ACT ONE SCENE ONE. THE INTRODUCTION!

WOW. Joy.

I just found this old program from a play I was in back in high school.

It’s filled with all kinds of “break a legs” and “great show” and “you were awesome” and all that soft core, good vibe, bullshit that theater nerds share.

Anyway, amidst the puke of childhood theater, which is not so far from the puke of adult theater, was one message reading, “Hey Baby, you are gorgeous” Lennon.

Thanks to the cast listing, Google, and the fact that everyone on the planet now has a Facebook, I was easily able to find her, and hopefully let her know how much her note meant to me.

WISH ME LUCK!

ACT ONE SCENE TWO……THE LETTER.

WOW!
LENNON ****AROSE!

I’m so excited to live in 2012, just for this very moment!
Remember Garnet Valley High School?

OF COURSE YOU DO, but do you remember being in the play “Give My Regards to Broadway?”

Well, if the program, which I just found stuffed in a box next to dusty bowling trophies is correct, you weren’t really “in it,” you were in the chorus.

Anyway, long story short, I don’t really remember much of the show, but I’m sure you were awesome, and all that, but the real reason I’m writing you is because you signed my program, “Hey baby, you are gorgeous” and I just wanted to say thank you. That was a really sweet thing to say and you know what, “You’re gorgeous too. I think. Actually, I don’t remember you at all, but hey, I can lie, that’s how I got this far in life.”

If you’re ever in Berlin, and aren’t ugly as hell, hit me up.

By the way, if anyone from high school asks, just tell them I’m really successful and happy, I never cry myself to sleep anymore and no one has locked me in a locker since 1988!

(I hope you can lie as good as I can!)

Anyway, it’s been a BLAST catching up. I mean it. A real hoot. It almost makes me wish we could go back to Garnet Valley because I can finally afford Reeboks and I probably wouldn’t even fit in the locker room lockers even if they tried to shove me in one, PLUS, I could fuck a 17 year old up these days!

Write me back and let me know which guy from school you ended up having children with, and let’s stay in touch and of course
GO PANTHERS*!!!!!!!! (*It’s really Jaguars.)

Your favorite marching band nerd of all time.

David Deery (Would have been class of ’91)

Here’s a little story I got to tell……

What can’t a white, middle class graffiti writing, bass playing, skateboarding, dj say about the Beastie Boys?

This post could go on as long as the legacy of the man I’m trying to honor.

It’s endless.

The more I think about what The Beastie Boys have meant to me, the more I realize how much I, and MILLIONS of us owe to them.

So much of my life, and my style and choice in music is directly related to The Beastie Boys.

DIRECTLY.

The 73 Fender P bass? The Beastie Boys.

The tight jeans, jean jacket, Ray Bans, mustache, livin in NYC style? The Beastie Boys.

Listening to Eddie Harris, Funkadelic, Sly, Roland Kirk, The Meters, Joe Tex, and on and on and on.

It all started for me personally in 1986. I was standing by a launch ramp in a typical Philadelphia suburban neighborhood, holding onto my Kevin Staab mini and wondering how this guy just busted a backside 360 with such ease when a kid looked at me with the utmost pretentiousness and said, “You Like The Beastie Boys?”

Without hesitation, I responded, “Hell yeah. The Beastie Boys Rule dude.”

And off I went to try to figure out who the fuck The Beastie Boys were.

It didn’t take me, or the rest of the world long to learn the name. In a time when bands needed years to get their name out, the Beastie Boys shot onto the scene like shaken Budweiser from a keyhole.

I lost a true hero of my childhood. An icon. A musical master. What other group, especially in hip hop, has put out at the very LEAST three ALL TIME CLASSIC RECORDS.

Those first three Beasties records are undeniably classics.

NOT good.

Not amazing.

CLASSICS.

Mother fuckin legendary.

Who else in rap music is bending the genres like The Beastie Boys.

Fuzz bass pioneers. Straight up.

I went to Bottom Of The Hill in San Francisco somewhere around the time when Check Your Head came out because rumor was The Beastie Boys were bumrushin a punk rock show.

OF COURSE THEY WERE.

They did a punk rock show with 9 other bands as me and 2 million other people stood around outside wishing we were moshing to Cookie Puss.

DAMN!

FUCK. I’m all fuckin teary eyed. I’m pissed. I feel like I did when Tie One died. I feel like I lost a friend.

