If you missed our last show at North Star Bar, you missed a good one. Shit got a little crazy. A few bands played before us including Penrose and A Million Years. They were incredible.

By the time we hit the stage it was already 1am. The crowd was good and drunk by then. Lots of hooting and hollering. Good energy in the room.

Halfway through the set, in the middle of one of our songs, the stage lights went black. We later found out that someone spilled a beer on the lighting board. They were OUT. No bringing them back. So we just kept playing. It was completely pitch black in there. The only lights were the sporadic flashes from cameras in the crowd. We played several more songs in complete darkness - including an encore.

Here's the song we were playing when the lights died - they go out at 4:00. Check it out.

And if I ever do decide to become a superhero, I will surely be the best ever. Compared to me, Superman will look like a weirdo in blue tights and greasy hair with an ugly woman posing as his girlfriend. Which is what he is. But still.

So with all my greatness, I don't think it's fair to the evildoers of the world. I'll need to take a handicap, like in golf, or racquetball, or rheumatoid arthritis. My handicap is this: I'm going to reveal a full list of my phobias. My arch-nemesis can use this to try to destroy me. They won't win because I'm so awesome, but they can try.

1. Heights
   Fortunately I can't fly. I'll be a very grounded superhero. Like a vigilante homeless person on PCP. Any time I climb a ladder taller than 3 steps I start crying. Then I fall into a fetal position on the ground and cover my face. After about ten minutes I'll come out of it and slowly pull myself together. That's plenty of time for my nemesis to strike. But good luck trying, dipshit! I'm still a badass!
2. Spiders
   The little ones. Not the big furry ones. I can see the big furry ones and I can run from them. I worry about the little ones though. They could crawl into my ear canal while I'm sleeping and have sex in there and lay eggs and create entire colonies and take over my brain and turn me into a spider-zombie. Not in a cool way like Spiderman. In a shitty way. Like a zombie that shoots webs out of its ass and eats bugs.
3. Pubic hair
   The kind that are attached to a woman's body and trimmed and clean are fine. It's when a pube strand escapes from its host and lands on a urinal or a bathroom floor. That's fucking nasty. Once, I saw a pubic hair on my plate at a restaurant. Maybe it was stuck to the waiter's hand after a piss. Or maybe the cook put it there to fuck with me because he could tell I'm such a tough guy. Who knows. The mystery alone put me into a deep sleep. I passed out right there at the table and woke up 4 hours later face down in my plate, with spaghetti in my eyes and nose. I nearly died! I can't believe everyone just left me there sleeping in my food. With a pube right next to my face!
4. Feces
   Poop makes me vomit. Every time I drop logs, I have to flush immediately, before I catch a glimpse or a whiff. If I happen to smell the faint odor of a shit or a fart, I collapse in violent convulsions. It's a lot like epilepsy without the shaking. My nemesis would have a clear advantage in a fistfight with me if he were to smear human poo all over his hands before throwing the first punch. A poop punch. I just puked in my lap thinking about it.

So there you have it, folks. I'm laying all my cards on the table. One day I'll buy myself a badass superhero costume and hit the streets. And my enemies will already know my secrets. But it ain't gonna help, fuckers! Cuz I'm the bees knees and I'll take you out with a single eye-poke.

You can't do that shit with bread. Breadballs? Nope. Breadloaf? Hardly - bread is naturally in loaf form. How about corn? Cornballs? That's a fucking insult, not a food. Orangesquares, avacadotriangles, cabbagetrapezoids? Ridiculous.

Though I am a little confused. People form meat into all kinds of shapes and cook it, but they don't always name it after the shape they created. No one calls hot dogs "meatsticks". And you wouldn't refer to a hamburger as a "meatcircle" or a "meatdisc". I think you should. It's so much more descriptive. Next time you're at the ballpark watching a game, make sure to order a meatstick and a meatcircle. They'll appreciate your clarity.

