I moved to the suburbs of Chicago in 2019 and haven’t really looked back. Just five years ago you wouldn’t catch me dead out here. I hated the thought of suburban life. “Nah, it’s too boring out there. Nothin’ but a buncha geezers and cops,” I’d say. Turns out I was right, and that’s actually the best part. My elderly neighbors need help with all sorts of things, and while I’m always happy to help, I never do it for free.

I share a story about getting way too high.

@xdannyxbrownx shares his thoughts on video games while I describe my struggles with self-control around X-Box and beer.

In the era of swiping, my approach to dating is, well, dated.

A short story where I look up at the sky and say, “Damn, I’m really in this bitch.”

Dry January is officially OVER! As you plan a weekend of debauchery, you can feel the butterflies begin to form in your stomach. Maybe you'll drink with friends on an extravagant rooftop. Fancy! Perhaps you'll just have a couple beers at your local bar, further relying on the alcohol as your parlay goes to hell. Better luck next time! Or maybe, just maybe, you'll surprise your significant other with a home-cooked dinner and bottle of aged Argentinian malbec. Look at you!

Wherever you drink this weekend, you will be able to escape life’s problems, even if for only a day or two. But Monday is fast-approaching and these problems will still be there. Haunting you. Lingering over you.

Stop trying to drink your problems away. There’s no use in that because they are already written all over you, and I know them based off of what kind of beer you'll order this weekend.

In January 2012, I ventured into the Amazon to try ayahuasca, a spiritual medicine and hallucinogenic brew. This was not my mission; while traveling through Bolivia, my friend and I stumbled into a guide and shaman who were offering “shamanic dream experiences” and figured we’d give it a try. Here is my experience tripping absolute-fucking-balls.

Thinking of quitting your job to follow your dreams? Well, if there was ever a time to take the leap, it’s now. And while I’ve been more so forced into such things, and failed spectacularly might I add, that doesn’t mean you will.

At the start of last year, I wrote a post about Dry January and my failed attempts of giving up the bottle (for the month, at least). I lasted four days, and that’s mostly because I didn’t really go in with a game plan. Fail to prepare, prepare to fail as the saying goes. This year is different. New year, new me, baby! I coined that last term.

This girl I’m seeing seems nice enough. No baggage, a promising career, and emotionally intelligent. She communicates clearly, supports me meeting friends without her, and is exceptionally rational. Stays away from the bottle and regularly hits the gym. I have one glaring concern, though, and that is the lack of red flags.

The Moon Landing. JFK. Operation Northwoods. Epstein. 9/11. The Covid vaccine.

Ron Funches challenges you to believe in a conspiracy theory.

Woke up at 10:30am today without a care in the world. I’m not hungover, but wouldn’t be mad if I were. I’ll probably fix myself an Irish coffee after making my bed. Have it on the back patio with a spliff. Then I’ll take my time making the perfect eggs benny while playing the latest Graveyard Club album on my record player, which I can afford because I don’t have kids. After breakfast, I’ll shower up and head to downtown Plainfield to meet my cousin Javy. We’ll take in a World Cup game while drinking copious amounts of beer. Might even eat something cool like a shrimp po’ boy. But then he’s gonna have to leave by like 5pm, regardless of whether or not the game ends. He’s a father, and a pretty damn good one, too. But not me.

I don’t have any kids, but here’s what I imagine a typical day would be like if I did.

C’mon. We all tell ‘em.

Trump is back and the media shit show has officially commenced. Sure, he’s a fucking clown. But clowns are funny! So just sit back and enjoy the show.

Here’s a piece I wrote during his last presidency. While out to dinner, my friends and I try to figure out the craziness of the world we live in…while also trying to order food. The staff is short and so is our patience.

Those climate-change activist shitbags are doing it all wrong. You’re not supposed to ruin art. You’re supposed to fake-appreciate it.

Yes, climate change is very much happening, but just accept that we will never do a damn thing about it. So stop rubbing Spaghetti-O’s on the Mona Lisa thinking you’re making a fucking difference.

Instead, start learning how to fake an appreciation of the fine arts. Sew your way into the artsy crowd and reap the benefits. Here, a fool-proof guide.

I didn’t win the Powerball and though most people would agree that I’m the most deserving candidate, c’est la vie.

Autumn is here, and that means it’s time to start layering like a motherfucker. If you’re not careful, before you know it you’re out in public wearing six different pieces of clothing, all in different colors, looking sloppy as fuck.

For the last few years, I have done a damn good job at detailing my various fuckups on this website.

That all changes today.

There’s a reason I haven’t been able to advance every stage of my life to my liking. Whether it be my career, social connections, or dating life. None of these are where I want them to be. But that’s about to change, baby!