Warrior Run
by admin on Jan.02, 2012, under Uncategorized
Here is a sketch I wrote called Warrior Run making fun of the Spartan and Toughmudder “hardcore” races. When we read it at my class at Upright Citizen Brigade we had a lot of fun, especially the guy doing Announcer 2.
EXT. WATER TABLE- DAY
Four MUSCULAR MEN stand around a water table laughing with
each other. It looks like they just ran a race.
ANNOUNCER
Tired of winning the same races
again and again?
CUT TO: Two of the men run past a pair of overweight
women. They high five each other.
ANNOUNCER
Then you need to man up and do a
WARRIOR RUN!
ANNOUNCER 2
Men!
The men look up intrigued.
HEAVY METAL MUSIC starts blasting.
EXT. RACE COURSE- DAY
The camera sweeps and pans all Michael Bay like over a race
course littered with obstacles.
ANNOUNCER
It’s a race against the clock and
six hardcore obstacles.
ANNOUNCER 2
Extreme!
EXT. STARTING LINE
A bunch of excited men start sprinting with our four men in
the front.
ANNOUNCER
Are you man enough to take on Mount
Doom?
RACER
Hell yeah!
The racers run over a simple ramp hill.
ANNOUNCER 2
Hardcore!
The runners are running and come upon a field full of tires.
ANNOUNCER
Run through the tire field!
The racers high run through the tires.
ANNOUNCER 2
Unstoppable!
The men run up into a pit full of muddy water.
ANNOUNCER
Ford the Pit of Filth!
The racers eagerly charge through the pit, their white
shirts getting dirty and clinging to there ripped
bodies. Two of the racers high five each other.
ANNOUNCER
Take off your dirty shirts and keep
pushing forward.
ANNOUNCER 2
Relentless!
The guys shrug and throw off their shirts and keep
sprinting. Their hot chest and chiseled abs look so hot.
The racers come to a table with plates piled high with hot
chillies.
ANNOUNCER
Feast of Vulcan! Fit the chili in
your mouth, but don’t bite it.
The guys look around, shrug and grab one and put it in their
mouths. We notice that the chillies look quite phallic.
ANNOUNCER
That’s right. Now rub it around
your mouth and get the spice
everywhere. Yes. Man up, and look
at the camera. Good.
ANNOUNCER 2
So hot!
One of the racers starts gagging, but shakes it off and gets
back to it. Another racers face has turned red and he falls
to his knees but keeps on sucking on the chili.
The racers run into a circular ring.
ANNOUNCER
The Ring of Champions, pin your
opponents to the ground.
The sweaty men start wrestling with each other. The racer
has his friend pinned.
ANNOUNCER
Good. Now, prove you’re a man, and
make out with him.
RACER
Wait… what?
ANNOUNCER
Don’t be a pussy and do it!
ANNOUNCER 2
Pusssaaayyy!
The racer hesitates for a moment, looks over to see two
other racers making out, and lunges in and starts making out
with his friend.
ANNOUNCER
Yeah, it’s so hard right now-
ANNOUNCER 2
(Interrupting)
Full kiss on the mouth!
The men now go over to the next event. Instead of running
they are walking shamefully. In front of the finish line
are two large cardboard boxes with holes in them.
ANNOUNCER
Last event is the Box of Glory!
ANNOUNCER 2
Glory!
ANNOUNCER
Put your hand in there and find the
spear of power. Polish the shaft
until it spills the milk of
victory. Don’t forget to use the
Vaseline of Strength.
ANNOUNCER 2
Pump it!
The guys reluctantly put their hands in the box and start
working away.
ANNOUNCER
Yeah, that’s right.
ANNOUNCER 2
S-S-S-So good.
ANNOUNCER
More…
ANNOUNCER 2
Awww yea!
The cardboard box violently rocks back and forth.
One of the racers looks blankly straight ahead. A lone tear
slides down his cheek.
