I can't be held responsible for the things I say or write...


Has it really been 2 years? I got worried the other day that all of these old posts were lost...because so many people would be crushed if the rants and ramblings of the myth QP Live were lost forever. But in reality, they would. We all need a little QP Live in our lives. We all need a little, "do the first thing that pops into your head" in your lives. The reality of course being that y'all have the willpower to not do or say that action or thought whereas I refuse to accept that I can be filtered. It just doesn't happen. Perhaps the inactivity is form of suppression but in reality I have little say over what I choose to do...or choo choo choose to do. I simply can't be held responsible for the things I say, do or write.


Why I hate being married

It's the last day of school.

I'm hammered.

I want to drunk dial someone who will appreciate my situation.

I think to myself, "I should call my wife."

This is why...I hate...myself.

If I knew the requirements for what a haiku is, I'd say this is one...but I don't so I'd say they should make an amendment (how very American) and let the above stand for one.


I should go further

If you're reading this post, skip down to the previous one and then come back to this.

Seriously, there's a point to this.

Did you see that picture of what I got? it's fucking awesome. The picture actually looks sweeter than the track does in person but the cars are awesome and the turns are awesome. Since I have no one to play with, because none of my friends are 8 years old, I drive both cars at the same time. I don't feel bad about laughing while this happens because no one is around to see it happen.

The best part is when both cars hit the crossover parts (the yellow parts of the picture) and go flying off the track. Now, you might think this is dangerous, but that's because you're old and get too much clothes as presents. Remember, these are toy cars and are even more fun when they go flying.

Sometimes, one car only goes partway off the track and I ram it as fast as I can with the other car. It's SWEEEEEEET. Then I laugh a lot more.

This gift will be fun for my entire vacation and then i will have to figure out where the hell to put it. I imagine that by then the tracks will be worn down, the cars jacked up and I will suffer from carpel tunnel syndrome but I could care less right now.

So there's a nice little update on what's good with my life. In case you're wondering, I was in a severe car accident that caused me to function like a 9 year old...which explains why i wanted this gift and why I love it so dearly....or it's the McCallan's 12 I bought with the Christmas money I was given!

Notes from a Christmas not happened yet...

It's 4 hours and 42 minutes until Christmas officially kicks off...yet, as soon as Christmas begins, it begins to end. Deep, right? Right. Emotional even.

Christmas is all about the season, not about the day. I think it's why I get depressed the second I open my first gift. I get great stuff for Christmas every year. There are 2 people in my life that literally give the best gifts ever: my mom and my brother-in-law. Every year, they give gifts that fill your whole body with warmth and entertain you for days, months and beyond. They're quite good at it. Case in point: this year I asked for an elephant for Christmas and the brother-in-law came through. I got an elephant...on a beer cozy. Talk about the gift that keeps on giving, right?

I totally got sidetracked...I always get depressed right when I open that first gift because, to me, Christmas is all about the anticipation of everything. The TV shows, the vacations, the gifts, the SPIRIT, all of it. I get depressed because the second that first gift is over, there is literally less than 24 hours left on that clock and everything goes back to normal. People have to go back to work the day after, the lights come down, the trees come down and it's just pretty depressing.

But then again, if you open gifts on the 23rd, like I did this year, you kind of get a few more days to bask in the glory of it all...and that I did today with this year's gift.
The wife came through with this...nice work! It's almost like I told her what to get me and she did. Then again, that's exactly what happened. It was for the best. I had no one to hang out with today, so I set this sucker up and went to town. I put the flags up in a repeating pattern and on the part of the track where the cars always fall off, I put the flags at half-mast.

A man once told me you know you're getting old when all of your gifts are clothes. I was 9 at the time and totally paranoid that I was old because I got a sweater for my birthday. Since then, I've vowed to myself to not let that happen. I always ask for some sort of toy from Santa every single year and it totally works for me.

So I say for this year, no matter where you are, what you're doing and who you're with, have a great Christmas, take in the spirit of the holiday and don't get saddened 10 minutes into December 25th. That last one was for me, but the rest is for all. Merry Christmas, Happy Festivis and pray for my cars and drivers who fall off on the corner with flags at half mast.


Dumber for having read that...

That's an appropriate way for me to feel right about now. I just read a story about how a suspect, thought to be an army vet, stabbed another person to death because they bumped shoulders while walking past each other. Apparently, witnesses say the 2 men were taking off their coats as if preparing for a fight and then the vet stabbed the other dude to death.

