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English Jew on Fire

Brownman: i wanna ask English her weight. based on height and girth, i think we weigh almost the same. so the other day (stop me if i told u this), they got cupcakes on Good Friday and she started talking about how its passover…and she cant have cupcakes, and it isnt fair cuz she’s (all of a sudden) jewish. So goes on to say that she and this other chick in the office (who is also jewish, lesbian-style) are gonna bring in motzah balls and not share with us non-Jews

Mrs. Brownman: lol wow

Brownman: blah blah whine whine about jewishness

Mrs. Brownman: douchey

Brownman:  A coworker dude was saying that in the conference room (only a few feet away) they heard her whine with the door closed during this rant. Him and whoever else was in the room began bitching her out instead of carrying on with his meeting. She always complains!

Brownman: and then today she says how if u have a dog, the dog has to eat kosher too.

else u gotta give the dog to someone to watch during Passover.

Mrs. Brownman: lol WHAT?

Brownman: well u know what u hoe beast? apologize for taking our savior and innocently killing a man, then maybe we will respect one of your 450 holidays

Mrs. Brownman: lol for realz and as reparations u should give us cupcakes

Brownman: yes filled with unkosher goodness

Mrs. Brownman: while u eat balls

Brownman: yes, ur motzy messy balls can be enjoyed year-round…i dont care if u eat them in front of me in ur chosen elite club. she says some really inappropriate anti-christian stuff i swear. i heard one time there were christian activities going on downstairs outside the office building. and she said “oh those crazy christians are at it again” Coworker dude was baffled…cuz he said he was the christian she told that too. i mean…ur telling me curling ur side burns, not showering, and wearing nerf frizbees isnt crazy? touching food and calling it kosher isnt extreme?

Double Brunch

We went to brunch yesterday with a couple of friends. Unbeknown to us we arrived to our place of choice that an hour too early. So we went across the street to another place doing brunch. But this place lacked the one thing we want at brunch: drinks! It was 11AM and New York doesn’t serve booze until 12PM. 

I even asked our waiter for booze an he was about to until he decided to ask the time. Now our original destination served unlimited booze as long as you ordered a brunch dish. Clearly we had no intent to full up and waste the money at our interim restaurant so we ordered one dish of pancakes and one dish of scrambled eggs to split amongst 4 people. We even rehearsed a script when ordering with things like “yea we had a rough night” and “oh add a side of scrambled eggs to the pancakes” just so that we seemed pressed to just get something in our stomach and not cheap mofos that were passing time. 

In the end it didn’t matter because through the restaurant window you can easily see us cross the street to our restaurant of choice. 

The Adventures of Brownman and Darkie: The Record Shop

There’s a record shop Darkie and I used to frequent back in our college years. This was when records were more of a commodity and CDs were still at $16 each- MP3s from Napster and Kaaza were a mere dream at this point. Naturally, Darkie and I were very poor as young adults with no jobs so we did what any dumbass would do: physically steal the music before being able to steal digitally a few years later via internet.

The one place we went to would have Indian music as well so it was a second home to us. Well a home you steal from. Though I did steal from my parents’ rent money when I was in 2nd grade so yea- this was home to me. There was this lady there one time we went who was watching the store, she was no younger than 45. Sweet older Indian lady.

“Hey, aunty…what’s the best music you got out right now?” Darkie asked When you’re Indian any older lady is “aunty”. And she will in all likelihood never be referred to as “hottie” or “sweetie” because older Indian ladies do not age well. They hit the wall so hard that they are second only to Asians in wall-hitability.

“Well I’m not sure they just left me here to watch the store for a bit so I think-” I didn’t even wait for her to finish her story. I had a pink bag that already had older records in there and off I went browsing the store for new stuff. There was a section of CDs that I immediately proceeded to and dropped any and everything into the bag. The pink bag is rather iconic for New York- it’s from a store called “Conway”, known for it’s bigger pink bags that can comfortably hold a nice stash of stolen items.

“Yea I am just parked outside and I have to keep feeding the meter. It’s about to run out too…would you mind taking this quarter and putting it in for me?” Darkie and I looked at each other at that point and stifled laughter.

“Sure aunty, I’ll be right back.”

At that moment Darkie was no longer my wingman so I had to cease all the bagging of goods and proceeded to talk to aunty. When he got back he took the bag from behind my back and did his own bagging.

We left laughing up a storm and didn’t make 1 single purchase. The poor old lady did what she could but we were too big of douches to care.

The City Never Fails You

Once again, New York proves to be the city of too-close-for-comfort. Below is a snippet of our weekend’s excursion into the city via subway where you got a regular pole-hugger who practically straddles the pole in a crowded train. You will also find an old couple practically straddling each other behind us while we have to sit leaning forward as each time they go in to cuddle each other Mrs. Brownman or myself would catch an elbow to the back.

I made Mrs. B promise we’d chill with PDA when we get old…old people love is just too wrinkly and other people shouldn’t be sharing in on our cuddling just because we’re too old to coordinate where our limbs land.

Oh, we were in the city this past weekend to see Daniel Tosh’s stand up comedy show. Highly recommend!! If you like smut comedy, then you need to park your fart box on a seat at his show!

Haunted Urinals

I hate these motion sensor urinals. Sometimes I take too strong a leak, and I am not expecting it. This causes splash back and I gotta take a step back- and I get startled as the toilet flushes itself as though it were possessed. Just not cool. If I’m not ready for the flush I’d end up going everywhere, heck, even on my neighbor which also is not cool.

