"The Great Outdoors"
I've been invited to join a camping trip-- for those who know me-- I'll pause here for hysterical laughter.
I think quite highly of the great outdoors actually. Beautiful, rolling vistas, majestic trees, zika virus, etc.
In my previous outings I've noticed a constant in bonding with the earth amongst a camping group...in that there's always some douche bag with a guitar. If campers employed "real-world" acumen they'd smear this guy with scalding marshmallow and toss his guitar into the campfire...and the guy now that I think about it.
I'm also not overly opposed to sleeping on the ground-- I lived much of my late 20's/early 30's doing so when I returned home from the bar-- I don't mind eating outside either. Surrounded by a natural, serene soundscape, poisonous snakes, stifling heat and friends being eaten by a wild animal sounds like fun. It's just like one of those meditation/sleep CDs, only with bloodletting screams.
Honestly, I'm simply frightened by hillbilly woodsmen who look to sneak into my tent late at night with the sole intention of touching my butthole.
I recently watched the TV program, "Naked And Afraid." It's a broadcast about being in a hotel suite after a hip-hop concert.
Then there's VH-One's continued aim at airing anything BUT actual music videos..."Dating Naked." This is called, in my time, a one night stand. Only on the TV program they can't go home until a location director tells them to do so.
My writing companion, Amanda, invited me and our other writing colleague, Todd, over for a backyard camping night. This sounds like a bad porn plotline.
I suppose nothing personifies "roughing it" like being 10 yards from your iPhone charger. Way to go Amanda.
To be safe, I'm passing on all camping excursion invitations this summer-- opting to prepare a picnic lunch at home and release 2-thousand ants into my dining room. I'll probably put on Animal Planet for ambiance.
copyright Pontchartrain Press, 2016..All Rights Reserved.
Tuesday, June 28, 2016
Thursday, June 23, 2016
If These Walls Could Talk
I get yelled at a lot, which troubles me. Even Samuel L. Jackson yells at me via deleted scenes from Pulp Fiction-- (Capital One commercials.) NOTHINGS IN MY WALLET...TAKE IT!
Anyone who truly knows me can attest to three things-- I'm a highly reclusive person, I'm a huge Samuel L Jackson fan...and, I kind of liked that song "No one's to Blame" by Howard Jones.
It's not that I don't like people--I simply don't like going outside of my house because that's where people are located.
As I see it, Tom Hanks' character in Castaway took a luxury vacation-- except for performing emergency self-dentistry with an ice skate, being involved in a plane crash or losing Wilson, the ball.
Having been kept in an 8x10 metal box when my parents were at work during my formative years might shed better light as to my aversion to being sociable...or to anything shaped like a box. It also speaks volumes to unique parenting tactics in the late 70s/early 80s coupled with lax child endangerment laws.
People even seem angry when writing restroom graffiti...which should be FUN. It's my absolute favorite guilty reading pleasure. Apparently:
"Tyson is a DICK." (of course he is; anyone named Tyson is a dick.)
"The joke (apparently) is in my hand"
Future Hall of Famer, Tom Brady (uh, I'll censor) "gives oral sex and can go have sexual relations with his mother." And, it seems that, (I'm paraphrasing here), "Obama, Hillary and the gays (ed. redaction) are not well looked upon by customers at this particular establishment."
On the lighter side of restroom graffiti wisdom: WHO KNEW that Jennifer gives good head? If I happen across her at the bar I’ll feel much better holding this valuable inside info-- thus I will put on my A-game in speaking with her.
If she’s sitting with Robert, I’ll feel much better about my chances with her because, according to the men’s room wall, HE ALSO gives good head and is actively looking to do so on Tuesday night between 10pm and midnight in the back parking lot. I hope he finds what he’s looking for-- although I feel strongly that his self imposed 2-hour window is rather limiting but, perhaps he has a day job. I saved the number anyway... Jennifer's number, that is.
I'm not certain as to why people are so angry, or yell, but I'll bet it has something to do with Donald Trump...or some F**kng girl named Amanda Port. According to the restroom wall.
copyright Pontchartrain Press, 2016. All Rights Reserved.
