Friday, April 1, 2011

Your Replacement



Guess what Dan, sometimes you wake up in the morning and you've got a belly full of willpower so you leave your apartment with a plan and a purpose because fuck this, man, I'm sick of being outnumbered by chins. Maybe I want to climb a stair case or two without taking a sweatnap right after, maybe I'll drag my 230 LB thirty year old man-body not to the regular grocery store but to the fancy one right next to it that sells cranberry kombucha and fair trade quinoa, I'll kick it with the greenies and the flesh people (thats what I call THEM). I'll breeze right by the frozen cocunut water knock off ice cream thanks and I don't need to play waffle roulette with the frozen circles you are selling that are loaded with something you freakos are telling me is "flax."

I get it. I'm on your team. Everything in this store is fibre. I can feel the cancer cells not dividing within my body as I look at organic stuff and whole grainy items and fair trade pasta, free range omega fish oily bags of this and tins of dolphin free granola whateverthefuck and hey man, I'm just a man, man. I don't know exactly what it is you freaks want me to do here, but I feel pretty safe buying organic, thrice washed lettuce. The label says "Hey brah, don't worry about washing this lettuce brah. Seriously, don't sweat it, enjoy the game. We got this... trust. We washed it three times, three! That's more times than hardly anybody needs to wash something."

In retrospect, I should have known something was up. Why brag about washing something three times? If someone has to do something like that, it means they don't know what they are doing. That's like bragging that you locked the door three times. Sounds like you are trying to paper over the fact that you leave the door swinging on its hinges most nights and now you are telling me you washed the lettuce obsessively because, in reality, you don't know shit about washing lettuce and we are probably getting robbed some time this month. Next time, I'm looking for the bag o' lettuce that says "washed once, with confidence," because holy shit Daniel, meet your replacement.



Fuck the what is this, Organic Girl? Is this your sick idea of a joke? I'm just trying to add a little lubricant to my digestive tract... and you put this little green fella in my greens? Thanks so much for the delicious lettuce, and thanks for washing the LIVE, SQUIRMING bug that lives inside. I'm sure he's mega stoked to be such a clean, intact, living in human food bug. I almost ate this poor bastard. Now he lives in the garbage. I hope you like bodega receipts and tuna cans because there's not much else on TV in that glad bag.

It's opening day, nothing can get me down.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Uhh, thanks... Canada


Dan buddy. I have to type this fast, you are waiting for me at the beer garden while I finish a salad. A couple minutes ago you ding donged my doorbell to pick up your driver's license which for some blasted reason you still had sent to the apartment you certainly don't live at anymore. We left a big note for the mailman that says "PLEASE SEND DAN'S MAIL TO HELL" but she's a government worker so she gave us your mail, and Lynette's mail, and mail for Pangiato Demeztris, and mail for Z cab, and EJ Murphy, some guy named Matt, and... you get the picture. We weren't able to not get your license. Our mail woman is relentless, like the walking dead. I want to hire her to find Bin Laden... except I think she'll just come back in 6 years with nine trashbags stuffed with bloody beard scalps. That's a thing.

Adam Pateman, from Canada, tried to hand me a spice rack he found on the street. Thanks Canada, for trying to deliver other people's flavors to me unsolicited. Get off my god damn property you stupid Nuck!

Friday, February 4, 2011

Atlantic City!

Hi Dan, you woke up early this morning to contest a $100 parking ticket, and you lost that contest immediately. We then had the following text message conversation, which I decided to share with the internet.

9:32 AM

Daniel Carroll: let's party! I don't want to go home.
James Parkinson: come over if ya want, i have the a-team on netflix
Daniel Carroll: astoria? that's a million miles away! let's go to Atlantic city!
James Parkinson: Do we need a boat?
Daniel Carroll: nope, they got a train!
James Parkinson: Should I pack? Or should we just buy sick outfits when we get there
Daniel Carroll: the latter obviously
James Parkinson: Okay I'm gonna finish this dump and come meet you.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Fine, I will write the next blog.

