An Interview: Part 1

It was a cold, rainy day in the grey streets of the Lower East Side in Manhattan. In an attempt to get out of the downpour, I had sought refuge in a dingy little bar tucked away off a small street. The neon signs glowed ominously in the haze of New York City.

I immediately took off my soaked coat and hat as soon as I walked into the seemingly deserted establishment. The lights were low, and the only real illumination came from the various beer advertisement signs hanging on the walls of the bar. The atmosphere was straight out of a late 1920s speakeasy that had seen its glory days many years before. Over the bar was a sign. It read Vincent's. That would mean the man behind the bar was the aforementioned Vincent.

I walked up to the bar and looked the bartender in the eye. He was a man in his fifties, definitely Italian, a native New Yorker just by looking at him. His dark heavy eyebrows hung low over his nearly black eyes. A thin moustache stood atop his thick obviously Sicilian lips. I looked up at the sign and back down at him. "So, you must be Vincent."

It turns out that his real name wasn't Vincent at all. He'd bought the place from the original Vincent years ago. Part of the deal was that he would also inherit the name Vincent. He'd absorbed the original Vincent's essence and that was that. He was now the one who donned the name Vincent. After the explanation, I asked what his original name was. As he dried a glass with a rag, he said that it had been forgotten long ago.

Trying desperately to avoid further talking to this man, I ordered a Coke and looked toward the only patron besides myself. He was a man in his seventies who had clearly seen more than any one man should. Wearing a top hat and a dusty tuxedo, he looked like a man who had been on his way to a gala when he was suddenly struck with homelessness and alcoholism. He sat at the end of the bar knocking back a glass of whiskey as I approached him.

"What's with the get up, old timer?" I asked as I leaned facing him against the counter.

"Don't you know who the fuck I am, pup?" he growled back.

Now, my interest was piqued, but I slyly told him I had no idea. He looked at me, his eyes half-cocked and dazed. Clearly he'd been drinking a bit. His lips were pursed and his brow furled. He presented both hands with palms towards me. He didn't break eye contact, and I wasn't going to be shown up by some geezer, so I didn't break it either. In a flash, he reached behind my ear and pulled a comically large coin from behind it.

"Your pussy wet yet, kid?" He grunted smirking. It was. It most certainly was.

He returned to his drink as I stared at him bewildered. What was this man? What sort of sorcery was this? I couldn't keep my eyes off him.

He stared down at his drink for a few moments and said, "I know what you're thinking, kid. How does someone with such skill end up in a bar like this?" He chuckled. "Well, it's quite the tale." He knocked back another glass of whiskey.

I insisted I had time to hear it. He looked over at me studying my face intently. Then, with a quick flurry of his hand, he was holding a deck of cards. He fanned the cards and instructed me to pick any card. He then called me a "pussy." I picked out a card and slowly brought it up, making sure to hide it. What was his game? What was the purpose of this? And where the fuck did those cards come from?

He gazed directly at me. I sat frozen as he peered into his eyes. A moment passed. Then another.

That's when he vomited a flurry of color straight into my face. It was vomit, booze, and a long rope of tied colored scarves that hit me square in the face. "Five of hearts," he belched.

"Uh..." I wiped the chunks off my face as I said, "Yeah."

"Still got it," he grumbled as he collapsed on the floor unconscious. This was immediately followed by the sound of him audibly defecating his trousers. A dove then burst from his waistline and flew frantically in the bar.

Vincent rolled his eyes, picked up a broom to swat the panicked dove, and said, "Not again."
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Tune in next week for more of my Interview with a Magician.

Ramadan

So, I got some bad news. I don't think I can possibly deliver the quality of toilet humor and ridiculous banter that my readership has grown accustomed to while I'm fasting. Fasting essential turns my brain into mush. Not in a bad way... but in a more like... um... not coherent way.

It's weird. There's normal Lon, and then there's Ramadan Lon. Normal Lon smokes way too many cigarettes and drinks way too much coffee and tea. Ramadan Lon doesn't really do that. He usually speaks about himself in the third person... to be honest, he does this in his normal state as well.