But you know what?

Long live MCA!

We know what we gotta do now, right? We know. If you’re confused about what I’m talking about it’s because you’re a fuckin poser.

Real artists know what time it is. It’s time to get that feeling back in art and music. It’s time to fight for our rights again. It’s time to check your head and get intergalactic.

Don’t let Adam down. Breathe. Build your inner temple. Meditate. Receive the visions of the gods. Accept your path. Walk straight. Master your high.

Expand.

Stop saying the word faggot.

Yes. I get it. I just pulled a major oxymoron and said the word that I’m going to tell people to stop saying, and honestly, I don’t like doing that and I don’t like saying, or writing that word.

But I need to make a point, and here it is.

Comedians need to stop saying the word faggot.

I’m of course talking specifically to untalented, open mic comedians who aren’t gay.

They actually make a point of telling the crowd they aren’t gay, two seconds after saying a word that is usually preceded by, “hey,” and followed by, “we’re gonna kill you.”

I’ve been meaning to write this for a while, after being in San Francisco of all places and hearing literally every other crappy comedian use the word in almost the EXACT SAME UN FUNNY SEQUENCE OF,

a. Comedian tells dumb story ending with a random guy in story saying to him, “Shut up, faggot.”

b. Comedian then explains that he’s not gay, but everyone thinks he’s gay because he wears cardigan sweaters.

c. Everyone in the audience thinks, “I don’t think your gay, I think you’re a horrible comedian.”

Fuck that. If you’re a comedian, you don’t get a free pass to say ignorant shit because you’re being “ironic.”

This article addresses that point perfectly, but with racism.

Now, I know what you’re saying, you shitty piece of shit un talented shitty comedian trying to defend yourself. You’re saying,

“LOUIS CK DID IT!”

And yes, while Louis CK, and George Carlin, and Lenny Bruce have said things that push the boundaries of language, that point right there is the reason you should leave it alone, you moron.

There’s an evolution in comedy.

You start with fart jokes.

Then you tell stories about getting drunk/high and having sex/ mother in laws/ airline food and every day stuff that everyone has said a million times.

Then, if you’re really good at all that stuff and can legitimately understand what people laugh at and how to manipulate a situation with words, well, shit, if you think you got something witty to say, go ahead and crack a Nazi/ genocide/ rape/ racist/ incest/ religion joke.

But it better be intelligent. Because there’s nothing worse than people trying to use shock value to get the attention away from the fact that they suck at writing.

Hey mister/ miss crappy comedian,

If you know so much about comedy, you should know for a fact that you’re not that good at climbing the basic little hill called “my parents raised me bad,” or “my girlfriend sucks” jokes, how the hell are you going to the top of the “make homophobia funny” mountain?

Listen folks, I know as well as anyone, homophobia can be funny, but let me also say, there’s absolutely NOTHING funny about homophobia.

Marinate on that.

PART ONE HUNDRED.

100th blog post!

This post is only for people who believe the universe is infinite. If you believe there is an end to the universe, please click this blog post closed, pick up a science book, and come back when you’re intelligence is over that of a 7 year old’s.

Here we go FRIENDS.

Buckle up and get ready for the ride of your life, because one thing’s for sure, I have no idea who’s reading this and there’s a huge chance that I might not even know you or you might be the guy who sent me a death threat recently, meaning we’re not actually friends, and if the greatest ride of your life is reading my blog, you’re a loser, and finally, this is way more than one thing, this is the third thing, and also 100 blogs is not really an achievement worth celebrating according to my scientific research that I will now break down.

100th blog! I wrote 100 blogs! Whoop dee diddly doo.

Put your shotguns away red necks, no need to shoot the air, even though you’ll shoot the air for nothing.

Shit, some of you red necks’ll shoot a person for nothing.

And this is nothing. Nothing I haven’t said 99 times before this.

Unless you’re getting paid minimum wage, STOP READING, because I’m not saying anything, I’m trying to get through this, so I can brag about doing 100 blog posts, because in this life bragging about nothing is totally acceptable and encouraged.

So allow me to continue to smack these keys, and string words together into a giant nothingness necklace, not even wearable.

I’m gonna muscle through this like a vegetarian in Ghana eating goat stew, only instead of convincing myself this stew isn’t loaded with goat, I’m gonna convince myself that this blog, and in turn my life means something, when the facts prove the opposite.

