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A few years ago, I wrote some raps for the Taylor Swift song “Begin Again” and then I couldn’t find anyone to sing it so it just sat there. I wrote a new intro verse (mainly because I can’t sing) and decided to put it out.

It’s available to purchase on all the big services if you’re so inclined.


A few years ago Diddy changed his rap name to Diddy – Dirty Money. I think the implication was that he now had a crew. However, his crew was never seen. His verses were still ghostwritten by better rappers and other people wrote his songs, but hey, that’s true with Taylor Swift and Miley Cyrus too. Who can blame the guy?

His big hit from his album Last Train to Paris was a ditty called “Coming Home”. Skyler Gray sang the hook, but for reasons I’ve never understood she is inexplicably played by two actresses in the video. Anyway, the first time I heard the song I thought, “hey, I can make that really gross.” I did. I hacked the acapella and removed a few words and replaced them with moans. I put the parody up on YouTube and it was off to the races. Then, DMCA and dumb record labels likely illegally removed the parody.

I always thought the video was a beautiful celebration of life and got some musicians together to help me cover the song (to avoid the DMCA issues) and the video is now back on YouTube and the song is available on iTunes, Amazon, and Bandcamp.

Listen people, Facebook was a brilliant concept. If the wheels ever come off and Facebook becomes the next MySpace or Friendster it will be because they long ago abandoned the simple utility it used to provide: a place to keep the party with your friends going online. All the moves towards forcing everyone to be public and trying to shove friendship with Tide laundry detergent or Clorox bleach down our throats just ruin the simple beauty of marveling over your buddy’s drunk photo from the night before.

Facebook has the cash to sustain itself forever and they probably will roll out Look Back movies in 3D for the twentieth anniversary, but it’s not going to hold the same place in the hearts of the next generation. They are putting their stupidity somewhere “safer” (Snapchat), recognizing that Mark Zuckerberg – for all his Millennial hubris and idealism – is really just a money hungry sellout. Which is fine, I advocate selling out. If I’d made Facebook I’d be on Ko Phi Phi island right now chilling out and not still sitting as CEO of Facebook in San Francisco. Facebook is positioned to be the white pages of the internet. That’s fine, but it’s about as exciting as, well, the white pages.

Furthering this, Facebook’s hunger for your real name and lack of privacy is going to be the other nail in their coffin. A friend changed her name to some hybrid of her first and middle name while applying to jobs. As my social network approaches it’s thirties this is increasingly common. Total fake names, hybrid names, names with prefixes and suffixes are probably 40% of my friends now. This is rational behavior by Facebook users in my opinion. My friend then tried to change it to something slightly closer to her real name and Facebook deactivated her account until she provided a government issued ID. Now her Facebook can only use her full first, middle, and last names. She’s a doctor. She’s been using Facebook since 2004 and used it as intended. It’s strange to me that Facebook doesn’t see that by following this path they’re making it impossible for old people (ie, not college kids) to comfortably keep their own Facebook account as they transition to later stages of life because a Facebook account tied to your name is as dangerous as having a felony on your record. One drunk photo from ten years ago can ruin a teacher’s career because some overly pious parent might hunt the teacher down and throw a shit-fit about it.

A lot of this hit me while watching everyone’s look back videos. Some were beautiful, but most found ways to surface really awkward exes or moments from the last ten years. I watched mine and decided I could do better. I’ve since seen funnier parodies and folks who did a better job than I did, but I’m not going to link to them because this isn’t their cool website.

I’d love to see yours though. Feel free to post a link and I’ll watch and laugh.

I was born in 1982. I don’t really need any signs to tell me I was born in the 80’s. One day though, I might. I can already tell my mental acuity is declining and if I look at some of the folks I know who were born in the 70’s I can clearly see it’s not going to get any better. Don’t even get me started about people born in the 60’s.

