Well there was a good reason for that.  My wife and I recently closed on our first home.  The process was an exhausting one and the closer we got to the closing, the harder it was to focus on anything else.

We are settled in our new home now (if you count the stacks of my wife’s clothes still sitting in boxes around the house as settled) so I now I have a little more time to get back to writing.  Now that things are a little more calm, I’ve had a chance to reflect on the life-changing experience I had to endure over the past couple months.

I’m certainly glad to have my own home now but there were many stressful times along the way and many people that I wanted to punch in the face.  So with that in mind, its time for another edition of Random Guys I Want to Punch in the Face!

The Real Estate Agent

There might not be a job out there that requires one to bullshit and lie more than a real estate agent.  Politicians think real estate agents are full of shit.

When searching for a home, you may think the real estate agent is on your side but that couldn’t be farther from the case.  The agent works for the seller and wants to sell the house as quickly, and for as much money as possible.

They will try and make every negative about the house sound like a positive as a way to convince you to put in an offer. They’ll call a studio apartment “cozy” or a home in need of repair, a “handyman’s special.” They’ll pressure you to make an offer right away or to buy a house out of your price range. DON’T LISTEN TO THEM!  Do your research and make an informed decision before making any offer and you’ll be just fine.

Here’s how our dealings with the real estate agent went in the beginning of the process

Real Estate Agent: So how much are you looking to spend?

Me: We’d like to keep it under X dollars.

Real Estate Agent: Ok. I found this great house in your neighborhood.  It’s $25,000 more than you’re willing to spend and the maximum amount of money you are approved for.  You’ll love it!

Me: What are you fucking deaf? I just said we can’t afford that.  I don’t care if we are pre-approved for that much.  I’ll be eating Ramen Noodles every night and shopping at Old Navy the rest of my life if I spend that much.  Show me houses in my price range.

And once we found a house we liked…

Real Estate Agent:  Someone put an offer on this house already, but if you offer $15,000 more you’ll definitely get it.

Me: No. We’re not doing that.  This house isn’t worth that much. We are offering this amount.

Real Estate: Ok…but you realize that’s very low. I don’t think they’ll accept that.  You don’t want to lowball the seller. They may not take you seriously.

Me: Just fucking listen to me and make the offer.

One hour later…

Real Estate Agent: Congratulations. You got yourself a house!

Me: Sweet! Thanks for offering terrible advice.  If I had listened to you, I’d be out another $15,000.   You are completely fucking useless. Can’t believe you collect a commission for this.

Mortgage Broker/ Bank

Back in the good ol’ days, in the early part of this century, anyone with a pulse could get a mortgage.  Then in 2008, a few people got foreclosed and all of a sudden these banks are super careful about who they give money to.  Now they want you to divulge every piece of information about yourself before approving you for a loan.

Here’s one of many emails I received on nearly a daily basis from my mortgage broker…

To: Mr. and Mrs. Sacks

From: WeAreGoingtoTestYourWill@BigBank.com

Subject: Documents Needed

Hello Mr. and Mrs. Sacks,

I see your parents gave you a gift to help you make the down payment.  In order for us to move forward with the mortgage commitment you must provide us with the following information.

1. Have your parents sign this attached gift letter acknowledging they gave you money
2. A copy of the check deposited into your bank account
3. A copy of your bank records from the past 12 years
4. A copy of your tax return from 1997
5. Your parents bank records dating back to 1973
6. Make a sworn statement that you did not get this money by selling crystal meth or by working for Al-Qaeda.
7. A copy of eight forms of identification, including a blood, stool and semen sample.

Once we get all that, you should be all set!

Thanks,

Harry Ballzak
Senior Loan Specialist
Big Bank, NA

The Title Company

I’m not sure how it is outside of New York but for some reason in New York, it’s standard practice to tip the title person 100-200 dollars at the closing.  Apparently, it’s an appearance fee and it will ensure that the recording of your mortgage will be quick and smooth.

As if shelling out my life savings was not enough, now I have to tip this asshole 200 dollars to show up for an hour.   I wouldn’t tip someone that much if they were dancing topless to an 80’s rock ballad and shoving their naked breasts in my face.  My tip should have been a swift knuckle sandwich to the face!

Past Me

Finally, and perhaps most deservingly, I’d like to punch myself in the face.  What the fuck was I thinking?  When I was renting, I had money to spare. We went on vacations every year and out to dinner every week.  If something broke, I made a call to the landlord and made his ass fix it.

Now I’ll be barely scrapping by with two incomes and will spend my weekends mowing the lawn, going back-and-forth to Home Depot and helping my wife pick out curtains for the living room.  Nice job asshole!!  Past Johnny Sacks deserves a solid punch in the face!

Many of you may have no clue what the Drunk Train is but as a native of Long Island, I am quite familiar with “The Drunk Train,” which is the last train home from New York City to Long Island on a Friday or Saturday night. It is affectionately referred to as the Drunk Train because just about everyone on the train has reached the peak of their drunkenness for the evening during the trip home.

In the episode, Barney and Ted decide they are going to hop on the Drunk Train in an effort to find slutty, drunk Long Island women to have sex with. The episode was a good idea in theory but the writers failed at portraying what The Drunk Train is really like.

Before I explain what the Drunk Train is really like, you must understand the underlying causes of the Drunk Train.

The Cause of the Drunk Train
The Long Island Rail Road has a very limited schedule after midnight. Typically there is a train to most stops sometime in the 1 a.m. hour. After that, there usually isn’t another one until about 4 a.m.

