Well, it’s time for another entry in the internet’s #1 most read blog about my personal path to fatherhood! So far I’ve covered what an OBGYN office is like for a man, how disgusting old vaginas must be, how badly I would handle a daughter who is having her first period, and how happy I am to see a penis, even if it’s on a tiny monitor. Now that I’ve covered the important stuff, I think the next logical step is to cover the naming process.
My wife and I first decided that giving our child a name was probably the right decision. Most people have names, and we wanted our little boy to fit in. There is “the man with no name,” played by Clint Eastwood in the epic spaghetti western trilogy, but he had to shoot and kill several men to maintain respect among his peers. While I believe that there are plenty of people in the present day who are only good for target practice, I’m not sure that society agrees with me.
My wife and I agreed that if our child was a girl, that she would come up with names, and if it’s a boy, that I would pick names. My wife’s favorite girl name was Olivia Jane Malfitano. Jane is a family name that has been passed down through generations in my wife’s family (my family now too, I love the Wileys), and she just likes the sound of “Olivia” in front of it.
My decision making was much more difficult than it had to be for a boy. For years I was telling my wife that I wanted a Junior, but in the last year I strayed from the idea, in fear of being arrogant or self centered. I’ve come across several families, mostly hispanic for some odd reason, that have multiple sons with the same name as their father. Who the hell wants five Hectors in one house?! It seemed arrogant, and even a little shitty to me, but that’s a matter of opinion, I suppose.
Once we found that I had dodged the estrogen bullet, the wheels began turning, as far as thinking of a name goes. I’m not a fan of anything trendy at all, and names are no different. I’m more a fan of the classics, so I was looking at traditional names. The trendy names that sounded good to me were Maddox and Easton, but they didn’t really fit well with the Malfitano last name. I also liked Elliott, but it didn’t sit too well either. The only thing that I liked was Raymond for a middle name, in honor of the greatest and most influential man I had ever been in the presence of.
A great friend of mine suggested Rocco, and I really liked it. I tossed that name around for about a week, but every time I mentioned it to someone, their initial reaction was a chuckle. Part of being who I am is not giving a flying fuck about what anyone thinks of me. However, I’ll be the first one to admit that this is not a trait that one is born with. It takes a lot of practice to achieve the state of truly not giving a shit, and I don’t want my son to be made fun of right away, due to his name.
Eventually, I settled right back where I started, with Anthony James Malfitano Jr. I ran this by my wife, and she seemed to like it, and was already prepared for that decision. I then asked my mother what she thought. Although my belief is that my child’s name is a decision that is only up to my wife and I to decide, my mother’s opinion is one that I value, when it comes to things like this.
My mom’s initial reaction was a sincere one, “I like Anthony for a first name, but ‘James’? How well do you know James Malfitano?” And that is where the misinterpretation lies, and the plot thickens.
Giving my son my name is a homage to nobody, and there’s meaning to that. I didn’t even know James Malfitano is my uncle, and I haven’t seen my father, who also bears the name Anthony, but with a different middle name, in over 20 years.
In reality, I’m a part of the Brioso family, which is my mother’s maiden name. That’s the family that raised me, and the family that I love eternally. Malfitano is nothing more than a name to me, but Anthony Malfitano is who I am, so I refused to change my name when given the opportunity.
When I really thought about it, my name is the only good thing I have. Anthony James Malfitano always sounded good to me, and rolled off the tongue smoothly. I want my son to have that; a cool, classic sounding name. Hopefully, nobody thinks that it’s a tribute to anyone, because it isn’t. In my eyes, the Malfitano family currently consists of two people, soon to be three. Malfitano is my name, and the Malfitano family is a work in progress. Anthony James Malfitano Jr was always the right choice, I think. It sounds good, and it’s who he will be. He hopefully won’t be a carbon copy of me, but he will be my son. He’ll have my name, but will be his own man, just like his father. I want him to be himself, but aware of where he came from.
As pretty much anyone who has spoken to me for more than a minute in the past few months knows, I have two dogs that I’m insanely in love with. I’ve always been very fond of dogs, and once my wife and I moved out of our apartment and into a house, I wanted to get one. Dogs are great, and I think every household is better with one making a mess of it.
All of that being said, I’m going to emphasize right now that I am not one of those screwballs who places the value of a dog’s life above, or even parallel with that of a human being. As a matter of fact, there is no organization that I hate more than PETA. Those guys are extremist idiots, and should be forced to wear muzzles. But, just because I value your human life over that of a lovely canine, I would most likely rather spend my time with my dogs than you. Actually, I’d probably prefer hanging out with any dog over your average schmo.
