Happy 4-20!

While I have been super busy with things other than this blog, I decided that it was incredibly important to take time to celebrate every skate park dweller’s favorite holiday.

The 20th of April is not only reserved for Hitler’s B-day. Fortunately for every high school stoner, 4/20 has become a day to proudly say “Hey! You! Guess what! I smoke weed!”

If you wear a beanie and feel personally connected to Bob Marley, today is YOUR day. Screw administration. Proudly wear your Rastafarian regalia!

Walking into school today, the atmosphere was obviously altered. Smoke practically poured out of the halls of SHS. The eyes of about 35% of the student body were obviously modified to match their green, yellow, and black bracelets and their shirts that said things like, “Get Your Smokey On.” An SHS student literally wore this today:

Attending classes with students who had obviously taken the ten minutes before 8:15 to celebrate, was more than entertaining. Simply looking into the glazed eyes of some of my peers was enough to send them into fits of laughter. If drug dogs were set loose, they wouldn’t know where to start. Screw their cars, half of SHS would be worried about the dogs sniffing their lips. Luckily, our local police were probably still tired from their drunk driving presentation yesterday.

4/20 is a day for celebration and laughter. I commend those who were sober enough to remember the holiday, and then cool enough to forget the date (or even year) after lunch.

Disclaimer: None of my peers smoke marijuana and absolutely none of them would ever smoke weed during school.


Winter’s Inferno

Oh winter, you frost-bit bitch. Finally, almost a month after Christmas, you show your chapped little face. We thought that we could avoid you. With the end of the world approaching, we figured that you would just give us a couple of chilly days and be done with it. But no. For the past three days, I have woken up to find that my Ford Taurus was raped during the night. My windshield wipers are stuck, my windows refuse to budge, and it turns on with a depressed rumble followed by a growl.

You have raped my car into submission and apparently you like it rough. Well, I am here to tell you that I refuse to take your shit anymore. My car has been through enough.

My chapstick supply is running low, my car doors are officially stuck, and I am already tired of this winter wonderland. You missed Christmas and the nostalgia has worn off. Winter in December is comforting, winter in January is annoying. I’m sorry that you missed the date. Maybe you were drunk, maybe you were stoned, nevertheless, it’s not your time.

Winter, we are sick of you. Come again next year you ugg-wearing, anti-freeze-dependent, slippery little whore.

The skinny vs. the fatty

When thinking about “weight issues”, it is almost certain that one will think of someone who is fat or overweight. However, I am here to enlighten you about the problems that skinny bitches face daily. Fatties aren’t the only ones who get hounded about their weight. Everyday, skinnies around the world face hardships due to their small frame and double-digit scale number. While there may be a lot that differentiates the Celebrity Fat Club members and the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, the problems that they face are more similar than you would think.

For example, elbows are a problem spot for both the heavy and the small framed. For the people who can’t eat a McChicken without earning themselves another chin, their elbows practically disappear with every bite. Suddenly, their elbows become sandwiched between two sides of fatty tissue that cause their actual bone to sink lower and lower beneath the massive wall of skin and fat. I am obviously not a trained physician. However, I have observed that when one eats more Hardee’s than Subway, their fat seems to form a crease and push the actual elbow into a sick form of submission. That poor, little elbow never had a chance; it was gang raped by two bulging fat-ass bullies.

Where fatties have a vagina-like orifice on their arm, the skinnies also have a little problem with their elbows. For the average skinny bitch, their elbows are sharp as knives. This becomes an issue in many circumstances. Hugging a skinny person turns into an attempt to dodge their shark teeth elbows. If one of them pokes you, expect blood. Forget water beds, a skinnies elbows will poke right through. When you are Edward Scissor-Elbows, your options of clothing are limited. God forbid that a sweater accentuate your excessively pokey elbows. The only thing those blades can be used for are opening cans and getting in street fights. Being skinny isn’t always pretty.

Another problem that both fat and skinny people face is people asking them about their weight. For fatties, these conversations are more subtle and kind-hearted. The comments are usually things like, “You are looking smaller…did you do something?”. Decoded, this usually means, “You still look fat…why aren’t you doing anything about it?”. Let’s face it, their isn’t a polite way to tell someone they are obese. You can’t sugar-coat the words, “Damn bitch, you look BIIGGG.”.

When a fat person is confronted about how someone doesn’t like their size, it is almost always in a polite manner. However, for skinny people, these confrontations are blunt and almost always centered around a meal. For example, when a skinny kid eats the average portion of food, they are told, “You eat so much and never gain any weight. Why are you so skinny?” 1) It’s none of your business. 2) If I knew the secret to my skinny-ness, I would not be telling your fat ass. If a skinny person isn’t feeling very hungry and eats only a small portion of food, they are told, “No wonder you are so skinny, you hardly eat anything. You need to get some meat on them bones.” Depending on one’s mood, the witty response to this would be, “Well it looks like you have plenty to spare.”