Not wanting to wait up to three hours for the next train to come at 4:00 a.m., all the Long Islanders leave whatever bar they were at and rush to Penn Station to cram onto a 1:45 a.m. train. Since just minutes ago many of these people were doing Jaeger bombs and shots of Café Patron, there was no time for them to sip on a glass of water and sober up a bit before heading home.

With all these inebriated people crammed onto a train, the ride home becomes just as much of an adventure as the night preceding it.

The Drunk Train is Not a Big Party
How I Met Your Mother depicted the Drunk Train as a giant party lasting all the way until a rider’s destination. In the episode, skanky women with awfully impersonated Long Island accents and guidos appear to be having a blast on the Drunk Train. Barney succeeds in convincing a skank to sleep with him. The Drunk Train appears to be blast.

There is a slight element of truth to this. Yes, there are usually a few skanky women and some guidos on the Drunk Train. There are a handful of people having lots of fun but there are many more who are suffering.

In reality, the real Drunk Train depicts a vicious power struggle between the group of drunk people—who are either violently ill or extremely rowdy—and the poor sober people who for whatever reason had the misfortune of getting on the Drunk Train in the first place. Perhaps these sober people work at night or missed an earlier train. Whatever the case, these unfortunate sober people will rue the day they got on the Drunk Train.  Many drunks will also face hardships during this voyage.  In the end, only a select few will have an enjoyable trip home.  But it will come at the expense of others.

A Typical Trip on the Drunk Train
Let me take you through what a typical trip on the Drunk Train is really like. Imagine yourself in this situation…

It’s Friday night. After a long days work in New York City, you decide to hang out in the city and get a few drinks. A bar in midtown is having a great happy hour special—Only six dollars a beer!

Several hours later, it’s 1:30 in the morning and after a long day of working and a long night of drinking, you’re ready to go home. You’re tired, disheveled and a little drunk yourself.  You’re beginning to sober up and all you want to do is go home and go to sleep.

You hop in a cab and get dropped off at Penn Station. You look at your watch and realize you have a minute and a half to get to your train. If you miss it, you are stuck there for the rest of the night and will be stuck standing in the waiting area, staring at the departure board for three hours.

You sprint to the train and get on just as the doors are closing. Relieved that you made it, you look to see some poor saps sprint down the stairs right as the door closes. They will be stuck there till 4:30 now. You smirk and say to yourself, “Thank God I’m not those guys.” But you quickly realize you may be envying them soon enough.

You manage to get one of the few seats remaining. You’re happy you got a seat until you discover what is around you…

You look ahead of you and there’s a group of rowdy 20-somethings screaming and yelling nonsense at the top of their lungs.

You peak to your left and see a young girl who is clearly under the legal drinking age and dressed like a prostitute, keeled over, throwing up in her tiny purse after having one too many vodka and cranberries.

You look down at your feet and see a mysterious liquid seeping past you. You turn around to discover the bathroom is overflowing. Someone clogged the toilet but all the drunks desperately have to use the bathroom and are only concerned with evacuating their bladders. You do your best to keep your feet away from the path of the leak.

Just past the overflowing bathroom, you spot the poor conductor, who clearly fucked up his life at some point to be stuck working this job and this shift, desperately trying to get a ticket from a person who is passed out drunk. In the distance you hear the sound of someone crying.

Meanwhile, directly across from you there is the aforementioned sober person—who just wants some peace and quiet on his ride home. All the chaos is getting to him as well. You see the rage building up in his face as he approaches his breaking point.

You think to yourself that this ride can’t be any more miserable. You hope you are almost home. You look to see where you are and realize you haven’t moved yet. Of course…the train is experiencing mechanical problems. The conductor gets on the intercom and assures you they will be moving shortly. Ten minutes pass and finally the train is moving. By now, you know the life story of the person sitting behind you, who is talking at an extremely high volume on his cell phone, discussing intimate details about his personal life.

20 minutes later, you’ve finally reached the Jamaica train station. Some of the drunks get off to transfer to other trains and you begin to feel some relief. But the Rowdy 20-Somethings are still in your car, being as loud as ever. The 20 ounce canned beer they bought at a pizzeria in Penn Station has only added to their drunkenness.

A few minutes go by and Sober Guy has reached his breaking point. After working a 12-hour shift on a Friday night, he just can’t take it anymore. He yells out to the Rowdy 20-Somethings to keep it down.

The leader of the Rowdy 20-Somethings, infused with a .15 blood alcohol level takes offense to this comment. He flexes his beer muscles and approaches Sober Guy, challenging him to a fight. All hell breaks loose.

The sober man, who is the only person on the train with a clear mind, thinks better of this situation and tries to avoid the conflict, quietly getting up and walking towards another car.

Beer muscles guy is not having it and is determined to get into a fight. He continues to confront Sober Guy, calling him every name for a female sex organ he can think of. While this is happening, his girlfriend stumbles out of her seat and tries to stop him, yelling and cursing at him incoherently. The volume in the train reaches a level you didn’t think was possible as the Rowdy 20-Somethings are yelling at everyone within eyesight.

The conductor has given up trying to check tickets or even control the customers and is hiding somewhere, probably looking for a new job in the classified section of a discarded newspaper.

After ten minutes pass, cooler heads prevail and everyone goes back to minding their own business. Shortly after, you realize you are about to reach your stop.

Because of the LIRR budget cuts, the Drunk Train does not stop in your town at this time of night. You get off at Mineola, which is three towns away from your home. You and 50 other drunks fight for three cabs waiting by the train station. You are too slow. The drunks are surprisingly quick and agile for someone in their condition. They beat you to the cabs.

