle’s apartment in Portland, Or-uh-gun to learn how to live slowly and deliberately, you know, like Thoreau. Chuca says, uh, whatever. You’re a Lego. It’s not like your life is that hard. You drive a race car, please. You have everything going for you. You’re Danish. She then meets Black Cupid. Chuca says she’s never met a black Cupid before. Black Cupid says that he is like a black angel, have you ever met a black angel before? Chuca says no. Black Cupid explains, look, it’s a long story. Just know I can make your life really shitty and in addition difficult. Why so angry, Chuca asks? Black Cupid says it’s part of the job, don’t take it personally. Chuca is wondering if finding herself was such a good idea.

Chuca meets the Buddha. Immediately, Chuca feels calm. Buddha has some kind of balmy energy. It could also be the handful of Valiums the reformed Lego race car driver had slipped her, but for now let us pretend Chuca has found peace. She and Buddha talk. She rubs his belly for good luck. Buddha gets pissed though. Do not rub my belly without asking me first. Chuca apologizes. She is happy now, you see. She has found peace in Or-uh-gun. She can’t wait to tell Michelle the good news, but Michelle is not at home. She is an architecture student. She may never come home again. But Chuca is OK with that. She asks Buddha if she can rub his belly and Buddha rolls his eyes and says fine, but then later you have to make me a sandwich.

Thanks, Michelle!

Alice lives in Guimaraes, which is in Portugal. Portugal is in Europe. Europe is on a continent. It’s one of seven continents, actually. Alice received her Homie, safe and sound.

For some reason Alice’s Homie is very sad. In fact, her name is Sad Girl. Why so sad? No idea, she just moved to beautiful Portugal to live with a nice lesbian family and their dog! This nice lesbian family, plus the dog (who may or may not be lesbian), are all afflicted with a rare form of gigantism. Check out her new home, it’s afflicted with gigantism too! There’s no reason why this menina should not be, uh, not feliz.

Turns out Sad Girl is sad because she is an illegal immigrant to Portugal and now she must work for this nice lesbian family. They treat her well, but Sad Girl is sad. She takes care of a very large baby who sleeps in a very large crib. Sad Girl cannot believe what a pain in the ass this baby is with all the crying and the wanting to be fed on a semi-regular basis.

Sad Girl must walk the nice lesbian family’s dog. Which also doubles as a horse. It’s a very adorable dog/horse. But, man, its poop is the size of a smaller dog/horse.

Sad Girl goes to bed. She decides that the nice lesbian family afflicted with a rare form of gigantism is very nice and will love her, though most likely not in a lesbian way. She sleeps wondering if gigantism is contagious. She’s pretty sure lesbian is not contagious, but she’s not sure about gigantism. Then she decides even if it was, she’d be OK with it. That is when Sad Girl realizes her tears are actually tears of joy.

Thanks Alice!

Some of my Homies did not travel far. Aura lives about eighty blocks away from me in a very magical part of New York City called the Upper East Side. At first her Homie was like, dude, I’m a west sider (woo woo) what is up with all the Jews around here? Then Aura had to explain that he was being, quite frankly, a real dick, and that he should be more tolerant of other cultures and religions. She then told him a story about Moses and the many years her people suffered. Her Homie apologized for being insensitive and now they are tight like they are brothers from another mother except Aura is a girl and not technically a brother, but you know what I mean.

This is Ice Cold. He appears to be some kind of white rapper. I say this because he is holding a mic and has a baseball cap. He could also be a private investigator going undercover as a white rapper. Aura decided to take Ice Cold to work. She happens to work at The Most Important News Publication of Our Time, People. Ice Cold was confused because for a magazine about people, the offices are really empty and without people. Listen, Aura explained, magazines are a tough business. We have to compete with Gawker and those douchebags from Radar. I mean, come on. We have a fourteen page spread about Britney. What do they have? A TWELVE page spread. You better recognize! Ice Cold indeed recognizes.

Ice Cold and Aura decide to get a snack. At the copy desk of The Most Important News Publication of Our Time, there is always free food. Ice Cold takes a nibble on what appears to be a very large piece of foccacia. Meanwhile, Aura’s boss looks on. He is stunned. IS THAT A HOMIE? HOLY SHIT!!!!!! Ice Cold signs an autograph on Aura’s boss’s chest.

It begins to snow over our fair city. Aura takes Ice Cold to the window in order to point out the Empire State Building, but she quickly realizes that she can’t see much from the window other than other windows. Ice Cold likes the snow, that is where he gets his rap moniker. He also likes ice in his drinks, even his beer and his soy milk. He also likes to tell jokes about people’s mothers and he thinks that’s pretty ice cold even though everyone explains that jokes about mothers is so 2002 and, like, so totally over along with Wilmer Valderama’s career. Ice Cold would give everyone the finger, but his hands are stuck to the mic.

Ice Cold is excited. He has never been anywhere outside the barrio and Annie’s crappy, cold, overpriced, tiny apartment. He is elated. He begins to rap. Everyone in the office pleads him to stop. Aura gets a brilliant idea. If Ice Cold can’t see the Empire State Building then she can bring the Empire State Building to Ice Cold! But…why stop there? She quickly builds a few monuments. Ice Cold can now say he has seen the Empire State Building, as well as the Eiffel Tower, the Sears Tower, the Space Needle, the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and some other place that looks straight out of the Lord of the Rings. He is the happiest he’s ever been.