TELEVISION STATIC
END
I’m going to be swimming in girls
by admin on Sep.13, 2011, under Uncategorized
I made a new dating profile. If this doesn’t work, nothing will.
http://www.okcupid.com/profile/charmingashell
My self-summary
Hola bitches! Are you looking for someone who is going to be some fucking great boyfriend material? If so you lucked out because you fucking found him!
My name is Brendan, and I think we should date the shit out of each other. I am a 23 year old game designer who went to school in Texas, and is ready to go full retard into the New York dating scene. Not to toot my own horn (even though I’m going to toot the everliving fuck out of it) but I’m the guy you want to be dating.
A little bit about me. I’m kind, funny, and totally not a creeper. If you were all like “where my creepers at?”, I wouldn’t be “at”. Not my style. You like fun things? Shit yeah, I love doing fun things. Every weekend I try to pack the fuck out of my schedule with fun things to do. Work hard, and play harder. What’s that? You put down on your profile that you like to laugh? I fucking love laughing. If laughter was a drug I would be putting a syringe of that shit right into my jugular everyday not and give a single fuck.
What’s that? You don’t think I respect woman because I opened this summary with “hola bitches”? Fuck that noise! I love the fuck out of women. I work for a charity and go to Africa for the past four summers and teach girls how to read and shit so they can get some mother fucking jobs. I doubt you know any other guy who has done that shit!
A guy that will treat you right? Done. Birthdays? On that shit. Flowers? Already in a vase on your kitchen table. Listening to your problems? You might as well call me Man-Oprah, cuz I’m right there sympathetically nodding with you, girl.
“But I’m not a white chick” you say? That’s cool! It’s all good over here! Don’t really give a fuck what ethnic group you roll with, all options are on the table (including you white chicks). If I had things my way I would try to spit game at the UN, but instead I’m here trying to win you over because I care. About you. In particular. What’s that? We feel uncomfortable because the topic of race came up. Don’t worry. I never talk about that shit in real life unless a very funny opportunity presents itself! But don’t worry it’s funny racism, not mean racsim. Shit. Don’t think that qualifying statement helped.
One night in Tokoyo I blacked out and woke up naked in a plastic tube with a cowboy hat, a wallet, and camera. That doesn’t have to do with anything, I just wanted to put that down on the table to let you know that I have nothing to hide.
I also saw an elephant use its trunk to hit my buddy in the nuts. I bitched the fuck out of that elephant. Because I defend the people I care about. If we hit it off, I would probably fight an elephant for you, provided that I was armed with something bigger than a jar of peanut butter.
Think we should date? Hit me up!
TL;DR
Let’s date the fuck out of each other.
Blackwater Nanny
by admin on May.30, 2011, under Uncategorized
BLACK WATER NANNY
by Brendan McNamara
INT. LIVING ROOM
A MOM walks into a living room followed by HANK, a muscular
man in his late forties.
MOM
Thanks so much for answering my
craigslist ad. A lot of people
have been applying for this job.
HANK
Well I can assure you, Ma’am, that
I’m the best candidate you’ll meet
today.
They sit on couches across from each other.
MOM
So, tell me, how long have you been
a nanny.
HANK
I’ve never formally held the title
of nanny, but I have experience in
comparable fields.
MOM
Oh, so like a teacher?
HANK
No Ma’am, more along the lines of
personal security.
MOM
Personal security?
HANK
I’ve worked as a security
contractor for Blackwater
specializing in VIP security and
hostage rescue with extensive field
time in the middle east and latin
america.
MOM
I don’t mean to be rude, but I
think you might have applied for
the wrong job. All I’m looking for
(MORE)
(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 2.
MOM (cont’d)
is someone to watch my kid, drive
her to school, and meet with her
teachers until I get back from
work.
HANK
Mam, I understand your skepticism,
but let me ask you, do you value
the security of your daughter?
MOM
Yes.
HANK
And you understand that in this
world we live in children are
harmed every day?