After waiting 45 minutes for one of the cabs to return, you are finally picked up and driven the 15 minutes to your house. The driver charges you 40 dollars. You begrudgingly hand over the money and walk into your house. It’s 3:30 a.m.

You swear that from now on, you’ll take the 11:30 train home from the city. It never happens. You’ll inevitably end up on the Drunk Train again.

But back here, on a five-hour flight, many perils exist. If you do this once or twice a year, it’s no big deal – you forget any inconveniences almost as soon as the trip is over. But if your company tries to convert you into a routine business traveler – do yourself a favor and put in a transfer request for the mailroom.

The mail room guys don’t get paid too much – it’s true. But on the other hand, they are never forced to overnight in a Motel 6 with paper thin walls, kept up all night by the traffic from I-95 and the incessant racket caused by the drunks and prostitutes (more on this below).

Seating Area

A person who gets zone 2 on his boarding pass might think: “This isn’t so bad, there’s only one zone ahead of me”. Untrue. There can be as many as seven zones ahead. Consider United Airlines: First class goes (surprise!) first. Then 1K status. Then Premier Platinum, followed by Premier Gold and Premier Silver. Next come the cripples, then the deaf and blind, followed at last by women with small children.

Finally, your zone is called. You jockey for position with fifty or sixty other people, hoping there will be some space left for your bag when you get into the plane. Once onboard, you find there is none. A stewardess (yes, stewardess) looks at you disapprovingly. If you had been in First or Business, they might have let your awkwardly-shaped bag through.

But today is not your day. “Sir, this flight is 100% full. We’ll have to check your bag.” Your bag is then lost, flown to Canada, returned to your destination and delivered the following afternoon. In the meantime, you will have to attend your morning meetings wearing what you wore on the flight (for comfort, of course) – a vintage 1980s Transformers t-shirt and tattered Orlando Magic sweat pants.

Stewardesses

I have no idea why we need to call them flight attendants. Why the name change?

Did a bunch of stewardesses get together in the 1970s and decide that the word “stewardess” wasn’t dignified enough to describe the people who deliver your peanuts and Diet Coke halfway through the flight? Did they hope that in changing the name to something more dignified that perhaps the nature of their work might also change?

If so, they failed. Forty years on, the work is less dignified than ever. The safety features of the aircraft are now demonstrated by pre-recorded videos, meaning that upwards of 90% of the flight attendant’s job description now revolves around the intricacies of peanut service.

Stewardesses aren’t the only ones who have changed their job title. Every group of people in history that grew ashamed of their occupation has decided to change its name at some point. Janitors became janitorial engineers. The personnel department became human relations. Mailmen became postal workers. Maids become – the “help” (wtf?)

But guess what – all those jobs still suck. And not only is the job of flight attendant the same as the job of stewardess, but all flight attendants are now old, frumpy malcontents. I’ll continue to call them “stewardesses”, at least until people start calling me “Corporate Archmage”.

Dolphin Tale

Few airlines have Direct TV. Some have in-seat monitors, but limit your viewing options to GOP Primary Coverage or reruns of Two and a Half Men. But the greatest outrage is what I am experiencing right now. The Super Bowl is on as I write this. The captain informs us the score is 9-0 Giants, but I have no other information. There is no Direct TV. There is only – Dolphin Tale. Yes, Dolphin Tale. Now I understand why Alec Baldwin got drunk and flipped out a few weeks ago!

Babies

Why in God’s name would anyone want to fly for five hours, in coach, with an infant? Your infant is inevitably going to cry, unless you intravenously administer barbiturates to it. Probably not a good idea, in any case.

I have sometimes sat on airplanes, listening to the blood curdling screams of a new born child, wondering what might happen if I marched towards it – coolly and collectedly – turned my head slowly to make eye contact, and let loose a few barbarically loud indications of my own misery?

WAAAAAH. WAAAAAH. WAAAAAHHHH!!!

Would the baby cease its crying? Has anyone performed this experiment? If not, why not?? All the young mothers out there will think this is cruel. But who cares. This is my fantasy, and you’re not allowed in.

Farting

This is the worst peril of all. In addition to the cramping, the crying, the lack of good food and the dry, thin air, one must occasionally endure what I call the serial fartist.

This is a person who should go to the bathroom, but refuses. Typically the fartist is an older man. Perhaps he had a rich meal at the Gordon Biersch in Terminal D; perhaps his insides are literally rotting away because he is so freaking old. Whatever the reason – he is a menace and must be stopped.

Has anyone ever found a way to confront this? What do you say – “excuse me sir, I think you shit yourself?” I’m still working on this, after eight years of business travel, and still come up empty every time.

There ought to be a separate section of the airplane for these people. The same way TSA collects information on terrorists – they should also collect information on serial farters. When you book a ticket online, a window should pop up saying “You have a history of serial farting. You will be seated in row 47 with all the other decrepit old men. Our sincere apologies for this inconvenience, and thank you for choosing Delta. ”

Motel 6 – Atlanta, Georgia

If you travel enough you will eventually encounter the nightmare scenario, which is as follows. You are trying to catch a flight from Wichita. (What wrong turn did you make along the road of life to end up there?) Your flight is delayed three hours due to thunderstorms. It finally arrives in Atlanta at 11pm and you miss your connection.

You head over to customer service. There are 150 equally angry people in line. You commiserate over how terrible your lives are. You may trade stories about past travel debacles or sob quietly to yourself.

