Comedian Blood in Her Veins – A Tribute to As-Yet-Unsure-of-Itself Talent


Throughout my years of being a deep thinker lost in over-analytical, near autistic introversion, I feel like I have continually met guys whose brains I sync up with perfectly. I can easily rattle off a list of them, dudes whose bodies seemed to be useless flesh, a boring vessel simply meant to carry around what was the piece de resistance – their monstrous, overworked brains. We’d sit around and let the conversation flow like a burst dam, easily lobbing philosophies back and forth and usually making me wonder one question over and over again: where are all the hyper-intellectual girls?

Writing this dedication provided a unique challenge in that what I wanted to say made me wonder if I was sexist, mainly because the person I want to toast is both someone I think is really cool, inspiring and…a girl! Gasp!

Maybe it’s just my aversion, either through laziness, shyness, fear, confusion, or, once again, just plain old detached introversion, towards interacting with females, but on the list of girls with whom I’ve really felt the same vibe of those aforementioned conversations, I can only think of but one: my friend Liza.

The words ‘smart’ and ‘funny’ are thrown around a lot when guys sing the praises of girls. I don’t think you’re allowed to have that ‘aw shucks’ speech in a cliche romantic movie or sitcom where the guy gushes why he likes the girl without throwing those two words in there. But I don’t meet a lot of girls whose necks seem to strain from the abundance of mental activity or whose sense of sarcasm seems to be suffocating them. The kind of smart where you want to read an essay from them and the kind of funny where you want to shove them onto a stand-up stage. Liza has both of those.

2013 was the year that two girls in their early 20′s helped me rediscover who I was. That statement could be a springboard for comedy, but it’s actually true. My exhaustively ranted about Miley showed me why I was out here in Los Angeles in the first place (one way or another, make them feel it), and talking to Liza helped me remember a very important fact: that this is in you from the beginning whether you like it or not.

Back when we met at Jons, Liza was the all-too-relatable quiet girl who gave me a glimpse of her awesome mind by actually knowing what ‘The Room’ was. Giggling over the ‘Guerrero Street’ tortillas commenced. Back in those days, I caught moments of the repressed personality that would later seem so obvious shining through the introversion.

I might feel weird about going this in depth about someone if I didn’t feel her story in my heart because it’s mine as well. When I finally got into good conversation with Liza years after initially meeting her, I not only flipped over how well it flowed, but also by how much I saw the old me a few years back, the talent pulsating inside, yet still unsure of itself. Eventually I saw what should have always been obvious -that she was one of us. The comedian blood runs through her veins, the sarcasm drips from her mouth, the disgust with idiocy circles her brain. This was why I left New Jersey for Los Angeles. I was possessed and how I felt about the whole thing simply didn’t matter.

Hanging out with Liza was probably the most fun I’ve ever had with a girl, forcing me to wonder, as I said, why I was so surprised that a girl could actually be so cool. I guess a lot of times I think of females like they’re all my grandmother – I’m not going to be fake with them, but I’m going to change myself into something more tame because I know that’s what they require. But Liza and I just rode a conversational tsunami of obscure references, stupid, vulgar jokes, hatred of social norms, and, most importantly, a mutual love for the numbing powers of marijuana and the uplifting joy of ‘Degrassi: The Next Generation’. The time we stayed up the whole night and ended up smoking and watching those emo-tastic Canadians at seven in the morning was a vision of everything I could ever want out of life.

I do meet and talk to a lot of girls who are cool, but goddamn it, no one makes me take an interest like I would in Kurt Cobain or Charles Bukowski or Andy Kaufman. No female makes me hunger to see what’s lurking inside of them. None of them make me want to lock them in a room with a pen and paper and just see what comes out. But Liza has it in her.

So to you Liza, I say, there are very few things in this world I can claim to be an expert about, but this is one of them. You have it in you. I had to wait to hit 30 until I could fully wrap my mind around my talent and what I wanted to do with it. I’d like to see you advance a bit quicker than that. It’s a trip to see the moments where I know you’re unsure of yourself, as I can already see the path, but feel like to point it out would be disruptive and dismissive to the natural order of things. But you are going to do great things. I believe in you and I want you to know that all it takes is believing in yourself as well.