When I fast (that is to say that I don't eat or drink anything from the first call to prayer [around 3:30 in the morning] to the fourth call to prayer [about 8:30 in the evening]), time goes by slowly. I like to spend time outside in the shade and just relax.... I know, gay, right?

So, I will have to put my consistency on hold... which by definition means I'm not being consistent. Well, so be it. You guys will live. Also, I won't forget about you. I still owe you Part 2 of the guide to dating.

Let me give you my Ramadan routine though. If I have work, I work. Pretty straight forward there. I also have a habit of falling asleep on the bus to and from work. Fasting makes me tired. If I don't have work, I watch TV series. It has been a Ramadan tradition to watch Adventure Time and as God is my witness, I will not break such a sacred tradition. I also don't play any video games. I'm not sure why though.

Anyway, I will talk to you guys again once Ramadan is over. That'll be... um... June 14th-ish. Don't worry. In the words of the Terminator: "Are you John Connor?" ... wait... no... it's not that line... um... which one is it... it's on the tip of my tongue... um... "Terminate this, fucker!"

No... that's Sarah Connor's line... um... "hasta luego, toddler"

Yeah... that seems right.

Lon's Guide to Dating: Part 1

Well, it's Monday again, and you know what that means... another update for my blog.

You're Welcome

So, you're in luck because I am here to impart my knowledge onto you, dear reader. Y'see, I've been in a relationship for quite some time now, and I know many of you reading this are either in loveless relationships that only make the light within dim by the day or so insanely single that even your mother has given up loving you because there is absolutely no chance you will bear her grandchildren. Admit it... you know I'm right. Either way you need my wise sage-like counsel. Council? Counsel?... whichever means advice... advise?... advice?... whichever one means something I tell you to get your life together.... Words... I teach English.

Now, this post will be divided into two parts. One for the men... and one for the LAAAAAAAAAAADIES! Y'know what I'm saying? WHAT WHAT! You go Karen! WORK IT! YOU GO GIRL! WOOO- Oh Christ, she fell down.... someone check on Karen to make sure she's okay... um... where was I?

Moving on...

So without any further ado... ahem... I present...

LON'S GUIDE TO DATING

FOR THE MEN

So, you've come to Papa Lon for the answers. I get it. We all feel lost. Let Papa put your mind at ease. 

First... stop calling me Papa... That makes me uncomfortable. Okay? At first it was cute and kinda with our theme here, but now it's bordering creepy and I'm beginning to suspect your father didn't give you enough attention as a kid. This is why you'll forever be unlovable. 

Now, many of you don't know where to find women. And if you do, there are probably related to you. Rule #1: YOU CANNOT DATE YOUR MOTHER. Your dad already put that work in. You can't ride his coat tails forever. You gotta go stake out your own woman. 

You're probably saying something right now like "HOW?" and "IT'S TOO HARD!" and "I don't think this applies to me because I'm sexually attracted to men." Well, shut the fuck up to the first two and "that's a valid point, but I can't help you" to the last. 

Step One: Find a Woman

She can be walking on the street or sitting alone in a cafe. She could be having drinks with co-workers at the local bar. Hell, she could be your yoga instructor who has yet to call me back after our first date 5 years ago... YOU BROKE MY HEART, MELANIE! 

The point is you need to approach them... preferably from behind. Women enjoy being startled by men they've never met. It's also a wonderful ice breaker.

But what should you say? Women like compliments. Tell her she smells good... then correct yourself and say she smells well. She'll be impressed by your knowledge of grammar. 

Maybe you could try to impress her. Walk up and tell her how many push-ups you can do. Obviously, you should "flex your guns" after saying this, but DON'T FORGET TO KISS EACH BICEP. I can't tell you how many guys have flubbed this by forgetting to do just that.

Another thing you can do is point out a good physical trait you have. Say something like "Did you notice my neck beard?" Then go into a in-depth explanation of how you properly groom and maintain said neck beard. Trust me, women know how to appreciate a good neck beard. It is literally an aphrodisiac. 