The customer service people are unapologetic; you are just another inconvenience in their long, chaotic day. They look at their computers, ostensibly to research your individual case. But the computer has Angry Birds on it, and regardless of your individual circumstances the outcome will always the same: you get vouchers.

Your first voucher entitles you to spend the night at the Motel 6 right off I-95. The other voucher entitles you to $6 worth of food at Gordon Biersh. You throw the food voucher in the garbage, and catch a cab to the Motel 6.

When you arrive, the toothless yokel behind the reception counter grins. “Room 101”, he says. This room is ten feet away. It’s literally next to the reception desk.

You try to go to sleep on a mattress that is seemingly made of straw, but not before checking it for bed bugs. You realize you don’t know how to check for bed bugs, so you shrug and lie down on it anyway. You stop to listen to the ambient noise. Outside there is a constant stream of tractor trailers barreling down I-95. Every ten minutes a group of drunks walks by your door, having returned from the Ruby Tuesday’s down the street – eager to order some prostitutes.

A little while later, you hear the prostitutes as they earn their pay. You flip on a 250 pound television in a wooden frame that was placed there in 1963. You notice that the remote has mysterious stains on it.

You fall asleep at 1:30 AM. Your alarm goes off four hours later. Next stop: Hartfield Jackson International Airport , a flight home, a cab ride to the office and a visit with HR to discuss that transfer to the mail room…

Everyone is well aware of this problem.  However, there is another issue related to gas prices that no one is talking about.  I’ve noticed a disturbing trend in this country, or at least in the area where I live.  It’s getting harder and harder to find a gas station that doesn’t charge higher prices for customers who pay with a credit card.

These gas stations are very subtle about it.  You may not even notice.   But if you look closely, there are often two sets of prices at the pump—and the higher one is for customers using credit cards.  You may not realize this as you pull into the station, because the sign visible from the street only reflects the cash price.

Let me tell you something that is fairly obvious.  This is FUCKING BULLSHIT.

This is just another way for oil companies to continue to nickel-and-dime you.   I’m well aware that credit card companies also charge the merchant a percentage of the sale paid for with a credit card.  These oil companies may claim they are trying to offset that cost by charging a surcharge.  However, in just about any other business, credit cards are considered a trade-off worth having because merchants will earn more business by accepting credit cards.

Personally, I rarely carry a lot of cash on me.  Most of the time, I don’t have more than 50 bucks on me. If I have any more than that, then my wife will usually hit me up for some of it.  So I never pay cash at the gas station.  It’s also just easier to pay at the pump than have to walk inside and wait on line to pay the cashier.  If a gas station only accepted cash I wouldn’t bother filling up there and I’m sure I am not the only one who feels this way.   They should be welcoming people who pay with credit cards!

I really hope this trend does not extend to other businesses.  Will it be long before I have to pay a credit card fee at the supermarket, at restaurants and any other place that credit cards are accepted?

We may not be able to control the overall price of gas but at least we can refuse to put up with these extra charges.   If you can avoid it, don’t go to the gas stations that have credit card surcharges.   When their profits plummet, they’ll be forced to lower prices.   Don’t be a liberal hippy and blame capitalism and big business for all your problems in life.  Make capitalism work for you.  There are still some stations that don’t charge two different prices.   From what I’ve seen in my area, ExxonMobil and Shell charge credit card surcharges, while Gulf and Hess do not (I’m not sure if this is the case throughout the country).

There’s my rare newsworthy post for the year.  I will now return to writing posts about boobs and baseball.

Whenever humans are tested and pushed to their limit, (like we have this winter) we tend to see both the best and the worst of people.  Sure, many people have done great things, like shovel an elderly person’s walkway or help a stranded car out of the snow.  But here at Living with Balls I prefer to spotlight the idiots who come out whenever it snows.  Yup, that’s right.  It’s time for another edition of Random Guys I Want to Punch in the Face….Winter Edition!

The Snow Lover Who Tells Everyone to Stop Complaining about the Snow Guy

Most adults hate snow.  It makes everything more complicated.  We have to get up earlier than usual to shovel our walk and clear the car, so we can get to work on time.  We have to bring a change of shoes, so our feet aren’t soaked all day.   We have to worry about skidding out on the roads or having our travel plans disrupted.  Yet there is always some grown man who is SUPER excited for snow.  Check out an actual status update that a Facebook “friend” of mine wrote…

“why are people complaining about snow falling in the winter time? No one ever says why is the sun is out again in July? Enjoy it…”

Enjoy it? What the fuck is there to enjoy about it? I’m not fucking six.  I don’t plan on making snow angels in the front yard or having a snowball fight with my friends.  You know why no one ever complains about the sun in July? Because the sun is awesome.  Who doesn’t like sunlight?  This is a stupid fucking analogy.  It makes no sense and I feel dumber for reading it.

Maybe this should be my reply to his status update:  “I threw my back out shoveling snow, crashed my car and had my flight get cancelled but enjoy it! The snow is so pretty!”

…and yes, snowfall is very majestic looking at first…but if you live in any major city like I do, that lasts for about 15 minutes and then all the snow turns black with dirt and grime—and it stays that way until March when it finally melts.

So shut your mouth Snow Lover who Tells Everyone to Stop Complaining about the Snow Guy before I shut it for you!

The Weather Report Guy

Weather report guy feels the need to tell everyone he runs into about the impending doom ahead…AKA…a few snow flurries.  He’s obsessed with any snowstorm.  Here’s an example…

Weather Report Guy: Hey Johnny Sacks, did you hear? They are saying we are gonna get 8-10 inches now.

Johnny Sacks: Thanks Weather Report Guy, you gave me an update an hour ago though.