As you can see, the chubby and the fit both share the same problems. Both have elbow issues, both have assholes who want to “help them out” and give unneeded advice, and both just want to eat or not eat without someone commenting on it. Plus, everyone knows it’s the midgets who REALLY got the short end of the stick.

Once upon a time….there lived a bunch of coked-out hoes.

For Christmas this year, I was delighted when I woke up to find that Santa had brought me the Princess and the Frog movie and soundtrack. If you know me, you obviously know that Princess Tatiana (or as some say incorrectly, Tiana) is my favorite princess and my favorite Disney character. What is it about her that brightens my day and fills me with glee? Is it her sweet melodic voice that sounds as if Whitney Houston and Queen Latifa had a love child? Is it her never-ending longing to become an entrepreneur and create her own restaurant in memory of her dead father? OR…is it her dark, ebony skin and tight bun? I may never know what makes Tatiana so damn irresistible, but I CAN tell you why no other Disney princess makes the cut.


Ariel: To begin with, Ariel lives under the sea. That girl probably smells like a mixture of Long John Silvers and tuna. No wonder her only friends were a crab and a chubby fish. Ariel’s ambitions consisted of finding a husband with legs instead of fins and collecting as many sporks and music boxes as her coral closet could hold. In short, Ariel was a smelly, hoarding fire crotch.

Belle: Although Belle is idolized by many little girls, when one takes a closer look,there are a few alarming details to her story. For instance, like one of those rape victims on CNN, Belle fell in love with the creature that kept her in captivity. The Beast locked her in a dungeon and in return, Belle fell in love with him. Belle turned out to be nothing more than an average-looking brunette who fell in love with her rapist dog.

Mulan: While I am a supporter of an asian princess, I am not a supporter of a cross-dressing asian princess. For half of the movie, Mulan dances around dressed as a man. A princess dressed as a dude? No thanks.


Cinderella: As the most recognized princess, Cinderella still holds the top chair in the hierarchy of princess-hood. Cinderella is basically the Tony Soprano of a princess mafia. But what exactly did she do to earn that title? Is she the only blonde (Regina George) princess? Nope. Is she the only princess who talked to animals? Nope. Basically, Cinderella was a poor-ass slave for her bitchin’ stepmom. Cinderella definitely doesn’t deserve her Regina Soprano title.

Aurora: This bitch was asleep for most of the movie. Lame.

Snow White: As the first princess, you would think she would be the original Head Bitch in Charge. However, Snow White was the queen of midgets and, like that dumbass Aurora, was asleep for part of the movie. You can’t fall asleep at the Little People Big World’s house and call yourself a princess. Owning elves just means you’re Santa…not royalty.

As you can clearly see, Princess Tatiana reigns supreme in this collection of schizos and neuroleptics. I will never know how the Disney writers came up with such a group of nutbags. Oh wait, yah I do. It’s all thanks to a little girl named Mary Jane.

The gospel according to Zac

Is there ACTUALLY a freedom of speech?

Recently, I have come into a little bit of trouble regarding this blog. The last thing I want to do is to sit here and bitch about how life isn’t fair. But, with that being said, I wanted to take a little time to try to figure out what actual rights I have.

What if I say that my chicken nugs at McDonalds taste like queef? Does my right to freedom of speech give me the liberties to say that I personally believe that someone in the back room sat on my nugs and tried to pull one over on me? Or does that somehow infringe on the rights of the queefer?

Freedom of speech is a very tricky thing. I believe that all the things said on my blog are said in good fun and are meant to make people laugh. If somehow Bowties&Booze has made you mentally unstable, I apologize. But, unless you are “the black girls” from my old elementary school, or were once a little fat kid that was made to go chase a dodgeball, I believe that you can probably rest at ease. But, in the same thought, if you ARE that little chunker that I (as a child) forced to retrieve my lost four-square ball, the best way to handle my blog would be to laugh.

My belief in my right to share my opinion is strong. A lot of people visit this site everyday to read my thoughts on every topic, and I hope they do it because I make you want to spoil your briefs–not because you are hoping to someone incriminate me.

Everything that I type is typed in jest, meaning it is meant to make you look at something with humor. For those of you who aren’t funny, and don’t know a good joke when you hear one, get the hell off of this website. If you don’t urinate at the thought of my lil’ granny peanut trying to  slide down a metal bar stool while intoxicated, we probably don’t think the same things are funny.