Anyone who truly knows me can attest to three things-- I'm a highly reclusive person, I'm a huge Samuel L Jackson fan...and, I kind of liked that song "No one's to Blame" by Howard Jones.
It's not that I don't like people--I simply don't like going outside of my house because that's where people are located.
As I see it, Tom Hanks' character in Castaway took a luxury vacation-- except for performing emergency self-dentistry with an ice skate, being involved in a plane crash or losing Wilson, the ball.
Having been kept in an 8x10 metal box when my parents were at work during my formative years might shed better light as to my aversion to being sociable...or to anything shaped like a box. It also speaks volumes to unique parenting tactics in the late 70s/early 80s coupled with lax child endangerment laws.
People even seem angry when writing restroom graffiti...which should be FUN. It's my absolute favorite guilty reading pleasure. Apparently:
"Tyson is a DICK." (of course he is; anyone named Tyson is a dick.)
"The joke (apparently) is in my hand"
Future Hall of Famer, Tom Brady (uh, I'll censor) "gives oral sex and can go have sexual relations with his mother." And, it seems that, (I'm paraphrasing here), "Obama, Hillary and the gays (ed. redaction) are not well looked upon by customers at this particular establishment."
On the lighter side of restroom graffiti wisdom: WHO KNEW that Jennifer gives good head? If I happen across her at the bar I’ll feel much better holding this valuable inside info-- thus I will put on my A-game in speaking with her.
If she’s sitting with Robert, I’ll feel much better about my chances with her because, according to the men’s room wall, HE ALSO gives good head and is actively looking to do so on Tuesday night between 10pm and midnight in the back parking lot. I hope he finds what he’s looking for-- although I feel strongly that his self imposed 2-hour window is rather limiting but, perhaps he has a day job. I saved the number anyway... Jennifer's number, that is.
I'm not certain as to why people are so angry, or yell, but I'll bet it has something to do with Donald Trump...or some F**kng girl named Amanda Port. According to the restroom wall.
copyright Pontchartrain Press, 2016. All Rights Reserved.
Monday, June 13, 2016
A Small World After all...
The writing idiots at Pontchartrain Press have waited to share words...primarily because we couldn't find words. We write comedy. Today, there's nothing funny--at all.
There will be mourning which, understandably, will usher in anger but, then, determination. It's intrinsic human nature--ultimately igniting resilience-- known since the beginning of time. It WILL prove more powerful than any gun, intolerant beliefs or those who cowardly hide behind them.
Simply put...We are, as you, sad.
Love and thoughts are with the families and friends in Orlando and to a civilized world who mourns with them.
Love,
Mike Klein
James Patrick
Amanda Port
Leigh Beatty
Todd Henderson
There will be mourning which, understandably, will usher in anger but, then, determination. It's intrinsic human nature--ultimately igniting resilience-- known since the beginning of time. It WILL prove more powerful than any gun, intolerant beliefs or those who cowardly hide behind them.
Simply put...We are, as you, sad.
Love and thoughts are with the families and friends in Orlando and to a civilized world who mourns with them.
Love,
Mike Klein
James Patrick
Amanda Port
Leigh Beatty
Todd Henderson
Saturday, June 11, 2016
NEW And Disproved
I recently suffered from a rare bout of insomnia. I blame this on the fact that the city is executing a construction project near my house which stretches late into the night and, apparently, involves the use of nuclear weapons.
I've gained useful insight in my sleepless nights via late night reruns-- which remind me why these programs were not as funny as we thought-- I.e. in reality, the castaways would have murdered Gilligan and eaten him to survive until the Navy dispatched a rescue mission; It should surprise no one that Screech developed an oxycodone habit in reality and that Cosby might not be father of the year after all.
Then, there's the infomercials-- We've evolved, as a society, where the need for a "Miracle Juicer," equipped with a live migrant worker and Bluetooth capability is, apparently, necessary.
Workout and "miracle diet" infomercials are my favorites.
"LOSE UP TO 47pounds IN THREE MONTHS!"