MOM
Um... yes.
HANK
Then why not put your daughters
safety in the hands of an
experienced operative who has been
successful in eighty percent of his
clients security missions.
MOM
I’m not sur-- eighty percent? Is
that good?
HANK
Not convinced eh? See these
tallies tattooed on my arm? Count
them.
MOM
Seriously? I’m not going to sit
her and count out all of your--
HANK
(Interrupting)
Thirty one. Each representing some
hostile element who made the
mistake of getting between me and
my client. I’d like to see any of
the other applicants you’ve met go
out there, in the sand, and get
between your daughter and a blood
crazed muj. One minute your
daugher goes from performing in the
(MORE)
(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 3.
HANK (cont’d)
school’s rendition of Grease as
Sandy, to performing as a beheading
victim on Al’Jazeera. Not with
me. With me, she goes on singing
Summer Lovin’, and the Jihadi sings
that sound men make when they
die. I would know. It’s a sound I
hear every day.
MOM
Agh! What the hell? This is
Manhattan, not Baghdad.
HANK
You’re right. Apologies. This is
a domestic security
operation. You’re daughter is
being driven in Queens, and an
Iraqi-- uh, gang banger, opens up
on her vechicle with a
Kashkinklov. Do you want a twenty
four year old grad student in an
unarmored Civic, or a professional
in armored suburban covered in anti
balastic glass? Think carefully,
because, spoiler alert, one choice
results with fragments of your
daughters skull being removed from
the seats of a Civic.
MOM
Wow. Okay. Let’s change the
topic. Drastically. Question. You
take my place at a parent teacher
conference. Her spanish teacher is
upset with my daughters
progress. How do you react?
HANK
Depends. Does your daughter like
her?
MOM
Not particularilly.
HANK
Simple, I react quickly. Before
the teacher can blink I’ve double
tapped two into her sternum and a
round into her head, and before her
body begins to slump over, I’ve
planted an unregistered gun next to
(MORE)
(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 4.
HANK (cont’d)
her so I can claim self defense if
I am apprehended in the extraction
phase.
MOM
Jesus! You can’t say things like
that. Interview is over. Please
leave.
HANK
I’m afraid I can’t leave. I made
getting this job my mission and I
never quit on my mission. It’s
dedication like mine which gets
your daughter to a classroom where
she practices multiplication
drills; instead of a sound proof
basement in a Ramadi slum where she
gets tortured with power drills.
MOM
Get out! Get out now or I’ll call
the police.
HANK
I don’t think that’s a goo--
DAUGHTER enters.
DAUGHTER
Mom, why is there shoutin--
BLAM! BLAM! Hank instictively whips out his gun and double
taps the daughter in the face.
Silence. The Mom is stunned.
HANK
Oh, dear. I’m sorry. I’ll just,
uh, mosey on out.
Hank awkwardly shuffles out. On his way out he carefully
steps over the daughters body and plants an unregistered gun
on her.
END.
Captains Log
by admin on May.24, 2011, under Uncategorized
Captains Log
By
Brendan McNamara
CAPTAINS LOG
by Brendan McNamara
EXT. THE MOON- SPACE
NEIL ARMSTRONG carries a flag on the moon. Behind him is
the lunar module.
NEIL
That’s one small step for man, one
giant leap for man kind. Buzz
you’ve got to come out here and see
this.
BUZZ
(From module)
One second Neil, I just have to
finish up an operation over here.
NEIL
What operation? Did we forget to
run a test?
BUZZ
No, I’m taking a shit.
NEIL
A shit, now?
BUZZ
Well I didn’t want to do it in a
zero g environment so I’ve been
holding it in.
NEIL
But we’ve been in space for a week.
BUZZ
Oh I know. I’ve got eight days
worth of freeze dried ice cream I
need to get rid of. Don’t worry
I’ll be done in a minute.
NEIL
Um, okay.
Neil turns away from the spaceship and gazes off at the pale
blue orb called home.