So, I'm dumber for reading this story to begin with. I'm dumber because if you believe any of these accounts without considering the source (NY Post) you should be shot.

Then, I read the comments and I realize there is no helping anyone in our society. Seriously. The quotes talk of people feeling they made the right life decision to leave NYC because people took their coats off to fight. No, that's right. That's the last straw. I can't believe someone took his coat off prior to a fight. I'm done. I'm so glad I left NYC because if I hadn't, that would be the last straw.

Then you have the guy who makes the connection between stabbing someone over a shoulder bump and obnoxious Yankees fans...seriously I didn't see the connection but this guy is right. Dude was supposed to go to the Yankees game but got too drunk and then decided he needed to stab someone...what the fuck is wrong with people.

Then there is the typically racist talk which is amazing that people are that racist or feel the need to share it....and then there are the commentators names. "Mets4eva21" brings some hilarious thoughts to mind. I mean, I'm a big Yankees fan but I've never made any sign on name based on the team. I've never tattooed anything to my body in utter devotion to a professional sports team or anything like that either. I'm pretty accepting for the most part...that is, until someone brandishes an awful tattoo or wear one of those shirts that shares his or her lifestyle choices. We all have them and have seen others in them. I feel like we're allowed to stare in these situations. For example, when I wear my "Volunteering...It doesn't pay" shirt, I have no right to wonder what people are looking at...they're reading my t-shirt and it takes some folks longer to read stuff.

Like homeless people usually need more time. Or my cousin Rodney's little retarded sister...it takes her a while to read t-shirts. You might wonder why, right? Mainly because she is only 5 and never learned to read.

OK, confession time. I have no cousin named Rodney and he does not have a little retarded sister but this is the first one of these in a while and I had to throw some shock and awe in there.

But there is definitely a Rodney out there with a little retarded sister. It's science. If 1 out of every 12,132 people is named Rodney and of those 12,123 Rodney's, 47 of them have little retarded siblings and of those 45 siblings, 19 of them are girls...so you see how the numbers play out here. It's science.

Now you might be saying the numbers keep changing and that's true...because science is forever changing. Regardless of me changing a few numbers here or there, the facts remain the facts...after all, my changing of the numbers can easily be attributed to the always changing nature of science and I think I should be commended for staying so in touch with the present. I'm so in the moment that I can be understood. It's hard to be me.

Actually, lately it's been all right. School is back is session but things are going fine. Also, I lost like 15 points in the last 3 weeks and am officially not all that fat anymore. That's right. I'm back in frisbee shape...sort of. I'm sort of frisbee skinny but really I'm just on a diet. South Beach Diet, bitches. It's pretty sweet...but no fucking frisbee on the horizon. eff that.


I am Jack's summer vacation...

Not the tall one but the one from Fight Club.

It's Prison Break recap time!!! No it's not. It's been months since I've been around so I won't write to the Prison Break side of support that reads these diatribes...though the final Prison Break episode is solely available on DVD/Blu Ray and since I have a Blu Ray player.........Yeah, I'm pretty sure I'll Netflix it.

Speaking of Netflix, my summer has been spent catching up on those classics you're supposed to see but often never do. They range from older movies like "Raging Bull" and "Platoon" to "Million Dollar Baby" and "Semi Pro."

That's right, "Semi Pro." That movie was awful. Can we stop supporting Will Ferrell now? He's not really all that funny. The guy from "The Hangover" tried to be Will Ferrell and that was just as embarrassing as actually being Will Ferrell. People watch SNL because of the history it has of being funny. It goes through periods where it is just not funny at all anymore and then every 10 years or so someone comes along and rescues the show. The last time it was funny was when Will Ferrell was on it. I think he's used up all that good credit he earned from making SNL funny again. Seriously, stop supporting Will Ferrell.

Other than Netflix, I've been playing a lot of basketball. How do you have so much time to watch movies and play basketball? Easy. I don't work over the summer. Summer vacation, folks, is every bit as good as advertised. It's like you have nothing to do and if you do anything you almost feel guilty for having done something. Then you start to think, "Man, if I was really good at summer vacation, I'd be a lot better at Tiger Woods 10 by now." And I should be...though I did play on line with the tall Jack, not the Fight Club Jack, and I won pretty easily. No offense Jack...I mean I don't really do much so I play a lot of Tiger Woods 10 and you have to go to work.

Why am I writing to Jack...it's not like he's reading this...no one is...and that's OK with me because I don't need you, you bastards. I hate you. I just can't stand you.