If you're in Philly on Saturday July 10, you can check us out at North Star Bar. It's one of the best venues in Philadelphia and we're headlining! Get tickets here. Do it now! Well, you know, if you feel like it.

you are awesome.

I tend to agree. I'm sort of a badass. But not everyone is with me on that. Usually the kind of things I get from the Feedback form are similar to this little gem from a dude named Stan:

I lv gal suckin dick bcs it makes a man lv her more.so if any gal wnt2suck mail me.or cal me [Phone # omitted]

And then of course there are the random business propositions. Most are offers to increase my search engine traffic for a small fee. Others are people asking that I link to their blog because it's "snarky" and they think I'm into that. But every once in a while I get very specific requests for financial guidance, like this one from Bill:

I found the page about there being no albino porn. You state that there's money to be made. I recently dated a super sexy African American albino woman and I've taken over 1200 naked pictures of her. How could I make money with them?

This seems completely ridiculous. Porn is free. So that's going to get in the way. You could start a fetish site that charges a fee, but if you have zero knowledge of online business and you are trying to shill pictures of an ex-girlfriend (probably without her consent), you're starting down the wrong path. Try this instead: get a regular job. Finish school. Forget your dreams of breaking into the porn biz. You're not cut out for it, man.

On another note: You should probably start stalking me on Facebook. It's where I spend most of my online time these days. Here's the page for my band:
http://www.facebook.com/thecodesband

Later, nerds.

-J

From: Jack Mule
Subject: rage much?
you ever find yourself raging when a car alarm wakes up your sleeping baby? I wish i had a brick handy to give that car alarm a real reason to go off.

P.S. GET OFF MY LAWN!

From: JJ
RE: rage much?
You know... around here, car alarms typically mean someone's car is getting fucked with. So when I hear one, instead of feeling annoyed I am like uber-pissed. Not at the car, but at the criminals rampaging in my 'hood.

Someone broke into our car a few weeks ago. I didn't hear the alarm, so I didn't have a chance to react. There was nothing in the car to steal. They simply ransacked through the glove box, etc. Fortunately I'm not dumb enough to leave an mp3 player, CDs, or anything else in there overnight. The repairs we're pretty easy, but I ended up having to shell out the $250 deductible.

Another car was broken into last week in the same spot. That was probably the 5th or 6th since we've lived here.

Rage? Sort of. Every time I hear an alarm, I step outside and look up and down the block hoping I'll catch someone in the act. Fuck em if they try to shoot at me or something. No one is that good of a shot in the dark from a distance.

If I did see them, I don't know what I'd do. There's no way I'd start chasing them. I'd at least hope to get a good mental picture. And maybe I'd start yelling whatever intimidating shit I could think of in the heat of the moment. "I swear to fucking god I will destroy you!" or some bullshit like that.

That's story #1. It illustrates the facts that Philadelphia is crime-ridden and I am a little reckless. Story #2 (haha I said 'number 2') corroborates those facts.

A couple weeks ago while I was at work, Lulu saw a suspicious dude parked on our street in a beat up late 90's Mustang. It's not particularly rare to see suspicious people on our street and Lulu probably would have ignored him, but she was ironing in the living room and could see this guy sitting in his car from our front window. The guy was a tall, lanky, ratty-haired white guy in a leather jacket. She could see him, but he didn't realize it.

Side note: If he were black, I may have left his race out of the story because it could be perceived as racist to include that seemingly irrelevant detail. But he was white. And that's atypical in this part of Philly. So in this case I think it's relevant. And it helps you form a better mental picture of the scenario.

Anyway, this dude was sitting in his car much longer than could be considered normal. He was either waiting for someone, or he was up to something. Then she saw him pull some sort of kit out of his pocket. Tiny supplies of some sort. Maybe some tin foil. Perhaps a small tube. And definitely a lighter.

The guy lit up whatever it was and inhaled. He started coughing immediately. And after a couple of hits, the coughing got so out of control that he puked a little on his shirt and jacket. The guy was bombed. The puke didn't bother him a bit. He relaxed in his car for a few minutes, then got up and wobbled down the block and into a house.

