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Today I was bending over, picking up a bag of coffee beans at my job at “Café Artiste,” when this gross-fest who I work with asked me why I had a big “X” tattooed on my lower back.

My first, most singular, upfront, thought was to accuse him of staring at my butt. I mean, I know that shit is totes stare-able, but can’t we keep it professional to the fullest?

Totes not, apparently.

I had to explain to Gross Face 2008 that I used to be Straight Edge, and being that he is only twenty he totes wasn’t in the know about the Straight Edge era.

I took him in the back room and began to show him all of my gnarly ink.

Actually, give me a milli to quickly say: Thank you, Tony Tatz, you are an inspiration to the world of tattooing and, moreover, to the world of art - sorry I haven’t displayed my grill in a while.

Tony Tatz is the one who is responsible for my name, X Vicky Gnar Gnar X. We started dating while I was getting learn’d at NYU for Chemistry - he was there for Liberal Arts.

I was partying all the time, was totes on the road to Fail City when I met Tony Tatz and he veered me away from the ick-nast world of drugs and drinking. I graduated Sum Cum Laude and he was way to the max responsible for my success.

We broke up shortly after graduation because I had a Mike’s Hard Lemonade on accident.

I know you are all totes calling me out right now for my previous reference to drinking in my preevs blog, I’ve obvs jumped off that wizzagon..

The thing is, I only make minimum wage at my Café job, so drinking is expensive, and getting my tattoos laser-removed is totes out of the quesh.

So I made up my mind right then and there in the back room of “Café Artiste” and decided I’m edge again. I totes DID that twenty-year-old boy in the back room to express myself in my last moment as a plebe of society.

Okay, I gotta go find all my old “Minor Threat” and “Teen Idles” albums and throw away all the new boots I just bought, totes made a cow die, my bad.

Keeping it REAL.

Proudly,

Attention-starved dumpster Lindsey Lohan and her lesbian partner DJ Samantha Ronson are spreading the rumor that they’re engaged. And no one cares. Pretending you’re a lesbian to get publicity is more desperate than adopting a foreign baby and making a sex tape. With the baby.

An Iraqi man was recently discovered as being gay and was punished by three days of gay sex. Based on that logic, when an unsuspecting mother walks into her son’s bedroom assuming he’s playing Final Fantasy 7 and finds him masturbating, she has to spend the next three days jerking him off. For the record, I now have a close relationship with my mother and I finally beat FF7.

Miley Cyrus and a friend posted a video making fun of fellow Disney Channel tween idol - Selma Gomez. It is well known amongst us fans that there’s an unspoken rivalry between the two pubescent divas. It is also well known that I am writing this behind bars because I made the unfortunate mistake of pairing the words, “nice” and “boobies” under their respective YouTube channels.

Shia LaBeouf finds himself amidst some controversy after being arrested for driving while intoxicated. The incident has delayed shooting on Transformers 2 and George Lucas might not use him in the next Indiana Jones. The doctors told him that regardless of the accident and subsequent fallout, he’ll always remain a Costco-sized box of douches.

ABC News’s Martin Bashir, famous for his exploitation documentary on Michael Jackson, made some disturbing remarks during a speech celebrating minorities in journalism. After referring to some audience members as “Asian babes” he proceeded to thank his podium for hiding his erection. I still don’t understand what the problem is because Asian babes are hot and I’m hard as a rock every time I pick up my dry cleaning.

Bernie Mac passed away a couple of days ago and his presence will be sorely missed. Mac had an incredible comic persona that oozed confidence, command and power. He spoke with the tenacity of an evangelical and could whip a crowd into a similar fervor.

The video above shows Mac absolutely owning the audience at Def Jam and regardless of what you think of his material or the lame movies he subsequently starred in, the guy had an undeniably powerful, positive energy about him.

8:00am
The most craziest to the balls thing ever just happened to me! There is this guy that I eyeball like EVERYDAY of my life on the bus on the way to work at Café Artiste’. Which, by the way, my ma dukes HATES that I work at because I have a degree in chemistry, but I totes make a latte THAT much better, but that’s another blog for another tizime.

Anyway, so my bus time flirt guy was sitting next to me today and we were totes doing the same crossword puzzle out of “Hip Candy Brains” magazine - I mean “zine”. It’s a zine that only like 100 dope peeps subscribe to!

8:15am
He and I are talking up a STORM, a hurricane, a tycoon, a freaking flood watch of conversation, and booyah I get ballsy, like Rosie the Riveter would have and I ask him for his digits!

Totes get the number.

All day at work:
I can hardly think about work. I gave someone a skim latte instead of soy after they specifics told me that they were lactose! Oh man, they probs had the most gnarly gas all day long because of me. Whatebes, it’s not like they’ll die over it.

Like, I might die if I don’t see this guy. By the way, “this guy’s” name is Amari. I hope he lets me call him Mars.

7pm
Txt Mars. Txts back, make plans, for THAT night. What can I say? When I know what I want - I get it.

7pm – 8pm
Try on every pair of tapered jeans I own and settle for black hip hugger tapers and a white V-neck Tee. Rock all my best gold bling necklaces that I got last week from this ill street vendor and head out.

