I am quite literally numb as I type this. The entire left side of my face, from nostril to jawline, is incapable of feeling pain…or pleasure for that matter. I feel as though the CIA should use my temporary invincibility for some black op, but they could probably just numb up one of their agents if they really need to.

I am in this dental chair to rid myself of a month long tooth ache which has been caused by the root of my one crowned tooth rubbing against something that dentists call a “nerve.” Naturally I have no idea what that means, nor am I interested in learning. I also don’t care about how my car gets fixed, why my television is broken or really about too many aspects of my job. That last one is kind of bad, but my point is that I just want the clock to tell me the time; I don’t need to hear its back-story.

It may have been a Monday or a Tuesday when I walked into briefing, looked out over the collection of clean, shiny faces and began shouting profanities at them about every small thing that came to mind. A call we were on together, a wrinkle in their uniform, their report writing, etc. When I could think of nothing else, I noticed several open mouths and more than a few tearful eyes. I realized that I had never raised my voice to them before.

“I’ve got to go,” is all that I could think to say.

It would be irresponsible for me to constantly dispense unarguably sound dating advice without also making our female readers aware of some of the dangers involved. In order to drive this point home, Wordsmoker, in partnership with Brinks Broadview Home Security, has prepared some realistic scenarios involving much better looking individuals than I’ve ever seen in real life. Because these training videos are specifically geared towards female viewers, I’ve also included some dating tips for men that may vaguely relate to each video.

I don’t remember the song. I had never heard it before and don’t recall if I’ve heard it since. It was playing over the sound system of a restaurant at which I was dining with a friend of mine. She was a nurse by trade.

Nurse: “Do you like this song?”

Chill: “I don’t recall ever hearing it before.”

Nurse: “Really? It’s on everywhere. I love it. Music is my life.”

Chill: “Your life? Don’t you have like four children?”

Nurse: “Asshole.”

When not working or writing, I try to become famous by any means necessary. I’m not at the point where I’m trying like Richard Heene yet, but it’s getting pretty desperate. Below is a copy of a letter that I have been distributing to various factions of the entertainment industry.

Dear Hollywood Power Broker:

I have no idea how to go about getting my idea into your hands, so I decided to try it this way. I would have researched it better, but I have to go to the library to use the Internet and if my mom can’t drive me, I have to take two buses or ride my bike.

On February 13, 2009, Valentine’s Day Eve, the Senate and the House with enormous bipartisan support only three dissenting Republican votes, passed a historic and ineffective piece of legislation. Today marks the one-year anniversary (or approximate anniversary depending on when you read this) of The American Recovery and Reinvestment Act of 2009. Although it was rumored to be an 1100 page bill, the actual page count is inestimable (or almost exactly 2.2 reams). Despite its prodigious girth, at the time of its passage, the bill was considered to be so important that there wasn’t even time to read it before the actual vote. Here’s Minority Leader John Boehner joshing around with his buddies on the House floor about the bill:

According to the research that I completed within five minutes of coming up with the title, no one knows who Saint Valentine is. I’m not making this up. Wikipedia may be, but I’m not. Apparently he was either a priest, a bishop or a martyr who died some time in the 3rd Century. Then a couple of centuries later, a pope, of whom no one has ever heard, with only 365 days in a year and billions of saints, decides to commemorate this one particular saint by having an annual feast.

Here are the straight facts, friends. If you aren’t in a relationship by now, you won’t be in one by Sunday. I know you don’t celebrate Valentines Day because you think it’s a Hallmark holiday created by the Rand Corporation or you think it’s irreverent to commemorate the Saint Valentines Day Massacre. Whatever your reason is for not partaking in the festivities is irrelevant. Everyone else out there does and they’re smug bastards about it. 

I am not a Twitterer or Tweeter or whatever it is that you call yourselves, so I didn’t keep a running log of events while I was in New York. However, since nothing else of interest has occurred in my life in many months, I have decided to go back and reconstruct my recent trip. Because I believe that it’s deserving of it’s own write-up, I don’t give the Wordsmoker Meet-Up too much attention in this piece.

In January of 2010, a mismatched group of bloggers gathered in a random bar in the West Village. As will happen when heroic men and women assemble for the free exchange of ideas, copious amounts of alcohol were consumed. I don’t know if I was the first Smoker to venture off to the bathroom that night, but having the bladder of a hamster, there’s a good chance that it was me.

One of the many themes of my week in New York was the continuous and repetitive background music emanating from Gianna’s computer. Because she and her girlfriend Logan are two of my cultural gurus – with the Wordsmoker Collective completing my complement of tutors – I asked her what she was playing. Apparently this song called “Prisencolinensinainciusol,” was composed by Adriano Celentano and is comprised of lyrics that don’t mean anything in any language. However, and this is the infuriating part, they’re meant to sound like American English to a foreign ear. Super Best or anti-American? You decide.

The days are winding down. By now you should have selected the garments into which you will slide your bodies, the drinks with which you will fry your neurons and the prophylaxis with which you will try to repel your VD’s. In preparation for this auspicious occasion, I have selected a musical video that I hope will please my fellow Wordsmokers. Please, forgive me if you’ve already seen this. I’m hoping that it will set a certain “tone.”

Meanwhile, back at the Wordsmoker laboratory (again)…

VWS: “Well, how does this happen?”

CL: “I don’t know. I don’t have a great vocabulary I guess.”

VWS: “It’s a fucking credenza. How do you mix up ‘credenza’ with ‘vestibule’?”

CL: “It won’t happen again. Besides, Sance fixed it.”

VWS: “It’s not his bloody job to fix your fuck ups. Never mind. What else do you have?”

Revolting Youth! Too many shirtless Michael Cera scenes.

Still, the dialogue was brilliant.

Meanwhile, back at the Wordsmoker laboratory…

VWS: “What’s going on?”

CL: “Why, Virus, you startled me. I hadn’t expected to see you so soon after the FNFF. There’s some fresh coffee over on the table.”

VWS: “Thanks, I think I’ll have a cup. How are the Smokies coming along?”