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Hi World. Thanks for the rash. Where is my gun?

I think I might actually have a point to make today . . . bare with me. I am writing this dumb thing today on an electronic computing machine. I am listening to some fucking ROCKING jams on my electronic tape player. I am getting text messages from my parole officer on my super fast electronic cell phone thing. Plus, I watch all of my old Kids Incorporated videos on a miniature electronic movie theater.

So. The other night I was downtown at a party with people who pretend to be my friends. It got late and I needed to make the trek back to Lincoln Park from Wicker Park. Being that I was tired from it all, I decided to forego the traditional February car jack and opted to take a taxi cab. I flag down a cab and get in the car.  Well, I tried to get in the front and sit extra close to the driver on the bench seat just to make things spicy, but he insisted I get in the back, or . . . no ride. I complied. We get all the way back to my my area and I tell him to drop me off at the corner near my hovel. He told me the fare and when I gave him a credit card his head spun around and he went into a fiery temper tantrum. He didn't want to take my card. Here is a summary of the transcript:

Driver: "Eleven twenty five."

Tyler Guy: "OK. Here you go." (hand him PLATINUM Visa Debit Card)

Driver: "No. No. What? No, you got to pay cash."

Tyler Guy: "What? Why?"

Driver: "Cash only."

Tyler Guy: "But there is a credit card machine right there." (I point to the card machine thing in the back seat, convenient for passenger use)

Driver: "Cash only. Cash only. No card."

Tyler Guy: "Well, I don't have cash. You wanna take my card or not."

Driver: "Mucky Blangada Vinceteo a Mucky Flipourin---Ivan Drago." (foreign expletives, lots of finger pointing and wild saliva spitting)

Tyler Guy: "I don't know what you just said, sir. But I don't want any trouble. Stay here and I'll ATM at this 7-11."

Driver: "Yes. Go."

So, I go into the 7-11 and ATM 20 bucks - then I buy a Slim Jim and head to the cashier to pay. As I am completing the transaction with the nice 7-11 man, I decide to get creative with my change. I told the story of what was happening and the man was happy to help.

As I return to the cab, I stand outside and hand the driver a bag of money. $11.25 in this manner.

14 rolls of pennies.

12 quarters.

10 dimes. 

5 nickels.

Driver: "Fuck you you fucking prick fucking boy."

Tyler Guy: "Cool man. Keep the change. Oh wait! It's all change. I'll walk from here."

My Point? It's an electronic world. Get with it or jingle. 

THE END.

Love Always, 

Tyler

Too . . . There . . .

Dear World -

Today I would like to take a moment to discuss two groups of words: the "to's" and the "there's". If that is kind of confusing I will break it down further into teams:

The Bluebirds: to, too and two.

The Irons: there, their and they're.

Now, I am not a scholar. I have not written any dissertations, my favorite book  is Goodnight Moon and I am not good at building things. Having said that, I am somewhat familiar with the laws and regulations regarding grammar and words and things . . . and thought I'd take a moment to delve into a little matter which people seem to get confused more often than not. Folks can't seem to use the correct form of "to" and "there" when writing. I find these words important in our language and deserve more respect. As such, I thought I'd create a guideline for the appropriate ways to use these two teams of words.

Following are correct and in correct ways of using these words.

THE BLUEBIRDS -

To:

Good Way: "I am heading to the east side to get my balls waxed."

Bad Way: "I have been a cutter for to years now."

Too:

Good Way: "That chick has eaten way too many donuts in her day, but I'd still hit it."

Bad Way: "The nice priest at church told me not too say anything about us playing hide the dart."

Two:

Good Way: "Uncle Dan hit mom in the head two times with a broken bottle."

Bad Way: "Anna Nicole took way two many drugs for lunch that day. She dead."

THE IRONS:

There:

Good Way: "I put the gag ball over there."

Bad Way: "Every time I go over to there house, I wake up with a sore fanny."

Their:

Good Way: "At least their trailer has heat."

Bad Way: "I think she went over their to pay her pimp."

They're:

Bad Way: "They're the nicest couple. I hardly noticed his wooden leg and lazy eye."

Good Way: "I think they're is only one good way to steal his kidney."

Please use this source for reference at any point.

GO WORLD!!!

Tyler Britain Kirk I

Baby Encounter

TV: Sober House is no Intervention, but it is another option to make you feel better about yourself.

Moving along. Lets talk for a moment about kids. I love kids. I have four nephews that all share my last name, all look kind of like me and all speak English. They are hilarious, smart, enjoy being on earth and don't have to pay rent. Plus, they really appreciate the greatness that is Whataburger. 

Having said that, I'd like to address one thing in particular that continually makes me somewhat uncomfortable. Ready?  When you're sitting at a table, or on the train, or in line buying your liquor and gorilla glue for the morning and the lady next to you - or in front of you...or to the side of you - is holding onto a cute little tike who, for whatever reason, finds you unbelievably fascinating. Fascinating to the point that the little fella stares holes through you as the puddle of sippy cup infused mucus flowing onto mommy's shoulder grows into a pond. Now, that is not a problem. Kids are curious. The problem really gains momentum and increases from a canter to a gallup when I begin to try to talk and interact with the little titan. I like to talk to them and try to get a giggle from them. FAIL. The whole process usually transpires in 7 stages. Perhaps you can relate. This happened to me this morning.

