I was born. I suffered.
I suffered some more, and hopefully,
I won't die a painful death.
This is my life.

Another ask Eric a question

Dear Death Becomes Me:
 
   I recently lost my job. Okay recently being a relative word. I lost and haven’t found a new one in over six months. I’ve tried everything I can think of, networking with friends, and family, going to employment agencies, walking into various corporate offices armed with a stack of résumé’s ---only to discover that 1.security guards are a lot tougher than then their overweight appearances initially let on. And 2, that soliciting jobs is a lot like soliciting sex only you're more likely to get solicited for sex cause the offices I went to were those on Capital Hill.
   The reason for this letter is, I’ve got three more weeks of unemployment benefits, and then I am out on the street.  I don’t think I have much more to live for after the money runs out. I have expenses, a high maintenance girlfriend, a dog whose medical bills continue to trump the nation’s debt, not to mention (but I will because I’m in the mood to complain) various creditors (Sallie Mae) --who want me dead, What advice/suggestions can you relay on ---as to convince me that living is a worth wild experience and that everything is going to be okay?
  
  Signed,
     Noose in Hand and ready to "Slip"

Birthday Wishes

Happy Birthday Jennifer! The best dang badass waitress there is!

Halloween costumes for manic depressives

Ah it's that creepy time of year again, I mean creepier than usual. It's nearing Halloween. Leaves are already red and orange, bad horror movies have taken over the TV on weekends. So this year I thought that I should dress up as something befitting a cool manic depressive such as myself. All of the cliche movie monsters really won't cut it.

My first thought for this years costume was Confused White Suicide Bomber. I decided against this because explosive vests tend to make me look fat.

I could do the whole range of suicidal death, i.e.; slit wrists, nylon noose around the neck, empty sleeping pill bottle(with stomach pump in case the emt's got to me in time). Somehow I would tether the empty prescription bottle to the end of my finger tip so it looks like I dropped on the floor as I slipped off to the netherworld.


I might go as a Great Depression era unemployed father of six standing in a bread line. For example one of these guys: 
I really like those hats




This year I am far from home and as it gets closer to Halloween I'm counting the seconds until I'm back for All Hollows Eve. My son has tried on his costume a thousand times already, I only know this because I have been sent cell phone pix of it. I'm pretty sure of what I'll be going as this year, again. Yes that's right! Lonely, Depressed Divorced Father Standing at the End of a Driveway Holding a Flashlight While the Kids Trick or Treat Man. It's a fucking great costume.

Hello, uh where the bloody hell am I?

With recent slew of washed-up 80s metal and hair bands going back on tour to support their various addictions, my brother and I have decided to pitch a new reality TV show to VH-1. The show will be called On Tour Now! Each week, the show will follow a different band to their gig du jour. Of course, there will be a little bio of the band of the week filled with videos and images of their glory days. As a running gag on the show, every band will have extreme hatred for Bon Jovi and all of their/his success. In the cut scenes, we'll interview people on the street and ask them if they remember any of band of the weeks hits. Every person will of course name a Bon Jovi song.

Let's take your average platinum record selling band like Ratt, our first show's band of the week. Ratt has sold around 20 million records according to Wikipedia. The first scene opens with a zoom-in on some wretched motor lodge as the Ratt tour van pulls into the parking lot. Straggly fifty-something's pile out of the back and pull up their once-form fitting leather pants. Now the muffin tops pour out the waist and there is no longer room to stuff a sock down the crotch.

As the bands manager/roadie/door charge taker checks them into the motel, they reminisce sitting by the algae and garbage-covered pool. (Each week this will consist of phrases like: "Remember that tour with Def Leppard," or, "I wish I still had that red Ferrari."

Fade in to the band getting ready for the show by eating pizza and drinking Löwenbräu. We see the once hot lead singer, Stephen Pearcy, looking in the bathroom mirror and choking back the tears. "Oh what level of bloody Hell have I sunk to!" he screams.

Flash to the show. A hand held camera closes in on the venue. It's really just some horrible dive bar. 1980's Camaros and Trans Ams line the gravel parking lot. As the cameraman enters the bar, darkness give way to the crowd, which consists of leather-skinned women and men with beer guts and mullets.

Hello Scriba!

As once great songs like Lay It Down, and You're In Love, are spewed out like a cat choking on a week old hair ball, the fans relive long dead memories. After the show at the meet and greet, Stephen Pearcy is asked to sign a woman's breast. "I'll lift up my shirt." she says. On camera you see Stephen's eyes look all the way down to the woman's stomach as she lifts up her shirt. "Uh, yeah maybe that's not a good idea." he says.

Well, there you have it. The next sure fire reality TV hit coming soon to VH-1.