The facts prove, scientifically, that this 100th blog is valued at nothing of relevance.

After 100 blogs, I can’t quite be certain that this blog isn’t irrelevant, and here’s a fact driven investigation into why, you, me, your art, and especially my 100th, that’s right, 100th blog post are absolutely filled to the brim with nothing of value.

Now, with that being said, and believing that the universe is infinite.

Close your eyes. Ok. I get it. Dumb. But play along with me and close your “eyes.”
(But keep reading, THIS IS MY 100TH BLOG!)

Now, to the best of your ability, imagine infinity. I know you can’t do it, but take a second and try.

Here’s how I do it. I close my eyes. I imagine a circle.

Then I imagine a circle inside that circle.

Then I imagine a circle inside that circle.

Then I imagine a circle inside that circle.

Then I imagine a circle inside that circle.

Then I imagine a circle inside that circle.

Then I imagine a circle inside that circle. Then I imagine a circle inside that circle. Then I imagine a circle inside that circle. Then I imagine a circle inside that circle. Then I imagine a circle inside that circle. Then I imagine a circle inside that circle. Then I imagine a circle inside that circle. Then I imagine a circle inside that circle. Then I imagine a circle inside that circle. Then I imagine a circle inside that circle. Then I imagine a circle inside that circle.

Keep doing this for, let’s say 5 minutes.

But wait, what’s five minutes to infinity?

Ok, so do it for an hour. Do it for a day. Do it for twenty five fuckin years and you’re still NO WHERE NEAR the mass absolute deafening reality of how small you are, let alone how little impact your art has on this planet, let alone the universe.

You and I and everything we think is valuable, is petty.

So yes. 100th blog.

YAY ME!

Shout out to my friend and fellow struggling comedian Paul Salamone who wrote a lovely, heart warming piece on his blog entitled

How To Improve as A Comedian.

Paul covers all the basics of a well rounded work out, my favorite being the mental marathon (Number two on his list) that a comedian must run understanding how long it takes to actually crack that nut called success, or even happiness with ones own work.

I personally wish more people would understand the long process of art and stop asking me dumb questions like, “are you rich and famous yet?”

Or, “When are you getting a TV show?”

Or, “Is your penis still tiny?”

Success is a journey.

I feel like I’ve “made it” every day I wake up and I’m not married to some beast woman who hates me.

I’m not big on giving people advise, but since I’m bored and haven’t written a blog in weeks, I’m gonna add my two cents here because I know for a fact that people wanna know what I think, so here we go, here’s my advise on how to be a better comedian, and it’s so universal you can apply it to whatever art you’re into.

Regardless of the medium, being a better artist can often times come down to being a better person.

So here’s one extra bonus point to add on to Paul’s list of

HOW TO BE A BETTER COMEDIAN.

Bonus point ONE…..
>>>>>>>>> STOP BEING A HATER. <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

This is HUGE for comedians, but just as important for musicians and any other artists.

I’m not talking about stop hating “things,” I’m talking about comedians need to stop hating other comedians, especially the ones in their social circle.

I just four months in the background of a comedy scene where almost no one knew me, and because of that I got to hear a lot of mediocre comedians talking badly about a bunch of other mediocre comedians.

This persons bit sucks, and they bombed here and so and so has small boobs.

KNOCK THAT PETTY SHIT OFF.

Comedy’s not a competition against anyone but yourself. Fuck Last man standing and comedy contests. There’s plenty of room on this planet for as many truly talented people as we can get. Stop worrying about everyone else and worry about if you’re truly an original artist.

I’m not tryin to be better than anyone else, I’m tryin to be better than I was yesterday and trust me, I will not be happy until I do something that I feel is truly good.

I’m at war with myself and I will win. (Or lose.)

Most people talk shit about other people when they themselves don’t feel comfortable about their own work.

It’s true. Don’t deny it.

Every single person I heard talking shit about other comedians was mediocre, at best. When I found myself surrounded by “successful” comedians in spots like the Laugh Factory and The Comedy Store, I was insanely surprised at how nice everyone was to me, being the absolute unknown, nobody that I was and am.

At one point I felt like maybe I was being the dick because I wasn’t really saying hello to people, expecting them to “want their space.”

