THERE’S NOTHING YOU CAN DO OR SAY TO STOP ME. I AM GOING TO THROW THIS PIECE OF CRAP OUT THE WINDOW AND WATCH IT FALL SIX FLOORS FROM MY OFFICE BUILDING. THEN I WILL DOUSE THE CRUMBLED PARTS IN GASOLINE AND LIGHT IT ON FIRE. THEN I WILL GET THE ASS WHO HAS BEEN PISSING IN OUR STAIRWELL TO PISS ON THE FIRE SO I CAN THEN DOUSE IT WITH MORE GASOLINE AND LIGHT IT ON FIRE AGAIN. YOU CANNOT STOP ME. YOU CANNOT HOLD ME BACK. THEN WHILE I’M THERE, I’LL DOUSE THE ASS WHO HAS BEEN PISSING IN OUR STAIRWELL IN GASOLINE AND LIGHT HIM ON FIRE. THEN I WILL ROLL AROUND IN THE ASHES OF MY COMPUTER AND THAT ASS WHO HAS BEEN PISSING IN OUR STAIRWELL. I WILL REVEL IN HAPPINESS. I WILL MAKE LITTLE ASH ANGELS OR USE THE ASHES TO ROLL IT INTO A FATTY AND SMOKE IT.

Or, I can ask the tech guy to help me out. He is on his way.

BUT IF HE DOESN’T COME NOW I’M GOING TO THROW THIS OUT THE WINDOW. OR MAYBE I WILL THROW IT AT THE FIRST PERSON I SEE, WHO HAPPENS TO BE A VERY NICE PERSON BUT IN EVERY WAR THERE ARE INNOCENT VICTIMS.

Today I am at the office, making the Internets. Because that is what I do. I make the Internets for a living. A series of tubes I help create just for children. Anyway, what I’ve noticed the last few weeks is that our stairway smells like pee. As in urine. It’s overwhelming and disgusting. I do not like the smell of pee. I think in general, people do not like the smell of pee. If people did, then they’d make pee incense, air freshener, potpurri, and scratch n’ sniff stickers, and that is just not the case.

Anyway, I just found the source. It is indeed urine. Someone peed in our stairway, sixth floor. Guess what? It was not me.

If you are reading this, and you have peed in our stairway, please clean it up. It will be challenging since it is dried, but the stain and stench is unmistakable. You have peed in our stairway and people are cross. Please refrain from peeing in our stairway in the future. I’d like to recommend peeing in a toilet. Toilets are nice because you can pee in them and then your pee goes away (only if you flush). I’d like to recommend flushing too.

Thanks.

ROACHES ARE IN MY BATHTUB. They get in, but they can’t get out. Just like the mafia.

Current mood: disturbed

OH GOD.

They are coming out of the faucet. OUT OF THE FAUCET! The only thing that should come out of a faucet is water. Or beer. But definitely NOT ROACHES. I imagine turning on the water, and then just a string of roaches gushing out. I feel nauseous.

Current mood: nauseous

They are big. Like New York City-sized. We’re talking airplane carriers. When you cut them open more roaches come out THAT IS HOW BIG THEY ARE. So I am sitting here wondering what to do. I do not like to kill them. No wait, I want to kill them, but I do not want to touch them. I do not want to squash them and see their roachy bits all over my bathtub. Also when you smash a roach it has this distinct smell. It smells like vomit and darkness and hopelessness. Like you kill this one but there are MILLIONS MORE COMING DOWN THE FAUCET RIGHT NOW. AT THIS VERY SECOND. It’s really the hard candy shell that gets me. Like they have this hard shell but inside they are all juicy, so they squirt when you kill them. Some of them come out OF THE FAUCET dead, which is a mystery. Others are peppy and ready to rage and party in your apartment and drink all your beer eat all your scooby snacks and take all yoru wimmin, if they could just get out of the damn tub. I tried turning on the hot water to boil one to death, but guess what? My urine is hotter than the hot water that comes out of the faucet. Yes that is disgusting, but IT IS TRUE. I had to sit there while it took this nice bath, it was like ah, this is it, right here. Can you give me some bubbles? Maybe a little antenna massage? Meanwhile I am like DIE MOTHERFUCKER WHY WON’T YOU DIE?

