I Wrote Another (Obnoxious) Craigslist Ad

My dear friend Ashley is moving across the country, and she very generously allowed me to write the Craigslist ad for her exquisite bedroom furniture. The best part is that she said I could write whatever I wanted. So I did.

Four Piece Bedroom Set to Classy Home - $700

Oh, good. You finally decided to get rid of that cheap-ass furniture that only ever impressed your college drug dealer.

Well, buckle up your panties or boxer briefs, because I've got real mature furniture for you to arrange in a way that will let your future rotating front door of hunks and/or babes just keep sparking like you have a teleporter connected to that martini bar you can't afford.

I mean, I get it. You spent your twenties drunk on Popov, watching reruns of Scrubs.

Sure, over the years, between swearing off Jager and reiterating everything you read on Reddit to people who aren't on Reddit, you collected furniture from parents, friends, garage sales, and maybe even that former flame who wouldn't see your cousin's artsy noise band. I get it. You have a "set" of furniture if your interior decorator was Pee-Wee Herman.

But, now, here you are in the dying twilight of your youth, holding authority over an empire of unframed posters and stickers on your window. Yet something has changed. A lightness has come to you, and you're surprisingly not high.

You've finally realized that, now that you're slowly and strangely creeping up to the age of 30 like the westside strangler, it's dawning on you that, holy shit, I should have furniture that doesn't make it seem like I still grope homecoming royalty in the backseat of a borrowed car.

You want furniture that screams you know how to use commas and that you're aware half of the inspirational quotes on Pinterest don't even make sense.

Well, guess what? I've got furniture to change all that. I'm selling four pieces of bedroom furniture that are basically tuxedos and ball gowns you can't wear.

Here's what I have to save your I-never-got-over-the-90s ass:

• A NIGHT TABLE for you to stash Russian literature instead of your accidental collection of used condoms.
• A BED that would impress every member of The Fellowship Of The Ring with its beautifully crafted wood and elegant-as-glass-titties iron work.
• A WARDROBE that would make both the lion and the witch as wrathfully jealous as Steve Guttenberg rewatching his VHS copy of Three Men And A Little Lady.
• A DRESSER WITH A MIRROR that's made for easy transport, just like you in all those limousines you can now expect to see in your driveway.

These pieces were made from the finest of oak trees, which I have to imagine were immediately replanted because whoever made these was capable of the greatest love for both mankind and Mother Earth.

These pieces were also expensive, but I'm selling them all for ONLY $700 because I'm moving across the country. Shit, I'd tell you where, but now that you know how fine my taste in furniture is, you'll want to date me, and, hey, I've already got a phone full of potential husbands BECAUSE of this furniture.

Get these while they're hot.

Just kidding.

They'll always be hot.

Call me.

Bitch.

Give Me Something That Says...

Take a look at this jacket.

Ignore the hoodie underneath. It's that dirty golden beast I'm telling you about. It's an unremarkable piece of clothing, except that I don't buy clothes all that often. So it's easy for friends to notice new threads. One day, soon after I purchased said jacket, Rex, Scott and I were cruising around Orange, and Rex noticed the jacket in my backseat. He asked about it. I told him I went into the store and said, "Give me something that says...it's back to school night in Anaheim Hills." Rex and Scott then followed up with their own "Give me something that says" lines about the jacket (which looks significantly less twenty-something attire without a hoodie). The one-liners continued the rest of the day, and then we moved it to Facebook.

Anyway, I was going through some old jokey threads on Facebook and found one of me, Rex and Scott talking about the jacket, and it made me laugh. We never really discussed the dopey, but somewhat manly, suburban husband-father character we are all describing in said jacket. But it's like a guy who's stuck between North County and South County and keeps trying to impress people but doesn't really get it. He goes into the store, tries to explain to the clerk what kind of a jacket he's looking for, and she doesn't understand. Finally, he puts his fingers thoughtfully to his lips and figures out exactly how to describe the jacket he wants.

Jake: "Give me something that says...Orange County Wine Tour."

Rex: "Give me something that says...I like to feed my dog a healthy mix of wet and dry foods."

Scott: "Give me something that says...I own stock in the Sharper Image."

Jake: "Give me something that says...I attend BBQs to passive-aggressively tell the host how to barbecue."

Rex: "Give me something that says...I don't play golf to get away from my family. I play golf because I enjoy it."

