Go Hard Or Go Home

What’s up with kids nowadays? They have no game. They bring the weak shit. Listen up punks, it's called Trick-Or-Treat for a reason. When you say “Trick-Or-Treat” you are supposed to mean it. Put a little bass in your voice, say it with authority. Ok, maybe I’m being a bit harsh because let’s be honest…your balls haven’t dropped yet. Puberty has yet to occur so physically you may not be able to turn up the bass and give me your best Darth Vader impression. However, it doesn’t really matter if your voice still sounds like Mickey Mouse or you are on the verge of becoming a Peter Brady. In this case it’s not really how you say it, but rather what you say. When you utter the words “Trick-Or-Treat” you are supposed to know what it means. Essentially you are giving me, the candy giver, an ultimatum. Trick or treat – the candy giver must choose.

So I choose. I choose “Trick”. And what do you do? You freeze because you aren’t prepared for that! You just assume that I will hand over the candy like every other sucker/neighbor did before me. I basically threw you a curveball and you were in no way prepared to hit it out of the park. Shame on you. Where’s your creativity? Where’s your evil Halloween spirit? Where’s the fun? Now I know you revel in delight when you’re shoving your greedy little hands into Mrs. Shoeman’s giant candy bowl. I’m sure you took more than your fair share of chocolate, which is basically robbing the little old lady blind. Seriously, the little old woman really is blind! Blind like a bat I tell you.

The only thing worse than robbing an old blind woman is taking candy from a baby! Oops, wait, I almost forgot. You did that too! Yes, I saw you literally rip a cherry BlowPop out of the chubby grips of your baby brother’s mitts. Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about. He was holding the lollipop like a rattle for Christ sake! The kid sits around in soiled drawers all day and you can’t allow him the simple joy of holding a makeshift rattle? I hope one day he grows up and piledrives you. Payback is a bitch!

Now before anyone scolds me for being mean to a child, let me just say, you don’t know this kid. To protect his identity I’m going to call him (Jacob) “Junior”. I could go thru a long list of things that make “Junior” a spoiled, selfish, inconsiderate little asshole of a 10-year-old, but I’m not going to do that. I will say that his smug Daddy had to roll him around in the Range Rover because apparently a little exercise is too much to ask of "Junior". And just between you and me, little "Junior" could use a lot more exercise than just a stroll thru the neighborhood. The last thing chubs needs is to be chauffeured from house to house collecting a pillowcase full of fat and calories. Even Mrs. Shoeman walks the neighborhood, blind and with a cane! And she’s like 150! Did I mention “Junior” usually doesn’t even wear a costume? What the f…

With his pompous Papa sipping his Starbucks coffee and looking on from the comfort of his Range, I had to resort to giving the kid a treat since he stared blankly at me when I answered “Trick”. So I gave him what he deserved, an empty Take5 bar wrapper that I had eaten minutes before. Mean? Maybe. Deserving? Definitely! Hey, the kid is dumb too, he didn’t even notice. At least it was lighter to carry than if I had dropped a rock in his bag.

What’s really sad is that last year, even with the help of his cousin, he couldn’t pull a trick off. They went with the flaming bag of poo. One word – WEAK. It’s weak shit, figuratively and literally speaking. Do they think I was born yesterday? The two dummies do it with me standing 10 feet away, watching. They didn’t’ even ring the bell and hide. So once the bag of poo was on fire, I yelled “oh shit” and kicked it back to them. At that point "Junior The Genius" freaks and stomps it out, himself! The phrase “wise beyond your years” will never be applied to that kid.

20 Years Later & I Still Want Him Sooo Bad!

Words cannot do it justice. Jaw dropping. Drool dripping. Bulgy eye staring. Ewwing and ahhing. Piss my pants with excitement. So ecstatic over just thinking about it, that my cheeks actually hurt from smiling so much. I would sleep, eat and breathe it. I would toss and turn at night fantasizing what it would be like just to hold it in my arms. Hoping, praying that when I did finally fall asleep, I would dream about it. Tight sweaty little fists shaking in excitement every year when my birthday arrived, anticipation that the dream would become a reality. Surely, this would be the year. The year my laid back nature would get thrown out the window. I would explode into boisterous clapping coupled with lavish laughter and jumping up and down. Throw in a few “YES, YES, YES” and “OH MY GOD” screams and that would be the best way I can described it if I had to put it into words. Simply said, it consumed every square inch of me with unbridled desire.