I kind of want to tell you to sit down and start reading and writing constantly, and yet I feel like there’s a piece of advice that no one really gives. Go and just waste your 20′s. Go out and get stupid drunk and get into misadventures and trouble, and fuck up at work, and soak up this goddamn town you’re lucky enough to be in like a sponge. Live out the dream of every teen who feels like they’re in a jail cell in high school and just take every day as a chance for ‘No I don’t have a life plan” enjoyment. Until…

Until one day, maybe around your mid to late 20′s you will wake up and feel something weird inside of you. And it will be there. Your mind will race with excitement and uncertainty and you’ll rush to a piece of paper or computer and it will just flow. You’ll have years of archived stories and experiences and thoughts and suddenly every night of feeling like  liar and a fake, of not having the motivation to pick up that book and read, or to try and take the thumping passion seriously, of hating yourself for not forcing the words to come will be made up for by the fact that they will now be flying out of you at a speed both pleasant and confusing. And you’ll sit down and bang out ‘Coconut’ so quickly it’ll make your head spin and you’ll read it over and think ‘This is me writing?!’

And so, my fellow geek mutant, now that you have blossomed and become semi-attractive as all hell (book title there, maybe?) you have officially become the most dangerous and powerful thing in the universe: a beautiful woman with a brain. Now go out and conquer the world, or, maybe, you know, for now, just blaze up and see what’s on Netflix. The talent will be there waiting.

If it’s ever playing hide and go seek with you, I’ll always be here to encourage you, to make it come out into the open and shine like it’s supposed to. I love you, miss you badly, and care about you in a way that makes us ‘SMOKE THE EMOTIONS AWAY!!’ folks feel weird inside.

Happy Birthday!

We’re Too Weak to Live Without Mysticism – Why Being an Atheist is Douchey, but the Lesser of Two Evils


Nothing stopped any interest I had in being an atheist faster than receiving literature preaching about it, or, even worse, being called one. I was immediately sickened by being placed in a group, bringing to mind, of course,  the classic Groucho quote about not wanting to belong to any club that would have me as a member, and realizing how the entire reason I would’ve said I was an atheist in the first place was to get away from such things, to not be involved, connected, and hopelessly, passionately preachy.

The great joke about becoming an atheist is that most of them get the overzealous nature of a true believer once they’ve accepted that as their viewpoint, and preach said viewpoint just as much, if not more, than all the religious blowhards they so hate. The first piece of atheist literature I read had me running for the hills as I realized that I had just traded one religion for another.

There can be no doubt that atheists are just as much of ‘Hey! Everybody! I’m the one that’s right about this!’ douchebags as the door-assaulting Jehovah’s Witnesses or the altar boy-assaulting Catholics. What makes me believe that they would still be the group to pick (and even with being disgusted by being grouped in with them I’m still going to be if I say I don’t believe), is that they’re preaching a lifestyle that dismisses mysticism.

You see, through years of observing, I’ve come to the conclusion that our species is too weak to live without mysticism. The old description of religion as ‘the opiate of the masses’ just seems too on point – it’s the ultimate comfort food for a scared and unsure-of-their-future species. We don’t want to deal with the pain of losing a loved one, so instead we picture them being up a in a magical palace in the sky, a place that is so much better than our Earthly dirt ball that we should never have to mourn them. It sounds like something you’d say to a child to get them to stop crying.

I’ve seen the looks on people’s faces when they ask me what my sign is and I say I don’t believe in that stuff. I’ve seen my mom’s stubborn refusal to dismiss psychics as cold-reading con jobs and felt her underlying need to hold on to the concept of humans having that amazing power. I’ve experienced the disdain when a story with a magical connotation (‘And I wouldn’t have run into him if my car hadn’t broken down that day! It was meant to be!’) gets dismissed as nothing but a fun coincidence. There’s nothing human beings hate more than having an experience marinated in the supernatural cut down to realistic size.

Certainly no area is more fervently guarded than the existence of God. And while I do respect your right to believe in that if it gives you a warm fuzzy feeling, it simply seems logical that out of two humans, one who believes this world is all there is, with nothing but an extended hotel stay in the dirt until your flesh rots afterwards, and one who believes a beautiful kingdom that makes this world look like shit beckons to them from the clouds, the one who believes in his heart there’s nothing else coming and can still be happy is the stronger one.

