Worst. Little Brother. Ever.

Well, I'm back from my Jamaican vacation. Spent all my time eating, sleeping, and swimming. Oh, and reading Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince -- I figure if J.K. Rowling is going to name her book after me, reading it is the least I can do.

All in all it was a very relaxing time. Unfortunately, there was one very disturbing aspect of my trip -- the fact that my 15 year old half brother is a freaking giant, and towers over me.

Things My "Little" Brother Should Not Be Able To Do:

• Be taller than me
• Have a deeper voice than I do
• Have more facial hair than I do
• Pick me up and toss me across the pool
• Intimidate me
• Lift up our father (who is 6'5" and well over 200 pounds, by the way) and hold him up in the air for 30 seconds

Of course this raises the most important question: Can he DRINK more than I can? My dad consistently stopped me from passing my bro more than a couple of beers in a night so I couldn't find out via the most obvious method, but my theory is that I still have a higher tolerance. My kind of drinking habit takes years of training and development, and I refuse to believe that my 15 year old brother would be able to stand the competition just because he could kick my ass 8 ways from Sunday without breaking a sweat if he wanted to.


Anyway, I'll hopefully have some pictures from the trip online in the next few days. I'd do it now, but a week of doing nothing makes me fat and even lazier than usual.

Back In A Week

Just a quick post to let everyone know that I'm off to Jamaica today, so no retarded stories or random rants for a week or so.

I'll attempt to put together another photo album for this trip, although I'm warning you that there's only a certain amount of hilarity to be found in a picture of my dad sitting his lazy ass on a couch, or whatever the hell goes on down there.

Fatty In Training

As anyone familiar with the Zan-Man knows, despite my tall, slender frame, I am destined to be one hell of a lard ass one day. I am a future guest on a daytime talk show special titled "Help Me! My Skin Doesn't Fit Anymore!", but I am fortunate enough during my twenties to be trapped inside the body of a 6'4" asshole with the body shape of a Somalian suffering from anorexia.

I have revolting eating habits. Why today alone, I've consumed 3 chocolate donuts, a banana, cereal, and a yogurt, before I even left my apartment. This was followed by a slice of pizza with two toppings, a large helping of chicken and rice from a food truck on Wall Street, and there's always the possibility that I will have to satisfy my craving for a ridiculously over-sized chocolate milkshake before I pass out in a food coma at the end of the day. Sometimes, I eat so much, so fast, that I actually have trouble breathing and have to take a 30 second break to clear my air passages.

I am regularly referred to as "Chubs" and "Fatty Fatty Fat Fat" by enemies and friends alike, and I don't mind, because it's really just training for the day when I am as wide as I am tall, and have to be rolled from room to room in a hospice somewhere in rural Pennsylvania, after they've removed an entire wall from my Brooklyn apartment building just so the crane can hoist me out onto a waiting flatbed truck.


At this point, I'm not even sure what my original goal was with this post, but I do want to take this opportunity to introduce you all to the greatest thing my eyes have ever beheld:

The Hot-Dog-Rollup.

If anyone here gets a chance to eat one of these before I do, I want details, damnit.

"Um, maybe we could just be lunch buddies after all..."

Just imagine you're sitting with your friends, having a nice get together for your friend Alyson's 30th birthday. Everyone's having a lovely time, and then you happen to look over your shoulder and this is what you see peering through the bead curtains, invading your special moment. And this, dear friends, is why everyone hates me. But I digress.

Saturday night was a coworker's birthday bash at PS 450, so I grabbed a few people and headed over. In case any of you happen to be invited to a coworkers event any time soon, here are some tips (with plenty of visual aides) to make sure it never, ever happens again:

• Tell your coworker you are bringing "a couple of people along". Then invite 9 friends. Then tell those people they can invite whoever they want. Show up with no less than 17 people in tow. (That's right, SEVENTEEN. Christ, I wish I was exaggerating.)
• Make sure at least one of those people is a complete retard. Family members don't count.
• Definite plus if your brother shows up wearing a truly ridiculous shirt.
• Find out which space is reserved for your coworkers party, and take it over even though there is still another party going on. Maybe harass them a little to encourage them to end their night early.
• If they have party favors, feel free to pick them up and pose for pictures that may offend both that party's attendees and a few billion Asians.
• Defiling floral arrangements is strongly suggested.
• Take pictures of random busboys, because you know they can't do anything about it, and you're that kind of asshole.
• Bring new meaning to the phrase "dance like nobody's watching". As in, you might want to add "even God" to the end of that sentence. Throw your hair around. Kudos if you can leave your ass hanging out for extended periods of time. Or maybe stand on a couch and grind with the wall until the bouncer tells you to sit the fuck down.
• Now this is important - it's not enough that you've embarrassed your coworker and his friends, and made him regret giving you the invitation. You need to ruin other parties as well. So if there's a group of people nearby having "a nice time", feel free to stick various body parts through the curtains that divide you and make them rethink their choice of party location.
• Once you're done terrorizing everyone around you and posing like an asshole for the camera, turn on each other.
• Get kicked out of the bar.