An exhausting Ab routine equal to Navy Seal training coupled with diet pills (equivalent to 3-thousand kilograms of cocaine?) What could possibly go wrong?
Logically, the only way one could lose 47 pounds that quickly is:
Terminal illness
...Or, if the diet pill company sent a representative to the house to abduct your 7-year old child.
Indeed, we're assailed from multiple directions by one pitch man or another...all pushing the latest, greatest miracle products. Example:
-The Hardee's-Carl's Jr. 9-pound bacon burger/ improvised explosive device
-The Total Gym (you will NEVER look like these actors, EVER) fitness contraption
-Donald Trump, etc.
Now that the insomnia has passed, I'm preparing comfort food before watching some exciting presidential campaign coverage...
NEW and IMPROVED Kraft Mac n cheese...because it's often a good idea to tinker with things which have worked just fine for 250-years.
copyright Pontchartrain Press, 2016. All Rights Reserved.
I've gained useful insight in my sleepless nights via late night reruns-- which remind me why these programs were not as funny as we thought-- I.e. in reality, the castaways would have murdered Gilligan and eaten him to survive until the Navy dispatched a rescue mission; It should surprise no one that Screech developed an oxycodone habit in reality and that Cosby might not be father of the year after all.
Then, there's the infomercials-- We've evolved, as a society, where the need for a "Miracle Juicer," equipped with a live migrant worker and Bluetooth capability is, apparently, necessary.
Workout and "miracle diet" infomercials are my favorites.
"LOSE UP TO 47pounds IN THREE MONTHS!"
An exhausting Ab routine equal to Navy Seal training coupled with diet pills (equivalent to 3-thousand kilograms of cocaine?) What could possibly go wrong?
Logically, the only way one could lose 47 pounds that quickly is:
Terminal illness
...Or, if the diet pill company sent a representative to the house to abduct your 7-year old child.
Indeed, we're assailed from multiple directions by one pitch man or another...all pushing the latest, greatest miracle products. Example:
-The Hardee's-Carl's Jr. 9-pound bacon burger/ improvised explosive device
-The Total Gym (you will NEVER look like these actors, EVER) fitness contraption
-Donald Trump, etc.
Now that the insomnia has passed, I'm preparing comfort food before watching some exciting presidential campaign coverage...
NEW and IMPROVED Kraft Mac n cheese...because it's often a good idea to tinker with things which have worked just fine for 250-years.
copyright Pontchartrain Press, 2016. All Rights Reserved.
Wednesday, June 8, 2016
Sweet Maria
Pulling The Wings Off OKCupid...com
One of my dear friends, Marie, who was a writer at Pontchartrain Press and a long time radio friend, had a little too much time on her hands. When she's not binge watching The Voice, she engages in a little small-talk with dumb guys on a popular dating website. She also does this in person which amazes me, in that it doesn't end like an episode of CSI/SVU. And now...Here's Marie's attempt at online dating:
From Marie- I'm writing to test your "replies often" status. And, also, because the site told me to do so. It's because I'm just a sheep that does whatever the Internets tells me to do...Oh, and because the site tells me that you rated me "4 or 5" stars. I didn't realize that my profile could be graded like a restaurant review; now I MUST know: was it 4 or 5? And, why is this site so vague about it? I mean it was EITHER 4 or 5. Why not tell me which?
For the record, I'm sending this message before looking at the torso pic that you (proudly) mention in your profile. I'm putting off viewing your, admitted, douchery until I see if you really DO "reply often".
SkinnyPaleGuy- yes, i really do reply often! i'll admit, sometimes i'm tempted to ignore a few messages just so i can get one of those snobby elitist "very selectively" tags. i bet there are actually women out there who won't date a guy if he doesn't have one of those. like, she thinks "i'm not dating a guy who 'replies often'" ya know? but i just can't bring myself to ignore someone.
as for the rating, i gave you five stars. what i do is, i just go to the "quickmatch" thingy and just keep hitting five stars over and over again without even looking at the pictures or reading anything. it's like casting out a huge dragnet of mass-market dating!
it's actually a pretty effective strategy. i've been fucking like three or four women per day on average
i bet you wonder if i'm kidding or serious lol
From Marie- No, I feel very confident that you're kidding and that your capitalization button is broken. Back to your autobiography, If it were true, you wouldn't have time to "reply often".