8:30pm
Meet Mars for Tapas and Sangria at “Redhead and Grubs”. We have absolutely everything ever that someone could have in common, in common, to exist in all of the things that you can ever know about and do in the world. We are like seriously totes to the max flirting our asses off.

11:30pm
Go over to “Alice’s Basement” for some more PBRs.

2:00am
I go against my normal rules and I’m back at his place.

2:30am
Make-out sesh to the max x1,000,000.

3:00am
OMFG, we totes DID. IT. It was amazing, he was amazing. He told me he doesn’t normally do this sort of thing and I told him neither did I and I think that’s what brought us even closer and why it was so good.

7am
I wake up at his place with him gently kissing my nose.

The entirety of the next day TOTES doesn’t even matter because all I can think about is getting back into Amari’s arms. (I tried “Mars” and he didn’t like it and he was right - that was a lame idea. His name is too beautiful to mess with, especially because he picked it out himself after emancipating from his parents at 19).

8pm
Txt Amari, no response.

I am so not even going to tell you how many times Amari blew off my txt’s.

Moral of the story? “Hip Candy Brains” only has douchey asshole subscribers and I no longer am one. It is seriously so pretentious. I mean, I always suspected it was, but now that I’ve CSI’d that shit I totes see the light.

Moving on to the NYTimes…

So there I was, rockin’ my gold fanny pack and silver high-top chucks on my way to kickball practice on my fixed-gear bike when…BAM!

Some Screech passes me on the right on his way to deliver some disgusting food full of meat and cheese animal-death and my shoe lace gets all wrapped up in my gear - my fixed-gear.

If you know anything about fixed-geared bikes, which you totes should because it’s the fuckin’ jam, you know you can’t stop peddling or you will totes wipe out and look like a totes douchetrain.

Luckily, I lace my hot orange shoelaces all cool and tubularly rad so they are nice and loose and I was able to keep peddling while they simply unlaced themselves…or so I totes thought!

I was right in front of the tattoo parlor that I get all my work done and my fixed-gear jams and I fall flat on my face! It’s a good thing I no longer wear gauged ear plugs, a septum ring, and a lip ring - thank GOD it’s not ‘02 anymore!

I would have totes jacked up my facial scene.

All was not totes lost, though. I looked up while I laid there on the ground, wishing a tight-pants gentlemen with gnarly sleeves would sweep me off my feet when I peep a street vendor I’ve never seen before.

She had THE. MOST. Bangin’ neon 80’s t-shirts of anyone in the world that ever existed ever in all of existence in all of the universe of everything in existence everywhere. I stood up, brushed myself off and ran to her with all remaining strength after my traumatic geek-spill.

I purchased every last Tee at her stand and bounced off to kickball practice.

Moral of the story? Some Screeches aren’t as bad as you think. If he hadn’t forgotten basic bike-driving laws, I never would have fallen into the dopest Tee find of the year!

Hasta La Pasta!

As you all know, George Carlin passed away on June 22nd. He was one of the most influential, brilliant and important comedians of all time.

The man produced a herculean amount of material and always had a message behind his humor - something every aspiring comedian strives for but few achieve.

Ultimately, I know it isn’t my place to pay reverence to such a powerful figure so I would like to direct you to a very nice tribute written by comedian Louis C.K.

Goodbye George Carlin - By Louis C.K.

Enjoy.

Florida is evil. It is a hellmouth. The panhandle also known as Satan’s flaccid penis has once again spread its wings (Note: Satan’s penis is so evil, it has wings).

This week, a seven-year-old stole his grandmother’s SUV and crashed it into a ton of crap. His rationale? He wanted to do “hoodrat stuff” because “it’s fun to do bad things”.

Chop. Off. Florida.

At first glance this ad is misleading. It reads as if some creepy trucker-dude (or old lesbian) with a black Michelob hat and ragged-mustache wants to get his freak on. But its not.

It’s actually fabled 70’s cartoon icon - ‘Stachie!

‘Stachie was the star of several classic animated porn flicks that were the adult industry’s effort to attract the Looney Tunes-obsessed youth market. While facing a massive pair of sexy lady legs, ‘Stachie! would look outward, tongue flailing and give the thumbs up sign.

Parents revolted, children started having sex and a new baby boom began. Cue Ronald Reagan. The companies behind ‘Stachie! bankrupted and judging by the grey lines in the middle of his tongue, he has fallen on hard times.

See, the secret sustenance to his survival is the eating the muffy meal for which he was created, much like blood is to a vampire. Without it, ‘Stachie withers away and starts to look a lot like Joan Rivers.

But no one wants to be serviced by a walking mouth wearing a cowboy hat when they can get the real thing from their spouse, milkman or alcoholic roommate. So ‘Stachie! must take whatever he can get in order to feed. Thus, Craigslist.org, is his only sanctuary.

That dinosaur is beeping at me! Why is a horny triceratops making that god-awful sound? Oh, it’s not a noisy dinosaur…it’s my goddamn alarm clock. How depressing - it’s time to wake up.