Weather Report Guy: Yeah but that was when it was supposed to be 6-8 inches, now its 8-10!. I gotta get to the supermarket and stock up on toilet paper!

Johnny Sacks: Good idea, we may not be able to get out of the house for weeks with those 8 inches we’re gonna get.  Better make sure you have plenty of opportunities to wipe your ass.

Look weather report guy, I get it…snow consumes your life.  You don’t need to keep updating me all the time. If I want to know, I’ll turn on the news, or the radio or any other media outlet— And stop freaking out and crowding all the stores to stockpile rations anytime the weather man says we may get some snow. You’re a grown, physically fit, healthy man. You’ll be able to get out of the house.  It’s not fucking Armageddon.  Old people you get a pass on that. I know it’s hard for you to get around.  So you’re allowed to stock up on all the toilet paper you’d like.

The Where’s Global Warming Guy?

The Where’s Global Warming Guy likes to the utter his namesake anytime it’s freezing cold.  He may say something like: “Hey I thought we were getting global warming? Why is it 12 degrees out right now!

I don’t really have a problem with whatever your views are on global warming.  I’m not really sure where I stand on it myself (although, whether it exists or not, it can’t hurt to have a few more trees around).  I just think that joke is soooo played.  As someone who runs a humor blog, I’d like to see a little more originality.  Maybe say something like “Al Gore is a liberal douchebag, who doesn’t know shit” or “Fuck those stupid polar bears. I want to be warm!”…something like that. I don’t know. I’m just throwing some ideas out there.

…and of course when it comes to snow, the biggest idiots are on the road…

The Shovels the Snow into the Street Guy

Shovels the Snow in the Street Guy is a complete ass.  He’s too lazy to make a neat pile of snow, so he negates all the work the plows have done by dumping all the snow from his driveway into the street.

I was stuck at a red light the other day,  a couple days after the last big snow storm hit, and traffic was bad so I was in the same spot for a minute or two.  This guy on the sidewalk, was shoveling the snow from in front of his business, walking it into the street and placing it right in front of the wheels of the car in front of me! So after sitting there for two minutes, there was a significant pile of snow in front of the car.  I was very tempted to walk out of the car, knock him down and put his face in the pile of snow he had so carefully placed in my immediate path.

The Doesn’t Clean His Car Off Guy

The Doesn’t Clean his Car Off Guy does not have the time to properly clean off his car after the storm.  He can’t be bothered with brushing off all the windows and headlights.  He just runs his windshield wipers a couple times and backs out with snow still on his roof, side and back windows and tail lights.   Doesn’t Clean his Car Guy is more important than you and doesn’t realize he’s causing a driving hazard behind him, because all the snow is blowing off his car and distracting the driver behind him.

So you’re too busy to be bothered Doesn’t Clean His Car off Guy? How I about I knock you out cold, then you’ll really be late to whatever important place you have to go!

The Parks his Car in the Right Lane Because There is Too Much Snow Guy

We’ve had a TON of snow in the Northeast.  So much so, that we are running out of places to put it.  A lot of parking spots, particularly on main streets, are covered with snow and are inaccessible.   That doesn’t faze Parks His Car in the Right Lane Guy.  Him and 50 other assholes will just leave there car in the right-hand lane instead while they do their errands.  This forces every car on the road to try and switch over to the middle or left lane.  This causes a ridiculous amount of traffic and may even cause an accident.  Apparently Parks His Car in the Right Lane Guy think he’s just as important as Doesn’t Clean his Car off Guy.   Maybe Doesn’t Clean his Car off Guy, will have low visibility because he didn’t clean his windshield properly and accidentally crash head-on into your car, which is illegally parked in the right lane.  That would kill two birds with one stone and help brighten up what has been an otherwise dreary winter.

After a long lay-off, it time to bring back one of the most popular features on Living with Balls: Random Guys I Want to Punch in the Face. I took some time away from this feature because I had run out of guys that I wanted to punch out. Yet in recent weeks, a new batch of idiots has crossed my path, thus inspiring me to revive the dormant feature.

Here’s a new list of people I’d like to punch in the face!

The Bathroom Attendant Guy
Ever go to a fancy restaurant or a wedding and there is some dude just hanging out in the bathroom, handing out paper towels and watching people piss? I hate this friggin’ guy. All he does is stand by the sink in a fancy suit, hand people paper towels and look for tips.

So because you handed me a paper towel, now I have to tip you? FUCK. THAT. A nutless monkey could do your job. I’ll pocket my dollar and get the paper towel myself. I’d like to punch this guy right in the mouth, so that his lip is bleeding, then hand him a paper towel to clean himself off, while holding out my other hand for a tip because I gave him the towel.

The Rides His Bike Like He Has a Car Guy
There are few things that drive me nuts more than the Rides His Bike Like He Has a Car Guy. I’m not talking about the guy who just rides his bike along the side of the road. I’m talking about the guy who thinks he’s Lance Fucking Armstrong and rides his bike in the middle of the road. I’m talking about the guy who sits in the left-hand turn lane at a stop light and signals with his arm like he’s driving a motorcycle. I’m talking about the group of 30 people who think they are in the Tour De France and block the entire right lane, going 15 mph during the rush hour commute.

This is infuriating to me. When I see Rides His Bike Like He Has a Car Guy, it takes all my willpower to calmly put my signal on and move to the other lane, rather than sideswiping his spandex-wearing ass off his fucking Schwinn.