The 80’s were the decade of Alf, Ronald Reagan, Marty McFly, and more. It’s really, really hard to pick and choose only ten signs that someone was an 80’s baby. There was He-Man, Thundercats, Miami Vice, crimped hair, and more cocaine than something that has a lot of cocaine. Still, I promised you something awesome everyday and, though I regularly fail at that, I am going to succeed today. After much consideration, research, and thought here are the 10 Signs You Were Born in the 1980’s.

1. Your birthday has 1980 in it.

2. Your birthday has 1981 in it.

3. Your birthday has 1982 in it.

4. Your birthday has 1983 in it.

5. Your birthday has 1984 in it.

6. Your birthday has 1985 in it.

7. Your birthday has 1986 in it.

8. Your birthday has 1987 in it.

9. Your birthday has 1988 in it.

10. Your birthday has 1989 in it.

Phew. I never thought we’d make it. There it is. That’s the definitive list. I know, some people wanted Joey Lawrence to make an appearance, but he didn’t even crack the top 12. Here are two honorable mentions:

1. 11. Your birthday has 1990 in it.

1. 12. Your birthday has 1979 in it.

Let’s be real, if you were born in 1990 it was still the 80’s. The 90’s didn’t start until Ice Ice Baby came out. You almost count. You can be a hashtag: #honorablemention

Just because I’m nice, here’s Joey Lawrence. Like, whoa.


A few weeks ago, my business travel met with crazy weather and mixed up airline schedules leaving me stranded. As luck would have it, Breaking Bad creator Vince Gilligan was stuck in the same mess. So, in the Duluth airport (DLH for all my airport code aficionados out there!) we shared a cocktail or three while we waited for the airline to fix the ailerons on our plane. Vince got a little tipsy and shared the ending of Breaking Bad with me.

I was hoping that Breaking Bad would end with something provocative like Skyler, Jesse, and Walt Jr. getting shot. The only thing left for Walt to do would be to get on his boat and drive himself and their bodies into a hurricane. Walt Jr. would, of course, live and grow up to become a mute lumberjack.

To me, that would be a great ending. However, Vince blew me away with the real ending. This will serve as your final spoiler alert. What I’m sharing will likely ruin the ending, but if you just can’t wait for the end of Breaking Bad to air then read on. I took notes on my phone as best as I could while Vince talked and I think sharing them with you without much editing is the best way to do this.

In the penultimate scene, Walt kills everyone with his trunk Gatling gun. For some reason Skyler, Pinkman, Saul, Junior, his daughter, etc are all together at some event with Todd and his uncle and their henchmen. (SD note: Vince kept some secrets, I don’t know what the event is.) Walter starts killing them. The dust clears and they are all dead. Then he kills Skyler again. Just to be sure because, Jesus, after that editorial she wrote someone had to fucking shut her up for good. (SD note: Vince’s words, not mine.)

Satisfied, Walt puts on his Heisenberg hat. It had fallen to the ground during the firefight. He notices something. He’s dripping blood and cancer juice all over the hat. He’s been shot too. He crumples to the ground dying of cancer and bullet. Fade to black.

The epilogue begins just as you think there’s nothing left. After a few seconds of black, we get a jump cut to a bustling fast food restaurant. Imagine an 80s McDonald’s that’s been turned into some other franchise of fast food restaurant. Families eating shitty fast food. Kids licking the balls in the play area ball pit and vomiting and giving other kids kid diseases like push pop mouth and whatnot.

Some pimply-faced stoner chick is taking drive through orders. The restaurant eventually closes. The camera weaves through the restaurant to the back managers office. The pimply-faced stoner chick locks the doors and heads back to the office. She knocks. “We’re all locked up Mr. Black.” Cut to…

WALT! He’s alive and we never find out why because the show is literary and wants you to think. It’s not going to just explain everything for you. Walt’s name tag says: Mr. Black. (SD note: OH SHIT YOU MOTHERFUCKERS HE HAS A NEW IDENTITY! MR. BLACK! THE OPPOSITE OF WHITE! WILL THIS SHOW EVER STOP BEING SO LITERARY? )

The shadows are all on Walt making him look ominous. He says, “Good. Now we can really cook.” (SD note: He probably means meth, not fast food.) (SD note: OH SHIT THE STONER CHICK WAS A FORMER STUDENT OF HIS AND IS HIS NEW PROTEGE.)