I could see an argument popping up here saying how much strength it takes to have faith, and believe in something with no evidence. Not a bad point, but what you’re believing still possesses the ‘shh, don’t cry’ aspect of holding an upset child. To truly dismiss the security blanket nature of God, heaven, destiny, fate, signs, and all the other beautiful little things that make your life seem like its own movie, feels like a much stronger move. If your child was still talking about an imaginary friend at 13, you’d probably be talking to psychologists, but, because of how accepted the notion is, fully grown adults talking to a man in the sky and asking for favors is seen as perfectly normal.

As usual, I, just like the opposing side, have no proof that I’m right. But I do have proof of how tenaciously we cling to our magic moments. Like I’ve said, I dabble in the idea of destiny, that no matter what I do, I’m on a path to become the entertainer I’ve always dreamed about. Mock me for it. I encourage it because in the end I have a throbbing skeptic inside of me that always turns an eye towards disbelief. I make sure he pops up anytime I find myself lustfully drooling over mysticism and it’s ‘life really is magical!’ powers. I know how much it means to you guys because I know how much it means to me.

So while I’ll always feel like it’s an idiotic, juvenile and narcissistic game of oneupmanship when I get into religious arguments, I’m going to keep doing it because I feel like we’d be better people without having to cling to these ideas. I like watching a movie that gives me that warm, fuzzy message that you should help others. I’m a sucker for emotional garbage. But do I need that to tell me how I should live?

Or course not. We’re all born knowing right from wrong, what will and won’t hurt others. It’s innate in us. A person who needs religion to tell them that hurting others is wrong? Well, I almost hate to say this, but that’s a fucking stupid person. A person who needs to believe that their deceased ones are in a palace above us as opposed to worm food? Again, I know this sounds cold, but that just reminds me of clutching a teddy bear tightly during a thunderstorm. A person who needs to believe that meeting their significant other was some preordained destiny and not a wonderful coincidence of this madness we call life? Well, that sounds like a bored female watching Hollywood’s romantic comedies for an idealistic buzz.

If we’re being fair, we would end this with: a person who needs to get on their pretentious, rambling blog and convince others to dismiss their beliefs? Well, that sounds like a self-righteous fucking asshole who, like a child with their favorite superhero, needs to convince everyone else that what they like is the best. Correct. Like I said, being an atheist is douchey.

But I say this because in my heart I want us to focus on each other. We’re here now, right before our eyes, and there can never be any debate of whether or not we exist. I have proof of all of you, and I want to put you first. So while I and every other douchetard assfuck atheist is spilling the same obnoxious passion as the religious zealots, I’d still choose their side because I believe they and I are trying to put the focus more on us, with no supernatural blinders in the way, that the one and only thing that matters is loving each other, strengthening our species, and finally, finally evolving.

Just like a thirty year old in a suit applying for an office job clutching a stuffed animal at his side, I don’t believe we’re ever going to be ready for the next phase in life without giving up the childish comfort items first.

I Wouldn’t Make a Move on a Chessboard – The Power of Kissing Girls


“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.  Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.” – Marianne Williamson

The above quote is one of my favorites of all time because it so perfectly encapsulates one of the great illusions of life – the idea that people are scared of being pathetic. There’s nothing scary about being pathetic. It’s as comforting, warm and cozy as a child’s security blanket. The idea of being superhuman is what’s truly terrifying. Similarly, I find nothing upsetting at all about the idea that I couldn’t get a girl if my life depended on it. Any supposed terror surrounding that pales in comparison to the terror surrounding the idea of being able to have any girl I want.

Last night I watched something that left me immensely disturbed: an episode of ‘Modern Family’ where Alex Dunphy had her first kiss. Reluctant to the advances of this boy, she was shocked and flustered when he just straight up went for it without hesitation.

And that was the part that floored me.

Something about this scene, its resonance made all the more odd by the fact it wasn’t real, but just actors playing parts, shook something up very deeply in me. It was the direct, confident nature with which this young boy just dove in and kissed her on the lips. Her reactions to this, which I’ll discuss in a bit, could also have left an impression on me, but really, it was all about the image of the boy just going for it.