I hope everyone learned something from that. What I learned is why none of my coworkers want to talk to me outside of the office. And why I can't blame them.

The End.

The Internet Is, Like, Totally Psychic

Okay, so I'm not gonna pretend that I have the motivation to give you a real blog post any time soon. I'm lazy, and other than a few inappropriate comments at a coworker's farewell event last night ("Are you drinking a margarita? Well, isn't that ethnic!") I'll be the first to admit that I've been taking it easy on the obnoxious factor for at least the last few weeks.


So to give you additional ways to waste your time on the internet in the desperate hope that you can avoid actual work, click over to find out what you are.

Most recently it told me I was a "tit-grabbing clown who loves to laugh at hookers", and I must admit how scarily true that is. (Although "buff horn-ball who loves to conquer hot bitches" wasn't far off either.)

Funny You Should Mention It...

...because that's just how I've been feeling lately.

Why I Look Like Hell Today

No, it's not because I was out drinking Friday and Saturday nights. It's not because I'm feeling ill. It's because last night I had one of the most traumatic experiences in recent memory, and I have yet to recover.

You will accuse me of being melodramatic. You will tell me to get over it. But YOU WERE NOT THERE.

Imagine, it's around 11 in the evening. You're getting comfy in bed, watching some TV before attempting to get a good night's sleep before you start another week. You've seen or spoken to all of your loved ones within the past 24 hours, and all is well with the world.

And then...something catches your eye. A quick shadow. Maybe from the TV? You glance towards the floor and something is definitely moving. Crawling. Towards your bed.

Granted, it is the summer, and you're in a big city. There's the god awful chance that it could be a water bug or something equally gross. You jump up and flip on the light, and then you realize...what could be worse than an over-sized roach crawling under your bed? How about a horrific somewhat transparent prehistoric-looking insect creature with WAY too many legs. What do YOU do?

Well, I'll tell you what I do. I yelp. Because I'm more horrified than an 8 year old who just found out he has a play date with Michael Jackson. And screaming would mean I wasn't nearly as scared as I truly was.

Some of you are like "dude, it was just a bug, chill out". NO, it was not just a bug. It looked exactly like THIS. I did manage to kill it eventually, but I am short a few hours of sleep right now. I am seeing insects everywhere. Ones that shouldn't exist.

And that is why I am in no state of mind to give you a real blog post today. Blame the bug.

Definitely Not Worth A Thousand Words...

...but you should check out my Hawaii photo album anyway. As usual I've added captions for each photo so you can get some idea why I would take pictures of stupid things and people I clearly didn't know. (You'll probably have to register to get to it, but my completely unbiased suggestion is that it's totally worth it)


And if you liked that and get nearly as bored at work as I do, there's always France and Thailand waiting for you.*

Someone forwarded me an email about a 3 hour open bar tonight, so if I can get my jet-lagged ass together, there might be a story or two after the weekend. Here's hoping...


*Let me know if any of those links don't work, I've had issues with them before. Damn you, Blogger.

Slipping in the Ratings

Well, I'm back from Hawaii, and while I'm not very happy about it (my tan isn't nearly as flattering under fluorescent lighting, go figure), I thought the least I could do was give you a top three list of the biggest drunk assholes at the wedding I was attending in Kauai. Enjoy.


#3 Zander

Yes, that's right. Me. I know many of you are disappointed that I'd end up at anything less than numero uno on this list, but I have to admit I was pleasantly surprised. My worst behavior, other than my awful dancing, consisted of making out with a huge fish statue, but that's practically required at this point.

And I may have been a little intimidated by the competition...


#2 Neil

I'm never sure if I should be chalking this guy's behavior up to alcohol or the fact that he's a total spaz. I mean, this is the same guy that showed up to my apartment for a party a couple of years back, spotted a bottle of MD20 that someone had brought as a joke, and downed most of it himself before the night was over. Seriously, I didn't know anyone outside of the homeless community drank that stuff.

Anyway, I have yet to upload the pictures from the event, but they definitely speak for themselves. His dance moves are out of this world, and he managed to piss off his date (we're still trying to figure out if they were dating or what) by hitting on various other wedding guests. Way to go dude, especially when you're at a wedding reception where you know for a FACT that the bride used to think you were a douche.


#1 "Shitshow"

I'll spare this groomsman the use of his name, although this is what he ended up being called for most of the evening anyway.

While you might think shaking his ass in the mother-of-the-bride's face repeatedly would be the worst of it, I'm inclined to say it was later on at a bar when he was given a glass of water, and almost drowned. That's right. DROWNED. In a GLASS OF WATER. You can say it isn't possible, but you weren't there.

The vomiting at the table was also a bit gross, but let's not pretend it's anything ground-breaking.

To top it all off, he had NO recollection of any of this the next day, and seemed surprised that we were maybe just a tad concerned for his liver in the morning.



Regardless, I'm hoping to have a full Hawaii trip photo album online by tomorrow or so. I expect you all to be waiting with bated breath. Or jealous loathing, whichever seems more appropriate.