They enter a secret passage in the floor to an awesome meth lab. Better than any meth lab ever. Like the lab in Despicable Me crossed with Dexter’s Laboratory (SD note: Vince’s words, not mine). They cook some meth. It’s lightsaber blue just like it should be. Walt smiles.

Cut to the exterior of the fast food restaurant and the big glowing sign: HEISENBURGER. Camera pulls out to Alburquerque and then the world.


As you can imagine, I cried the entire rest of the time we drank and for the entire flight. Vince just writes the most incredible TV.

526050-219e943ccb3cd8d703771d810dab2727Oh wait! There was a post credits scene!

Cut to Hank. Gurgling blood and his hand bursting through the desert soil. He’s like (right into the camera), “I’ll be back.” A Heisenburger wrapper blows into his face and he dies again.

Last week Miley Cyrus straight up changed my life with “Wrecking Ball”. I’m not entirely sure if her latest music videos are sexy or repulsing, but I have a strange type of boner for her lately that defies all classification (at least when referenced against the many classes of boner I’ve already experienced). She only added to that boner today by releasing a new single where she sings about being high on Percoset and being – surprise – in the club while wearing the sexiest Michael Jordan jerseys I’ve ever seen. Again, weird boners abounding. She’s also wearing shades and I can only assume that she won’t stop and is probably also popping mollies. In other words: art.

While the visuals are hot and the lyrics on the hook are provocative because everyone remembers Miley as a cute little kid and not the strong sexual and drug icon she has become, the song “23” is straight up garbage with near retarded rap verses from Wiz Khalifah and Juicy J. They’re likely included because rapping like you can’t read or speak at better than a 3rd grade level came in with Chief Keef and is, apparently, still a thing. Miley somehow transcends all of this and (like a wrecking ball) takes over the entire song.

Now, since Miley has been in my head all week, I decided to do my version of her song “Wrecking Ball”. Chicks are always being uncool and getting up in my business for things like sending dick pics to their friends via Twitter and cheating on them and stuff, so I decided to write a new version called “Wrecking Balls”. It’s all about when some chick is being uncool about you tongue kissing her mother and she bursts in and straight up wrecks your balls.

In filming this masterpiece I attached two hop balls (those balls that look like exercise balls, but are for kids not yuppies and have a handle for bouncing around) wrapped in sheets to chains hanging from the ceiling. Then I brought in Vanessa to repeatedly hit me in the balls with stuff. Here’s the things I learned:

  1. A titanium cup is a great invention and way better than the junky plastic thing I wore in high school while playing football.
  2. Holy shit is it tiring and painful to swing around on a wrecking ball like that. The chain dried out my skin like crazy. I’m not some pussy who keeps his hands un-callused either. I’m a red blooded American man who chops down trees just because and I was lathering my hands with shea butter for three days just to get them back to regular callused-ness. My back, biceps, triceps, lats, quads, and abs got a workout I completely didn’t expect. Muscles I hadn’t used since the Clinton administration roared in frustration as I woke them from their slumber. The following morning as I limped to the bathroom to pop my Prilosec OTC, I marveled at the kind of shape Miley must be in to be able to handle that kind of workout. I mean, I’m a man. She’s just a cute little girl who plays Hannah Montana.

Enough about me. Watch the video on YouTube and drop a comment letting me know how some girl wrecked your balls. Ben Nissen from HapHazardFilms shot it. Go check his stuff and follow his various channels. Vanessa Ceron turned in a killer performance busting my balls. Go give her some love so she’s not so mean in the future. And hell, if all this isn’t enough to convince you to watch it, Evan Longoria is a professional athlete and he has no idea why our video isn’t the biggest thing in the world yet. That’s pretty convincing. I mean, he’s in the fucking playoffs.