We live on a block of rowhomes in Center City Philly. We know our next door neighbors and the people across the street. Families. Good people. But we don't know everyone on the block. There are a few people who live on the block that I've never even spoken to. People I'm not really interested in talking to. He went into one of those houses.

That's when I got home from work. Lulu told me the whole story. I really didn't know how to react. On one hand - who gives a shit if a guy wants to get high in his own car? On the other hand - fuck him; that piece of shit degenerate doesn't belong anywhere near my family.

We decided to leave the guy a note. I really hoped he wouldn't see me. I wasn't looking for a confrontation. I just wanted him to get the message.

I wanted the message to be straightforward and easy to understand. I thought that if I used profanity, it would sound insincere. He had to know I was serious. And he had to feel shame. Also - like a note from a kidnapper, I wanted it to be unidentifiable to prevent him from knocking on our door wanting to retort. I grabbed an empty unmarked brown paper bag and wrote on it with a Sharpie in big capital letters. Then I left the note on his windshield under the driver's side wiper, face down like a parking ticket. Here's what I wrote:

YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE.
GO GET HIGH SOMEWHERE ELSE.
NEXT TIME I'M CALLING THE COPS.

I decided to go with 'cops' instead of 'police', hoping to retain a conversational tone. I kept it clean, while emphasizing a feeling that we live in a neighborhood where people know each other.

The guy came out a couple hours later, read the note, threw it on the ground, and drove off in a hurry. There's a pretty big chance he didn't give a shit. For all I know he thought "fuck you, unknown random stranger" and drove home to smoke some more of whatever it was.

But I hope that's not the case. I hope he felt like he intruded on a safe place with his bullshit. I hope he thought about it A LOT. For hours on end. While watching TV at home later that night. I hope he agonized over it. I hope he felt scrutinized and judged. I hope he felt weak.

As most of you already know - I am a complete idiot. This proved to be true a couple weeks ago when I was defrosting my prized possession. Rule #1 when defrosting a fridge or freezer: Let the ice melt; don't try to chip that shit off with a screwdriver.

So as I stupidly chipped away at the ice, I poked a hole in the refrigerant coil. Freon shot out into my face and I raised my hands to block the icy gas. In a split second, I was covered in a frozen oily layer of coolant.

After I cleaned up the mess, Lulu and I started researching. How much would it cost to repair the thing? What could we sell it for? And we had to decide - did it really make sense to have a kegerator in the house when I'm the only one who drinks beer?

The decision: it would cost too much and it would take too much effort to get it fixed. I'll stick to cans of PBR or bottles of Kenzinger. So Lulu offered to help me sell it on Craigslist. I'd take the photos and she'd post the listing. We knew someone would be willing to buy it cheap and try to fix it.

What follows is an email exchange between my wife and a potential Craigslist buyer:

Thursday 7:30PM
From: Steve
I am interested in buying that Kegerator if it is still available. I am going to try and get ahold of someone I know and see how much it would be to fix that punctured coil. I am guessing that it does not work right now correct?? Alright, well let me know if you still have it or if you already sold it off.

Thanks
Steve

Thursday 8PM
From: Lulu
Hi Steve,

Yes, the kegerator is still available. And you are correct, it does not work right now. Although, from what I understand, the puncture is pretty easy to fix if you have the right tools and access to refrigerant. If you would like to set up a time to come see it, let me know.

Thanks!

Friday 2PM
From: Steve
Just keeping you up to date. I am waiting for a phone call back from my refrigerant buddy to ask him about the coil. I am pretty sure 90 percent sure that I will take it

Friday 2:30PM
From: Lulu
Thanks Steve. That sounds great! I can give you the exact address once we finalize something.

At this point, we started to get a lot of email responses to the ad. Several people were willing to buy it for the asking price without hesitation. So on Saturday, one of those buyers stopped by with cash in hand and bought it. It was a little hectic, because we were throwing a party for our daughter the next day, so we didn't get a chance to notify this dude Steve.