Yeah, I also just shouldn't be taken seriously. Rogue Dead Guy Ale is a great top off to a full day of movies and basketball spliced with a little bit of Tiger Woods 10. Sweeeet.



There comes a time in a man's life when he needs a good talking to. Maybe he is changing into something he shouldn't be. Maybe he is ending sentences with prepositions. Who really knows. But sometimes, a man needs a talking to and who better to give it to him than an 11 year old fat mexican kid from the bronx. right?

We have a dress code at my school. Kids have to wear a uniform and keep their shirts tucked in. Pretty simple and straight forward. We never have problems with the kids not wearing the uniform but they sure love to not tuck in their shirts. Popular reasons range from, "it looks stupid" to "it looks gay." The most frequently heard one is the latter.

Last Friday was a good deal for all intents and purposes. The sun was shining, the weekend was on the horizon, there was a baseball game that afternoon and I was in a good mood. Second period was about to begin and this kid didn't have his shirt tucked in. I asked him to tuck it in and he got a little wise, so I pulled him out of line and asked him to tuck in his shirt again. He talked back again, so I decided today would be the day I stopped allowing this little punk to talk back. With a smile on my face I told him to stop talking back and tuck in his shirt. He spoke back so I repeated myself. This happened twice more, to the point where I began a little lecture for him on what talking back was and told him to shut his mouth and tuck in his shirt. He decided to turn slightly away from me and say, "Bitch."

It was awesome. I heard him clearly and he knew it. I said, "What did you say?" and he said he didn't say anything. I asked him again what he said, his face went white and then he said, "I said OK." He didn't say OK. He called me a bitch...and I laughed. I was right in his face (probably a no no) trying to get him to admit what he said so I could hear it out of his mouth again. I was loving this and laughing my ass off on the inside and barely being able to control it on the outside. I told him this is a very big deal and asked what he said and he admitting to "saying a bad word." I responded, "Yes you did, no come with me." We went to the principal's office. The assistant principal was walking out of the office and I told her he called me a bitch. She gave a shocked look and had him sit in the office. I was loving this because I was getting to curse for free at school and I couldn't get over the fact that a 4'3" kid with more necks than me called me a bitch. The principal was in the office and she asked what happened. I told her he called me a bitch and she responded, "You called a teacher that? At this school? Get your mother on the phone."

Our go-to at school is to call the parents when anything happens. He said his mom didn't have a cell phone, to which the principal responded, "I don't care what your mother doesn't have. You get her on the phone immediately." As he began dialing, the principal said to him, "Who's the bitch now!"

IT WAS AMAZING. The assistant principal and I ran out of the office because we couldn't hide out laughter. It was AWESOME. My day was only getting better.

Eventually, his dad came in so we could sit down and make it clear to the kid how big of a deal it was. His father doesn't speak English, so in Spanish he is saying that he needs to apologize. The kid wouldn't apologize at first, which made me laugh again, and then the father said that he was going to take away his computer, gameboy, etc. The kid's response to this? "Por cuando tiempo" aka "For how long?"

AWESOME! He doesn't care he is in trouble. He doesn't care he called the teacher a bitch. He's just curious how long he will be without his privileges if he doesn't apologize.

At that, I laughed out loud and everyone looked at me like what is wrong with me? I expressed that he doesn't get it and that should be that. He eventually apologized but I think he now realizes I get to shit on him whenever I want from now on because of this. It was great. Last Friday was one of my favorite days at school yet.


Do Not Watch This Movie....

I've advocated this once and only once. 1 time only in my entire life have I put the infinite, under no circumstance, in no way shape or form, not even with a gun to your head and you'd have to be even smellyier than a turd sandwich or even douchyer than a douchebag to watch the movie: 21.

Just say fuck you. Say fuck you to whoever thinks about recommending this movie. If Netflix recommends this movie to you, throw your computer out the window in protest. A giant eff you goes to whoever bastardized the book or even worse, took what should have been SO EASY TO WRITE and make decent, only no. You had to go and fox it all up with your inaccurate story lines and your horrible choices in actors and just an awful, awful, awful all around script. I'm not a movie critic...mainly because I can watch awful movies. But not this time. You fucked up, people who worked on 21. And I'm cursing this much even though my mom reads this now. Hi mom.

Anyway, don't watch this movie.

Finally, QP Live now on Twitter. Why? Because if my real self went on Twitter, I'd have to kill myself.