Jake: "Give me something that says...I defend Michael Bay movies at dinner parties."

Rex: "Give me something that says...It's pretty obvious that breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

Scott: "Give me something that says...I get a 15% discount at Coco's on a regular basis."

Rex: "Give me something that says...My Ford Taurus is cool, but I'd certainly rather drive a convertible Miata."

Jake: "Give me something that says...Attending a boat show is on my bucket list."

Rex: "Give me something that says...I'm really looking forward to tennis sweater weather."

Scott: "Give me something that says...My Ford Taurus has personal seat warmers."

Rex: "Give me something that says...This looks perfect with my khaki shorts."

Jake: "Give me something that says...Friday night with the family at Claimjumper."

Rex: "Give me something that says...Hey guys, this is my new, attractive, and significantly younger girlfriend."

Jake: "Give me something that says...The wife finally let me out for a poker game with the guys."

Rex: "Give me something that says...I encourage carpooling."

Jake: "Give me something that says...Middle management is the place to be."

Rex: "Give me something that says...I'll just have a club soda."

Jake: "Give me something that says...I'm a meat and potato guy, but I really, really like salad."

Rex: "Give me something that says...They just don't make snow shoes like they used to."

Jake: "Give me something that says...I like to talk about the wild car I owned in my twenties more than the fiscally responsible car I own now."

Rex: "Give me something that says...Yes, actually, I do have life insurance."

Jake: "Give me something that says...Yeah, I've seen a TED Talk or two."

Rex: "Give me something that says...The Charleston is my go to dance move."

Jake: "Give me something that says...I own hiking boots, but I don't know any good trails."

And there you have it, for whatever reason.

My Friends And I Filmed A Ransom Video

Our friend Blake loves the movie Drive. I mean, he loves the hell out of it. He also has the most impressive Blu-Ray collection I've ever seen. And he and I do some fun, goofy shit-talking on the basketball court on Sunday mornings. So, naturally, when he invited us all over for a party at his house, my first thought was, "I should steal his copy of Drive."

After informing Rex of my plan after basketball one Wednesday evening, the idea evolved. Rex suggested that we replace the movie with a Twilight Blu-Ray (which remains the only Blu-Ray that Rex owns for some reason). Later, this came to involve Scott and Lil' Chase, and it became a big, hilarious project. I showed up late to the party with Grant, and the movie had already been lifted and replaced by the time I even arrived.

So, the next day, on a wonderfully sunny afternoon, Scott, Rex, Grant and myself gathered at Lil' Chase's house to partake in drinking some whiskey and filming a ransom video.

Fast forward two weeks.

Last night, coming home from an evening out, Blake just wanted to watch Drive (oh, how he loves that movie)...only to discover the Twilight Blu-ray inside the Drive case instead. Needless to say, he was livid. Today is his day off and he still just wants to watch Drive. After sending us all a threatening Facebook message (as he somehow guessed it was us immediately), someone named "Blake" (same name, same birthday, same profile picture) asked to be his friend on Facebook. Blake accepted the friend request and then "Blake" posted the ransom video at the top.

This morning, I received this message from Blake: "I'm literally going to kill you. Enjoy your last 48 hours on earth."

So I shall.

What's that? Oh, yes, we're all in our mid-to-late 20s. But, hey, why ever stop having fun?

A Whole Mass O' Mess

My mind's all over the place, so here's a...

Fake excerpt from a noir novel:
"Bang bang," said the gun. Nobody in the ballroom laughed. They had all heard the joke before.

Poem with just one line:
You can collect broken hearts like phone numbers, but you can't store them like baseball cards.

Quick recap of my life:
Life has been stupidly good lately. I'm writing more than ever. I'm reading as much as I can. I work from home two days a week and surprisingly appreciate my commute to Los Angeles the other three days. I play basketball at least two times a week. A recent 10 a.m. Sunday morning basketball game turned into an all-day barbecue with all the locals eating burgers and playing volleyball (I didn't get home until 10 p.m., sunburned as shit and happy as hell). Monday night is still group dinner/writing and Tuesday evening is now watching old films on a movie screen in a backyard with friends and popcorn. I feel like I'm living out my third adolescence, as I keep finding myself falling victim to the dumb grins I remember carrying with me as a 20-year-old; back when all I remember doing that year was going to shows, going on bike rides, going to Australia, going to Arizona, going to Northern California, going at everything with a charming sense of who gives a shit. I feel like I have all the time in the world and I've never been busier. I also don't think I've ever written such a junior high-sounding entry about my life, not even in junior high. I feel like I'm on the verge of writing things like, "And I'm hitting more green lights when I drive!" Ugh. This paragraph was disgusting. Ah well. Woop, woop!

