Note: Your Vicious Circle of Friends May Vary.

Mr. Happy That He Makes Way More Money Than You

Mr. Hums When He Eats

Little Miss Never Shuts The Fuck Up

Little Miss Inappropriate Sun Dress

Mr. Doesn’t Move His Left Arm When He Walks (See Also Mr. Creepy and Mr. I Am Never Leaving You Alone With My Kids)

Little Miss Refuses to Acknowledge the Fact That She Doesn’t Know the Difference Between “Your” and “You’re”

Mr. Should Not Be Allowed Within 500 Feet of Any Power Tool

Mr. Seriously With That Outfit? You’re Forty-Six

Little Miss God Help Us if She Ever Goes Off Her Meds

Mr. Stands Way Too Close at the Urinal. Seriously. Dude.

Mr. Perfect, A.K.A. Neighborhood Hot Dad, A.K.A. Not Mr. Me, though the women in the neighborhood would probably describe me as Mr. Immature, Mr. You’re Bringing Down My Property Value with that Big Peace Sign, or Mr. You Know I Can Hear You Swearing All the Way from My House, Right?

Little Miss North Face Jacket and Lululemon Yoga Pants Driving the Mercedes SUV. (No, that’s all. I just hate you.)

Imagine that.

Two, Maybe Three Shades of Grey, Tops.

Let’s do it. I got twenty minutes for lunch. Meet you at that motel off Route 6. Bring some Cool Ranch Doritos or something. I get hungry after.

Area Man Writes Blog Headline in Style of the Onion in Attempt to Get Noticed Before Ad Biz Goes Totally in Shitter

BLUE SKY, RI – Dropping an occasional “fuck” or “douchebag” for good measure, a local advertising agency creative director today hit that blue “publish” button over there in a desperate attempt to have a Plan B for his now doomed career in advertising.

“I love what I do,” said Marcus Silver. “The TV spots, those webbie sorta things, the occasional magazine spread designed to within an inch of its life with twigs and shit for a border. I love my coworkers, my clients, all of it. But it’s all dead. Google and the Facebook and that fucking subservient chicken killed us all.”

To even the casual observer, it’s obvious both the mainstream media and trade press are in love with the tale of advertising’s death knell. In fact, leading industry pub ADWEEK is about to go to press with its 214th version of the story, which makes one wonder what the fuck they’ll be doing for a living six months from now. Douchebags.

“I’ve always been a fan of the Onion and figure I can write that fake-news shit with my eyes closed,” said Silver. “But I’m not picky. At this point, I’d even take a staff position on that Stephen Colbert trainwreck.”

In what colleagues are generally considering one of the biggest douchebag moves of his career, Silver reportedly stole the whole idea for this post and doesn’t even have permission to use that picture of the cup up there.

Said Perry Peters, Art Director, “The guy’s a total fraud. I‘m pretty sure that’s not even his real name. And he walks around this place saying shit like, ‘You are not here to do what’s been done before?’”

(EDITOR’S NOTE: The line, “You are not here to do what has been done before,” originally appeared in a 2002 print ad for Apple Computers.)

“He’s so fucking fired,” said agency CEO Robert Jefferson Newton. “Douchebag.”

•

Why my son is no longer welcome at most dining establishments in the tri-state area.

I’ll never forget those Fisher Price Little People. Eddie, Sarah Lynn, Maggie and the gang were all so sweet and cute and each little figurine had his or her own unique look and personality and sure maybe you stepped on one of the sharp little bastards every now and then but it was a small price to pay for the simple joy not to mention valuable life lessons they taught your children about being helpful, kind to one another and accepting of everyone.

And then there was the when time my young family went out for Chinese food and all was right with the world right up until the waitress dropped the tray, the entire restaurant fell silent, and my big-hearted little four-year-old, shouted, “You okay, Sonya Lee?”

People who are not my grandmother are complaining that I haven’t written in a while.

And thanks for that. It’s pretty awesome.

Actually, I have been writing quite a bit, just not here. I can, however, promise that another Blue Sky, Rhode Island is on the way (especially if you’re a publisher or if you’re married to a publisher or if you have naked photos of a publisher with assorted farm animals).

In the meantime, if any of you is also Tina Fey or David Letterman, call me.

Cooking Without Oil or Sugar. Or Talent.

So I had this idea. What do you think? Is there an audience out there for a moderately funny food blog written by someone who knows next to nothing about food?

Every day or so, WordPress selects a dozen or so new blog posts to be “Freshly Pressed” or so. Inevitably, one or two of those featured is a food blog filled with totally yummers recipes using hand-crushed candy canes, some sort of sustainable free-trade Amazon rainforest cacao chips, and a quarter cup of smug, invented by a mom who not only bakes but blogs and runs a household and serves on three boards of directors and just prosecuted the nation’s fourth-largest class-action lawsuit against one of those corporations that kills gay puppies.

And as we all know, making it into Freshly Pressed will garner her a few hundred thousand more readers. Bitch.

So, having recently come to terms with the fact that 1., I’m really mean to fictitious food bloggers for no apparent reason and 2., nobody goes looking for infrequently updated blogs featuring fake diets, nonexistent towns and outright lies about Irish rockstars, I present, in the spirit of shameless self-promotion and a little free time: The Fake Really Delicious Cookie Recipe Strategy for Getting Featured on Freshly Pressed Again. Wish me luck.

Ingredients:

• A photographer-friend who won’t sue when you swipe a great picture or two, even though these particular shots have nothing to do with the recipe but look how awesome they look up there on the WordPress homepage.