Airplane Recliner Guy
I’ve never been fortunate enough to sit in first class. When I fly, I’m forced to ride coach with the other dregs of society. Perhaps the worst thing about sitting in coach is the lack of leg room. Every airline tries to squeeze every last possible seat onto the plane and that leaves customers with barely enough leg room for a midget to be comfortable. I’m a pretty tall guy, so needless to say, long plane rides can be pretty uncomfortable for me.

What makes the flight worse is when the person in front of me decides to recline his seat. I don’t think there is a more selfish act than reclining your seat on a flight in coach. I don’t even know why airlines give you the option. They should ban reclining seats from all airplanes.

Screw you Airplane Recliner Guy.! If I could punch you out without being arrested for terrorism, I would squeeze out of my seat, grab you out of your slumber and knock the ever-loving shit out of you!

The Holds Down on his Horn the Second the Light Turns Green Guy
As someone who does a lot of driving in the boroughs of New York City, I encounter Holds Down on the Horn the Second the Light Turns Green Guy on almost a daily basis—and I hate him more every fucking day.

I’m sorry my reaction time is not fast enough for you. Please accept my apologies for you arriving at your destination a quarter of a second later than expected. When I drive and I’m behind someone who doesn’t see the light change, I typically give them a reasonable amount of time before I honk at them—and when I do honk, it’s a friendly one…like two quick taps. Honks his Horn Guy will hold down on his horn like you just tried to run him off the road.

In New York, Holds Down on his Horn the Second the Light Turns Green Guy takes many forms, but typically it’s an immigrant driving one of those ghetto, unmarked taxis. One day, I’d like to just put my car in park, get out and smash Holds His Horn Guy’s face against the very steering wheel he used to honk at me.

The Says “Yup” in Place of You’re Welcome Guy
I’ve noticed an annoying trend lately. Many people are replacing “Yup” with “you’re welcome” when someone says thank you. Who the fuck taught these people manners? The word “yup” just sounds so dismissive. Saying “yup” takes away all the goodwill I had after you performed whatever service that resulted in me saying thank you to you in the first place.

However, I will also accept “no problem,” or “my pleasure” as a response to “thank you.” “Yup” will never be an acceptable response. If you can’t expel the extra energy it takes to utter a couple extra syllables then I’ll be forced to punch you so hard that you won’t have to worry about saying anything for a while.

The Inventor of the Bathroom Air Hand Dryer
It’s occurring to me as I write this that I seem to have many issues with public bathrooms. In fact, after looking back through my older posts, I realized I have complained about public bathrooms on multiple occasions in this series. One other thing that bothers me is the stupid air hand dryer. I just hate when there are no paper towels in a public bathroom and I’m forced to sit there for like 30 seconds waving my hands back and forth like an idiot until they get somewhat dry.

I get we’re all trying to be “green” these days but can’t I at least dry my hands with a paper towel still? I’ll offset my carbon footprint by bringing cloth bags to the supermarket. Can I get paper towels now?

I think the air hand dryer is un-American. American’s want every thing done quickly. We have fast food, fast cars and we should be able to dry our hands fast. We don’t have the patience to sit there and wait for our hands to dry. I know I never do. I usually give up after about five seconds and just wipe my hands on my jeans.

Now I’ve begun to see these Dyson hand dryers—you know, the same company that makes those absurd vacuum cleaners. The first time I saw one of these, I wasn’t even sure what it was. It took me five minutes to figure out I was supposed to use it to dry my hands. It may be a step in the right direction though. They are definitely quicker than the conventional ones. However, according to the web site, it still takes 12 seconds to dry your hands—which is about 11 seconds too slow for me.

The Idiot at ESPN.com Who Decided to Make People Pay for ESPN Insider
I usually check ESPN.com on a daily basis. Sometimes a headline will catch my eye and I start to read the opening paragraph, only to scroll down and find out that I have to sign up for ESPN insider to read the rest of the article. That’s BULLSHIT. It’s 2010. There are thousands of other web sites I can read to get info about sports. Why should I pay the fee for this?

It’s bad enough that every time I click on a page, some loud video advertisement plays automatically. I know it’s only three bucks a month for ESPN insider but I refuse to pay for it as a matter of principle. In a world where I can get limitless porn for free, why would I pay to read Eric Karabell’s fantasy football blog?

ESPN is bringing in money everywhere. Do they really need my $3 a month to get by? Fuck you ESPN Insider guy! I’d like to knock you out cold and then reach into your wallet and take three bucks from you!

That Purple Bear from Toy Story 3
(spoiler alert!) That purple bear in Toy Story 3 is a FUCKING CUNT. First he tricks all of Andy’s toys to go into that room where all the little kids beat the crap out of them. Then he managed to get all the toys thrown in a garbage dump. Even after all that, the heroic Woody saves the purple bear from impending death. How does the fat purple bear repay him? By leaving Woody and the rest of the crew to suffer what appeared to be certain death. Not only did he not try and save the toys but he purposely tricked all of them by making them think he was going to save them, only to run away at the last second.  If it wasn’t for some deus ex machina there, Woody, Buzz and the rest of the crew would have been toast. What a fucking ASSHOLE. I hate that fucking bear—and yes I’m a 28 year-old male without children and I watched Toy Story 3. Don’t fucking question my masculinity. I’ll punch your ass out!

It’s time we made some changes.

Here at LWB, I’ve decide to write a proposal that will drastically alter the holidays in this country.

With Election Day around the corner, I suggest you send this proposal to your local representative and suggest he or she push for this radical restructuring.

In this post, I will discuss which holidays should be eliminated and why, and then I will determine a replacement for that holiday (since us Americans certainly do not want to lose any days off).