STAGE 1: Eye Contact. I notice two plate-size eyes beaming in my direction. Quickly, my attention is diverted from pocketing a pack of Top Cigarette paper to the issue at hand. A smile is cracked as I fake a cough and put the tobacco paper in my pocket. Success.

STAGE 2: Facial expressions. Now knowing that the game is well underway, my immediate impulse is not to realize that I am looking at a cute little raisin who has been on earth for less time than my rash. No, instead I believe the best move at this point is to completely ignore the beams being shot at me by the mom and instead, not make any noise but contort my face and dome into various shapes and expressions that the child can only process as being frightening and somewhat disturbing. The big smile, the tongue out, the confused muse, the constipated bellow, etc. At this point in the game, I am losing. 

STAGE 3: Baby talk. Since my impression of a stroke victim has done little to entice the youngster, my next move by instinct is to begin to create words that have no meaning and no place in the English language. All sorts of unknown creations are being uttered at this time, such as "hoooola hi-eeeeeeeeeeeee" and "a boooga, booooga". Now, these noises in conjunction with my expressions that can be best described at what it looks like to squeeze an empty beer can on your forehead, do not bode well for the child. The kid continues to stare with little or no expression. I also like to point at random things.

STAGE 5: Judgement. After all of the previous stages have been thoroughly explored, the baby at this point has little choice but to stare and judge me. It is an uncomfortable exchange for a few moments because at this point I know the baby is thinking what a moron I am and how glad he is that I fall nowhere in his blood line. The mother quickly gets in on the act as she does a slow once-over of me from head to toe, then grimmaces and says something under hear breath. More judging. The she fakes a smile and pretends to check her BlackBerry.

STAGE 6: Small talk. My only move at this point - as the tike continues to judge and stare - is to say something to the mom. Something really funny and witty . . . something like, "I love kids. I'm good with them. Is it yours? Really, fun." FAIL.

STAGE 7: Sedation. As my ego plunges from judgement and failure, my last chance at redemption is to undo the vice grip the child has placed on the Sponge Bob sippy cup and fill it with whiskey. I am now smarter and better.

THE END.

Have a great weekend!

Tyler

Character Reference

Hello Folks.

Some lady squeezed out bonus 8 kids in California. Have fun with that. I defeated Scurvy once again and Anna Nicole's Show is still on hiatus. 

Moving along . . . I was asked to write a character reference recently for a friend. And I use the term "friend" very loosely. Not because I don't like this person, I like him fine. I say that because I have only known this person - who I shall call "Leonard" - a few months through acquaintances. I really don't know him that well and am still puzzled as to why I was the one he asked to write this letter. Having said that, I have come to learn that Leonard, although relatively harmless and a thoughtful individual, is not the brightest bulb in the bunch. The only times I have met him are when I meet up with some friends for college football or happy hour, so I know him through them. But he has always been nice to me so I am going to do my best to draft some sort of letter on his behalf. 

Here are a few things I do know about Leonard: no high school diploma, jail time, multiple DUIs, drug charges, unemployed, lack of stable employment, lack of stable apartment, potty mouth, smoker, poor personal hygiene, warrants for his arrest, no bank account, drinking problem, pot smoker, loud, obnoxious, often forgets his wallet.

Knowing this handful of personality traits, I will do my best to draft a letter for Leonard while at the same time being completely honest. Here we go:

Dear Sir or Madam, 

My name is Tyler Kirk. I am a copywriter at an advertising agency here in Chicago. I am happy to write a character reference for Leonard McConnaghey. I have known Leonard for a few months and think he is a really good guy. He has always been very nice and is really nice and friendly and things. I have met up with him on three or four occasions at local watering holes in the Chicago area and he is always good for a laugh, many a fist bump and an absurd amount of high-fives.

In regards to Leonard's character, I would say he consistently portrays many of the traits of a solid individual. For example:

- SELF STARTER: Leonard is always up for beers and is often the first one at the bar getting a head start on the evening. Sometimes hours before the appropriately alloted time. 

- RELIABLE: he will be at the bar when he says he will and, like clockwork, will consistently blackout and call a stranger a "dickface", sometimes throwing a bowl of popcorn at a neighboring table.

- PASSIONATE: Leonard can sing the lyrics to every Motorhead  and Asia song. Leonard also has collected a large amount of Camel Cash and has the Joe Camel lighter to prove it.

- THINKS OF OTHERS: Leonard will drink all day and then offer to drive you home.

- RESOURCEFUL: Leonard has a knack for forgetting his wallet, yet still drinks the night away on someone elses dime.

- CULTURED: Leonard spent 18 months in the Cook County Jail and speaks fluent English.

- HONEST: Leonard has had 3 DUIs and will tell you all about them...including but not limited to the time he drove to Wisconsin to watch the sun rise and drove his station wagon into Lake Michigan. He also tried to "borrow" a pizza delivery man's car once. Again, he will tell you all about it. Over a beer. Over and over again.