I am feeling ornery today. I do not know why. There is something in the air that is making me want to deliver serious beatdowns. At first I thought that the something in the air was onions, because that is what my apartment smells like because the restaurant downstairs really likes to fry onions for no particular reason other than to make my apartment smell like onions. A friend suggested I cook fish to get rid of the smell. I remember going to a dinner party and my friend made scallops and dinner and it was all delicious because he is a good cook but everyone’s clothes smelled like scallops and even my mittens and my hair smelled like scallops and then I went to another party where everyone was like what smells like scallops? And I was like, I dunno it’s totally disgusting, that person should leave right now. And then when I went home to shower, it smelled like a scallop steam bath, it was totally redonk. I don’t even eat scallops, but you know what I learned? A little scallop steam bath makes the ladies go wild. Take note boys, I had to beat them off with a stick. Like beat them really hard. I felt kind of bad about doing it, but it also kind of felt satisfying. I don’t think that gyms should have boxing or Tae Bo or whatever. They shouldn’t even have weights. They should just have a ring with a car in the middle and then give out bats and have people go apenuts on it, kind of like Michael Jackson in Bad except without the crotch grabbing. I mean I guess people can grab their crotches, I am not one to make the rules in a gym. I leave that up to the professionals. But I would join that gym and actually go, crotch grabbing aside.

Anyway this thing in the air is also making me want to scream and kick things, mostly people. It is also making me want to throw sweet ninja stars at the fashionistas who are in town for Fashion Week. The things people are wearing on the street are totally out of control. Like you look like an idiot! Stop it! You are making me look like an idiot just by being near you. Second hand idiocy. I heard someone say that the “collection this season is very spiritual.” I do not know what that means unless the collection was designed by Jesus. But maybe that is just me.

Sorry. I am being ornery.

I am going to listen to Sam Cooke and do the cha cha.

Steve just told me that his Homie got SNATCHED. He received an envelope with my note, but with no Homie. I’m really sad. And in addition angry. If you have to steal and be a jerk, then take money or drugs or some electronic equipment that you can actually GET MONEY FOR, YOU MORON. LEAVE THE HOMIES ALONE.

So now I worry that all the Homies I have sent off in the world are going to be Homie-snatched too. And all of you will remain homieless. I’ll have to start some kind of fundraiser for the homieless. So to my human homies, I apologize that New York-based United States postal workers cannot be trusted with toy Homies, I’m sorry if you don’t receive yours because of some filthy Homie pirates.

I will be mad pissed if my Homie doesn’t make it to Australia. Can you imagine? It takes like a hundred years for crap to get there, and then on the other end, you just get a stupid note without a Homie. Like what is the point of even living.

Boo.

Heath Ledger is dead. His masseuse (ahem) and housekeeper found him in bed, unconscious, next to a bottle of pills. People suspect the pills and the death are related. It’s like how could they not be? What else would a 28-year-old actor die from in Manhattan? Happiness? Good looks?

He was found in Mary Kate Olsen’s apartment!

Everyone in the office waskind of shocked and then the jokes started flying in like two seconds, including:

“I guess there’s an apartment up for rent.”
“Maybe it was an illegal sublet?”
“No that area’s landmark now. You won’t be able to get in.”
“Shit.”

“I think Mary Kate killed him so she could eat him (and later barf him up.)”

“Pills? LAME. That is not rock n’ roll. Motorcycle accident. That’s the real way.”
“No, shark attack. That’s how you do it. That’s real rock n’ roll.”

“Maybe Jack Nicholson killed him.” (Ledger was supposed to be the new Joker in the new Batman)

“Maybe he wanted a tug and some pills. Nothing wrong with that. EXCEPT FOR DYING.”

I don’t really feel sorry when celebrities die. Like are they not supposed to die because they are famous? Like oh, I’m famous, that means I can take 4x the regular amount of drugs than a non-famous person! I was bummed when Cobain died but I was, like, sixteen or something. I cried at everything. Anyway both left a kid, which is really the saddest part.

ALSO: Why are celebrities who commit suicide or die of an OD always found naked? It’s like, I’m going to take these pills, but first I will strip.

OK now I’m being insensitive. Sorry.