Something I can't stop saying:
Woop, woop!

Movie you should watch:
City Island

Song that should make you feel all kinds of good:
"Good Ol' Fashion Rump Shaker" by The Hood Internet
{Beastie Boys vs. Matt & Kim}

Dangerous thought:
It's been an amazing past month of summer and it's only April. Hot diggity damn, coming summertime, I'm gonna mess you up in a sexy way. Woop, woop!

Youth, by Amory Blaine

"Youth is like having a big plate of candy. Sentimentalists think they want to be in the pure, simple state they were in before they ate the candy. They don't. They just want the fun of eating it all over again. The matron doesn't want to repeat her girlhood - she wants to repeat her honeymoon. I don't want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it again."

- Amory Blaine (from F. Scott Fitzgerald's This Side Of Paradise)

Pennies

Poetry in bed, leave the lyrics on the floor and let the radio sing us anthems from the big bands. I've never been to the city and I'll never leave you again. We'll just lip-sync everything until it hurts. Forever in your favor, let's stay in tonight and always. I haven't an eternity to spend in the bars or on the cliffs. This is where we'll dissolve into rose petals and ash. This is where the waves from the record player will carry us to the window and float us out into the great heavenly beyond. We ain't taking anything with us. Our books will stay, just so the neighbors can know what we liked. Friends and family will see us on the other side. We can live forever on nothing at all. And I'll promise you this over and over, time and time again, until my mouth rots and your ears burn. This is going to make us sick with our own jealousy. Let's go to bed laughing this time.

My Poetic Pick-Up Line

Girls love poetry, right? Well, why wait until it's, like, your eighth Labor Day together or whatever to write her a kick-ass poem? I say, no more! Start things off all sexy-poetic, I say!

Here's the poem I'd drop on a chick at the bar:

Holy shit, girl! DAMN;
I wanna do stuff to you.
Hey: you like haikus?

And then BOOM! I'd be in!

Muthafuckin' Freaky Hug City.

But, see, the only problem here is that she wouldn't be able to see all of my awesome punctuation, you know?

Ah well, you live and you learn, I suppose.

The Haiku Break-Up

The Haiku Break-Up
an obnoxious break-up in the form of ridiculous and silly haikus.
by jake kilroy.

"You and me are through!
You're the shittiest boyfriend.
I want you to leave."

"But I don't wanna.
Who the hell will make me food?
Shit, I'll starve to death!"

"That's not my problem.
Besides, you only eat drugs.
I bet you're high now."

"So, what if I am?
My hands glow in the dark, bitch!
I don't need your tits!"

"Do you hear yourself?
This is why we're breaking up!
You're insane on drugs!"

"Me no way insane.
You, bad girlfriend, make me go.
Me best guy ever."

"Oh my god, shut up.
You can barely dress yourself.
Please just leave, ok?"

"But me live here, yes?
I give you hot massage, yes?
You no mad now, yes?"

"Why are you still here?
Stop talking like a caveman!
You're such a stoner!"

"I talk like cat now.
Hey, I can has cheeseburger?
Scratch my belly please?"

"Get out, you weirdo!
I never want to see you.
Don't call me again."

"Me understand you.
But, first, me steal things from you,
like big fish tank here."

"Don't touch the fish tank!
You can't pick it up, asshole!
Just get the fuck out!"

"Me has idea.
You love fish, so I am fish.
We are ok now?"

A Story of Loss & Judgment

"You think this can break us?" she cried. "What are you so afraid of? Nothing can break us. We're stronger with this loss. It'll heal after the cuts have dried. Why are you so scared of us not having everything? We have each other! What more do you want? All that we want and need can be found here, between us, within us. Our freedom, our dreams, our hopes and even our worst fears. But not this. This is not our worst fear. We are more than this, Bryan. Can't you see? We're so far removed from this, beyond trees and waterfalls and probably even clouds and I know we can make it. You and I, if we work as a beautiful, amazing team, can-"

"Nancy," Bryan interrupted, speaking slowly, thinking over every word, "I don't know what that was, but it didn't answer my question. I'll ask it again and a yes or no answer would be preferable here. Have you seen my Fozzie Bear shirt or not?"