If all else fails, just stare at her boobs and tell her they remind you of your mother's. Women like a man who has an close relationship with his mother. It shows good character.

Even I'm getting wet over this picture.

 You've just finished your opening comments. Introduce yourself. State your first and last name. Your age. Your position. Your star sign (Capricorn, WHAT WHAT!). Whether you're fertile or not. And your pronunciation of the word GIF. (side note: if you pronounce it with the g in giraffe, then you should stop reading this immediately and jump into oncoming traffic. You are literally worse than Hitler.)

After introducing yourself, you now need to get some information. Ask her what her name is, how old she is, what is her job, what is her blood type, how many kidneys does she have, and what is her phone number. Oh and...

Correct answer is your name and your position.

Now, she may insist she has a boyfriend already. Explain that you're sorry for her being trapped in a soul-crushing relationship. Proceed to challenge her boyfriend in combat for her hand. If she refuses, she is clearly lying about her boyfriend. He doesn't exist. Leave immediately. You want a partner, not some two-timing lying hussy.

If she accepts, further explain that you had to register your hands as lethal weapons. Tell her you studied Krav Maga, the Israeli martial art designed for killing unarmed Palestinians. If she still doesn't back down, yield. No woman is worth getting your ass handed to you in front of said woman. Unsheathe your wakizashi and commit seppuku where you stand. She may have called your bluff, but you remain with your honor in tact.

Sayonara Neck Beard-san

Now, hopefully you don't get disemboweled by your own hand. You have gotten her number. Congratulations... we aren't over yet.

Step Two: First Date

You should text or call her... text actually... calling is weird now and there's no going back. Anyway, text her the next day. Try to meet up for coffee. Coffee is always a nice first date... or a restaurant... food... food needs to be involved. If you're really broke, just go to a park and walk with her, but if you do, don't you dare fuckin' sweat. SWEAT IS A SIGN OF WEAKNESS! If you end up sweating, just say it's dew or she is imagining things. Tell her your pores are crying because they watched a really sad movie. Never admit that it's sweat.

Regardless of where you go, you need to dress appropriately and be prepared. Don't shower or use deodorant for a couple of days before hand. Your natural musk will make her loins froth uncontrollably. This is one of the reasons why homeless guys get so much poontang. That's a fact. Also, wear a fedora. Nothing says classy like a fedora. Keep her guessing. Are you secretly a superhero? Are you an Italian mob member? Are you a investigative journalist/detective from 1930s New York stuck in our time because of a temporal rift in the time-space continuum? Women like a man of mystery. 

Wear a polo shirt two sizes too big. Is it a shirt? Is it a blouse?  Is it some sorta man-dress? Who the fuck knows! Mystery!

Wear jeans or shorts. BUT if you wear shorts, you need to wear those long socks that you usually roll up to your mid-shin... yeah, but this time scrunch them down. Set your own fashion trends. Chicks dig that shit.

So, now you're at a restaurant or cafe. I know I said some shit about a park, but you're on your own for that shit. DON'T SWEAT! Make sure that it's at night and it is dimly lit. Ambience is everything. Also, you're going to need a candle. Not a Roman one... like an actual candle. Why? SHADOW PUPPETS! THAT'S WHY!

I'm even sure what the fuck that is but it gets me fuckin' hot.

 

 

 Women love shadow puppets. Make sure she's seated though. Last thing you need is to have her so hot and ready-to-go down there that her knees buckle.

Really, that's it. Everything else is inconsequential. I'm totally not saying that because my back is starting to give out as I write this seated on my bed. I genuinely mean it. Shadow puppets will seal the deal 100% of the time. Only pull those bad boys out when you're serious about the girl. There's no need to go playing with the hearts of ladies.

Oh... and one more thing. Always address her as M'lady. Chivalry is NOT dead. It also doesn't hurt to speak in a more formal, Shakespearean English. "Dost thou catch'th mine drift, m'lady?" should be said at least once during your first date. Now you understand why you brought the fedora...