Let me go back in time for a moment. As I get older, I’m starting to get the surreal feeling that 95% of any self-hatred or loathing I’ve had has been manufactured by a brain that has been constantly all-too-aware, even if the person who owns the head its sitting in was not, of wanting to turn every second of life into a show. Self-deprecation is simply my brush of choice when I go to paint my masterpieces.

But there is one instance where that definitely wasn’t the case – my attempt to chase the infamous Babygirl, my oft-discussed ex whose image has haunted and sculpted so much of my writing. Everything seemed so perfect, and even I, with my layers of obliviousness, could tell there was something between us. I thought she was beautiful and felt something so genuine it scared me. The amount of self-hatred I felt over not being able to make a move on her is something I haven’t felt before or since. It crushed me.

I would leave our hangout sessions feeling dejected, worthless, incompetent, hanging my head in shame over how someone could be so utterly clueless and unable to do something that was such an intrinsic part of his species, and, even worse, gender. I remember a particular day where we went for a walk in the woods together, and there we were, in an absolutely perfect setting, as I stared at her like a painting in a museum, both of us knowing what should happen, what was supposed to happen, what we wanted to happen, but unable, because of me, to drag it into reality.

This went on for what seemed like forever, with the tension being broken one night as we erupted into a sloppy and fervent make-out/petting session so spur of the moment and awkward that I think we both left feeling like it didn’t count. Sometime after that she ended up getting back together with an ex of hers, an act that made me think of her as something akin to Satan, when really it was just the logical thing to do when the guy you want isn’t even able to break the friendship seal.

This awkwardness continued on until I left for California, and it wasn’t until I returned home a year later that we finally actually kissed. Even then, she guided me through it, saying things both helpful and ridiculously hot such as ‘You can touch my body’ and, once the kiss had finally happened, letting out a ‘Finally!’ that was quickly followed by a sweet and sexy, ‘Just kidding.’

As I think back on that example, I’m forced to realize that out of the decent number of girls I’ve kissed, none of them were actually full on initiated by me. Oh sure, after I was actually together with Babygirl I endlessly kissed that monument to adorable sex appeal known as her face, but other than that, every other girl either just straight up kissed me, or tried to do her best to make the lead-up as comfortable as possible.

Now, while I once again find all of that ridiculously hot, it also reminds me that I’ve never fully grasped, or hell, even become a novice at, or fuck, even had some semblance of a shred of capability at making a move on a girl.

The fact that I’ve had so many girls be the one to kiss me does say a lot about the opportunities there are to not have to play the classic guy role, but I do not, however, think it takes away one bit from the still-pounding importance and DNA-throbbing appeal to females of it.

Babygirl was way more experienced than I was (well, to be fair, most tenth graders are way more experienced than I am), but she still knew the importance of the guy being the one to initiate the kiss. If he can’t handle that, how can he handle being her boyfriend, the one to protect and care for her and go to bat for her against this world of madness? We’re all afraid of awkward physical romantic interactions, but the guy going in for the kiss with confidence is a way of saying ‘Yes, the world is scary, but look, I got this.’

Much like the recent episode of ‘Louie’ where the mother of the woman Louis CK is interested in drops the pearl of wisdom, ‘If you haven’t screwed the cow, it’s not your cow’, this line of thought made me think of why I’ve screwed up so badly and toiled in unrequited angst so often (besides, of course, possibly secreting like it because, as I said, my greatest fear was never being inadequate).

Romanticism is great, but I feel like the reason it gets the word ‘hopeless’ tacked onto it permanently like a needy girlfriend is because romantics let their burning childish naivete blind them to the facts of nature. I always thought that it being there was simply enough, but I see now how badly you need to prove to girls that you can step up and be what is required. Nothing screams ‘I can’t fulfill my role properly’ more loudly than fumbling around for a way to make lip contact. You can only expect a girl to stray so far from what’s in her very DNA before nature kicks in and she starts looking for a guy who can beat his chest passionately enough to make her feel like attaching herself to him.

And so, going back to that opening quote, I find nothing scary at all about sucking with girls. The thought of being alone for the rest of my life until I die unmarried and childless is a walk in the park compared to the real mind fuck: the idea that I could have any girl I want.

That’s what seeing Alex get her first kiss did to me. It left me jaw agape wondering how many of you that I so badly want (even if it’s just for shallow reasons), some of whom may even be reading this right now, could easily be mine if I could just, for the love of Christ you fucking pathetic little beta introvert, pull the motherfucking trigger.