I don’t have AMC so I had to wait a day to catch Breaking Bad on the train. There’s a guy that watches it on his 3rd generation iPad and every week I make sure to sit right behind him so that I can watch too. It’s great. I’m pretty good at reading lips so I catch the important stuff and this week’s episode was a doozy.

This season the DEA is closing in! Walt is pissed at Jesse and Jesse is pissed right back from older seasons. I hope this isn’t spoiling too much, but Walt (aka Heisenberg) is a high school meth teacher who stops teaching meth and starts cooking it for fun and cash when he gets lung cancer. He befriends a dropout kid who was probably super adorbs back in the day, but is now just a burnout-failure-junkie. Jesse loves this one special chick and her son Brock, so Walt figures he better poison the kid with Ricin (like really strong rice wine which is Chinese which is where the name Heisenberg originates). Walt realizes the kid eats Fruit Loops and he pours Ricin dust or whatever in the box. The kid’s mom probably just thinks it’s sugar dust or some harmless preservative like BHA used to keep the cereal fresh. She feeds him like ten bowls because kids love cereal. The last shot of the episode is this haunting shot of the kid just chewing his cereal. Then the credits flash.

That’s when it hit me. Jesse Pinkman is Calvin.


I know what you’re thinking. There are already a lot of cute little depictions of Walt and Jesse as Calvin and Hobbes alloverthe internet. Ok fine, but point to one TV series or movie that doesn’t have a Calvin and Hobbes send up. Joker/Batman, Doc/Marty, Blues Brothers, He-Man/Battlecat, Dr. Who, Han/Chewie, etc. This guy is on a mission to insert every pop culture duo he can into Calvin and Hobbes.

I’m talking about something more sinister. I allege and intend to prove that Vince Gilligan and the writers of Breaking Bad are, really, covertly writing the continuing adventures of Calvin. Furthermore, their success is built on the hard work and creativity of Bill Watterson’s famous comic. Let’s look at the facts.

1)Their Childhood Homes and Upbringing

Calvin is a child of the suburbs. He’s an only child and lives in a quiet house on a quiet street with a nice family.

Snowman-_Easter_Island_Heads ch_930130

I imagine if Calvin lived in the suburbs of Albuquerque (the one in New Mexico) his childhood home might have looked something like the Pinkman house.


That might not be the most damning piece of evidence you’ve ever seen, but it sets the stage. This is Aaron Hernandez, not OJ. I’m proving this fucker way beyond a reasonable doubt and I promise there is evidence aplenty just sit tight.

2) They Are Both Academically Challenged

Jesse develops, but he’s basically dumber than a box of rocks in the academic sense. Walt remembers Jesse basically failing his way through high school science. What kind of kid would fail his way through high school? Presumably one who failed his way through grade school. Calvin wowed teachers with things like his infamous “Bats Are Bugs” report.bats-arent-bugs

Some of you may think that’s cute. A little boy with a giant imagination fails to excel in school because he always waits until the last minute to do his homework. Cute indeed. Community colleges across the nation, you know, the ones with names like Northwest Southeast University, salivate at the thought of kids like Calvin with parents who believe in them and are willing to waste some cash to prove it wasting a few years on campus before heading off to an illustrious career as a meth dealer or sign spinner at the Mattress Mart. At least, that’s the stereotype. Some of my smartest and most financially savvy friends went to community college and had jobs while I was long term unemployed with my degree from a ridiculous, money sucking, scam of a University. The point is: it’s not cute to be stupid.

Let’s just peek at some evidence from Pinkman’s high school career. Here’s a science test of Jesse’s that Walt graded.


Circumstantial, I know. But consider…

3) Their Wild Imaginations

Calvin talks to things that are not there. A lot. Constantly.

last-calvin-hobbesThis is a fake comic strip, but Calvin very well may have been medicated in real life. ADHD was a craze in the 90’s where every parent who’s child was slightly unable to sit still for hours at a time and amuse themselves was given a powerful stimulant called Ritalin to help them focus. There’s this thing on the internet which suggests that Ritalin is correlated with drug use as an adult. It’s from a college in Utah which is pretty legit, however Walt – who teaches science – would probably caution us that you cannot infer causation from a simple correlation. But just maybe, Calvin (aka Jesse) was given Ritalin and it didn’t help his grades, but it predisposed him to drugs. The very drugs he does, sells, and makes with Walt.