• Lots of free time

• Other people’s recipes

• Peppermint extract

• Beat egg whites until they are foamy. Gross. Nevermind. Let’s say frothy. Nope, that makes me sick, too. Anyway, add granulated sugar, peppermint extract and about 20 drops of red food coloring to the egg whites. Continue to beat until it forms a stiff meringue. And if your stiff meringue last for more than four hours, consult a physician.

• And yes, let’s talk about food coloring for a second. It causes cancer. Fine. But more important, it’s awesome, and a few weeks ago I had this awesome idea: I would make Green Eggs and Ham for the kids! Just a few drops into the scrambled eggs and I was going to be a hero. And so yeah, by the way, here’s a tip: No one anywhere, ever, has or will ever eat green scrambled eggs. Take my word for it. It looks like Play Doh that’s been grudge-fucked by the devil. (Or some other comparison of your choosing. Sorry.)

• Anyways… Make sure you let your tray of batter sit for at least 15 minutes or before its ass starts to get all numb and it has to make the old man sound when it gets up to see if there’s any of that leftover pizza still in the fridge.

• Bake at a thousand degrees or something for 9-12 minutes, I don’t know. Be sure to let your make-believe cookies cool before removing them from the tray.

Serves 50 or whatevs.

Happy Earth Day. Wait, is it okay to say, “happy?” It’s a good thing, right? Or am I supposed to be outraged? And did this unnecessarily long headline just increase the size of my carbon footprint? Or is it weight? Never mind. I’m sorry.

Arthur J. Piddleman, Middle-Aged Mermaid, Answers Your Frequently Asked Questions.

First of all, I’m forty-six. And, as everyone knows, Merpeople can live to be upwards of 520 years. In fact, my dad turns 310 this September, and no fewer than six-hundred of my siblings are well into their second century.

Secondly, it’s Merman, though I will also answer to Merdude, Merbro or Mister Piddleman. And no, I don’t know why it’s not Merbutler. But if you feel the need to have someone wait on you, I suggest the Denny’s down on West 56th and Pleasant. Ask for Gloria.

Now, onto your questions:

Are you for real? While yes, there have been folk tales written about mermaids – songs, even – I am no legend. And for the record, I am definitely not a fan of the sea shanty, what with all the yo-hos. I prefer the more sublime lyrics of the Pixies, John Prine, and Red Rubber Ball by The Cyrkle.

Your life must be really glamourous what with the tropical climes. Well, I can only speak for myself on this one, but my territory stretches from right around Sag Harbor up to about Gloucester, and there ain’t many palm trees and blue drinks on that strip, pal. And then I’ll tell you another thing, friend, it’s nothing like those cartoon movies with the singing crustaceans. Newsflash: Crabs are assholes. They borrow money from you saying it’s for their kid’s birthday and that they’ll pay you back next Thursday and then you see them down at the track and God forbid you should bring it up at a party or someplace where they’re all, “Excuse me, loan shark, I didn’t know I was on the clock…” and they make you look like a tightwad in front of the little bottle-nose you’ve had your eye on for months, so, you know, Christ.

How do you feel about mermaids getting all the glory in art and literature while you live a life of relative obscurity? Look, I’m no sexist or anything, but I have to say, being a mermaid is a piece of cake. Your entire job consists of using your beauty and charm to lure men to their deaths. There’s very little heavy lifting, you make your own hours, and all you do is go, “Woo-woo… come on over here, sailor.” Me, I’m in heating, ventilation and air conditioning. It’s not that bad. I’m on call pretty much 24/7, but I do have a pension.

Are all mermaids beautiful? Okay, this is a sticky one. Let’s just say the casting agent for Splash was drawing on a whole lot of poetic license. And hey, when a man’s been out at sea for going-on a-month-and-a-half, his standards become a bit more… loose. One tip though: No matter how much a certain Sheila may or may not resemble a manatee, for your own sake, do not refer to her as,“Sea Cow.”

Traditionally, mermaids have been depicted unclothed. Do you wear pants, and if so, how do you put them on, and is there some sort of velcro going on there someplace? Often, in movies and art, an effort is made to have mermaids cover their lady bits with their long hair. That’s my neighbor’s sister on the Starbucks cup, FYI. Personally, I think she’d look much better in a one-piece. Or maybe a crisp panko crumb breading. But I digress. Yes, I prefer shorts. Drawstring, mostly.

Do mermaids “school” like other fish? As we get older, we become mostly loners. Though I did have lots of friends growing up. In fact, in that commercial during the Final Four, the Filet-O’-Fish looked exactly like this kid I went to prep school with, though I’m pretty sure he’s not even Irish. (Wait for it. You’ll get it. Look back. There you go.)

Are there any famous mermen you admire? The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles had this Merdude friend who was all yelling and wearing this eye patch and carried a blaster and a sword and they said he was 6’2″ and on a good day I’m 3’7″ at best. So, yeah.

Is Poseidon your father, and, therefore, the father of all sea life? For starters, hello, if Poseidon were the father of us all, we’d be having sex with our first cousins and we’d all have babies with nine heads. So no, the supposed “God of the Seven Seas” is actually a distant uncle on my mother’s side. And while I guess he’s powerful and all, I really don’t get the whole big pitchfork thing. (Where’s all the hay?) Maybe I should trade him for that kid’s plastic shovel I picked up the other day. LOL.

Anyways, my dad’s actually retired. Mom stays mostly around the house these days, but the old man still likes to get out and make a little walking around money. Last week he stood out in front of the Long John Silver’s in Syosset handing out two-for-one coupons.

Try the crab.

•

This Day in Wrong History. And Directions.

April 13, 1777: British troops attack at Bound Brook, New Jersey. Exit 13.