There he is, the object of desire, My Pet Monster. Standing at 26 inches tall, he’s beyond awesome! Squeeze his hand and he says the following phrases:

• "I'll Protect You!"
• "I Am Your Monster Friend!"
• "I'm Really Strong!"
• "Let’s Wrestle!"
• "Ooh You're Really Strong Too!"

He even has breakaway orange cuffs that make a “crash” sound when you pull them apart! Just typing that gets me excited. I’m not even joking when I say I’m seriously pumped right now and want him sooo bad! Crazy, I know. He was introduced in the mid 80s and ever since then, I’ve been in love. Not in a sexual way of course, but you know what I mean. The thing is, I never got to fully experience that love. I never got My Pet Monster. (Key the violin music and pass me a hanky.)

I think a part of me now understands my private (and now public) obsession with My Pet Monster. I think the reason I was so drawn to him and so taken back with grief when my Mom told me “No, no more toys, David” is because he wasn’t just a toy. And I know I had said those exact same words to my Mom as I tried my darnest to plead my case to the jury of one. Still, the jury didn’t see it my way. I remember standing there in the toy section of the David Weis department store crying as if my heart had been ripped out of my chest and run over by a steamroller, twice.

I couldn’t hold back the waterfall that was about to breakthrough and let loose. Salty tears poured from sad blue eyes which then begun streaming down a pair of soft round cheeks. Despite having long almost Maybelline-like lashes, I couldn’t bat away the cloudy world I now found myself looking out into. Rain showers were in my forecast, at least for the remaining part of the day, if not week, if not lifetime! So it was up to my hooded sweatshirt to bring back the sun, to dry the "rain". The cotton/poly blend could only absorb so much before the sleeve became soggy from wiping my face into a beautiful red mess. It wasn’t long after that the hiccups gave way and I was chocking on my own sweet mixture of tears, snot and saliva.

Naturally, it was hard to breathe as my Mom escorted me out of the store. I drug my feet thru the mall as we set out to “go get what we came for” – I hated when she said that. It seemed like a cruel game to me. I can’t get what I want, but Mom will pick up Dad that cordless drill at Sears that HE wants. And that drill is waaay more money! My Pet Monster is only about 30 bucks and Dad’s stupid drill is like 30 trillion dollars…or so I argued. At that moment, I represented the thoughts and feelings of every My Pet Monster deprived child in America. Heartbroken, bitter and jaded. It was official…being a kid sucked!

Kids grow up and get over things, right? Wrong! I may be all grown up, but I’m in no way over my childhood lose - losing out on getting that toy. I know it sounds ridiculous and maybe there is something wrong with me to pine this long over a silly stuffed doll. However, he represented something more than that to me. His outer shell had you believe he was this tough rebellious ugly outcast, but deep inside, he had a soft understanding warm core that just wanted to fit in and be loved. As a kid growing up, My Pet Monster represented me. I could relate to who he was, or rather who the American Greetings toy manufacturer created him to be. Getting My Pet Monster today would be like recapturing a part of my childhood that I feel I missed out on. It’s fulfilling that lifelong dream of owning my very own pet monster. What could be cooler than having a monster for a pet? (Don’t answer that, it’s not a rhetorical question.)

Today, 20 years later, I can honestly say I still want My Pet Monster just as bad now as I did back then. Now granted I won’t throw a full fledge hissy fit if I don’t get one, nor would I bawl my eyes out like a little girl. However, I may find myself getting a little choked up and maybe just a teanie bit misty eyed if someone were to actually find me a vintage My Pet Monster, brand new and still in the box! I almost bought one on eBay, but I decided to hold off becacuse tomorrow marks my birthday and well...

Do you think it's possible? I mean, could you imagine? Oh. My. God. Without a doubt, I would be the happiest boy alive!

Sweet And Mildly Disturbing

When you care enough to send the very best, send an e-card. Wait, I know what you’re thinking. I’ve never been a big fan of e-cards myself. For the most part, they are cheesy. They are filled with dancing bears, rhymy phrases written in sparkly font and annoying jingles that grate on your last nerve. However, there are some decent ones out there, ones that don’t say “Thanks for being my beary best friend.” (puke) I will admit, e-cards do come in handy when you forget your sister’s birthday. And it’s the day of. And she lives on the other side of the country. And it’s too late to send a real card and gift. That’s when an e-card and an iTunes gift certificate come in handy…not that I am talking from past personal experience because I certainly would never be so absent minded as to forget my own sister's birthday, but just hypothetically saying. Ahem.