Some folks prize Calvin’s imagination, but at some point he’s really just talking to the stuffed tiger. Look at that last frame. That’s reality. The reality is that the tiger isn’t really talking back. That’s some scary shit. You know who else imagines entire conversations with people who aren’t there? Jesse Pinkman. Here he gets super meta with his imaginations and imagines his friend Badger imagining an entire pie eating episode of Star Trek: The Original Series. This is likely because of the drugs, but maybe Jesse didn’t actually need drugs to get to this place. Maybe his whole life he’s been imaging tigers and pie-eating-spaceship shows that weren’t even there.

Calvin also imagines giant dinosaurs destroying cities and fancies himself a space explorer.


Jesse Pinkman had an imaginative childhood too. He drew all kinds of sci-fi creatures and adventures. That’s some pretty causal correlation if I do say so myself.


4) Their Cars

This was the final piece of the puzzle for me. Like when Gus Fring figured out that Walt Jr. and Sal were the same person. The discovery blew his mind and this will blow yours too!

Remember your first car? If you’re like me or Jesse Pinkman, your boringly white-bread dad or mom drove the lamest Oldsmobuick van-wagon. They did this out of some unforgivable sense of suburban, middle class frugality coupled with a desire to cater to the safety and comfort of their children over how they’d look driving around in the damn thing. Fine for them, but somehow the damn thing limped along well past 200,000 miles and survived until your 16th birthday.

That morning your dreams of receiving a really awesome car that you could turn into the ultimate shaggin wagon are shattered as your proud parents toss you to the keys to the Oldsmobuick. You make sure your smile is gracious and excited, but your insides burn hot with your tempered screams of, “Fuck you mom and dad! Thanks for fucking nothing.” They see you smile and assume that they have instilled their values in you. They assume you will appreciate the practicality of their gift and appreciate that, in their words, “you even have a car at all”. You recall all those times your dad reminisced about the badass Corvette he bought with the money he made working at the grocery store during summer vacation when he was 16 and think again, “fuck you Mom and Dad.”

Let’s take a look at Calvin’s dad’s sweet ride which he presumably handed down to his son one day.



Here’s Jesse Pinkman’s sweet ride.

breaking_bad_00 jesses-new-ride jessie-car Breaking-Bad-Toyota-Tercel-Wagon-640x360

Look familiar? Coincidence? Calvin and Hobbes was first published in 1985. Calvin’s dad had probably bought his car two or three years before the years covered by the strip. It’s like a 1983-ish model van wagon.

Jesse Pinkman was born in 1984 and his car is a 1984 Toyota Tercel. That’s a Japanese car. You think an American car from 1984 could last like that? I don’t. The Tercel is a very practical, four wheel drive station wagon that probably replaced the Corvette or Camaro or t-top Cutlass that Mr. Pinkman probably drove around picking up chicks in before inadvertently knocking one up and marrying her. The Tercel was Jesse’s dad giving in to a suburban death sentence. That very death sentence played out by Calvin’s dad in frame after frame.

Now, I know the show suggests that Jesse didn’t get his car as a hand-me-down. It suggests that his motivations were to remain inconspicuous. However, they’ve obviously taken some liberties with Calvin’s story by calling him “Jesse Pinkman” so maybe this is just another place where Vince Gilligan and the Breaking Bad team fiddled with the story so that the notoriously litigious and protective Bill Watterson wouldn’t sue them. (Bill was kind enough to give us permission to reprint all of his comics here just to help prove our point. Thanks Bill!) Also, Jesse has two fathers (Walt is a kind of surrogate father) and Walt advises him on this car purchase. Plus, Walt is Heisenberg and Heisenberg is Asian and Toyota is from Asia. I rest my case.