Holiday to be eliminated: COLUMBUS DAY
What a completely pointless holiday.  There’s no reason garbage men can’t pick up my trash and mailmen can’t deliver my mail on a random Monday in October.  We’re celebrating a guy who “discovered” America.  Everyone knows he didn’t really discover it.  Natives were already living there and the Vikings had found Canada long before that.  Not to mention, the dude didn’t even land in the United States.  The Nina, the Pinta and The Santa Maria docked in the Bahamas.

That Columbus guy really stepped in shit.  He accidentally finds a “new” continent, then get a bajillion cities, streets and counties named after him and is awarded a holiday in his honor 500 years afterwards.  We should all be so lucky.

Replace Columbus Day with: SUPER BOWL SUNDAY
Since Columbus Day can hardly be called American, I think it’s only fair we replace it with something that is truly part of our culture.  I’m talking about football of course.

Now the Super Bowl is already on a Sunday, so most people are fortunate to have off already.  But there are still some poor saps that get stuck working during the game.  I propose that all non-essential workers (cops and doctors would still have to work) should have the day off.

Everyone should be able to have the opportunity to watch the Super Bowl.  I also propose that if the team in your city wins the Super Bowl, you are also allowed to take the following day off, as you will probably be hung over from a long night of celebration.

Holiday to be eliminated: PRESIDENT’S DAY
Look, we all know that Abe Lincoln and George Washington were an integral part of U.S. history and they should be celebrated for that.  But it’s not even their real birthday! We just picked the third Monday in February because it’s kinda close.

Do we really need this day off? It’s not a religious holiday and it doesn’t really have any significance to anyone alive today.  Get your fucking asses to work people.

Replace President’s Day with: ST. PATRICK’S DAY
Definitely a much more fun day than friggin’ President’s Day.  It’s a day of partying and drinking.  What’s not to like about that?—except that we are all stuck at work.

Also, the time around March is when there is a serious lull in holidays. Except for the rare occasion where Easter falls in March, we don’t have a single holiday break to look forward to.  We might as well throw a day off in the middle of March to help break up these holidays better.   St. Patrick’s Day is the perfect excuse for a day off!

Holiday to be eliminated: MEMORIAL DAY
Memorial Day is typically one of my favorite holidays.  It’s signifies the start of summer. I usually spend the day at the beach or in the backyard, eating good food and having a few cold ones.  It’s a great time.

Yet when you think about it, should we really be having fun on this day?  The day is honoring all the people that died in war protecting our country. It’s supposed to be a very somber day. We should all have to go to work on Memorial Day and be miserable.

This is the same reason why September 11^th should NEVER be a holiday.  I don’t want future generations of children looking forward to September 11^th because they don’t have to go school.

Replace with: ROSH HASHANAH/ YOM KIPPUR
Most public schools already give you off on these days, but if you’re in the workforce, you’re probably working on the Jewish holidays.  The Jews deserve to get these days off without having to take a personal day.  Plus, Jewish people have benefited from getting Christian holidays off all their lives.  It’s about time us Gentiles benefit from some Jewish holidays.

Holiday to be eliminated: VALENTINE’S DAY
Now I know we don’t actually get the day off for this holiday but I propose it be completely wiped off the calendar.  I’ve expressed my disgust for this holiday before on this site and my feelings have not wavered.

It’s a basically a holiday where men have to spend exorbitant amounts of money and put in a whole lot of effort,  just so they can have sex with their significant other, when on any normal day,  a man in a relationship can probably have sex without emptying his bank account or even getting off the couch.

You single people… don’t be depressed when Valentine’s Day rolls around.  You may be the lucky ones.

Replace with: STEAK AND BLOW JOB DAY
It’s time we made Steak and Blow Jobs Day an official holiday. It falls on March 14^th, a month after Valentine’s Day (which won’t exist with my proposal). It’s a holiday for men, where all we ask for is a nice steak dinner and a blow job from our woman.  This would immediately become my new favorite holiday.

If you have any other suggestions, please leave a comment and I will include it in my proposal.

“When someone comes by & tells you your blog sucks, you suck, your dog sucks & man, has anyone ever told you you suck?, don’t take the bait! Most of the time, these are just bitter people looking for a fight. It’s just like with bullies in school — all they want is a reaction. So don’t give it to them. There is nothing more infuriating than going out of your way to annoy someone & getting no response. They will fume like mad, & might have another go, but then they will go away. The game gets old. & you can do a little celebratory dance in your living room.”—Darren Rowse-ProBlogger

This is good advice and I should probably follow it. But I’m not going to.  Instead, I’m going to take a much different approach.  My approach is to do my best to EMBARRASS YOU.   

Yes. That’s right. You leave a negative comment on my blog and I’m going to let you have it. Forget about being the better fucking person.  Fuck turning the other cheek. This blog is called Living with BALLS.  You gotta have a big sack around here.

I run a humor blog.  The majority of what I write is not intended to be taken seriously.  I steer away from controversial subjects like politics and religion because I don’t want to deal with this crap.  The majority of my content involves me complaining about my wife or writing about boobs. So because of this, I will not hold back if I see a negative comment.

There’s no reason to make a personal attack at me. You don’t know me and you have no right to judge my character.  I know not everyone is going to like what I write and I’m fine with that.  If you don’t like it, don’t come back.  But don’t waste our time with a negative comment that adds nothing to the conversation.  

In fact, let me tell you a little about myself so you can save yourself the time of attacking my character. 

I’m not a fat. I’m not ugly and I’m not a loser who can’t get laid. I don’t live in my mom’s basement and blog all day.  That pretty much covers the majority of insults I get.