Even though I was sitting in the “comedian” section, I just didn’t think people would wanna talk to me, which is why I was shocked when both Dane Cook and Tim Allen both said hello to me, shaking my hand, inviting me to introduce myself.

TJ Miller, Chelsea Perretti, Tony Rock, and so many more comedians hanging around being decent human beings to each other and myself because, hey, why the fuck not?

Stop hating.

At least stop hating each other. It’s fine to hate George Bush, or any corporation, or your ex, or Facebook, or any online gaming company, or girls who think it’s not ok to not drink, or that show the Jersey Shore, or spambots on Twitter, but let’s stop hating the person right next to us making the same kind of art we are.

Shall we?

Ps. I can’t guarantee that this will make you a better artist because maybe you’re lacking talent and or the only thing that can replace raw talent, which is weirdness and magic from the dick sack of a unicorn.

If you don’t become a better comedian/artist within one week of no longer hating the people around you, try eating at least ten hits of quality LSD tablets.

This should work.

第一部分

Holy shit. I’m having an acid flashback. I must be.

There’s no way I’m seeing what I’m seeing right now. It’s just not possible.

There’s no possible way that I’m watching a white guy, in the book section of the Good Will store, in the ultra liberal city of San Francisco talk down to an older Asian woman in the most ridiculously cliché way.

I’m high as shit. Was my toast moldy?

Obviously someone dropped 15 hits of LSD into my fair trade coffee, because I swear to god I just heard this dude say, “You know what lady, you better learn how to speak English, this is America.”

Maybe I’m having some Dexter fantasy, where I’m really just dreaming of strapping this guy to a table and slicing a piece of his cheek, and collecting a blood sample while I play a video tape of this douche bag telling this poor older Asian lady how bad her English was and how she deserved to be shipped back to whatever noodle cooking country she came from in a box wrapped in an American flag.

In reality, what I yelled out full lung, in front of about 7 other people, most of whom were Asian, ironically enough, was,

“Is this dude fuckin serious?”

Hey, Don’t get me wrong, I love some good old American racism, when it’s funny.

But this was some bullshit.

And his answer to me was even funnier.

He looked right at me and said, “I bet if I went to China I’d have to speak Chinese.”

To which I said to him,

“I bet If a Native American rode a horse into this Good Will store, scooped you up by your hair, scalped you, and hung you up in a tree by your toenails, no in this general vicinity would give two shits about your racist ass.”

Let him rot.

*And for anyone’s information, Thousands of Americans, including my mother go to China every year, and most, including my mother can’t even say hello, thank you, or you have beautiful eyes in Chinese, so eat a fat dick Mr. racist shit bag from the Good Will store on Vann Ness and Mission in San Francisco, Feb 2nd, 2012.

Oh yeah, and HAPPY BELATED CHINESE NEW YEAR!

Set one

Alright, alright, alright.

Let’s talk about LA.

I know you wanna hear an update, but honestly, it’s been so surreal, it’s not even easy to describe, or write about, so I’ll just try to start from the beginning.

With about a week to go until the big gig at The Laugh Factory, me and my friends started joking that it was my Eminem, 8 Mile moment, and every time I turned around someone would start sayin, “palms sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy, there’s vomit on his sweat shirt, mom’s spaghetti,” but then I started thinking about the whole situation, and honestly, maybe this is my Eminem moment, because Eminem just packed his shit up on a whim and hiked it out to LA, where he met Sway and Tech of the world famous wake up show, and even though everyone in the world told him how competitive the music world is and a lot of people told stories about how many dope rappers had come out to LA and just failed miserably, he made it click, and that made me remember how some people snickered when I mentioned last year that I wanted to come out to LA and see if I could fit in anywhere as a comedian, and truth be told, people talk like that because most people aren’t Eminem, and I’m not sayin I am either, but I’m Mother Fuckin David Deery, and why think you’re one of the failures in life, because for every 1 million losers that doesn’t have what it takes, there’s a Tom Brady, ready willing and able to march right down the field with one minute left in the Superbowl because someone has to fill the void and over achieve, because someone has to win in order to make all the losers feel even worse about themselves, and as I’m thinking this it’s the day of my gig, and I’m in LA and I’m literally standing in front of this spot and suddenly I’m wondering if instead of an Eminem moment, maybe I’m about to have a John Cardiel moment, which is fine with me, because I’m not that old.