"Yes! Yes! I confess! I threw it away!" Nancy yelled like a lunatic. "I thought it was fucking stupid!"

"You're fucking stupid!" Bryan shrieked, his eyes gone a most unpatriotic red. "And now I'm gonna get all drunk and shit and then beat you into forgiveness!"

And so he did. Oh man, did he beat her. Why? Because Bryan was a man of his word and Nancy was being a total bitch.

Did you feel sorry for Nancy in the end? Oh, because she got the shit kicked out of her (Bryan nearly put her in the hospital, by the way)? Well, you should reevaluate your sympathies, because Nancy was a Nazi war criminal. Feel good about yourself now? You probably shouldn't. The lesson here is that you should stop making assumptions about people before you have the facts. Is Brian a shitty guy for beating up a war criminal after she threw his shirt away carelessly? No, of course not. You're being all crazy right now. So, next time, before you get all winded with your pride, stop and think before making your insane assumptions about people without knowing everything first. Knowledge is power, people.

This is Jake Kilroy, changing the world, one blog post at a time.

Fictional Character I Wish Were Real #1: Molly

Name: Molly

From: Idle Hands

Portrayed By: Jessica Alba

When: 1999

When I was 14, the world showed me Jessica Alba. And, I have to tell you, like many boys my age, I nearly had a heart attack of boners.

No, it's true!

Seriously though, Idle Hands came out when I was eighth grade and had only recently come to terms with puberty. So, for the world to say, "Hey man, you're becoming an adult, try to be cool about it," and then show me Jessica Alba in Idle Hands, well, it seemed like a super dick move. It was like introducing a kid to candy by handing him a cough drop and then, an hour later, saying, "Oh, by the way, these are Sour Patch Kids."

You can't do that to a kid in corduroy! He's got enough troubles!

On a related note, I only wore corduroy then and, trust me, I had enough troubles.

So, at 14, when sex dreams had the same quality as nightmares, I saw Jessica Alba who had just turned 18. And, oh my goddamn hell, did Hollywood exploit that kitten.

The character of Molly was designed to make every teenage boy's brain explode. All she did was hang out in her pajamas or underwear and say cute or sexy things. But she wasn't a skank (for the most part), so it just seemed like she just wanted that chump idiot Anton Tobias. She was pursuing him. Even Jessica Rabbit and Roger Rabbit made more sense to me.

She dressed as a sexy angel that Halloween and she even lost half of her clothes that fateful night. And you felt bad for her. All you could do was feel sorry that she wasn't safe at home in her bedroom. But, oh man, all you wanted to do was be in that bedroom with her...until you realized you'd probably screw it up. Shit, what would you do as a teenage boy if you actually had the chance to be with Molly? Well, you'd probably cry because you knew deep down inside that you'd be letting her down, no matter how hard you tried. Goddamn, even in my mid-twenties, I would still be intimidated if I had the chance with that gnarly sex kitten.

I mean, seriously, even now, she's the hottest fictional character I can think of. And, yes, I agree that it's weird that the character is now seven years younger than me, but...whatever. Come to think of it, it's probably fair to assume that Molly has had lasting psychological effects on me. I've considered this recently. I think, what if Molly were real? And all I can come up with is that it's good she's not. Why? Because she could probably lead an entire army of men to murder entire countries if she promised them her nipples. Shit, if she were a Russian spy that promised full nudity, I'd get a job with the Pentagon, go through all that training and career-building, just to have the chance to sell her American missile secrets years later.

Damn, you know what? If you put me in a room full of nuns and Molly said I'd have to stab just one of the nuns to touch her legs, I would stab every nun in there, just to improve my chances. I would sell friends up the river and then burn the river (it'd be a river of oil!) if it meant I could maybe, just maybe, hang out in her bedroom and lay my hand on her butt.

Oh, what's that, Molly? Kidnap children? They're yours! Who did you want dead? Don't even worry about it! I nuked half the planet!

Seriously though, did you see her in her underwear in that movie? If I had been there, I would've killed everyone within a 50-yard radius because there might've been a slight chance they saw what I saw and I'd rather to be the only person alive who did.