I suppose I’m decent looking. My wife claims to find me attractive and provides me with semi-regular sex. I have a master’s degree and I am fairly successful in life.  I write a couple posts a week on this blog with the little free time I actually have.

If you still decide to leave a negative comment, I will respond with something way more clever and creative and put you in your place, like I did to this faggot here. 

If I’m not feeling up to a conflict, I may just get one of my boys to rip you a new asshole, as Uncle Billy did so eloquently here…or perhaps I’ll get an assist from a loyal commenter as was the case here.   

And if you really piss me off, I’ll just reveal your email address to everyone and encourage my readers to write you nasty emails or sign you up for annoying mailing lists. 

Now if by some small chance, you get the better of me, then I’ll simply just delete your comment. YOU CAN’T WIN Negative Commenter Guy.  So I advise you stay away.

As anyone who has ever gotten married can confirm, the process of planning a wedding can be a very stressful experience. Whether it’s dealing with vendors, struggling with financial issues, trying to calm down a bridezilla or countless other unforeseen problems, the wedding process is sure to leave you aggravated at some point. Here are a few people I’ve wanted to punch along the way.

The “You’re Next!” Guy
This is a warning for any recently engaged couple. For any wedding you attend during your engagement, be prepared for at least 30 people to remind you that you are the next couple to get married. This usually comes from distant cousins and friends you haven’t seen in ages, who can’t think of anything else intelligent to say to you, while you stand around drinking cocktails. “HEY GUYS!! YOU’RE NEXT!!”

Thanks for the tip, Cousin Whose Name I Can Never Remember! I wasn’t sure how the Christian calendar worked. So July comes after May? Good thing you reminded me!

This number increases exponentially with each wedding you attend. So just be prepared to laugh it off, while deep down you’ll want to knock them the fuck out.

The Invention of the Garter Toss Guy
I’ve seen this with a lot of weddings recently. First the bride tosses the bouquet to a group of single women. Then the groom takes the garter from the bride and tosses it to a crowd of single guys. THEN, the guy who caught the garter must put it on the girl who caught the bouquet.

Every time I see this, it always pairs up the most inappropriate two people. IT NEVER FAILS. If you do this at your wedding you’re guaranteed to have your brother sticking his hand up your first cousin’s dress in front of your 95-year-old grandma; which will make a for a few very awkward moments.

This is just a terrible, terrible idea and should not be allowed at any weddings. Who ever came up with this idea should be punched hard enough so that he never comes up with any ideas ever again.

Wedding Invitation Guy
Of all the ridiculous crap you have to spend an absurd amount of money on when getting married, I didn’t expect wedding invitations to be one of them. I guess I was just being naïve because, really, how much could paper cost? WOW. I was severely mistaken.

I’m pretty sure all wedding invitation vendors are colluding with each other to make an exorbitant profit off engaged couples. They can pretty much charge whatever the fuck they want. What are you going to do? You need wedding invitations! Thank God we had a family friend who sold wedding invitations and gave us a discount. It was STILL A RIP-OFF! I’d like to give all you invitation vendors a giant collective punch in the face!

While I’m at it, I wouldn’t mind smacking around the Florist and the Photographer either. Their prices are just as bad. Basically the only vendor who charges a reasonable amount of money is the DJ, and he works harder than anyone.

Hotel Direction Card Guy
We had our wedding out of town and good amount of our guests had to stay over night. We had about 60 rooms booked between two nights. Let me reiterate that: 60 ROOMS! The hotel only provided us with 60 directions cards (one per room). Since we were inviting 200 people, we obviously needed more than that. When we called to request more, the manager said they don’t give out anymore and we have to make copies on our own.

WE BOOKED 60 FUCKING ROOMS!! We probably gave them $15,000 in business and they are going to cheap out over a couple hundred direction cards?! The only excuse for this is if they are buying their paper from the wedding invitation guy. That could get expensive for them.

My initial plan was to call out the hotel but then I found out from some other engaged friends that most hotels do this! THIS IS RIDICULOUS! Just for that, I will steal bath towels and hangers from your establishment and not feel guilty about it.

Late RSVP Guy
How fucking hard is it to mail the RSVP card back? We make it so easy for you! The address is on there. The stamp is on there. All you have to do is write YES or NO and drop it in the mail box! Are you not capable of completing this task within the one month period I’ve given you to respond? At this stage in the wedding planning process, I have 50 other things going on. The last thing I want to do is make 20 phone calls the week before my wedding to see if you’re coming. Don’t be surprised if I smack you around a bit when you congratulate me at the receiving line.

The RSVP’s with a Guest but Wasn’t Invited with a Guest Guy
Of all the wedding faux pas, no act bothers me more than the person who decided he’s going put a guest on the RSVP when he wasn’t invited with a guest. Do I need to spend over $100 a plate so some slut you met three weeks ago can have a nice time at my wedding?

Do I need to have your three kids come and eat chicken fingers and fish sticks for the price of Filet Mignon? Here’s a little hint RSVP’s with a Guest When he Wasn’t Invited with a Guest Guy, if the invitation doesn’t say “guest” or “family” then they aren’t fucking invited! We didn’t accidentally leave them off. Don’t call me and ask and, most certainly do not just go ahead and put their name on the RSVP because I will hunt you down and SMACK THE SHIT OUT OF YOU!!

For those who have gone through the wedding planning process, feel free to share who you wanted to punch in the face along the way.

P.S.
Maybe these guys were just fed up with the “You’re Next Guy”