the please-stop-taking-my-photos face surprisingly makes an appearance again on here

Please help me catch this man he stole my social identity figures a ways back and has been using my life to buy inordinate amounts of jello molds and gourmet bundt cake mixes.

I took enough express busses home this semester to read every piece of graffiti along the bqe bad for property value shmad for property value is what I’ve always been known to say

jenjenjen

Went biking with Jen last week my favorite path was closed due to Sandy damage but we managed to make it out to the welcoming waters in Great Kills

Jayson Nix about to take a Ruthian swing only to lose his balance and send a nubber foul near the first base dugout

Went to a Yankees game recently and ate some supreme garlic fries and drank a few tall beers and the home team won in comeback fashion

this summer i want to take a picture of every deli on staten island. instagrams don’t count

badhops:

While I was out jogging richmond avenue I witnessed the adorable if unsettling site of a mother duck and her ducklings cross a four-lane road actually turn into something so unsettling and heinous that only The Brave (me) And Tender (this old man named Marty) could summon their inner fortitude in time…

After crossing the mother duck hopped up on the curb but because she is a duck and mostly dumb she did not understand that her little ducklings were too short to make it over and out of the street. At the site of this I pulled up from what was most definitely an excellent jog so far while this Marty figure and his wife pulled their infinity over. Marty hopped out of the driver’s side, looked at me and said, “Let’s go.” So we went. We scooped up most of the ducklings and returned them to the mother watching us from the grass. Three little fellers were feisty though and ran back out into traffic. I corralled two. Marty chased the other fuzzball three lanes deep but he tripped and lost his shoe. The light turned green and the cars were sweating poor Marty who was down on one knee. “OH JESUS, MARTY. GET OUT OF THE STREET!” His wife yelled. She was out of the car now and had big hair that looked like someone painted some furs yellow gold and glued them to the back of a satellite dish propped on her head. I ran up and grabbed his hand. I looked at his downed loafer with its heel bent in and then past his transition lenses and into his eyes and said, “I won’t let you go out in vain, buddy.” And I threw his hand back to the pavement because it was wrinkly, oddly hairless and overall pretty gross. All the cars were stopped watching us at this point so I ran out, grabbed the last duckling and pressed it close to my breast as I brought it back its mother waiting. Marty didn’t make it but I went and shook his wife’s hand, offered my condolences and she said, “It’s too cold to be wearing just a tank top.” She drove away and the ducks scurried into the tall grass by the dump. This is the poster for the facebook status-to-movie deal I have in the works. Nothing is official yet but I’m trying to get George Clooney to play Marty. I’m playing myself.

Rebloggin’ maself after a Herculean feat today