Pinkman and Hobbes

Our crack team of demographic wizards and math nerds surveyed everyone in the United States of America today. Everyone. We tried to get to territories like Guam and Puerto Rico (just to up the scientific-ness of our results), but those results were statistically invalid. We would never mislead or misuse statistics just because we never want to see Lebron James win a playoff series again. After speaking with millions of Americans today we ended up with a clear map that really shows how America feels about tonight’s matchup between the Miami Heat and the Indiana Pacers.

Lebron James is obviously the second coming of Michael Jordan and his/the NBA’s marketing team have gone to great lengths to try and make the preening, self-indulgent “King” James likable in the same way Jordan was. He appears in Samsung ads with his kids. He does a Harlem Shake video with his teammates. Lebron James isn’t a diva. He’s just a blue-collar guy like you and me. Except it’s a red collar. (Because he’s on the Heat.)

Our research shows that America isn’t buying it. America knows the NBA is desperate to have at least one global superstar in the NBA Finals and after Carmelo Anthony, Kevin Durant, Blake Griffin, Chris Paul, Derrick Rose, and every other name superstar decided to lose early. They know the NBA has to be desperate for Lebron to get a ring. No one cares about Tim Duncan or that guy who was married to Eva Longoria. America smells this and they have decided to throw in with the Indiana Pacers to spite Stern and Lebron James.

We wish both teams well, but the here’s hoping Lebron ties his shoe laces together and trips on the opening tip-off.

Larry is like that kid from Mr. Holland’s Opus. The one that liked to feel the music. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful Cole. Except he liked to feel the Beatles and Larry is all about feeling his favorite Carly Rae Jepsen tracks. You see, Larry is Canadian so his tastes are a little strange, eh.

Are Mr. Holland’s Opus jokes still big with the kids? Does this date me? Is Richard Louis Dreyfuss still alive? You think that chick Rawina ever went on to be a famous actress or do you think she went on to be a hooker? I think she’s probably a hooker. How come no one dreams of moving to the big city and becoming an engineer? Probably because engineering is boring as shit. I remember sitting in the theater thinking, “Mr. Holland should really get with the times and just peace the eff out.” Did everyone else feel the same way? Probably not.

To this day the film resonates with me as a very powerful version of the Kevin James film Here Comes The Boom. What are we talking about?

I’m out driving my sick new whip in the snow today and it was icing pretty badly out and, naturally, my mind wandered to power sliding around some turns on the way to Taco Bell. Now, I’m no Ryan Gosling’s character in Drive, but I execute basic driving maneuvers like “The Right Turn” and “The Merge At Speed” (this is surprisingly complex judging from how many people do not understand that the purpose of the on-ramp is to accelerate to the speed of traffic on the highway so as to merge seamlessly) with ease. I consider “The Powerslide” to also be in my repertoire.

I came to a beautiful curve in the road that banked nicely and threw down. The car started to slide and then abruptly corrected itself. Dash lights flashing and warning me that traction control was kicking in. Fuck that. How are you supposed to power-slide around turns like a boss if traction control keeps kicking in and ruining everything?

Name one man to ever pick up a fine lady without power-sliding right in her face.

Benjamin Franklin you say? WRONG.

Ben Franklin evades the cops

Ben Franklin evades the cops

Ben drove his horse and buggy drunk all the time (It was a different time. Back then this was considered “hilarious” and “de rigueur” and “boss-like”) and was ALWAYS power-sliding and doing donuts all over the place like a fucking boss in front of mad wenches, in front of mad pubs and all the bros were super pissed because, as I read on Wikipedia, they were totally jealous of his diplomatic immunity and thought it was bullshit.

Head on over to Wikipedia and see for yourself or better yet, because I’m nice like that and saved you the time just peep this rad screen capture.

Ben Franklin Drivin' Drunk

And there you have it folks. No excuses. No traction control. Do it Franklin style today.