Alex’s head was left spinning after the kiss, unsure of how to feel, but definitely thinking about that boy, until she returned to him only to be kissed again, a gesture which she then returned. So what does it really matter if you’ve said you’re disinterested or have a boyfriend or whatever reason you could give me? If I were to walk up with the radiating swagger of true inner game, push you up against the wall without any hesitation, every move confident and definite, and kiss you hard on the mouth with the extra punch of buckets of repressed passion, would you not at least be thinking about me whether you wanted to or not?

Of course you would. I don’t say it often because the arrogance it seems to convey doesn’t sit well with me, but if I had true, impenetrable confidence, you girls would lose your fucking minds over me (actually that’s not really arrogant, nor a statement specific to me, it’s just science). I could have so many of you dealing with images of me dancing through your heads like visions of fucking sugar plums, a beautiful role reversal of my usual obsessive, teenage-crush-esque thought patterns, were I to just learn how to man up and go for it.

But I won’t. Because the idea of spending tonight masturbating to thoughts of girls I think I can’t have seems beautiful to me. It feels like my mom is checking in on me during a rainstorm. It leaves me buzzing with warmth and comfort. But the idea that I could spend tonight with you, your arms wrapped around me, gasping for air as I tear at your clothes and suck at your mouth with an unheard of zeal, your switches fully flipped and engaged and begging me for more? Well, that’s probably the most terrifying thing I could think of.

Because no one wants to be powerful. Then we might have to, you know, actually do stuff.

Oh, the terror.


The ‘Awesome Time’ Bible – A Guide to Pursuing Your Dream Project


The following text is meant for Matthew Ellsworth, creator of the live-action surrealistic puppet cartoon/misanthropic sitcom ‘Awesome Time’ (title may change in the future). I have many times said this particular idea is the big one, so this will be an attempt to catalogue fully and cohesively the abundance of positive attributes and potential the idea has behind it.


Our entire childhood was defined by a fierce devotion to playtime and fantasy. It wasn’t just a predilection for playing with action figures, it was a desperate attempt to fight off the ultimate enemies, adulthood and the real world. The love for the toys themselves was fetishistic, and the adventures we played were done with the zip and zing of seasoned improv comedians. This love of our controlled alternate universe led to what would become the defining characteristic of our adolescence: a bubbling hatred over being forced into the other world, the real world.

Now you have somehow created a show where both of your strongest parts are free to run wild. The adventures with Roofus and Chubbers don’t just serve as the funny meat of the program; they also show a reverence for the created worlds we so lovingly sculpted, as well as blatantly visually illustrating what it’s like to play with toys. The attention to detail on the sets shows a fantasy architect at work, and the anything-goes nature of the escapades showcases the free spirit of imagination at its finest. You can take all the skills you put into making ‘FAF’ episodes and make a show that will actually be watched.

The segments with Harpo work as the perfect outlet for the rage that occurs when playtime is left – what a stand-up stage was to Bill Hicks, these small vignettes can be to you. Best of all, you are at your funniest when you tap into how badly you never want to leave the room with vicious hyperbole, and Harpo becomes a vehicle for beautiful monologues that can showcase that hate in a digestible way.


As of yet, the specific look of ‘Awesome Time’ has never been done. The hands are one of those beautiful hooks that get attention either way (your own back and forth over them is proof of their electricity), and the ‘playing with your toys’ aspect gives them a beyond perfect reason to be there.

The meticulously crafted sets offer a rubberneck effect of wanting to look at them no matter how you feel about the show and give you another chance to show off the specificity of your vision. The quaint nature of this combined with the cute toys give it a disarming effect that will help any odd or vulgar humor go down and give you a broader audience simply because of the look (Eminem rapping explicitness while looking like a safe boy band member springs to mind).

Lastly, the juxtaposition of adorable, zany, and edgy stuffed animal adventures with a look at the life of man who can’t handle existence is sublime. When you mentioned using Bukowski as an influence, I knew you were really on to something. To bring such a dark, antisocial and cultish vibe to the already loopy nature of the show could be brilliant. Bonus points for giving the entire real world a “KITH”-esque black and white feel to it. This look combined with the cocktail of bleak, misanthropic despair and nutty, screwball slapstick could really push the show into something divinely funny and unique.