What is there not to love about dogs anyway? They’re usually happy, and they devote their entire lives to their owners. Having a dog is like having a very close friend who is always thrilled to see you. Their mental capacity doesn’t go to the realm of dramatic acting. When they go crazy when you get home, and start wagging their tail so furiously that they end up shaking the entire back half of their bodies back and forth, that’s not acting. They are genuinely that happy to see you.
It’s this love and appreciation for dogs that makes my daily drive to work so irritating. I’m irritated because I’ve been seeing the same guy in a puppy outfit on the side of the road every day, holding a sign that reads “Puppies $399.”
I’m irritated for more reasons than I care to write, but I’ll give as good of an explanation as I can. First and foremost, puppies that you buy at pet stores come from puppy mills more often than not. While the puppy mill people adamantly claim that they do not put down the dogs that they cannot sell, they are obviously pumping out as many dogs as they can possibly sell. These pet stores then try to persuade you into buying a dog on impulse. Dogs are living things that you adopt, and take into your house, and treat as a member of your family. They are not a new pair of jeans.
Also, puppy mills take focus away from pet shelters and animal rescues, who take in animals that desperately need homes. Why do animal shelters do this? I’ll tell you what isn’t their motivating factor; money. These shelters exist because the people who fund and run them love animals, and want them to be happy. Instead of seeing dogs as a business, they see dogs as a species that is being exploited by people who tug at the heartstrings of others, in order to turn a profit.
Many people go to pet stores because they want a specific breed. I can’t say that I don’t understand that, because I have a dream of being an older man whose children have grown up, who sits in his recliner, with his loyal Rottweiler by his side. I’ve interacted with several rotties who were family pets, and they were some of the coolest dogs I’ve ever met. That being said, looking back at it, I sort of see people who only want a specific breed as dog nazis, trying to have the superior race. If you want a certain breed though, that’s fine. There is an animal rescue for pretty much every type of dog, so please look there for your dream pet.
There’s another small myth that I’ve heard, which suggests that puppies that you get at the pound are damaged goods, and make bad pets. I’m going to go ahead and call bullshit on that right now. Yes, some pets at the shelter have been neglected or abused, but the majority are just dogs that could not be properly taken care of. The ones that have rough pasts have it written in their description on the cage, or on the website anyway, so the people who are qualified to care for them can adopt them.
This is Xander, who I refer to as my firstborn son. Disregard the ribbon on his collar, because I didn’t put it there, the groomer did, earlier that evening. We got Xander from the Humane Society here in Tampa, and it’s the best choice that my wife and I made since getting married. You can’t find a more lovable dog anywhere, and he’s a pound puppy.
This is our boxer, Mosley. I wasn’t a huge fan of boxers before meeting him, and I don’t know if I’m a fan of the breed now, or just a huge fan of his. Mosley is originally a pet store puppy, but we actually took him in because my older sister was downsizing her living arrangement, and wanted him to be somewhere where he would have space to run and play. He’s even more gentle than Xander, who is half his size. He’s a bit of a wuss actually, but I love him unconditionally anyway.
Xander and Mosley are quite fond of one another, to the point where when we get home, Mosley greets us at the door, then runs to Xander’s crate, as if to say “Release my buddy please!” As much as they love each other, it doesn’t compare to how much me and Liz love them.
So if you still want to go to a pet store for your dog, it’s your right to do so. Just please know that you’re in the wrong, and that you’re paying a heap of money to be part of the problem. I, for one, sleep well at night, knowing that my wife and I did the right thing, and are extremely lucky to have the amazing furry companions that we do. I think for now on, that guy in the puppy suit is getting a horn honk, accompanied by a middle finger, every time I pass. Am I a dick? I don’t think so.
I think my biggest love/hate relationship is with politics. I love it, because the stupid opinions and campaign ploys that they form are a source of endless humor. I hate it, because their stupid opinions and campaign ploys cater to the uninformed beliefs of the morons who vote for them. Think about it for a few seconds, then continue reading. Don’t worry, this isn’t totally a political post, for all of you who complain when I write about that stuff.
The biggest sore thumb that sticks out, in the myriad of horrible opinions by potential US presidents, is the gay marriage “debate.” I put “debate” in quotes, because it shouldn’t be an issue at all. Unfortunately it is, because the majority of right wing voters are either uneducated on the subject of equality, or are blinded by their religious beliefs. Instead of being a true leader, and educating the people on the topic, thus making our nation an even greater place to live, politicians choose to cater to these immoral opinions, in order to gain popularity.