Basically what I am trying to say, is that if you don’t find me funny, why are you still reading? Also, on a side note, if you are bitter about anything that I have said or will say in the future, keep it to yourself. Frankly, I give ZERO thought into what others think this blog should be about. If you are a lame professional (of any type) and you are reading this, you probably should get back to whatever tedious job currently ties you down. But, if you are a fun professional and see humor in almost every situation, keep reading and enjoy all jokes about queefs and my ghetto childhood.

I write for myself and to entertain whatever dumbass wants to listen to me ramble. I don’t write to offend and I certainly don’t write to “stir up gossip.”

Amen, hallelujah, and praise whatever lord you please.

A Punctuation Blog Post?

In all texting situations, there are many factors that come into play. Spelling, content, and the occasional wink are all important to the casual texter. But possibly the most important of all texting tools is punctuation.

Punctuation can make or break a text. For example, exclamation points are tricky. I personally have only been so excited that an exclamation point was needed a handful of times. I find exclamation points to be occasionally obnoxious. Here is an example:

“Getting in the shower.” turns into “Getting in the shower!”

What was is so exciting about that shower? Unless you are about to take a shower underneath a waterfall while seventeen dolphins swim around you and whistle “Hallelujah”, I don’t believe that an exclamation point is necessary.

While exclamation points are a tricky punctuation to master, the most awkward punctuation mark has to be the accidental question mark.

In most circumstances, a question mark is pretty black and white punctuation. Unlike the exclamation point, a question mark is only used in one type of sentence, a QUESTION. This being said, the question mark is practically deadly when used accidentally. Not only does a question mark make you sound unsure but it can also make you sound kinky.

For example,

A simple sentence like “I’m driving” turns into “I’m driving?”

That question mark makes it sound like you are practically mocking the other person. All sentences with a misplaced question mark automatically have the same effect as the word, “DUH.”

A text that says “I’m getting in the shower.” transforming into a sultry “I’m getting in the shower?’

It practically sounds inviting. Unless a picture of your genitals follows that texts, I advice that you check all punctuation before pressing send.

Confessions of the middle of the Oreo

As a child, I was obviously different from every other boy around. While other five-year-old “bros” were outside trying to “bag” each other’s nutsacks and  kick each other off of the monkey bars, I was sitting in air conditioning trying to determine which soundtrack to My Fair Lady had the best Liza. I was different to say the least.

Because of this, I had a lot of time to observe others and find out what made people tick. In all fairness, an elementary school in the ghetto of Illinois isn’t exactly prime space to study human behavior, but I did the best with what I was given. What I witnessed everyday at recess is what can only be described as a hierarchy.

Everyday I would slowly walk to the doors that led to our playground. I imagine that what I felt during those days is close to what soldiers feel as they climb out of the holes of their tanks and brave the streets of Iraq. The mission had to be completed, no matter the cost. The cost those days for venturing the playground in the ghetto depended on the season. If  it was during the spring or fall, the only abuse that occurred was verbal. Teachers still watched you back then, even if they WERE on their smoke breaks. The worst season to be out on the playground, however, was definitely winter. Winter provided little mean kids with nature’s weapon. SNOW. A teacher didn’t think twice if she saw seventeen kids pummeling one tiny boy with snowballs. After all, “Boys will be boys.”

Ghetto recess was as dangerous as some federal prison cafeterias. At the top of this bully pyramid was “The Black Girls.” These were the girls you avoided on the swings, avoided in class, and avoided all eye contact with. Life was rough for a white kid, especially a white kid who didn’t know how to speak slang. If you were a boy, you better have a pair of low-rise jeans and you best be sportin’ corn rows.

(I secretly think the boys were jealous of my beautiful locks of blonde hair)

But nevertheless, I wasn’t “fresh” and my Osh’Kosh shirts looked like “dookie”…a word I later learned meant, “poop.”

Luckily, I wasn’t a girl. Girls had to wear little plastic bows in their hair and god forbid your “auntie” not be your hairdresser. All hell would break loose on those monkey bars if a girl lost her pink, plastic, clip-on bow. Supposedly that action resulted in an “ass-beatin'” at their homes. This resulted in seven or eight girls trying to sift through wood chips like they were looking for gold. Let me note that these search missions rarely ended in success.

As you read this, you are probably thinking I am writing about a stereo-typical black child…but in actuality, this is what my childhood consisted of. I was the white guy out. My best friend, Kitwana, was “too white” to be black….even though she was originally from Panama. We were perfect for each other; one Saltine cracker and one eloquent black girl from Panama.