Much like how ‘Ted’ seemed like a slam dunk of a movie pitch, easily gobbled up and comprehended by brainless studio execs (He’s a foul-mouth teddy bear named Ted), the idea of a monkey and a banana as the classic comedy duo is something that seems too perfect to not have been done before. People all over the world, no matter what language they speak or what culture they live, can look at a picture of a cute smiling monkey and banana together and recognize it and get it. This just screams opportunities for merchandising along with the chance to make an iconic twosome enter into pop culture.


Never before has so much been available at our fingertips simply by just having a laptop. Not only can you film, record voices, and edit all on one machine, but you have direct access to a program that sends things around the world in an instant, with a million different vessels and off-shoots for self-promotion. Our ancestors would faint from how easy things have become for us.

Not only do we have access to the magnificence of the internet, but we have proof of its abilities for lucrative success. If there was ever something that should slap you in the face about this new medium you’re bearing witness to, it should be that article about Youtube millionaires! 

This means you’ve found an idea where you can set up all of your dioramas, move the characters yourself, film the entire thing, upload it to your own computer, record voices on the same program, edit it all together, put it online, promote it endlessly, and possibly end up making more money than our parents did throughout their entire lives, all without ever leaving the comforting womb of your room! Harpo would be creaming in his pants over this!

Want to act? Enjoy the constant classes and auditions surrounded by humans. Model? Cameras and humans all in your face constantly. Screenplays or comic books? Dealing with an endless parade of suit-wearing humans judging you. The list goes on…

But ‘Awesome Time’? You never even have to open the bedroom door!


The internal terror of imagining an outside party getting involved with your work can finally be over. The previously-unheard-of creative control you desire can be yours. Want to push the limits of weird, surreal images? Ultra vulgar plot devices? Want to see just how far your brain can go when there’s never a need for a leash? Now is the time! The ‘Fruit Brigade’ theory has found a home!

Every single aspect can be up to you, and you can sculpt away like a master, chiseling towards your final crescendo of creative perfection. As a beautiful side effect, we’ve seen how amazing the product can be when the vision isn’t tainted along the way. Imagine ‘Awesome Time’ becoming your version of ‘Louie’. Roofus and Chubbers can help heroin-addicted pizza slices find a disco of gummy bears and the whole thing can end with no explanation and no one will ever say ‘Matthew what the fuck is this, change it!’ and the viewers will love it!

Once you’ve learned how to bring what’s in your head to the screen you’re going to end up surprising even yourself. The passion for the subject matter mixed with the lack of restraint will be an extremely potent combination.


Even though you’re dealing with the medium of Youtube, which allows you some slack in the polish of the show, you should still always be shooting for much higher than that in both your aspirations and your influences. Don’t try to be the next Smosh, try to be the next John K, try to create things that resonate as much as Bill Watterson’s work. Aiming higher will not only bring yet another X factor to the work, but people will respond to it differently. Make the product you want to see and you’ll catch a bigger net with your specificity.

Embrace branding and mystique: take ‘the R-Rated Jim Henson’ or make something else up like that and use it like I use ‘Druggie Jesus’. Start social networks specifically for this. Make them fun and use them to build a legend. What would Harpo’s twitter be like? How would he, or Roofus and Chubbers for that matter, respond to and interact with fans? You’re not just Matthew Ellsworth, you’re ‘Matthew Ellsworth’ the eccentric recluse who makes his own live action cartoon puppet whatever-you-call-it and gets millions of views without even leaving his room. Play up that image. Give them something they can eat up besides the show. Create your own Star Wars universe. What does your merchandise look like? T-shirts? Toys? Can you envision this? That’s why I got you the bigger stuffed versions of the guys – to imagine the world expanding. Always think big.

Don’t forget to inject heart into all the weirdo vulgar humor. A genuine friendship between the guys will truly pay off in the end and allow you to push their humor even further. When I met the Simpsons writer with Matt Sky, he told us of James L. Brooks saying ‘If you don’t have heart, you have nothing’ (or something to that effect, my memory is damaged). Just look at the difference between ‘The Simpsons’ and ‘Family Guy’. Both are funny, but one resonates more. Again, always aim bigger.