The reason it only shows above his shoulders is because he is literally swimming in pussy

So that's it for Part One. I trust you will go out into the world new men. 

I will be fasting for the next four weeks since Ramadan starts on Wednesday. Nothing will stop me from giving you what you want, my dear readers. Not even my fasting-induced madness.

Tune in next week for Part Two of our two-part series. This has been Lon, and remember: Always be the best you that you can- Oh Shit! Did someone check on Karen?.... Is she alright?... Of course, the readers will get this joke!... It's called a "call-back".... No, I don't think it will go over their heads... yeah... yeah... Look, if they don't get it then they can just scroll up... uh-huh... alright.... What do mean the readers won't understand that this is working like some kind of phone conversation where they can't hear the other party involved in this conversation.... uh-huh... yeah... No, I'm not "dragging this bit out."... yeah... okay... uh-huh...well yeah, now I am.... Well, tell Karen I hope she gets better... Alright... bye-bye... uh-huh... see you soon, bye-bye.

I honestly took five minutes trying to figure out how I was going to end that... I regret nothing.

A Month of Consistency

Yes, it's been a month. A month of me writing once a week on this. Granted in the overall scheme of things, it's really nothing... but it's a hell of a lot better than what I doing which was... uh... a year and a half hiatus. So... I'm getting better is all I'm saying.

Sure you are, Lon

 

Anyway, despite the improvised feel of my blog, I actually spend time thinking about what I'm gonna write about... which makes most of these posts sad and horrifying at the same time... sordifying? sarrifying? haddifying?... Donald Trumpesque. (Ha HA! Topical!)

However, I think today I'll reward myself if a short post... I know, I know... I'm coping out. But let me assure you more are to come. Longer... Better... dare I say, Thicker?... 

UGH! SO MOIST RIGHT NOW!

 

Now, in the past, I would just load this bad boy with gifs and call it a day... but that was the old Lon (which is a weird thing to say because I am in fact older now... fuck it! THAT WAS THE YOUNG LON!) I was inexperienced and more prone to bouts of laziness... God, I can't stop staring at Tom Hardy... He should be called Tom "Give You a" Hardy.

Where was I?

Oh yeah, so I'm not going to just put a bunch of gifs or funny pictures... Fuckin' Hardy...It's like he knows I'm looking at him and he's winking into my soul.

God... how can women resist him? And it's weird because he actually has lips which is a rare trait for English people. Dead serious... English people have snake faces... No lips. I think they sent most of their lipped population abroad. Now of course, there are some famous English people with lips...

Jagger's face is about 80% mouth/lips

 

But I theorize that the reason Jagger's and Hardy's lips are so big is to compensate for the rest of the English population.

Exhibit A

 

 Not a single lip...

 

Exhibit B

 No one in the picture has lips either... damn Michael Caine is old

 

Exhibit C

 

 

Now Exhibit C is interesting because the Bond second from the left clearly has lips... but here's the problem. That's George Lazenby... He's Australian. All the other Bonds essentially have slits in their faces.

So here's a little homework... try watching the BBC and play "Spot the Lips"... hell, make it a drinking game. Every time you see an Englishman, Welshman, or Scotsman with a pair of actual human lips, take a shot... I bet you will achieve a level of sobriety not thought possible. Now... they can't be immigrants. They need British last names. It can't just be the accent. Australians don't count. Also, I'm not sure if the Irish can be counted... being that they weren't even counted as people until quite recently.

I'm sure that some of you just had your minds blown. I wanna see if I can get this stereotype going. Like the first time you meet someone and ask them if their family is from England and they say "yeah" and you say "yeah, that makes sense" and they say "oh why's that" and you say "because you literally have no lips." Of course, that person won't understand at first. "Is that a thing?" they might think... well... I'M GONNA MAKE IT A THING!

That's all for now. I'm hungry and I'm gonna order food... so... um... I'll see you guys next week.