Through this jungle of a public school, Kitwana and I ventured.

Below The Black Girls, were the lesser known girls, who for some reason, could never be as “down to Earth” as TBG. The Black Girls kept power by their strength in numbers. There were never more than nine of them and all of them sat on top of the monkey bars at lunch. Below them (literally) stood the wannabes. These are the girls that TBG called “fake” and “desperate.” They didn’t care if your parents bought you Barbie’s or if you even had parents. TBG was looking for a certain look, drive, and what I could only comprehend as bitchiness. 

Their response to ANY and EVERY confrontation was and probably still is, “Is it because I’m BLACCK!?!”

Because I went to a 93% African-American public elementary school, this excuse rarely ever got much sympathy. It was clear what race ruled the school. A little marshmallow like me never stood a chance.

Basically, my days in elementary school smelled like dookie.

The History of Show Choir

While dinosaurs roamed the Earth, somewhere in a distant cave, a simple (gay) caveman sat and perfected “the jazz hand.” This was the beginning stages of what is now known as show choir. While other cavemen were creating wheels out of boulders and slingshots out of pebbles, a more fabulous hairy man created the most popularized teenage art form. To simplify things, we will call this caveman Tony. Tony the gay caveman.

While sitting in a dark cave in the midst of the Jurassic Period, Tony mapped out all of the basics to a great show choir. Tony would never know that one day his dreams would become a reality. After sketching his plans on the walls of his damp cave, Tony fell asleep. Dreams of accomplishment surely filled the head of this simple-minded caveman.

Unfortunately, that same night, another (straight) caveman killed poor Tony. Supposedly a little inappropriate touching had occurred near the watering hole.

Nevertheless, Tony’s dreams had seemed to die with him. The world would never know of Tony’s accomplishments and the embellished dreams that filled his head…

…until the 70s.

While studying the hieroglyphics of the Jurassic Period, scientists uncovered Tony’s drawings. It seemed that a deceased (gay) caveman would finally reach his goals. Unfortunately these old and wrinkly scientists didn’t care for Tony’s sketches and disregarded their importance. Tony’s dreams were photographed, documented, and then stuffed into a dusty box to sit on shelves next to skulls and fossils.

It seemed that Tony’s vision would never be seen by anyone of importance.

Then came a wave of change…the 80s.

With changing fashion and music, Tony’s dream couldn’t have found a better home. While two stoned party kids perused the shelves of an abandoned science lab, they came across a rare piece of history. These two stoners looked at the maps of Tony’s dreams and saw their potential. It took marijuana and theft to breathe life into show choir.

Luckily these two kids happened to have very influential friends. After describing Tony’s plans to a group of young hipsters, it was decided that this dream had to become a reality. This was the moment in history that show choir became what it is today. Sadly nothing has changed since this group of burnouts interpreted Tony’s drawings.

It was decided that all women in show choir must have gravity-defying hair. This was established after interpreting a picture of a woman with her hair in flames. Only one thing can turn a woman’s head into a barbecue, hairspray. Sequins were determined to be the symbol of this newly formed art. Unfortunately Tony wanted to cover the girls in glass, luckily the 80s brought us a safer option. The last thing that Tony’s drawings revealed about show choir was that words must never be sung as they appear. Thus, in show choir, the word “I” is always “Ah.” This wasn’t actually in Tony’s original idea…it was just how cavemen talked.

After creating the first show choir, these stoners were quickly forgotten. Schools all across the midwest caught on to the trend and then it spread even further. Soon schools from California decided that their shows would consist of elaborate costumes and themes that even the directors themselves didn’t understand. The show GLEE brought show choir to every home in America.

This portrayal of show choir wasn’t exactly what Tony had originally dreamed, but he can’t exactly complain. Thanks to Tony, teens all across America now know what a “jazz square” is before they get “the sex talk.”

The Sorcerer’s iPod

It has become clear to me in the past few months, that the only reason I am not a hoarder, is because I lose everything I come into possession of. Literally everything I currently own or previously owned, has been lost during it’s time with me. There is practically no way to prevent this obvious character flaw. I have tried EVERYTHING.

I leave things in the same place every time, check that everything in my room is intact before I go to sleep, and constantly do the “phone, iPod check.” But, I still manage to lose everything I can get my well sanitized hands on. Luckily, everything that I had previously lost was easily replaced/found. I was never worried about keys, remotes, straighteners, or any other item available at target, until recently.

About a week ago, I realized that I had lost my iPod. This is a pretty normal occurrence. Once a week, usually Tuesday or Wednesday, I misplace my iPod. The solution to this is a simple one. My house holds three possible iPod hiding places: under/between the cushions of my couch, underneath the recliner in my living room, or in my underwear drawer where I usually toss it in a sleepy haze. My iPod always stays in these three places; this time it was different.