BUZZ
Neil, you’ve got to see this! It’s
amazing!
NEIL
What?
BUZZ
I think I just took the biggest
dump in human history.
NEIL
What?
BUZZ
Good Lord, it’s massive. Come on
Neil, you have to check it out.
NEIL
That’s disgusting Buzz. Now get
out here, we’ve got a new world to
explore.
BUZZ
Bro, please. We’ve been looking at
the moon since we were kids. A
dump like this though, you’ll never
see again. You got to get back
here and check this out!
NEIL
No!
BUZZ
Come on, be a part of history.
NEIL
I think we’ve already got that
covered.
BUZZ
Well I’m not leaving until you see
it.
NEIL
Stop being childish.
BUZZ
No, YOU stop being childish.
NEIL
Oh for God’s sake. Houston, we
have a problem.
Radio static.
HOUSTON
This is mission control. What
seems to be the problem?
NEIL
Commander Aldrin refuses to leave
the capsule unless I examine the
shit he just took.
BUZZ
Seriously Houston, it’s huge. Neil
is just jelly. You’ve got to see
this, it’s gargantual.
HOUSTON
Gargantual? [sound of murmuring on
the other end] Apollo could you
give us a rough estimate of the
mass of the projectile in question.
BUZZ
About the size of my fist... if I
had the fists of Thor!
NEIL
Oh please, it’s not that big.
BUZZ
Disregard that Houston. Commander
Armstrong has NOT made visual
confirmation of said dump. Also,
he’s acting like a little bitch.
HOUSTON
Roger that commander
Aldrin. Please transmit image of
said dump.
NEIL
Houston is this necessary?
HOUSTON
That’s an affirmative Armstrong. A
change in digestal patterns coming
from Buzz could be a sign of health
problems.
BUZZ
I got the camera! Alright Houston,
get ready for this.
There is the sound of movement in the lunar module.
HOUSTON
Oh my God!
BUZZ
I know, right?
HOUSTON
That’s unbelievable!
BUZZ
My father would be so proud.
HOUSTON
Son, your nation is proud of
you. Put it in the bag we were
going to put the moon rocks in.
NEIL
But don’t we need those bags for
moon rocks?
HOUSTON
That’s a negative. The moon
sucks. This is awesome. Man, the
Ruskies are going to be pissed when
they see what we got...
NEIL
But all those billions of dollars--
HOUSTON
Clearly well spent! Bag it and tag
it, and return to earth.
NEIL
I did not spending the past fifteen
years of my life training for this
day only to spend ten minutes on
the moon. I’m gonna explore and
perform the experiments LIKE WE
PLANNED.
HOUSTON
Armstrong, that’s an order! Grab
that shit and head home.
NEIL
But Houston--
HOUSTON
We don’t have time for you to be an
astronaut premadona. This is
bigger than you, Armstrong!
BUZZ
No seriously Neil, I’m looking at
it and it might ACTUALLY be bigger
than you.
Neil sighs and sadly grabs the rock bag.
NEIL
All those classes at spacecamp for
nothing...
CUT TO:
INT. OVAL OFFICE- DAY
We PAN OUT from a television set, revealing that we have
been watching a recording of the moon landing
events. PRESIDENT OBAMA sits at a desk as a SECRET SERVICE
AGENT says
AGENT
...and that, Sir, is why we faked
the rest of the moon landings.
CUT TO BLACK.
New Commute Option
by admin on Apr.21, 2011, under Uncategorized
I just bought a longboard a few days ago and have finally gotten the hang of it (except for stopping). I saw in the store that they had a freakin land paddle.
This is how I will commute to work. And not a single fuck will be given.