But I am dumb.

I found that out hours before the gig when I was out with a friend for a drink, when I saw this dude I recognized. He looked like one of my graffiti tattoo friends from LA, all those dudes look alike, so when we both ended up in line for the bathroom it didn’t feel weird asking him, “Hey bro, do I know you?”

To which he replied, “Not sure dude.”

“you from San Francisco?”

“No, but I been there a lot”

“weird, you just look so familiar.”

And with that I had my first Hollywood moment. The dude looked “familiar” because it was Fred Durst of Limp Bizkit.

I had figured it out in my head after I said that idiotic bullshit and then just walked away.

Lesson learned, if you recognize someone in Hollywood, it’s probably because they’re more famous than you.

It’s deep. It’s Hollywood. I stood in front of this spot for a long time and contemplated how different, or not so different I might be to Bill Hicks.

Comin out to Hollywood to pursue stand up is a Bill Hicks moment. We know how it worked out for Bill Hicks, now I’m sure you wanna know how I did on my first time in LA, hosting The Laugh Factory,

RIGHT?

I certainly wondered how I would do as I sat up in the VIP area looking down on the stage, and honestly, I was quite calm for a few reasons.

1. It was ten minutes. Ten minutes. How many times have I done so much longer? Ten minutes. I got that.

2. My goal wasn’t to be the best comedian that night. My goal was to be funny, be loose, be confident, get invited back someday and hopefully get something funny enough for the youtube channel, because they were filming the show. Loose. I got that.

3. JAMES, the door man helped me so much! Thank you James! This dude was a real guardian angel. He instantly gave me the nickname “Double D” and within minutes was letting me know that I had what it takes. I remember him saying distinctly, “You got this Double D, I can see it in your eyes big man. You’re ready.”

4. The other comedians, Kyle Kinane, Andrew Santino, Adam Ray, Dean Del Ray, and Chris D’Elea were all so relaxed and mellow and they were the opposite of dick bags. It made me feel ok.

And then it was show time. I breathed. I tried to soak it in and enjoy it, but it flew by in a blink and before I knew it, I was introducing Chris D’Elea as the first comedian.

So how did I do?

Well, let’s say this, the Youtube clip is going up soon, but compared to Chris D’Elea it’s hard to tell, because he literally took the breath out of the room for 25 minutes, and looking at pictures of Richard Pryor, and everyone else I admire on the wall of that place who have paved the way and even made it possible to do stand up for an audience makes it tough to even think about.

So long story short, I know I’m not there yet, but hey, LA would be a great place to get it together.

Shit, that’s where Eminem did it.

Thanks so much Laugh Factory and see you soon James. I miss you already.

The happy crapper. All cleaned up.

Before I give you my ultimate babysitting tip, let me just say WARNING, this is nothing more than a trick, disguised as a little bit of good baby sitting advice, used as a smoke screen, to get you, the reader to click on a link and view a rather gross picture of baby poo.

As proud as I am of changing my first poopy diaper, and I am proud, I am also in awe of the massive amount of poop this little three year old monster child was able to produce.

If poop where products, this little factory would be putting up fierce numbers and competing right along side China for the title of manufacturing king of the universe.

I Honestly think he pooped his weight in dooky.

And I’ve got the picture to prove it.

So let’s just re cap what’s goin on in my life.

I’m watching my friend’s kid. My friend’s kid drops a large amount of excrement into a diaper and no one but myself is there to witness the fitness, and also clean the little shit box up, so in order for you to share in the excitement of me changing my first doo rag, I snapped a photo of it and am now about to post it on my blog.

Tell me, does this beat climbing a tree, or what?

But of course, before I post the picture of the mixture, I gotta give you my baby sitting advice, because that’s why we’re here. Right? Wink wink.

It’s just two words, pure and simple.

Apple juice.

That’s it. Apple juice.

Now, you might be thinking that giving a kid immense amounts of apple juice and slapping on a cartoon will keep that little piss pants quite, entertained and shit free for hours, but you couldn’t be further from the truth, because that was my baby sitting strategy, and after who knows how many apple juices and a box of mac and cheese I got a text from his dad, giving me the great advice that I’m giving you now,

“Even if he asks you for it like every five minutes don’t give the little man too much apple juice. IT’LL MAKE HIM SHIT LIKE CRAZY.”