UPDATE: It was not Mary Kate’s apartment as newspapers had previously reported. He was renting it. Now it might not be suicide, hard to say. Autopsy is pending. I know the kid had a lot of demons, so suicide wouldn’t be surprising. Still a shame though.

The greatest thing about having no heat is that you can accidentally leave the milk out overnight and when you wake up it is perfectly fine and ready to go. It’s like my fridge just got a lot bigger. About 187 square feet bigger.

It was chilly last night so I decided to make cookies in order to use the oven and warm up the joint. So two things happen: I get warm and I get cookies. It is pretty much a win-win situation, right? NO. There are no such things as win-win situations. They are make-believe, like octopus.

So, I bake cookies. They are only OK because I do not have certain ingredients that would make my cookies even more excellent. Suddenly the carbon monoxide alarm goes off. My apartment is so small that I have to bake with windows open. But that prevents my apartment from actually warming up. So then I’d have cookies, but a cold apartment, which is not a win-win, but a win-lose. If I keep the windows closed, then I will have cookies, a warm apartment, but I will die from carbon monoxide. So that is a win-win-lose. Also not good. I do not like to lose. No one likes to lose. If people liked to lose then everyone would truly be a winner and we all know the world doesn’t work like that, no matter what your stupid teacher told you. Also no one uses trigonometry either. Another lie. Anyway here’s an unlie: There are winners. There are losers. We all want to be winners, but when you try to be a winner, you will at some point be a loser because we can’t win ‘em all, right? So basically, I lost big time. I opened the windows. I froze my ass off. But the good news is that the milk is totally fine, you guys. So you can breathe easy now. The milk was saved.

So they “found” my luggage and delivered it to me. They did not know what happened. They fly to only three cities, you’d think they’d know what was up. They are sorry, but not sorry enough if you ask me. They delivered it. It was in one whole piece and not several pieces as I had anticipated. Christmas was not ruined. Not yet anyway.

Now I think, hey I have clothes! I have my gifts! I shall take a shower. A glorious shower. I shall wear new clothes. It will be amazing. Oh, wait, what’s this? My parents haven’t had HOT WATER in two days?????? Dude. Even my crappy compartment in New York has hot water (most of the time). An outrage! So now I must drive to my friend’s house which is 40 minutes away because my parents moved out of the Valley, but in the opposite direction from where all the “action” is. This is because my parents do not like “action.” They see “action” and they think, you know what? I will avoid it. I will go way over here. But then everyday I will drive to the “action” and it will be a very far drive. It is better this way.

I’m sorry for my odor everyone. It’s not my fault. I swear. When the situation allows it, I pay very close attention to personal hygiene. So now I recommend that everyone step back a few feet from me. Or stop breathing. Either one is fine.

The best part about going to Los Angeles is sitting next to an eight-year-old beastchild who cries and whines and bellyaches because she wants to watch a Disney princess movie and then for some reason, she throws up on her mother and the stench overwhelms the entire cabin. OK no, you’re right. That’s not the best part. The best part is sitting next to a couple who decides to fight for the first half of the trip and then make out the second half, but wait, they are sitting behind the boyfriend’s parents! What?!? Who does that? No wait, alright, alright, I’m lying. That is not the best part either. The actual real best part about going to Los Angeles is landing at LAX and waiting over an hour at the “baggage carousel” which is, interestingly enough, not as festive as a carousel but twice as annoying. The even bester part is that when the bags finally start coming down this baggage poop chute contraption, you realize they are totally drenched from the rain. But wait, wait, that’s not really the best part. This is the best part:

People tell you–unapologetically–that your luggage has gone missing. They just don’t know where it is, they’re sorry. The good news is that they will write a claim on your behalf. Oh how lucky I am. What does the bag look like? I say it’s green. They show me a profile sheet of different bags of different styles. Kind of like when people go to the police station and you flip through books that have pictures of criminals, except instead of criminals there are bags with labels like “soft-material, upright, with wheels and extending handle.” So now there is a claim on my behalf! 1 bag, style: 22, color: GN. I would rather write a claim on my own behalf, to be honest. After all, I am a writer. I can write my own claims, thank you. If you start writing for me, then I will be out of a job. So, then, my claim:

CLAIM: YOU HAVE LOST MY BAG. YOU HAVE NOT ONLY RUINED MY CHRISTMAS, YOU HAVE RUINED EVERYONE ELSE’S CHRISTMAS BECAUSE THEIR GIFTS ARE INSIDE THAT BAG. YOU KNOW, THE ONE THAT “HAS GONE MISSING.” MY CLAIM IS THAT YOU ARE INCOMPETENT.