My Old Home

There it is. My old apartment which I grew up in for nearly 20 years of my life, now being rented by my father (who still owns the house) to some Colombians. I was there this past Saturday helping him strip and remake the bathroom I once spent many hours in after eating some spicy ethnic food my mother concocted. Like most mothers new to American she was under the illusion that I loved the mainland’s food.

But in the next picture was my old room (and later on my sister’s) with a window where I threw most of the ethnic food out until the first floor tenants complained about Indian food falling from the heavens. It was kind of weird to see what other people did with the apartment I once lived in. Though it shouldn’t be a surprise, the current tenants had DJ equipment out in the living room. A DJ speaker and a full blown rack, out in the open as if to accomodate a party every weekend. But naturally that’s how New York Spanish folk- the younger ones at least- live these days.

My poor old apartment. Once filled with respect and care, now a place of clutter and an odd odor. Guess you can’t care about a place if you don’t own it.

Ugh That’s How You Do The Dance?

In high school there were awards given out at the Senior Luncheon for best dancers. Yup, despite the crappy school I went to they managed to scrap some money from our parents to have a Senior Luncheon at the local poor man’s hall. My dance partner was some black chic that felt I had enough rhythm to win the contest. And certainly I thought I could keep a beat, but holy crap was she from another planet.

They played some reggae songs while we danced and all I knew at the time was how to girate my hips enough to look like I knew the song that was playing. But apparently this girl was from the Jamaica region so she barked out instructions while I did my best to not die on the dance floor.

“Do you know how to do the ‘Pepperseed’?” she asked.

“Isn’t that just the name of the song?” I knew what song was being played- but being New York sheltered I had no idea there was a dance I had to do it. She was better off getting me to do some Achy Breaky Heart stuff.

Years later…11 to be exact, I have YouTube to help explain exactly what the “Pepperseed Dance” should look like. If I knew it was this simple I could have done something even better. We won the contest, thanks solely to her doing her own thing while I danced circles around her aimlessly. Oh, there was also a theme to this Luncheon so I wore a robe, wife beater, boxers, and some chains and went as a porn star so I assume my originality helped us get some votes among the 5 pimps and hoes that participated.

I am so getting my kids dance lessons so they don’t act the fool and disgrace their new hybrid race.

Collision Course

Every so often planets get struck by asteroids. It’s inevitable. They are on a collision course with each other as both end up moving along the same course.

And every so often in a confined space humans collide as they find themselves on the same course. I speak specifically about in bed. And not the good kind of collision.

The other night I think I bumped my head into Fifi’s (fiancee’s) knee as I was awoken by a sudden pain to the forehead and Fifi’s leg laid inches away. One time her arm flung onto my back while we slept, and I think I might have accidentally kicked her another. I’m not certain when our next collision will be, but I may need to start wearing a cup to sleep.

If We Can’t Have Kids…

Brown Man (10:23:28 AM): Your fiancee cant have kids right?
Bellies (10:23:33 AM): no
Brown Man (10:23:45 AM): u guys gonna adopt?
Bellies (10:23:52 AM): prob not
Brown Man (10:24:24 AM): so no kids for you
Bellies (10:24:37 AM): prob not
Brown Man (10:24:40 AM): we might adopt if we cant have kids, and i told Fifi only asians
Brown Man (10:24:52 AM): i want people to know that these aren’t mine
Bellies (10:24:54 AM): LOL
Brown Man (10:25:27 AM): they knock something down in the store, i’ll tell the store workers “why you looking at me? does that look like my kid?”
Bellies (10:25:45 AM): LMFAO
Brown Man (10:28:35 AM): u should adopt with us, maybe we get like a group discount
Bellies (10:28:49 AM): LOL
Brown Man (10:28:53 AM): or we can just adopt one of Head’s kids, he has a lot to choose from

Mowing The Lawn: The Weed Wacker

Giggle, “wacker”.

Giggle again, “mowing the lawn.”

I am having trouble with my weed wacker- it’s a gas engine so I need to start it up by pulling the rope. The problem is the wacker will only start maybe once and if I turn it off to take a break, I can’t get the sucker to start again. And to get this thing to start that one time I have to press a button and pull the rope way more than the owner’s manual suggests. Now normally I wouldn’t care, but I have new neighbors that are home all the time so chances are, they’ll see me struggle with this piece of machine. And I don’t want to look like a tool so I take the wacker to the side of our house where no one can see me and I jump around like a mad man trying to pull this rope to start the engine. Sometimes I close the garage so that no one can see me as I struggle in there.

Reason is I’m the only person in a 5 house radius that mows the lawn himself without Mexican intervention. I hire no one. I am cheap. So I gotta make sure it looks like I know what I’m doing. Boy am I horrible at that-

The other week I was “weed wacking” the edges of the grass to get the nice manicured look. Now I know the lawn mower was left right behind me, I even sense it. But I can’t shift my position for fear of the wacker stopping and I end up wacking myself ass-first into the lawn mower which tumbled onto my damn car. Sucker now has a dent in it.

Needless to say, this boils my water and grinds my gear. I hate gardening. But I get such a gay thrill every time Fifi (fiancee) says the lawn or whatever lame landscaping I did looks nice.