DAMN! Where was that advice on a funny blog before I gave that kid shit your pants juice for hours?

So there you have it people.

Take my advice.

If you’re baby sitting, make sure to monitor your little crap creatures apple juice intake or you’ll learn the hard way……

LIKE I DID WITH MY FIRST, you probably shouldn’t click this link POOPY DIAPER EXPERIENCE.

The end. (Get it?)

So.

First and foremost, before I brag my face off and let you know that I’m off to a rolling start on my mission to be liked by more people than are currently reading this at this moment, let me just say, Happy New Year.

I know it means something to some of you, don’t ask me why.

New year, new cheer, let’s quit everything bad and once and for all get our life on the perfect track, even though we’ll fail miserably because we’ve failed every other year.

Anyway.

My new years resolution is to be less pessimistic, but you know what, fuck that, what’s the point?

Anyway.

There I was in the Brainwash café in San Francisco, at the open mic, staring at the sign up sheet, with literally 89 fuckin people signed up and two slots open at the end of the sheet.

I had already been sitting through about 65 of some of the worst three minute sets I could have imagined when my friend Faven convinced me to sign up, even though the crowd was inattentive, the mic was low and the energy was even lower.

My god. There are A SHIT TON OF HORRIBLE COMEDIANS IN SF.
WOOOOOOOW.

Dear comedians. If you don’t get one single sound out of three minutes you might need to think about re vamping your style. The goal is to get some kind of reaction.

A lot of you suck so bad it’s painful.

So, me and the four friends I was with waited. We waited. And waited. And waited. And the comedians tried. And tried. And out of all the 897 comedians, there were literally 2 guys that I thought were even close to good, even though most of the people were hosting shows, or promoting shows and so forth and so on, and suddenly my confidence was sinking, like, what if I’m a wack comedian, and what if the Americans are just really hella up on their shit and the crowd would be just as quiet for me as they have been for everyone else, and let me say folks, at times,

it was dead fuckin quiet.

And as more comedians careers were ending before they began, the crowd diminished, because every single person in the audience was either performing or a close friend of the performers.

I was getting more and more uncertain about performing, when suddenly the host of the evening made the un expected announcement that the night was over because they had exhausted the list and in turn had made everyone insanely exhausted and even though I was signed up and never got called I was really ready to let it slide because I felt like the wind was knocked out of the room HOURS before that, like Mike Tyson punching an eight year old in the chest, but when the host made that announcement it was over, Faven, jumped up and said, very convincingly,

“OOOOOOOOOH no. You got one more performer.”

And even though I tried my best to play it off like I wasn’t just waiting there three hours while everyone took their turn beating the shit out of the dead horse called the audience with horrific rape jokes, and look at how shocking I am abortion clinic jokes, it didn’t take much from the host to get me up there, on that little plank of a stage announcing me as a first timer to the room with a simple, “ladies and gentleman, it’s this guys first time performing here, and I don’t know about you, but I smell a train wreck.”

Unfortunately I didn’t give the 30 odd people left in the room a chance to even ponder the question.

I said, “Hello. My name’s David. I’m visiting San Francisco.” And then I ripped five solid minutes, giving wind to the dead man called a crowd like CPR.

It shocked the shit out of me to hear people laughing so I know it shocked the shit out of the host, but the proof was after the set when he said to me,

“you here next week?”

“yep.”

“Get here early mother fucker so I can introduce you to some people. We’re gonna get you some work reeeeeeal fast.”

Either way. That step is taken.

First performance in America?

CHECK!

Hey world, and by world I mean anyone who isn’t my friend on Facebook, or better yet, people who didn’t come out to Comedy In Sin and see the premier of my music video in person and maybe don’t even know that I make music, I got a special treat for you, even though I’m sure by now you’ve realized that the special treat isn’t so special, because I already posted it on Facebook and showed it live to an audience of actual people.

No worries, it’s still a funny song about a muddy thong and now you can watch the

MUDDY THONG SONG VIDEO ON FUNNY OR DIE

and give it a “funny” vote, and talk about it at the next little hip art opening you’re at.

Enjoy, and remember kids, only you can prevent forest fires, even though you live in a city, so please feel a ton of pressure about your commitment to this reality and lay in bed all day and watch The Muddy Thong Video over one million times.

Thank you.

MF DD