There was another woman too, whose bag had also “gone missing.” She was on her way back from Australia. She was very tired. She started to cry. Then she started to get angry. Then she started to cry. I was exhausted just listening to her.

Having said all this, I am in Los Angeles. Hello, there. Also, I do not have clean underwear and my hair smells like vomit. The time is 5:17 am New York time, which I am currently on, despite the fact that I am in Los Angeles. I am wearing random things that belong to my mother, including her underwear. It is new underwear, fresh from a little tube, but still, it is strange to be wearing my mother’s underwear. Plus, it is big. Because she’s bigger. My mother laughed at me. Thanks, Mom. Why don’t you just kick me in the throat while I’m down? It’ll make the lack of luggage go down much easier.

I am going to go to bed now in order to wake up from this horrible nightmare. Maybe tomorrow I will have luggage and my friends and family members will have gifts. Or maybe not. If that is the case, I shall continue to sleep.

Let’s say that you are in a car. You are on your way home. You have the luxury of having a car in the City of New York. You are parking the car on the street in a very popular and nice neighborhood. Let’s say you see two people near a car. These two people look like nice people. Let’s say one is Asian. She has glasses. Let’s say that these two people, one being Asian with glasses, are having problems with the car that they have borrowed from a friend for the holiday weekend. The hood is up. They look distressed even though it is a Sunday afternoon, and just as the name promises, it is indeed sunny. These two people, one being Asian with glasses and perhaps a writer of some kind, are having problems with the car battery. Let’s say one person accidentally left the headlights on and the battery died. These things happen. It doesn’t really matter because it’s all hypothetical. The Asian girl with glasses approaches you. For simplicity’s sake, let’s call her Frannie. Frannie sees that you are parking your car right next to their car, which has the hood up. Frannie says, excuse me, can you please give us a jump. What do you say?

A) Sure!
B) No!

If your answer is B you are a dick. But again, this is all hypothetical. Let’s pretend you say, no, sorry, I do not have cables. Frannie then says, actually we have cables and they are ready to go, all hooked up, we just need someone with a running engine. Then you say, oh sorry, we can’t do that. Frannie does not understand. You are here, you are clearly on your way home and not in an emergency situation. You have a running engine, and it’s right next to the Asian girl’s vehicle. Frannie is confused. Her friend, let’s call him Mohn asks, can they help? She says, no, they don’t want to help. Frannie feels disappointed. For a good chunk of time she and Mohn have flagged down various cars and cabs who are unable to help or refuse to stop even though Frannie waves her arms and flashes her most winning, non-threatening smile. Now she finally runs into someone who can help, but refuses to help. Mohn calls a friend who just happens to be renting a car in the Isle of Manhattan. He comes by to jump the car. Let’s call him Zechariah. Even though Zechariah is about to leave for a very long trip to Savannah and is stressed out, he still helps. Because he is a good person. A very good person. While Zechariah jumps the car, a line of cars appear behind the cars. They are upset. They see there are cars blocking the street. Both hoods are up. There is nothing that can be done. Frannie has done her best to divert traffic away from the block, but people do not want to follow directions. Frannie does her best to explain the situation and offers to help them back up. Other cars back up. Except for one. The driver decides to yell at Frannie. She does her best to be polite. He gets very cross. Listen sir, she explains, there’s nothing that can be done. You will either have to back up or be patient. He does not like the two simple options presented to him. She walks away while he is yelling at her. Zechariah jumps the battery. He saves the day. Everyone is happy. As a reward, Zechariah gets a hug.

Let’s pretend Frannie is disappointed. She is surprised by people’s refusal to help. She believes that in other cities, people might help in this situation. She understands that not everyone in New York is like this, but sometimes it is difficult to remember. From this (hypothetical) situation, she learns a few valuable lessons. One, don’t leave the headlights on. Two, people can be dicks. Three, your friends never are.