SkinnyPaleGuy - well, your confidence is misplaced because i am totally serious lmfao!
and yes, time is my number one enemy. there never seems to be enough of it (or enough condoms
so... wanna have sex?
From Marie - In general, or do you mean with you, specifically?
SkinnyPaleGuy - lmfao! perfect response :D
i like you
From Marie - Thanks. And thanks for pulling your dick out of someone long enough to provide a timely response to an email.
And, for the record, I have a post-slutty-phase philosophy to which I strictly adhere. I don't sleep with anyone I don't like, or who doesn't like me...Or who doesn't respond to emails in a timely fashion. So things are looking good for you.
I'm not trying to be coy or hard-to-get...because I am neither of those things. I'm just wise. Oh, and I have a very complicated schedule-- one which requires thoughtful planning and may interfere with you fucking all of the women, or that one guy from that band you mentioned in your profile.
SkinnyPaleGuy - no pulling out was necessary. this is my "down time," hence why i'm on okcupid in the first place
i can work around a complicated schedule because there is no schedule more complicated than my own. i must warn you, my penis is habit forming
From Marie - Yes, but your personality may be the first step in breaking the addiction. (See how I worked a "dick" reference in there? I'm good with the words if you notice)
SkinnyPaleGuy - what are you talking about? my personality is pure, distilled awesome sauce! i realize now that i should've ignored your message to earn my "very selectively" tag
now go check out my torso pic and see what you cheated yourself out of by being a mean jerk
Marie - I've been known to be a bit TOO snarky in my attempts at witty repartee. Please don't take it personally. I'm sure that you have a lovely penis. Probably the BEST penis of all time.
The "More addictive than heroin, gonna have to get on meth, someone-pull me out of the crack-gutter cause' I'm hooked on his jock most habit forming penis of all time.
Whew!! Seriously. Congratulations on the nice genitals.
Post Script
From Jim Patrick: BRAVO Marie! This is why you're a friend, a extraordinary writer AND a woman with large breasts. He should have seen YOUR torso pic. His loss.
Copyright Pontchartrain Press, 2016. All Rights Reserved
Saturday, June 4, 2016
Un-Friendliness
When I'm doing important things in New Orleans, like not being murdered, I get “Unfriended” a lot on Facebook-- which makes me sad-- Mainly because "Unfriended" and Facebook aren’t even REAL dictionary words.
This stirs memories of when the neighborhood association asked if I’d like to join their board. It pretty much speaks to their lenient member acceptance policy and it might explain why our neighborhood association didn‘t accomplish much.
Those meetings were incredibly boring. They were attended by people who didn't seem to care to be at home but astutely curious about other people's business via griping about some guy who never mows his lawn or some redneck who erected a wagon wheel mailbox.
I, personally, felt that Irish whiskey on the rocks made these meetings far more interesting-- They held a different opinion-- which, I think, makes them fairly closed minded. So…I took my whiskey and went home.
I always seem to cause trouble via the written form of social communication; I’m especially bad at communicating via text messages.
My friend, Amanda, is a writer and an extraordinarily brilliant communicator. She also has gigantic breasts. I'm not sure how her breasts are relevant to this story...but it seemed right.
Since I’ve known her, Amanda tends to take things personally and then finds herself feeling that people are angry with her.
(If you ask me, I think that she was probably beaten with sticks by the other children when she was younger.)
Amanda Port: Hey…u watchin’ the game 2nite at the pub??
Jim Patrick: Yep.
Amanda: What’s wrong : ( Ru mad @me???
Jim Patrick: uh…no.
Amanda: U seemed short w/ur txt
Jim Patrick: Oh, sorry, was just answering your question but I foolishly overlooked the real question behind the question. I meant that I fully intend to watch the match between the Saints of New Orleans and the Patriots who hail from an area which can only be described as our nation’s cradle of liberty…the majestic land of New England.