Don’t fully turn your back on a mainstream audience. Think of what will make everyone laugh. Focus on your editing game. A zippy, genuine cartoon flow is going to blow you away when you get it down. Try to catch as many fish as possible with your jokes without driving yourself mad.

Overall, just start and don’t stop. This is a new phase of us being out here. We moved for a reason and it’s time to actually start working on it. We know the talent inside is amazing, now it’s time to show it. There will not be another project like this one. Something like  ‘Awesome Time’ is special, and it’s got the potential to bring you everything you ever wanted out of life. It is the project, the one that allows you to present the most complete vision of yourself, who you are, and what you think about this life to the rest of our species.

If you ever doubt that or need to know why it’s so important to start going at this hard as fuck, just come back and read this. It’s like a glowing treasure chest of potential.

Defending an Omnipotent Being


Sometimes I think the only people who truly understand the concept of God are the ones who don’t believe in him.

Perhaps I’m overlooking the fact of how much zeal actually believing in an all-powerful being in the sky would bring out of humans, but I’m endlessly amused by the attempts of religious people to fervently defend their God anytime He’s attacked.

If we’re really talking about an omnipotent entity that created all of us, one would think He’d look at any attempt by a human to mock or defile Him as, to quote Ghostbusters 2, ‘the buzzing of flies’.

Don’t you think the master sculptor behind our entire planet would look down at Marilyn Manson, one out of his billions upon billions of created humans, and simply laugh heartily? Can’t you just see God erupting into a teenage-boy-smoking-weed-for-the-first-time giggle fest over the idea of one puny human in eye make-up, ripped nylons, and oversized boots attempting to tear down His image? Don’t you think the only thing that would make Him laugher harder than that is a bunch of humans waving their fists around in an attempt to not have their almighty Lord’s reputation soiled? My mind paints the following dialogue tumbling out of His Holiness’ mouth:

“Oh sweet heaven, these little things I created are so damn cute! Look at them, going to bat for me again over one of these pathetic ants trying to throw dirt at me! Oh, the arrogance of assuming I’d care what any of you do when I could have a tsunami wipe out all of you with just a swipe of my hand like I’m turning the page on a Nook! Such delightful little insects I’ve made!”

Seriously, stop going to war for God. He’s going to be fine. If there was anything we could do to actually upset him, it’d have to mean one of two things, neither of which seem good for His image:

1. He’s susceptible to the same kind of insecurities as us puny humans. That would mean he’s not an all powerful creator, but essentially a stereotypical cool guy, leaning against the back wall in a leather jacket going, ‘Son of a bitch! They’re talking shit about me again! Well, I’m certainly not going to intervene myself and ruin this badass mysterious image I’ve worked so hard for, so I sure as hell hope some of these fucking humans get pissed for me! No one mocks me and gets away with it!’ Why worship something that crumbles as easily as you do over petty words and actions?

2. He’s the one who created us and gave us free will, and yet he’s pissed about it. He’d have no one to blame but himself. Creating beings with free will and then getting angry when they exercise it is like a girlfriend saying ‘Do whatever you want, I don’t care’, and then getting angry at you when you go out. Don’t you find the image of God as a butt-hurt girlfriend disturbing?

If God really is who they say he is, nothing that has ever happened to make the religious folks lose their shit in passionate defense for Him should even register on his radar. A seemingly simple point but perhaps, going back to what I said in the beginning, I’m just overlooking how much relish and gusto is going to accompany actually believing in a being such as this.

And that’s really the kicker: I understand the concept of looking to some supposedly intangible image for faith and strength. I’m sure it sounds silly to the devoted, but I get the same inspiration from dead rock stars that you get from God. Anyone who’s consistently read my work could just as easily mock me for how often I rant about Kurt Cobain like he’s my own personal savior.

But I’ll dismiss my God (stupid, pathetic  junkie, weak little art fag who couldn’t handle life from day one so he just blew his brains out, because boo hoo, I’m so famous, poor me). You guys won’t.

So if you’re going to continue to believe, let’s just realize how awesome God is supposed to be. In the end, your quests to defend Him are like a child bandaging his ‘hurt’ stuffed animal: adorable, endearing, possibly even heart-warming in the belief it shows, but, ultimately, pointless.