Best Letter Ever
by admin on Feb.20, 2011, under Cool Stuff
Once upon a time the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire, Sultan Mehmed IV sent a letter to the Cossacks, who he was fighting, telling them to surrender. He wrote:
As the Sultan; son of Muhammad; brother of the Sun and Moon; grandson and viceroy of God; ruler of the kingdoms of Macedonia, Babylon, Jerusalem, Upper and Lower Egypt; emperor of emperors; sovereign of sovereigns; extraordinary knight, never defeated; steadfast guardian of the tomb of Jesus Christ; trustee chosen by God himself; the hope and comfort of Muslims; confounder and great defender of Christians—I command you, the Zaporozhian Cossacks, to submit to me voluntarily and without any resistance, and to desist from troubling me with your attacks.
—Turkish Sultan Mehmed IV
The Zaporozhian Cossacks wrote this back to the Turkish Sultan:
Thou art a turkish imp, the damned devil’s brother and friend, and a secretary to Lucifer himself. What the devil kind of knight art thou that cannot slay a hedgehog with your naked arse? The devil shits, and your army eats. Thou a son of a bitch wilt not ever make subjects of Christian sons; we have no fear of your army, by land and by sea we will battle with thee, fuck thy mother.
Thou art the Babylonian scullion, Macedonian wheelwright, brewer of Jerusalem, goat-fucker of Alexandria, swineherd of Greater and Lesser Egypt, Armenian pig, Podolian villain, catamite of Tartary, hangman of Kamyanets, and fool of all the world and underworld, a fool before our God, a grandson of the Serpent, and the crick in our dick. Pig’s snout, mare’s arse, slaughterhouse cur, unchristened brow, screw thine own mother!
So the Zaporozhians declare, you lowlife. Thou wilt not even be herding Christian pigs. Now we shall conclude, for we don’t know the date and don’t have a calendar; the moon’s in the sky, the year in the book, the day’s the same over here as it is over there; for this kiss our arse!
Koshovyi Otaman Ivan Sirko, with the whole Zaporozhian Host.
I think it so awesome, the mental image of a bunch of dudes sitting around the table, thinking of wiseass insults to shout back to the Sultan of Turkey. It must have been a collaborative effort (they made two motherfucker jokes). It’s hilarious to know that our humor hasn’t really changed much from then to now. Upon research I found this painting of the letter being written, and it pretty much confirms exactly how I think it all went down.
Black Swan
by admin on Dec.09, 2010, under Uncategorized
Just saw the movie Black Swan today, and I’m convinced that it will get a Best Picture nomination. It’s about a ballerina in New York City who gets cast as the lead roll in an upcoming performance. Her problem is that she can’t channel her dark side, which she needs to express on stage. What follows is a very intense, interesting, and terrifying story. The director had me at the edge of my seat, and literally freak out in the theater a couple times. The entire film was like experiencing a nightmare, almost like a more coherent David Lynch film. The directors use of tone, sound design, and even humor helped make this one of my favorite films this year.
Yo, and also Kunnis and Portman are so hot it’s like
The film is only showing in select theaters in like two cities, but I’m sure it will be shown in a lot more screens in the future.
Black Swan: Come for the lesbian sex, stay because you're too afraid to leave
Why did I put that in my mouth?
by admin on Dec.07, 2010, under Misadventures
On December 3rd, 2010 I took part of the Phaal challenge. In this I would have to eat 16oz of the spiciest curry in the United States. This is my story.
-00:02:00- There were eight of us at the table, and three of us involved in the Phaal challenge- me, my study abroad friend Disha, and her friend Alex. I’m the only guy at the table and people are excited to see how the challenge will unfold.
-00:01:00- The phaal arrives. I immediately realize that what is going to follow is going to suck because the Indian servers have a “I wonder what color this white boy is going to turn” smirk on their face. The phaal itslef is a dark volcanic red color with the odor of a plane crash victim.
Eager
-00:00:30- Alex, Disha, and I have utensils ready. Already I have made my first amateur mistake. I’ve gone with the fork instead of the spoon. While my shoveling speed is decreased, at least Disha has opted for the fork as well. I have a bottom layer of rice, put the curry on top of it, and place some Indian yogurt on top of that.