- GOAL ORIENTED: Leonard is going to start a record label.

- CREATIVE: Leonard has the ability to fabricate any story into a 3-hour trilogy, complete with piss breaks. Many times the story lacks the appropriate "arc" format, but he makes up for it by creating 4 alternative endings to one story. In one sitting.

- ORGANIZED: Leonard has 4 compartments in his velcro wallet for storage of anything from numbers and business cards to half-smoken cigarettes and packets of Equal.

- DRIVEN: Leonard is determined to be dead by 2012.

If you have any further inquiries regarding Leonard, please don't hesitate to ask. I am happy to help.

Best -

Tyler Kirk

The Buffington's

Once upon a time, in a lush meadow cradled by a stream, lived a lovely family of Portuguese Pigeons named the Buffington's. The Buffington's had lived in the meadow along the stream for eight generations. The patriarch of the family, Roscoe Buffington, had escaped from the cage of a magician named the Amazing Letdown when he was just a youngster and had barely sprouted his wings. He learned to fly on his own and had done his own laundry since he was an infant. Over the years, the Buffington clan had multiplied tenfold into a tribe of sweet, strong birds who took care of their own and respected the land. They regularly socialized with the other singing birds, deer, snakes and even humans who shared their land. It was well-known throughout the area that the Buffington's were outstanding in flight. They had evolved into an amazing family of strong fliers. A cousin named Roosevelt Buffington had created a school of bird Aviation in the 1970s, and still today they use the same methods to teach their young the art of flight.

One day the Buffington's woke up to the sound of the gentle stream and the beautiful songs of the other birds chirping throughout. Today was a special day; it was time to teach the younglings how to fly. As the family gathered at tip of the tall Oak by the stream, all of the birds' little hearts began to putter with anticipation and excitement. They knew today was their day! Today was the day they learned how to fly. When Papa and Mama Buff arrived, they all lined up, as they already knew the drill - and one by one, the delicate and cheerful kids were pushed from the branch of the mighty Oak and forced to fly on their own. And one by one, their instinct took over and in no time they flew with ease. Everyone cheered and joy spread throughout the tree. Even the family of grumpy turtles, named the Schmicks, came out to see this special occasion. 

Finally, when the whole family had gotten their wings, it was time for the family to take flight together for the very first time, a Buffington tradition. And they did. What a wonderful sight it was, the whole family in formation. The sky was theirs, and the sky really was the limit. The sun was shining and the gentle breeze lifted them higher and higher. 

Then, as Papa changed course due west to fly over the park, a Boeing Jumbo 757 roared out of nowhere and sucked all of the Buffington's into the bowels of its Micon A640 Turbine engines, spitting out nothing but a couple of feathers and a broken beak. The Buffington's were dead.

THE END.

Sales

From time to time I get out of the office and do my writing and concepting at Starbucks or take it to the beauty parlor and sit under the big helmet after I get my hair braided. I think it is funny that Starbucks has become the unofficial place for salesguys and salesgals to gather and plot together their plans to make fortunes. It is fantastic people watching and eavesdropping - just take out the iPod machine and put the ear buddies into your ears and tune in. I can take it for minutes, maybe hours. I like hearing a salesguy call being made and the details scribbled out on a the back of the sports section. And just so it's known, I am not ragging on people in sales. I have lots and lots of friends in sales and I couldn't do it. First, I don't like phones which is grounds for an immediate conflict of interest. From what I know it is pretty essential to be a good phone person to be a good sales person. And I think you have to have tough skin and be a self-starter . . . two other things I lack. In addition, the whole part about being passionate about what you're slingin' . . . so, for instance, selling industrial plumbing supplies would warrant another roadblock for me. I don't think I would get a pants tent about selling copper wire or awnings either. Leather goods is a different story. 

So, aside from these things and other problems like quotas, goals, quarters and productivity reports and things, being a selling man isn't in my cards. Having said that, I still think it is funny to recall the conversations I have overheard here and there. Just this morning there was a girl "recruiting" a potential new hire and getting her all jazzed up about the infinite possibilities that come with selling time shares. 

Here are a few snippets from the convo. Although millions are being made, there is a hint of exaggeration. See if you can point out the misleading takes:

- "people hear timeshare and immediately lean toward yes. It's a fact. Like air."

- "no health insurance but with all the money you'll be making, you can buy your own hospital!"

- "sometimes I wear pant suits. Sometimes I don't, like if I am at home in my pajamas."

- "I won a trip to Canada but used the money to fix my bumper."

- "my goal is to sell one a day. Ever seen The Secret?"

- "wait, let me take this. "Well shithead, you were asleep when I left.""

- "I've got my eye on a Benz. Right now? A Dodge Neon."

- "It's gonna be a banner year! Good economy or bad, banner. Watch The Secret."

- "You can find leads anywhere. Paper. Magazine. That man right there, lead."

- "The Excalibur. Sometimes Circus Circus."

- "Just split it down the middle."

Not very bright.

GO WORLD!

Tyler