Of course, as history notes, some residents of early New England were sociopaths but they knew how to throw a tea party.
BTW, Today I found myself wishing that they‘d bring back burning people at the stake as a means of punishment.
Anyway, I very much look forward to the game-- but not as much as I greatly anticipate seeing your radiant smile and crystal bright blue eyes-- Even the most beautiful Shakespearean sonnet pales by comparison to the magnificence which lights up a room simply by your very presence.
I'd text message my favorite sonnet but I don’t really want to send 14 txts since I’m almost over my limit and AT&T charges about $750.00 per txt after that.
I hope that we can hold each other tight throughout the entire game tonight-- as though we’re exchanging body heat to survive sub-zero temperatures on an Andean mountainside after a terrible plane crash-- We’ll only release our embrace long enough to take a sip of beer.
By the way, if we WERE stranded on an Andean mountainside, I promise that I would NEVER entertain the thought of killing you and eating your body in order to survive.
It was quite negligent of me to answer your previous question with such a flippant and angry txt such as “yep.” What time do you plan to arrive at the pub?? And, will you be topless? Xoxo
Amanda: 6pm...Smartass.
Me: R U mad at me?
copyright Pontchartrain Press, 2010, 2016. All Rights Reserved
This stirs memories of when the neighborhood association asked if I’d like to join their board. It pretty much speaks to their lenient member acceptance policy and it might explain why our neighborhood association didn‘t accomplish much.
Those meetings were incredibly boring. They were attended by people who didn't seem to care to be at home but astutely curious about other people's business via griping about some guy who never mows his lawn or some redneck who erected a wagon wheel mailbox.
I, personally, felt that Irish whiskey on the rocks made these meetings far more interesting-- They held a different opinion-- which, I think, makes them fairly closed minded. So…I took my whiskey and went home.
I always seem to cause trouble via the written form of social communication; I’m especially bad at communicating via text messages.
My friend, Amanda, is a writer and an extraordinarily brilliant communicator. She also has gigantic breasts. I'm not sure how her breasts are relevant to this story...but it seemed right.
Since I’ve known her, Amanda tends to take things personally and then finds herself feeling that people are angry with her.
(If you ask me, I think that she was probably beaten with sticks by the other children when she was younger.)
Amanda Port: Hey…u watchin’ the game 2nite at the pub??
Jim Patrick: Yep.
Amanda: What’s wrong : ( Ru mad @me???
Jim Patrick: uh…no.
Amanda: U seemed short w/ur txt
Jim Patrick: Oh, sorry, was just answering your question but I foolishly overlooked the real question behind the question. I meant that I fully intend to watch the match between the Saints of New Orleans and the Patriots who hail from an area which can only be described as our nation’s cradle of liberty…the majestic land of New England.
Of course, as history notes, some residents of early New England were sociopaths but they knew how to throw a tea party.
BTW, Today I found myself wishing that they‘d bring back burning people at the stake as a means of punishment.
Anyway, I very much look forward to the game-- but not as much as I greatly anticipate seeing your radiant smile and crystal bright blue eyes-- Even the most beautiful Shakespearean sonnet pales by comparison to the magnificence which lights up a room simply by your very presence.
I'd text message my favorite sonnet but I don’t really want to send 14 txts since I’m almost over my limit and AT&T charges about $750.00 per txt after that.
I hope that we can hold each other tight throughout the entire game tonight-- as though we’re exchanging body heat to survive sub-zero temperatures on an Andean mountainside after a terrible plane crash-- We’ll only release our embrace long enough to take a sip of beer.
By the way, if we WERE stranded on an Andean mountainside, I promise that I would NEVER entertain the thought of killing you and eating your body in order to survive.
It was quite negligent of me to answer your previous question with such a flippant and angry txt such as “yep.” What time do you plan to arrive at the pub?? And, will you be topless? Xoxo
Amanda: 6pm...Smartass.
Me: R U mad at me?
copyright Pontchartrain Press, 2010, 2016. All Rights Reserved
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