After the realization that I indeed misplaced my iPod, I did my regular routine of checking it’s three main vacation hang-outs. I searched underneath the cushions and only found three nickels and a flash drive. I then proceeded to the recliner where, while looking like Hulk Hogan, lifted the chair to reveal a truckers map…and no iPod. My last hope was waiting in my underwear drawer. I opened it (cautiously) and peered inside to find…..underwear. Other than the occasional lost sock, there wasn’t a sight of anything unusual. My stomach sank.

My iPod had hopped a train and I had gone through all stages of a loss, when my luck changed. While sitting in my grueling sixth hour study hall, I reached in my pocket expecting to get my phone. Once my hand had seized the item, I noticed that the shape and weight of this mystery item varied greatly to my phone. I pulled it out to reveal my long-lost ipod! My life had taken a turn for the better. I felt like Harry Potter when he realizes that the sorcerer’s stone has magically invaded his pocket. I had the power! The power of Pandora Radio!

I took my new finding home and sat down at my computer to do a quick Facebook creep…when I looked down to realize that my iPod was no longer sitting near my computer. It had disappeared. Where the hell did that slippery lil’ thing go?!

Voldemort has won this round. To this day, I still haven’t found my iPod. After doing my routine check for the hundredth time, it was never found in the dark crevices of my home. I wake up daily and mourn the loss of Pandora and her seamless way of mixing Adele with Lil’ Wayne.

Life good get better, but it certainly can’t get worse.

The infamous Annoying School Friend

Unfortunately I have been too busy (stuck in hell) to update my blog. But here I am, ready to talk about all the things that ALL of us hate about school. I am very aware that many teachers read my blog and I commend you 1) for having a life and 2) having a sense of humor. When I call SHS hell, I don’t really mean that it is….well maybe I do mean that it’s hell, but it is all in good fun. This blog is a sort of release. Instead of telling all of the annoying people in my school to, “screw off”, I type it. I can only hope that half of these people know that I am talking about them (possibly you) and that they/you change their/your annoying-ass tendencies…../personalities. All of you annoying-ass people have led me right into my next blog post topic.


“Annoying School Friends”

If you attend a middle school/high school and maybe even college, you indefinetly have these type of friends. The annoying school friends are the ones who didn’t quite make the cut. An A.S.F comes in all shapes and sizes (but mainly ages) and is always excited to see you. It is almost guaranteed that the moment you and this dreadful person make eye contact, that they will attach to you like a leach. Suddenly they have a million questions about your summer, class schedule, and other useless knowledge that you don’t want them to know. But before any of these never-ending interviews begin, you will hear one familiar phrase. This sentence is the go-to sentence for every A.S.F, it is practically all they know.

“Oh my God! I haven’t seen you like ALL summer!!”


This is possibly the most annoying sentence in the english language. Thus fitting the A.S.F to a tee. While the phrase is unusually simple, it says everything that needs to be said. In a perfect world, the conversation would end with the period of that spoken sentence. Sadly, the annoying school friend doesn’t realize that they are indeed an A.S.F and need to back the fudge off. My theory is that if they TRUELY cared, they would have contacted me over the summer. At least then I would just have to make up a fake excuse to avoid them.

The reason why you don’t see this person all summer is clearly because you didn’t want to speak, see, or interact with them. That is the most infuriating thing about the A.S.F stating it. “Duh I didn’t see you! Look at yourself, you are a mess.” This should be the sentence that ends all of this nonsense with the annoying school friend. But sadly this sentence is hardly ever uttered. Because you have to see this person on a daily basis, you have to grin and bare the seven-hour questioning about everything from where you get your hair cut to what brand of tampons you use. The badgering seems to never end.

Finally, after you have answered every one of this stupid bitch’s questions, you stumble away from your locker searching for an iced coffee or a cigarette. You have survived. Usually, after only one face to face meeting, the A.S.F completely forgets that she ever knew you. Until next school year starts of course.

All of this banter about the A.S.F may seem childish and cruel, but remember, you didn’t make their cut either. While you may have an abundance of annoying school friends, you may BE an annoying school friend. We are all guilty of having those “friends” that we only talk to at school. The one thing to remember is to always play it cool. Never act like you are excited to see this person, they are an extra. I don’t cream my tampon when asked if I want extra mayo on my Subway sandwich, it isn’t that big of a deal. Who cares. Never show emotion and never…EVER utter the infamous sentence.

“Oh my God! I haven’t seen you like ALL summer!!”

….dumb bitch.