Sunday 1:30PM (two full days since we last heard from this guy)
From: Steve
This is steve about that kegarator. Not sure if my messages are going to you or not, but when can we have a time to meet up for this thing?

Sunday 8PM
From: Lulu
Hi Steve,

Sorry I couldn't get back to you earlier, I haven't been online all day because we had our daughter's 1st birthday party. And I regret to inform you that the kegerator is no longer available. Thank you for your interest though.

Kind Regards

Sunday 10PM
From: Steve
That's really lame. You had a buyer and stifted that person. I thought I emailed you letting you know that I was 95 percent sure I was going to take it????? I can't believe it. I wish craigslist had a rating scale so I could rate you poorly for blowing someone off who was going to buy something from you. I don't understand why you would do that to someone.

Sunday 10:05PM
From: Steve
Its not like I was just asking info on it. I was going to buy it from you! You have no idea how upset and pissed I am right now about how rude you are.

What this guy doesn't realize is that my wife is no pushover. She takes this kind of thing very seriously. She believes in the free market, accepts the highest bidder, and she's professional and courteous in her emails... until now.

Monday 10AM
From: Lulu
Are you fucking kidding me? If I waited around for everyone who was "going to buy" something from me on Craigslist I wouldn't be able to sell shit. Maybe you've never bought anything off Craigslist before or maybe you're just young and naive, but nothing is guaranteed until money exchanges hands. It's first come, first serve. I'm sorry you're disappointed, but if you wanted the kegerator so badly, perhaps you should have gotten here a little quicker. You have no idea the amount of emails I received about this item, in addition to the amount of people who were "90% sure" they were going to buy it. Obviously, I found someone who was 100% sure, since I actually sold it.

Now go cry in the corner if you need to, but stop harassing me because you didn't get what you wanted. You have no idea how spoiled and pathetic you sound

Now - I hate to give this guy the last word, but in all fairness, he did respond to my wife's last email. His response is here, with a few of my notes included in brackets.

Monday Noon
From: Steve
Hahaha what a hilarious message. I was 95 percent not 90! Duh!!! [Bullshit. And "duh"? Seriously?] I know I waited too long for my friend to get back to me with the coil question but I didn't think it was gonna go so fast since it was busted. And yes, I but [sic] plenty of things and also sold things on craigslist, but I at least give that person more than a 12 hour chance. [Failed math class, fella? It was 47 hours. So, you know - suck my balls, bitch.] If you had OHH SO MANY emails, ya could of waited a second and let me get back to you. Isn't that why I stayed in contact with you??? Young and naïve, far from it. [Yeah? Perhaps "mentally challenged" would be more appropriate.]

Oh ps, go fuck yourself

And that's the end of the story. My wife chose not to respond. No need to continue the email battle. Instead, I've decided to sign this guy up for every piece of email spam I can find.

Ok so a really hot boy asked me on a date i had been waiting for him to do this for months so when he did i of course said YES!! (little did i know it was on a boat and i get VIOLENTLY!! sick on boats) so we got to the dock and i wanted to say something but i decided that i would be ok so i got on the boat. later i started to feel a little sick but not to bad so i STILL didn't say anything! he turned to kiss me and i leaned in but suddenly it felt like i had gotten punched in the gut and i knew i was going to puke so i turned but i didn't turn fast enough so i ended up puking in his mouth! it was terrible finally i turned and puked into the water. then i turned back to him in time to see him puking off the side of the boat also! it was SO embarrassing! i ended up puking and dry heaving about 5 more times before we got back and he puked one more time......

it was mortifying but he called me back in about a week and we got married 5yrs l8r !!!!!!

Congrats, Alexandria. You married the kind of guy who doesn't mind tasting someone else's puke. Tee hee.

When women are pissing and they feel the urge to drop logs, they simply let it go right then and there. See? Efficiency.