-00:00:05- With curry in hand we stare at each other waiting to go. The curry smells horrific, and at this point I’d rather put it in my mouth so I wouldn’t have to deal with the stench.
00:00:00- GO TIME! I shovel the first fork load in. Within a second my entire mouth is glowing hot. It’s actually really surprising how fast the burning sensation spreads.
00:00:10- My lips are burning. I put in a second load.
00:00:20- My lips are hotter than Satan’s balls. I have kept my eyes closed so far.
00:00:30- I open my eyes. The girls have eaten way more than me. Disha is consistent with a pattern of a mouthful every five seconds. Alex, on the other hand, is feinding out on her bowl. She is shoveling, that curry down between breaths. She is eating it faster than one of Michel Vick’s starving dogs.
00:00:45- The tears have come. It’s like when I watched Up all over again. The tears are rolling down my cheek and falling into my curry. I hope the girl across from me doesn’t notice.
Only difference is that I kept my shirt on
00:00:46- Of course she fucking notices.
00:00:48- Everyone is now aware that I am literally weeping as I eat. As if I wasn’t emasculated enough already, a girl compares my eating to the end of a Nickolas Sparks novel.
00:02:00- The waiter comes to the table. I want to wipe away my tears but don’t want to get spice in my eyes. Averting my gaze I start shouting that we need milk. I realize that crying and begging for milk kind of makes me a man baby.
00:05:00- The milk comes. Oh thank God. Alex stops her curry Blitzkreig to drink some milk. Disha flatly refuses to drink any. I roll my eyes at her blatant attempt to try to one up us.
Got Milk's Marketing Campaign in Germany
00:11:28- Now my stomach hurts. But I get off a smirk. I prepared for this earlier!
-02:23:11- I go to my bathroom’s medicine cabinet and swallow two Pepto-Bismol pills while humming the commercial’s theme song. Within minutes my stomach will be coated in a lovely pink shield.
00:14:00- Alex is starting to get a bit sluggish. We start talking about how this challenge seems to be hurting our stomach more than our mouths. Disha is in the zone and doesn’t talk. She has mixed up her curry and yogurt into a puke yellow color.
00:15:25- It has become clear to me that I could, if I wanted to, totally vomit right now.
This blows.
00:16:00- Alex has to go to the bathroom. I tell her that she better not puke, and throwing up constitutes defeat.
00:17:21- Alex returns, and is ready to get back into the action. Within moments she is sucking up the curry like a vacuum.
00:18:00- I now have switched over to the spoon. I get a pepper stuck in between my teeth. This is bad because—
-12:44:37- The alarm goes off. Something is amiss. I have developed a kanker sour on the lower part of my mouth.
00:18:10- That son of a bitch is stuck there and is totally grinding up on my sore like a creepy frat alumni on a freshman co-ed.
00:18:25- I use my not broken arm (my left arm is broken btw) to get the pepper out.
00:19:00- I go for another bite. My mouth is slowly adapting to the punishment. The spiciness is now less of a factor. The bad part now is the awful taste of the phaal and the looming discomfort in my stomach.
00:19:10- There is a commotion. Alex has VOMMITED ALL OVER THE TABLE. Disha averts her eyes to stop a gag reaction. I whip out my cell phone and get a picture of Alex covering her shame. Facebook! As Alex attempts to hide her puke with the corner of the table cloth, its apparent that she is out.
FACEBOOK!
00:21:08- Damn. I could really use a vomit myself. Why is my stomach in such pain? I took the Pepto-Bismol! I start thinking of what else I put in my stomach recently.
-01:00:00- I’m at a dive bar and I’m onto my second whiskey on the rocks. This is my a key part of my scheme. I’ve noticed that I feel less pain after I’ve been drinking. Therefore I hypothesize that if I drink hard liquor before I drink the spicy curry, I will be in less pain.