For Molly, I would eat meat, do heavy drugs and even listen to The Eagles. Fuck, man, I would sky-dive if that was my only way to reach her. And it's not like some ultra-heroic love thing. I definitely don't love Molly. We totally wouldn't work out long-term. I already know this. Maybe we could casually date?

Hmmm.

Maybe friends with benefits would be ideal here.

But I just remember seeing that movie in high school and thinking, "Oh my god...I would actually kill for a person." I was terrified of myself for a long time, but then I came to terms with the fact that no playful sex kitten like Molly would truly exist. And, thus, the world remained safe. Her and I probably have nothing in common, except that we both know that she is extremely, extremely hot.

Again, it wouldn't be a relationship. It would just be like...the Olympics of stalkerdom.

I'd be like her zombie.

Would I enjoy throwing all those puppies into a spinning boat motor, if she asked? No, of course not! I'm not a monster, people. But would I do that for her? Yes, absolutely. Because I would want to see her in her underwear afterward. If she was going to be naked, I'd probably rent a cement truck and fill it with all those puppies, just to get the job done quicker as they slide into a gruesome death. "Oh no, now I have to shower to get off all the blood," I'd say casually, all dazed and thinking of Molly. Well, then why don't I just wash all this puppy blood off in the shower that I take it with Molly? Bam. Guilt gone! Puppies? What puppies? All I saw when the blades were churning was Molly and she was probably saying something totally scandalous to me.

Oh man, and then when she dressed as an angel in that movie? Ugh. I would've at least tortured a senior citizen. When her clothes get ripped off and she's in her underwear? I'd probably push people I know off of a cruise ship. As they're drowning, I'd yell, "Sorry, but enjoy the afterlife! I'm gonna experience Heaven on Earth." And, again, if she were promising sweet, sweet booty, I'm almost certain I couldn't guarantee that I wouldn't fly a Greenpeace plane right into an elementary school of orphans.

I know, I know! I know how it sounds. It sounds stupid and terrible. But, seriously, have you seen Molly? In fact, that would be my defense. "Excuse me, your honor, but have you seen them titties? No? Well, then I present them as Exhibit Cs!" Haha! And then the jury would laugh and I'd walk free. But what would I do then? Well, I'd grab a box of ice cream and lingerie and then head to Molly's house to do whatever she wanted me to. Massage, or maybe murder, it wouldn't matter, because I'd do it. And I'd do it with a senseless grin. Sorry. Whatever.

Fuck you, everybody else!

Bring On The Traffic: Volume Two

To bring in more traffic to my blog (and to rise to challenge Non's mouthy mouthin' off), I've decided to revive my weak attempts at combining every popular thing on the internet. This one is television-themed:

Katy Perry (of "California Gurls" and hot body fame) and I watched the first episode of The Walking Dead, which is on the same channel as Mad Men, and we're also going to catch the series premiere of Conan. We're both very excited for television this year, so we're going to try out the 101 Ways To Please Your Man suggestions in Cosmo to make us feel good like free drugs. Also, I heard that Keith Olbermann's political donations and pictures of Kat Dennings's boobs are floating around the interwebs! Katy will love that as much as Kanye West's new leaked album!

The Lost Poems of Robert Frost

In The Lost Poems of Robert Frost, there are many, many, many, many, many poems about snow as well as many, many, many, many, many poems dedicated to Jason Kornfeld. Here's one that let's just say I found and leave it at that:

"Snow: Limerick #457
by Robert Frost
Come look at me and my snow!
I've got so much snow to show!
It's so pearly white
and pretty at night!
I hump it until it glows!

They Were All Something

The king was asleep. The jester was drunk. The queen was out. The prince was bored. The princess was wanting. And the peasants were gathering at the market.

The stowaway was waiting. The captain was staring. The first mate was ordering. The cook was laughing. The mapper was plotting. And the crew was playing cards below.

The outlaw was riding. The sheriff was squinting. The deputy was cringing. The bartender was busy. The rancher was depressed. And the townspeople were keeping off the streets.

The orchestra was loud. The bandleader was happy. The singer was coy. The waiter was smug. The lover-boy was grinning. And the city was out on the town.

The writer was coughing. The musician was loopy. The dancer was slouching. The actor was smoking. The painter was judging. And the art would just have to wait.

And, with books stacked on his night table, the boy in bed had no dreams.

Nothin'

I have no poems for the poets,
because they'd rip 'em apart.
I have no gods for the religious,
because they'd build 'em too big.