Ok, I know that I said this wouldn’t be too political, and I’ve already broken that promise. I’m going to say this one last political thing, and then give my solution to the gay marriage debate.
I liken politicians like Newt Gingrich, Mitt Romney, and Rick Santorum to crippled people. I say this, because they rely on two crutches and a wheelchair. The crutches are the United States Constitution, and the Bible.
Think about it; if you put up a debate on gun control, they fall onto their Constitution crutch, and say that they have a right to bear arms. It seems to go unmentioned that the reason we have that right is to prevent our government from being overthrown by the British. If you try to have a moral debate about the law, they will fall on this crutch every time. I’m not even saying that people shouldn’t have the right (I’m personally against it though). I’m just saying that these men can’t even put up a logical argument.
The other crutch is the Bible, which is where the gay marriage debate always falls. Personally, I’m not religious, but even if I was, I would take the Bible more as an outline on how to behave, and not as a literal, word-for-word handbook to life. How is being gay immoral? If you are in love with someone of the same sex, and that’s all you’re attracted to, are you really evil? If you want to be married, and recognized as a legitimate, legal couple, you shouldn’t be allowed to, because a group of zealots who don’t agree with your stance don’t want you to? They have no relation to you, yet they dictate what you can, and cannot do? Free country, my ass.
Finally is the wheelchair that politicians fall on, and cruise their way along to an easy argument. The wheelchair is your pocketbook. I’m only going to touch on this for a second, because it’s irrelevant to the matter at hand, but you see it a lot. Any time the topic of new taxes that could greatly help our nation relieve the national debt arise, your pocketbook (and certainly theirs too) is their immediate interest. “Sure, the US dollar is plummeting, but they want to take money out of your pocket to relieve it! Don’t let President LL Cool J do that to you! Vote for me!”
Ok, time for me to come full circle, and give my solution to the gay marriage debate, as promised.
On issues like gun control and taxes, I understand why people should be concerned. I may not agree with the right wing opinion, but I do agree that it should be addressed. But gay marriage? It doesn’t affect me, or anyone but the parties involved, so I take the moral high ground of indifference. I don’t care, get married, adopt kids, and enjoy life. You live in America and pay taxes, so you have the same rights that I do, as far as I’m concerned. Gay people are people, plain and simple. Just because they’re attracted to something that I’m not does not prohibit them from their rights.
Here’s a little cherry on top that involves a bit of insight to my personal life, with a dash of humility. People think that seeing gay couples, along with exposure to “gay activities” can influence a child to turn to that kind of a lifestyle. Being gay isn’t a choice though, it’s just who they are. If anyone should be gay, I should, but I’m not. I was raised predominantly by women. I had one positive male influence consistently in my life, in the form of the greatest grandfather that a kid could ever want. Other than that, it was my mom, grandmother, and my sister (who had more of an influence on me than she’ll take credit for) who helped mold me. I lived mostly with my mom and sister, with no men in the picture who had any meaning in my life. My father split when I was very young, and I don’t know much of anything about him (yet another state of indifference for me. I cared back then, not any more though.) I actually don’t even know how many other siblings I have. I know of a sister, and I think that’s it.
I even took ballet as a young child! Yeah, it’s embarrassing, and also true. My sister took ballet, and I guess that I got jealous or something (I was young), so my mom signed me up too. Not only that, my mom worked in the ER as a nurse for most of my childhood, and she brought gay friends over (GASP!). Yeah, I knew gay guys as a kid, and guess what?! They were (and still are, hi Joe!) awesome people. I knew what “gay” is, and absorbed the whole situation much earlier than most people. And after all of that, guess what? I’m not gay! I have no gay inclinations whatsoever. I’m attracted to women, and that was never in question. And if I was gay, so what?
I’ve heard the argument from parents, and their displeasure of having to explain uncomfortable topics with their children. If you don’t want to explain hard life lessons to your kids, then kids aren’t for you. Gay marriage is barely even the tip of the iceberg. I’ll gladly explain it to my son, when the time comes. And guess what? If my son ends up being gay, I won’t care, as long as he’s happy. Sometimes not caring is the appropriate answer.
I know what many of you probably think about me. You all probably believe that I’m some sort of super powered, almighty badass, who just walks around beating the piss out of random people who look at me the wrong way.
I’m sure that you think a vacation for me involves going to some jungle in Africa, or a rainforest in South America, and wrestling the biggest gorilla, or trying to outsmart and outfight a ligerpantheetah, which everyone knows is a liger (from Napoleon Dynamite) crossed with a pantheetah (panther/cheetah, duh), which is pretty much my favorite animal.