Now obviously I don’t suggest the above e-card be sent to your sister or any other family member for that matter. Although, I must say I did enjoy getting this from a certain someone. And yes it’s a female and no she’s not blood related. What type of sicko do you think I am? Well, from the looks of this e-card, you are probably already aware that I have a little sicko in me.

I found her e-card to be both sweet and mildly disturbing. I guess you could say that even though this Someecards seems very inappropriate to send to someone, it was very appropriate for her to send it to me. To let me know, she’s there – thru thick and thin and even thru times of perversion. She’s there. Like I said, it’s sweet and mildly disturbing. She knows how to make a boy swoon.

Remember kids, every time you masturbate, God kills a kitten. And I shouldn't even need to mention that your dead Grandma is looking down from heaven and watching you jerk it...as well as all your other loved ones who have passed away. True statements.

No Truer Words Have Ever Been Spoken

I recently bought this poster to hang in my office...my home office that is. I'm not dumb enough to let any of my clients actually see this. And if you know what's good for you, you won't tell them either.

(Click on the image for a larger view.)

Blog = Save Paper = Save A Tree = Save The World

For those of you with a keen eye, you may have noticed a small banner ad that I placed towards the bottom right hand corner of my blog last week. It’s there to encourage fellow bloggers to untie for Blog Action Day. So what is Blog Action Day? Well on October 15th (today), bloggers around the web will unite to put a single important issue on everyone’s mind (as if it’s not there already) - the environment. Every blogger will post about the environment in their own way and relating to their own topic. Then, for those of you that make a little cha-ching from your blog, you are asked to donate your day’s earnings to an environmental charity. The goal is to get everyone talking towards a better future. One issue. One day. Thousands of voices.

Now let me save you from the “granola guy” and “new age tree hugging hippie” remarks. I’m neither of those things and you'll never catch me wearing Birkenstocks. However, there is this little thing called global warming that Al Gore keeps harping on and it seems to be getting people’s attention. So much so that last week he won this tiny non-important award called the Nobel Peace Prize…or something. He was awarded it in recognition of his wide-reaching efforts to draw the world's attention to the dangers of global warming. Don’t get me wrong, just the sound of Gore’s voice puts me instantly to sleep. I swear he was born with the world’s most boring monotone voice ever! Although, like the guy or not, his global warming message has some weight behind it.

So what am I doing to combat global warming? Well I could list the things, but that sounds like a snooze fest to me. Instead, I’ll spare you the torturous reading and just tell you about the most obvious – I blog. Think about it. If you blog, you are saving paper because the writing is done digitally. And if you are saving paper, well then you just spared a tree from being chopped down. And if you can save a tree, you are well on your way to saving the world! Yes, blog and you will save the world. A bold statement, but one I’m getting put on a recyclable, biodegradable, carbon monoxide-free bumper sticker. Oh yeah…the glue will be non-toxic on it too. So go ahead and allow your children to eat it. No worries.

Remember, green is good. So go green. Now go do your part and post something for Blog Action Day.

It’s Better To Give Than To Receive

I waited a full 48 hours. I couldn’t wait any longer. It was time. There they were, seven of them. Stacked one on top of the other, as if to form a mountain of hope. They rested on a display table next to a politian’s book of lies. It seems appropriate that a book of truths would be paired next to it. A Ying-Yang balance of the written word. The jacket cover reads “A Lifetime Of Secrets” by Frank Warren. It’s a thick, heavy hardback – easily double the size of his last PostSecret book release. I pick from the top of the pile, thumbing thru the pages like a flipbook. Looking. Hoping. Telling myself that this will be the one that a postcard will flutter out of. To my dismay, nothing.

I peered over my left shoulder. I looked to my right. The coast was clear, no one in sight. Surely people would think I was nuts if they witnessed my behavior. I had six more tries. I imagine this is the sensation that little old ladies experience as they scratch off their $5 lottery ticket. Wishing, praying that today just may be their lucky day. I flipped. I scanned. I weeded. I turned them upside down. I even tried shaking a secret out. One by one, I went thru each book thinking that surely I wasn’t going to be the only person slipping my secret postcard inside. However, at this particular Barnes & Noble, it seems I was.

I’ll admit, it was a bit of a letdown. I honestly thought that at least one other person would have followed the “movement”. Maybe I built this up too much in my head, but I really felt that if a stranger’s secret fell into my lap, that somehow it would change my world. I would embrace it in a black and white frame and hang it in my bedroom.