Hey... remember when we had that Thelma and Louise moment? You moved out of the apartment... because you needed space, you wanted to get out of Astoria, Bushwick was closer to work you said, but the blog would go on... right? Didn't you say that? Christ... we black out a lot. Maybe not living with you is better for me, I don't know. For a while there, I was teaching my liver how to read braille. That doesn't make sense except it does.

On to the images!



Remember this guy? We were bar hopping in Manhattan. He asked us about who we were and what we do for a living. We told the truth that we were from Seattle and then we lied that we make something close to a living doing comedy. He called us a bunch of fruitcakes from Seattle, and then he put his arm around you. Dear asshole,

(a) we aren't fruitcakes (gay) (b) we don't care that we come across that way (c) we wouldn't feel bad about being fruitcakes if we were (d) you are an asshole (e) wait, aren't you the guy putting his arm around strange men?

And then he recited some poem from H.M.S. Pinafore or whatever I can't remember. MORE PICS!



Here's something fun you and Lynnette left behind. I remember her getting mad at you for threatening to throw this "banana" away. She snatched it from your mean old paws and locked it safely in the fridge, right next to the gallon and a half of beans she was soaking but would never cook, you know, to not be wasteful.

And finally, the worst thing you left behind. Remember the moose head I bought you? And we named it something? Then we both blacked out and forgot what his name was so we named him Gary? Well he lives in the living room now, he chain smokes and talks about you all the time in the past tense as if you were dead.



I know you are busy Daniel. It's the holidays, you are back home in Seattle hanging out with old friends. You are probably sipping (chugging) whiskey at the Canterbury, trading stories with Danielle and Solomon, and I know you have a week of shows at the Underground that for some reason John Fox asked you to do. When you are un-busy, please remember to put some love into this blog.... remember, it's the best thing on the internet.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Bad news... Real bad

First, the good news... They did it Dan! McDonalds made boneless bones and put it on a sandwich! ONLY 500 calories!



Okay... bad news. Real bad.

Listen, Dan... I need you to sit down. This is going to hurt, a lot. Last week, I don't know if you remember, you were drunk then and you are drunk now and you will probably stay drunk for as long as any of us will know you. Get help. I digress, as I was saying, I've got some real bad news. Last week, you told me you were moving out of the basement upstairs. It's weird I think, kinda real weird, that I have to be the one to break the news that you broke to me back to you to let you know that you are moving out.

Where are you moving? Who knows. Bummer city? Sadville? Downinthedumpsterdam? (<---awesome) Last5minutesofterminator2stanbul? All9hoursofstarwarsprequelkatchewan? PresidentGWBushingtonDC? MyexgirlfriendJulieschwitz911? All I know is, it's going to be real quiet around here, quiet except for the screams... screams that I make at night and all morning wondering where you went. Whose passed out body in the middle of the floor am I going to trip on when I'm also blacked out when you are gone? Who is going to go to the deli with me at 4 in the morning when it opens and pretend like we are "on our way to work?" Who is going to flash me all the time unsolicited? (I'm okay with this one being part of my future past) WHO IS GOING TO FART IN THE PEANUT BUTTER JARS?

Have fun in Bushwick, idiot.

P.S. we are keeping the blog.
P.P.S. you are the one who told me we are keeping the blog.
P.P.P.S. I owe you $55, it's gonna be a while

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

The floor is not your bed



Woohoo! Thanks for the french fry hair! It's not real, I know that... I can't run my fingers through it, but I find my subconscious doesn't know the difference. If I check myself out in the magic mirror, I soak up self confidence that lasts and lasts, it doesn't wear off until I get to halfway to the train. From there I can drag myself through the day sipping black coffee and sending emails to Jesus.

Dear Jesus,

Hey man, it's me. Are you real? If so, are you coming back soon? There's tsunamis and earthquakes and floods and crap plus 33 miners stuck under ground and the Yankees are about to win the world series again, we could use a hand down here for Christ's sake.

Love, Parky


Oh, and Dan? The floor is not your bed.


Monday, October 11, 2010

new game!

james! i invented a game! it's called Sock it to Parky!

here's how it works:
if i come home on trash night and find a pair of your dirty socks in the livingroom, i get to put one in the garbage and take it down to the curb.


the game started last night and i'm totally winning.