Thanks Aura!

Pedro received his Homie and played hooky from work to go sightseeing in London with his Homie.

Meet Pec. “Pec” is short for “pequeño” which means “little” in Spanish. At first Pec thought someone was smoking bongloads of weed and then he realized, oh it’s just the London fog.

Pec goes to the Bow Road Underground station. He’s all about the underground. You know, like raves n’ stuff.

They get off at Liverpool Station. At rush hour. Pec thinks, Liverpool Station sucks it right now. Where is everyone going and why are they walking so fast? Pec’s legs are stuck together so it is rather difficult for him to keep up. Londoners are leggy.

They walk down Liverpool Street. Everyone wears a suit there and Pec feels a bit underdressed. He’s also a bit chilly and wonders if anyone notices his nips are kind of hard.

Pec goes to work. Pec is training as an architect and leaving his gangbanging days behind. Pedro explains that gangbanging will come in handy in architecture. Word.

Pec and Pedro rent bikes. Pec thought it’d be a low-rider bike, like what he rode in the barrio, but Pedro has to explain that London doesn’t have that kind of stuff because it’s all cultured n’ shit. Pec gets pissed. He doesn’t want to ride a bike unless it is a low-rider.

Pedro says, fine, be a little bitch. We’re going to queue up for a cab. Pec is stoked because the cabs in London are all old-skool.

Pedro and Pec go to the Gherkin. Pec thinks the Gherkin looks like a dildo.

Pec likes the Gherkin. He thinks Norman Foster is the new Frank Gehry but he’s not sure if that’s a compliment. Pec decides he also likes dildos, but that is a totally different story for a different day. also, Coca-Cola is a delicious beverage.

What time is? Pec has no idea. He wishes someone could tell him the damn time already.

Pec thinks the London Eye should have more twists and turns and loops like a real roller coaster. This just goes around and around, he says, it’s a bullshit ride.

Pec goes to Westminster Abbey. He likes the digs. If there’s a woman out there that can hold him down, he’ll totally marry her at the Abbey. Pedro explains that it’s only for royalty. Pec calls bullshit on that too.

Pec goes shopping! Even though the dollar sucks right now. He likes that Mars Bars in Britain taste like Snickers.

Pec high fives the Queen and compliments her bling.

Pec celebrates the Year of the Rat. He explains to Pedro that rats are clever and mischievous. Pec is a rat. From the hood, where he keeps it real. He is not sure if Londoners keep it real.

Pec sees a bus. It blows his mind. THERE ARE TWO DECKS? So, does that mean it’s like a double decker bus or something like that?

Pec and Pedro ride the bus. Pec is tired. They go home. Pec decides he likes London. He likes to make fun of people’s accents too. Oh, put it in the boot! Ride the lift! Mind the gap!

Thanks to Pedro for seriously showing a Homie how to rock a party.

This Homie now resides in a magical place called Portugal. Those are oranges. As you know, oranges can only be found in Portugal. It is a very magical place. I am not sure what his real name is, but Renato is calling him Jesse “El Charro” Hernandez, and he likes to read Proust and, interestingly enough, my book. “El Charro” means joint. As in the kind you smoke, not the kind you stick up with a mask and a gun.

This is Laughing Boy and he now lives in Australia with Kate and what appears to be a Tasmanian devil, everyone’s favorite carnivorous marsupial. According to the Homies site, Laughing Boy loves to laugh so much that “Ther (sic) is little doubt that he will eventually laugh himself to death.” That’s very sweet.

This is Steve’s first Homie. Oh? Where’d it go? It is a mystery. It looks like someone stuck a finger in there and pulled out the Homie. Bastards!

This is my last Homie, which is on hold for Steve. During my “minivation,” I found the sweetest lighter ever. I believe it was given to me by Aaron, who bought it at a gas station in Texas. This is the final Homie in my collection unless I buy more, which is a possibility. I feel bad there were people who didn’t get one, and plus, I like this Annietown Daft Punk Edition: Homies Around the World.

Ok keep the pictures coming. In the meantime, ask yourselves this question:

Why doesn’t Annie have heat?

My friend Mike now lives on some stupid island called Hawaii, which sounds like the worst place ever with its stupid trees and stupid rainbows and stupid, puppy-eating sharks. Anyway he received his sweet Homie and took a picture of it. His Homie looks really happy, even though it’s stuck on some stupid island with those actors from Lost. Anyway, I think it would be kind of kick-ass, much like a magical unicorn in an enchanged forest, if those of you who received Homies, sent me a picture of it. I will put them up and post an Annietown Special Daft Punk Edition: Homies Around the World. I also find myself wanting to buy more Homies and mailing them out, but the whole point of this exercise was to actually get rid of my Homies and not collect more, but they are kind of addicting. I see they have a new series just based on dogs, called Homie Hood Hounds. Homies have really come a long way. How can I resist? I am not a robot. I am made of flesh and blood. WHY ARE THEY DOING THIS TO ME?