Perhaps the word wasn’t spread online as well as it could have been. Or perhaps people said they too were going to do it, had every intention of doing it, but at the last minute chickened out. I suppose I can understand that, but I’m glad I stuck to my word and followed thru. So yes, it’s out there – my secret. It’s tucked between the pages. And, I’m not even the least bit curious who finds it. It will flutter to their feet, not realizing that the motion in which the postcard drops to the earth mimics the movement of the pen I held while writing it. With each passing ink-filled swoop, the words joined to form my secret. Just like a butterfly, it too gently flies away allowing the wind to take it where it may.

Today is just another reminder that my Mother was right when she told me it is better to give than to receive. And when you give, you will always receive something in return. Even if that something isn’t tangible, you will be rewarded. To feel that sense of relief as a weight lifts is a gift in itself. I’m happy to of given myself that early birthday gift.

***UPDATE***
Visit PostSecretCommunity.com – a new website from Frank Warren.

My Secret Goes Public October 9th, Will Yours?

On Tuesday, October 9th, I’m going to share something with someone that I’ve never shared with anyone ever before. A secret. Left anonymously. Addressed to a stranger, who may be you? I will write it on a postcard and slip it between the pages of “A Lifetime Of Secrets” by Frank Warren, a hardback book scheduled for release the very same day. Crisp, clean pages free of bends and blemishes. Joined together and aligned perfectly with straight razor cut edges. The spine cracks and crinkles upon opening it. Paper fibers, glue and press ink mix together to deliver that one of a kind new book smell. Pull the right book and a postcard may flutter into your lap, land at your feet. That postcard may be mine. My secret may be revealed to you. And you alone.

I’ve made it no secret that I’m a huge fan of the PostSecret project – the website, the books, the whole idea behind it all. I think it’s amazing what Frank Warren has started. It’s freeing. It’s moving. It’s a way to relate to total strangers and them to you. In fact, it even brought me in touch with Casie, that girl with the beautiful smile who is featured day in and day out on the PostSecret website. It’s because of her, sharing her secret and her message of hope, that millions of people, including myself, have been given the strength to share their own dark truths. I wrote about Casie back in May (5/28/07 - Hope Floats) and shortly after was pleasantly surprised to see an e-mail from her show up in my inbox. Casie had written to thank me for what I had written about her on my blog. How she found my blog, I don’t know, but I’m happy to have found her note to me.

I visit PostSecret.com religiously every Sunday night, that’s when they upload new postcards for the upcoming week. It's a weekend ending ritual of sorts for me. A Sunday night never goes by that I can’t find a piece of myself in at least one of the postcards…and something tells me I’m not alone when I say that. In roughly 24 hours, the newest PostSecret book “A Lifetime Of Secrets” will hit store shelves nationwide. I’ll head to my local Barnes & Noble and pick up my copy, just as I have done with all three of the previous PostSecret books. But before I step to the register, I’m going to step into the shadows and slip my own postcard in one of the remaining PostSecret books waiting to be adopted. I may choose the book by random, but the secret I place inside it has been carefully selected.

It’s something I’m hoping will be received warmly and will give a total stranger a sense of connection, to me, who is essential a total stranger to them as well. No matter how deep, how dark, how ugly, or how emotionally consuming a secret may be, there is hope. There is an outlet. There is a way to free yourself of the weight and the burden you carry with you. Write it on a postcard, slip it into one of the millions of PostSecret books about to hit store shelves…and breathe. Breathe a sense of relief that your secret is finally being set free and you will remain nameless to it.

Hope, it's a beautiful thing and I'm hoping you will join me in doing this too on October 9th.

Related posts of interest…

• 8/13/07 - PostSecret Mini Movie
• 5/28/07 - Hope Floats
• 4/26/06 - Dark Secrets Given The First-Class Treatment
• 3/16/06 – Shh, It’s A Secret
• 1/23/06 - 101 Things You Didn't Know About Me

Beauty Fades, Wealth Grows, And The Truth Hurts

She’s called the Gold Digger, the Trophy Wife. We all know this type of woman and we all know the type of guy that scoops her up. A smart man “leases” this type of girl, he doesn’t “buy her” – marry her. It’s like leasing a high end sports car. Once it reaches a certain age, the mileage builds up and it loses its showroom shine. Nobody wants a tired old ride. So you trade it in for a newer, younger model and “test drive” that for awhile. It’s no different with dating a Gold Digger. Because let’s be honest, beauty fades, wealth grows. Think about it. A true Gold Digger who is young and beautiful would, without a doubt, leave a guy if he became broke. He is no longer a “smart investment” for her. So why is it so bad if a rich guy dumps a hot chick once she reaches a certain age? Let’s say on average she expires around age 35. Others would say she’s topped out at 29. She is no longer a “smart investment” for him. To the curb she goes.