00:21:10- The whiskey and the curry join forces to break through the Peptobismal shield, and start wrecking havoc on my stomach lining. I am a fucking idiot.
00:24:00- My pace has slowed considerably. Every few minutes one of the girls chimes in telling me how I am “so going to lose” the challenge. I have no fan base.
00:28:00- I have almost finished my milk. The milk has made my mouth feel fine, but my stomach is now aching badly.
00:30:00- Disha almost vomits, but catches herself. She takes a breather and then gets back to the fight.
00:31:00- I have a new tactic. I’ll eat all the meat in the curry, and then approach the sauce. Hopefully evaporation will take effect, and by the time I go for the sauce there will be less of it.
00:33:45- One of the waiters checks up on Disha’s status and makes some joke. Son of a bitch, she has the home team advantage.
00:34:16- Everyone else at the table is convinced that my meat first strategy will fail. I need a new tactic. I think of a brilliant one. What if I drink the curry? I can take shots no problem, and shots taste awful. If I just treat this as a soup, and don’t mix it with rice, I could clear the bowl no problem. At our table is a girl actually from India, and she thinks this idea is also destined to fail. What does she know.
00:39:27- My second “shot” of curry has triggered my gag reflex. My body is starting to reject the phaal.
00:42:00- Disha has succeeded. I am sluggish and in pain.
00:50:00- My taste buds aren’t working anymore. Disha gets a certificate.
00:53:00- I’ve mixed the remaining phaal with the rice. I need to motivate myself to take another bite. I put it into my mouth. I can’t swallow. I physically can’t convince myself to swallow. I chew the curry around in my mouth. I’m going to have to spit it out. I promise myself this will be my last bite and gag it down.
00:53:30- I throw in the white towel. You win… phaal.
00:55:00- Within two seconds of reaching the bathroom I am throwing up my entire dinner. It burns on the way back up.
01:10:00- After paying the check and leaving, we talk to the manager about the challenge. Apparently, drinking milk is an AWFUL choice for curry eatting, and upsets the stomach. We asked the manager how other people react to the challenge. Not well he tells us. A grin spreads across his face as he tells us that two people have thrown in the bathroom tonight. I keep my poker face.
The next day was pretty painful as the curry left my body. Some truly awful things happened which, with what little class I have, I won’t post here. But believe me, it was horrific.
Am I disappointed that I didn’t succeed in the challenge? Yeah. However, I am glad that the reason I failed was more due to a weak stomach, and poor liquid choices as oppose to bitching out from the spiciness. Despite the pain, loss of dignity, and price tag, it was not a bad way to spend a Friday night. I never want to do it again, but I’m glad I did it. And if I ever do do it again, I sure as hell won’t be making the same mistakes.
Sure, I’ll put that in my mouth
by admin on Dec.02, 2010, under Misadventures
Tomorrow I am going to eat the spiciest curry in the United States, as seen in Man Vs. Food.
The challenge was issued to me today by a bunch of friends who are also going to embark on this quest. This challenge is simple, but difficult. Finish a 16oz bowl of this spicy curry and you will get (1) A free beer (2) Your picture on the website (3) A certificate (4) A pair of balls.
There are a couple of things stacked against me.
1. The food is spicy as all hell. No shit, Sherlock, you might say, but it’s worse than you think. They are using chillies 60 times more powerful than jalapeños. Wrap your head around that. Also this food is made by Indians. This is a people who grow chillies so hot, that their military has weaponized them.
2. No, the food is spicy as all hell. Look at this picture.
The guy is wearing a fucking gas mask. Why in the hell would anyone eat that? The moment you start donning chemical warfare gear for cooking, a light bulb should go off that your food isn’t meant for human consumption.
3. The next morning. Let’s be frank, taking a shit the next morning is an even worse experience that eatting the spocy food the night before. That Saturday afternoon I am going to be in midtown nerding out with a bunch of fellow dorks in a hobby shop. Not only the bathroom unfamiliar, and public, but the I KNOW, just know that the person that goes in there before me is going to be this guy:
New meaning to sloppy seconds.