Opening my eyes after a beautiful night of sleep is the worst part of my day. I immediately roll over, slam the pillow over my head and dread the countless activities of waking consciousness that await me like a gauntlet of never-ending crap.

That nightmare I had about my genitals being picked apart by an HIV positive vulture with the face of Rosie O’Donnell was better than the nightmare of getting out of bed every day.

The cruelest aspect of my hatred for arising in the morning is my passionate love for going to sleep every night. I ritually brush my teeth, crawl into bed, orgasm softly and close my tired eyes.

And every night, like the greatest of all magic tricks, I flutter softly into my subconscious and float to the land of dreams. One time I had sex with that hot girl I saw on the bus, last week I was a badass pirate with tons of booty and the other night I threw an alley-oop to Shaq in the NBA Finals.

What did I do when I woke up this morning? I stubbed my toe on the guitar I never get a chance to play, found a new pile of bills I can’t possibly afford and then reluctantly moped into my dirty bathroom in a vain attempt to pee with a boner.

I spend every extra penny I make to replace the alarm clock I smash every morning.

Sometimes, I volunteer for sleep-related psychology experiments but they don’t pay well and the work is sporadic. I mean, ten bucks an hour barely covers the loan payment on my tempur-pedic king-size bed let alone my ever-growing Ambien addiction.

So, no matter what I do, I’m forced to suck it up and continue being woken up at an ungodly hour. Being forcefully wrenched from my peaceful slumber at six o’clock in the morning…

All so that - I may begin another day of work at the Summer’s Eve douchebag factory. Maybe I should just get a new job.

Kevin recently asked me to take over the craigslist personal ad feature and I greatly obliged. But before we begin, allow me to introduce myself.

The name is Jason Winder and I’m obsessed with the internet. I spend nearly ten hours a day on the net with only work and sleep to keep me from rounding out the other fourteen. My basis for reality is somewhat slipping as of late as a result of spending life online.

I compare it to the old HBO program, “Dream On” starring Brian Benben as a man who grew up watching so much television that, in adulthood, his concepts of relationships and human understanding were based solely on TV clips.

This is how I am right now with the Internet. As a consequence, I have learned to read people quite well and, hell, these weirdos are much more disturbed than I am and I like that.

When I showed Kevin some of my saved profiles, he vomited violently and after an awkward two days of silence, he called and begged me to take over craigslist duties. While holding my phone sandwiched between my ear and shoulder, penis in my right hand and camera in my left, I told him I would be delighted.

I sent him a picture of the scene to mark the occasion. He uses it as his desktop background.

So, in keeping within the boundaries of my own depravity, I will now take the chance to share some profiles. Where most others would scoff at these individuals, I extend my hand to them in respect.

Let’s begin with a man I’ve dubbed, “Tranny Bob”.

After all my searching, I have decided to bestow upon “Tranny Bob” the prestigious title of craigslist.org weirdo of the week. While I’m sure there are plenty of similar weirdos posting their sick selves online, the creepy look in his eyes just does it for me.

Tranny Bob actually posted two profiles this week but for the sake of keeping things a little less vulgar on this website, I am just featuring this one. His other profile includes two additional pictures which give his suitors a preview of what his cock and balls look like adorned in panties (hint: they don’t fit). I was eating at the time and had to stop.

Quick lesson: don’t eat while looking at craigslist personal ads.

Without really tearing this guy apart, as much as I would like to, I really want his simple sentence and “more-than-a-thousand-words” pictures to speak for themselves.

In his defense, he does look like a red-headed human version of Miss Piggy. And many people, like myself, found her to be a very sexy Muppet. So if you apply that logic to Tranny Bob then by all means, he is a hot Muppet.

Just look at those boobs and nice long legs. The caked-on makeup is kind of frightening but whatever makes him happy, makes me happy. Just as long as he doesn’t molest me on the playground.

I will not, at this point, further discuss his clothing PREFERENCE but rather his other hobby: camping while in drag. If you ask me, the two go hand in hand.

How awesome would it be if you came across this guy and his buddy frolicking in the woods while wearing women’s clothing? Not awesome at all, actually. It would be terrifying.

Picture this: A newly-married, god-fearing couple and their two young boys, both under the age of ten, go on their annual camping trip. Harmless fun, right? It is, until, while walking in the woods they come across these two, making out in high heels and holding onto each other’s fishing rods.

It would not be a pleasant scene. The dad could convince the youngest one that it was Bigfoot and the idiot would be believe him. The older one, on the other hand, would understand what’s going on and thereby lose faith in humanity, God and himself. Cut to ten years later and now he has a cross-dressing/camping fetish.

See, Tranny Bob thinks what he is doing is harmless - dressing up in drag, going camping with a buddy, doing the whole brokeback thing but he is really hurting America. People don’t need to see this. It ruined a family I just made up!

If Tranny Bob wants to go camping while in drag, he can set up a tent in his living-room, spark up the old fireplace, play some John Denver and finger-bang his fellow craigslist drag buddy.

I mean if I have to do it, then why shouldn’t he?

Just a thought.