Although if he does exchange vows with this young beauty, he’s more than likely wise enough to know a prenup is the preliminary first step to protecting his assets – AKA, his ass. She may not like signing it, but fuck her. This relationship was based on superficialness from the get-go. So personally, I don’t see what the big deal is. Vanity is a two way street. Don’t believe that statement? Then just mull over the words spoken by a self-proclaimed Gold Digger who is looking for a New York man that makes 500K + a year. Then keep reading to see how one successful business man responds to her questions posted on Craigslist. Basically, this Gold Digger digs her own grave. The truth hurts. And don’t hate me for saying this, but I’m standing up and applauding this guy.

The following appeared on NewYork.Craigslist.org

What Am I Doing Wrong?
Okay, I'm tired of beating around the bush. I'm a beautiful (spectacularly beautiful) 25 year old girl. I'm articulate and classy. I'm not from New York. I'm looking to get married to a guy who makes at least half a million a year. I know how that sounds, but keep in mind that a million a year is middle class in New York City, so I don't think I'm overreaching at all.

Are there any guys who make 500K or more on this board? Any wives? Could you send me some tips? I dated a business man who makes average around 200 - 250. But that's where I seem to hit a roadblock. 250,000 won't get me to central park west. I know a woman in my yoga class who was married to an investment banker and lives in Tribeca, and she's not as pretty as I am, nor is she a great genius. So what is she doing right? How do I get to her level?

Here are my questions specifically:

• Where do you single rich men hang out? Give me specifics- bars, restaurants, gyms?
• What are you looking for in a mate? Be honest guys, you won't hurt my feelings.
• Is there an age range I should be targeting (I'm 25)?
• Why are some of the women living lavish lifestyles on the upper east side so plain? I've seen really 'plain jane' boring types who have nothing to offer married to incredibly wealthy guys. I've seen drop dead gorgeous girls in singles bars in the east village. What's the story there?
• Jobs I should look out for? Everyone knows - lawyer, investment banker, doctor. How much do those guys really make? And where do they hang out? Where do the hedge fund guys hang out?
• How you decide marriage vs. just a girlfriend? I am looking for MARRIAGE ONLY!

Please hold your insults - I'm putting myself out there in an honest way. Most beautiful women are superficial; at least I'm being up front about it. I wouldn't be searching for these kind of guys if I wasn't able to match them - in looks, culture, sophistication, and keeping a nice home and hearth.

THE REPLY
I read your posting with great interest and have thought meaningfully about your dilemma. I offer the following analysis of your predicament. Firstly, I'm not wasting your time, I qualify as a guy who fits your bill; that is I make more than $500K per year. That said here's how I see it.

Your offer, from the prospective of a guy like me, is plain and simple a crappy business deal. Here's why. Cutting through all the B.S., what you suggest is a simple trade: you bring your looks to the party and I bring my money. Fine, simple. But here's the rub, your looks will fade and my money will likely continue into perpetuity...in fact, it is very likely that my income increases but it is an absolute certainty that you won't be getting any more beautiful!

So, in economic terms you are a depreciating asset and I am an earning asset. Not only are you a depreciating asset, your depreciation accelerates! Let me explain, you're 25 now and will likely stay pretty hot for the next 5 years, but less so each year. Then the fade begins in earnest. By 35 stick a fork in you!

So in Wall Street terms, we would call you a trading position, not a buy and hold...hence the rub...marriage. It doesn't make good business sense to "buy you" (which is what you're asking) so I'd rather lease. In case you think I'm being cruel, I would say the following. If my money were to go away, so would you, so when your beauty fades I need an out. It's as simple as that. So a deal that makes sense is dating, not marriage.

Separately, I was taught early in my career about efficient markets. So, I wonder why a girl as "articulate, classy and spectacularly beautiful" as you has been unable to find your sugar daddy. I find it hard to believe that if you are as gorgeous as you say you are that the $500K hasn't found you, if not only for a tryout.

By the way, you could always find a way to make your own money and then we wouldn't need to have this difficult conversation. With all that said, I must say you're going about it the right way. Classic "pump and dump.”