4. I’ve become a spice bitch. Two years ago I was a different man. I’d go into a back alley restaurant in Chenai, India, look the owner in the eye, and demand the spiciest food he had. The experience was painful, challenging, and, in typical Indian fashion, gave me food poisoning. However, when the vomiting subsided I realized something… I had become a man.
Well those days are in my past, and as of recently, I can handle my spice. I think I realized this a few months ago when I was holding back tears as I tried to finish a spicy subway sandwich. When my hands started to tremble I realized that I wasn’t the man I once was.
So yes, there are a lot of things stacked against me. But I also have some stuff in my favor.
1. They are offering a free beer. I come from a family of runners. I am not a runner, which in my family makes me the retarded black sheep with lepercy. My parents knew this, and when I was 18 thought of a clever way to get me to run. Promise me booze. If I got out there and ran a 5k without walking *or* weeping, I would get a beer after. That summer I was like a dog chasing after a ball for a treat. I ran 5ks in the mud, 5ks where 50 year old obesse woman would beat me, runs where I vomited my fruit loops I had for breakfast all over the running trail, but damnit, I ran. Why? Because beer is worth the pain. Eat a bowl of pain for a shitty Indian beer? Fuck it, I’ll do it twice.
2. I’ve been watching special forces videos. Guys in the Special Forces are awesome, because they do the impossible and don’t give a shit about anything. When confronted with a situation I first ask, “What would Jesus do?” closely followed by, “What would Jesús, the Spanish guy on a Delta Force team, do?”
This Jesús makes other people die for your sins
From what I know of Special Forces, they are immune to pain, hence they would probably eat curry dishes like this for breakfast, when they aren’t having wolf bacon.
3. There will be girls. This will help me out in a couple ways. On a subconscious level, being a guy, I always try to look better around women than other dudes. Guys all do this. Watch two men run. They can be dieing and close to death, but the moment a semi-attractive girl appears in their line of sight, their form improves and pace quickens. It’s the reason you ran faster in High School track than you do now. Hopefully this subconsciousness desire to impress women (wtf wikihow) will pull me through the challenge. Oh, also I’m shallow and don’t want to lose to a girl. Which ties in to how…
4. I’m competitive. I love winning, and hate losing. I’m the guy who makes kids cry in laser tag. People like me are the reason why people hate NBA players. In biblical terms my problem is pride, in normal people terms it’s that I’m a competitive douche bag. I don’t want the restaurant to win, and I sure as hell don’t want to be the guy gets knocked out first in the group. I refuse to be the horror movie token black guy.
I don’t know how this will go. If the guy in Man vs. Food did it, why can’t I? Tomorrow night I’m going to try, and I’ll let you know what happens.
Oh India...
Screen Writing Update: Working for a director and planning new feature
by admin on Nov.18, 2010, under Uncategorized
So today I got to meet with a director who is about to film a short in ten days. We met over coffee, he pitched to me his movie. It seemed pretty generic, however once he got to the climax of it, I was blown away. This is going to be a very fun project to work on. Not only is the director one of the nicest guys in the world, but it offers me a challenge. Can I create minimalist dialog that will connect us with our characters? I hope so, because if I can pull this off, then we might just have a really awesome script on our hands.
In other news I am plotting out my second feature, tentatively titled Household Name which is pretty much, Die Hard meets Entourage. It should be an interesting comedy. I’ve been stuck on how to make an engaging hook introduction, but after talking it out with a friend, its all come clear to me.
It’s going to be the most offensive, tasteless thing I’ve ever written.
I pitched the idea to a fellow screen writer and he thought that, if the film ever got made, I would probably get a fatwa issued against me. Knowing that, I pretty much have to do this.
So hopefully these projects work out. What they say is true-projects lead to more projects. I guess the best way to keep work is to never stop working.
Oh, and the pic is semi-related to one of the screenplays.