I hope this is helpful, and if you want to enter into some sort of lease, let me know.

The Internet? OMG! That’s Sooo 1995

The year was 1995. I was a fresh faced teenage boy full of wonder. Ok, I was actually a kid full of raging hormones looking to see how much trouble I could get into. It was also the year I first logged onto the Internet and take a guess on what my very first search was for? Yes, the same thing every teenage boy searches for getting online for the first time. In those days, everyone used AOL 2.5, including myself. That was before we knew better. Before we knew that AOL wasn't the Internet. Today, AOL has basically rolled over and died – finally! Now there is talk that the entire Internet could also be saying "Goodbye".

Quick history lesson for you…an Englishman by the name of Tim Bernes-Lee is responsible for the creation of the WWW (World Wide Web). It became widespread in the mid 1990's, but its beginnings can actually be trace back to 1980. Now prior to the WWW, there was this dude named Larry Roberts who ran ARPAnet, which was the precursor to the Internet. In short, Larry Roberts is considered "the inventor of the Internet". Still with me? Good.

Roberts, the inventor, claims the Internet is outdated. He says it’s too late to stop now as the net has actually become a patchwork quilt of protocols. In an interview with the Wall Street Journal, Roberts said that the technology behind the web is now 40 years old and needs a rethink. He said that when he was working at ARPAnet he was unsure how long the technology could work, especially since the system didn’t ensure that information packets would arrive at their destination. He is convinced that there will be all sorts of hell to pay now that companies are using the Internet to make phone calls and consumers begin to dabble in online video. Roberts said that the Internet wasn’t designed for people to watch television...and he should know, he designed it.

The man has a point. The Internet was made for 30 second sample clips of downloadable porn, not 2 gigs worth of streaming XXX movies. Sooner or later all that bandwidth filth will take its toll. Not that I’m an expert on any of this or that I would even look at naughty material myself, I’m just saying. Ahem.

Now how do we save the Internet? Well, that's a good question and I wish I had a good answer, but I don't. If you suggest we delete all traces of porn from the net, then brace yourself as I am about to smack you upside your stupid poop head for such an asinine idea. Anyone with a well though out sensible suggestion, please share it. As far as I'm concerned, I'm going to take the lazy man's method to solving this problem - if it ain't broke (yet), don't fix it.

Fire Crotch Fad Catching On Like Wildfire

I don’t know about you, but I value my privates too much to light them on fire. I’ve seen a lot of Jackass stunts before and I’ll admit I’ve even performed some asinine moves myself growing-up, but not even Steve-O would do this! It’s back to school time and with it comes a new fad, or shall I say a new sport? Lighting yourself on fire with cheap cologne – it’s the hottest thing to do (literally and figuratively speaking)! Oh those crazy kids. You gotta love ‘em! Just what will they think of next?

A 14-year-old boy was badly burned at an Ontario high school after another male student doused him with Axe body spray and set him on fire! The boy suffered 1st, 2nd and 3rd degree burns to his torso. This incident has uncovered a disturbing practice that police say is happening across the map, calling it “a fairly common thing” and “a popular pastime among some teens”. So lighting ones genitals ablaze is the everyday norm now? This officially confirms that kids are in fact stupider today than when I was in high school…which wasn’t that long ago, the 90s. What ever happen to doing drugs? It doesn’t seem all that dangerous anymore when you compare rolling a blunt to willingly engulfing your body in flames.

Police say they are aware that kids are taking body sprays, in particular Axe and Tag, and lighting themselves on fire. Some light their pants on fire while others bare their stomachs before squirting the spray and flicking a lighter. They assume the spray ignites for a split second where there is no damage and little pain inflicted, but the trick can (and did) go horribly wrong.

My Mom told me not to play with matches, but she never said anything about lighting my crotch on fire. So it must be ok I guess. It seems that’s the mindset of today’s youth. I honestly didn’t think kids could get any stupider, but this proves me wrong. Remember the fad where they choked themselves out with a belt, hoping to get a “passing out” high feeling? Well they managed to step it up a notch and out dumb themselves with this one.

Apparently these morons are not only lighting their nether region on fire, but they are also videotaping it to spread on YouTube. Smart, huh? That way other jackasses can see how one properly lights his balls on fire and has his buddy stomp him in the groin to put out the flames. Brilliant! Gee, I wonder what hurts more…having the skin blister and bubble across your junk or getting that swift kick in the nuts after the 3rd degree burn sets in?