I’m sorry to disappoint my millions of fans, but you’re only half right. I am in fact a super powered, almighty badass, and I can do all of those things, but I don’t, and I never will. Why? Because doing things like getting into fistfights, and trying to convince people that you’re tough is fucking stupid. Let me put it this way: being a tough guy who gets into fights is like a “buy one, get one free” sale, because you’re going to end up being friends with people who are all of equal or lesser value than you.
Now, my reason for this triumphant return to the blogging realm isn’t to attack these so-called badasses. I’ve already made a post about that. My reason for this particular piece is to attack gangs, which is totally different.
I know what you’re all thinking, “But King RageLaugh, I live in (insert your home here: Maine, the UK, Phillipines, I’m international!), what’s a gang?” Well, I’ll tell you what a gang is, by showing you a short series of pictures.
This is the frill-neck lizard. It’s defense mechanism is quite brilliant. Whenever in danger in it’s natural habitat of North Australia, it fans out it’s neck skin, thus frightening it’s attacker. Pretty smart actually. Whenever I wonder if I could take someone in a fight, I know the skin on his neck is the place that I examine first.
This is a Chevy Corvette. It boasts one of the largest engines in the production car industry. Guys buy these cars to impress their friends, and most importantly, women. The philosophy is that you drive up next to a woman, rev your engine a few times, and she hops in, and fulfills your every desire.
This is a truck with huge tires. White men who can’t afford a Corvette sometimes opt for something of this nature instead. The general logic behind this is, um, you know what? I have no idea what the logic is. Do some women have a tire fetish? I mean maybe if the chick has father issues, and her dad worked at a garage. Or maybe if her last boyfriend was the Michelin Man. I honestly don’t see the point. I’ve never been in my truck (I do drive a pickup truck), and thought “If only I had tires that were four feet in diameter.”
Finally, this is your basic street gang. You might have noticed that I borrowed the image from the gritty Hollywood drama “A Story About Boyz from the West Side of the Hood,” or something like that. The gang logic is to gather as large of a group as possible, to intimidate your rivals. The added bonus is if five guys mug one guy, nobody will notice what a pansy you are in reality.
So, do you see the theme that I’ve developed here? Large neck, large engine, large tires, and large group. What do they all add up to?
Thanks Condeweezy! That’s the pet name that she asked me to call her. It all adds up to being very small, in every way possible. Small mind, small body, small wangus, everything. I’ll let Isuro Tanaka from Major League II drive the point that I’m making so well home. Take it away Tanaka!
No marbles indeed. If you’re in a gang, and you like “jumping” people, then you are a gutless turd, with no marbles.
Now, what is the appropriate reaction to all of these thugs that I see on the mean streets of suburban Tampa, loitering the shopping mall? Kinda hard to look tough, when your “hood” has a 9 PM curfew. Anyway, what’s the proper reaction? I know what you’re thinking; being a nuclear powered, UFC loving machine of ass-kickery, I should just bludgeon every little gang punk that I see. But you’re wrong, I’m not a nuclear powered, UFC loving machine of ass-kickery. I’m a nuclear powered, UFC loving pacifist. I don’t condone violence (unless you fuck with my wife or family, in which case, game on). Fighting solves nothing. I’m American, and what do Americans do? That’s right, we blame others! But who can I blame for gang violence? I’ll tell you who….
I blame Paul Hogan, and his home country of Australia for American gang violence, and frankly, I’m upset that you didn’t figure this out on your own.
What’s your impression of an Australian man? Someone who runs into the wild and headbutts kangaroos for fun, right? What do you think an insecure American would think when he sees this? Wrong! He does not think that he needs to be tough too, or else the Aussies will finally invade America, and we’ll all have sexy accents that drive my wife crazy! Wait, what did I just say?! Anyway, no, he won’t fear an Aussie invasion. It’s common knowledge that those dingo humpers can’t fly or swim, and are permanently stuck on their island (unless they can act).
I blame Paul Hogan for the gang violence, shootings especially, for one short, yet very famous, movie clip.
Before Crocodile Dundee, gang members carried switchblade knives with them, which were basically nail files, or Swiss army knives. Anyone can survive a simple stabbing, unless you’re some kind of pansy. So now, they all carry guns. Now, I know that I’m bulletproof, but what about my minions? Seriously, now it’s only a matter of time before there’s some Dundee remake, where the guy comes from war torn Africa. Then there will have to be a scene where the guy clicks “That’s not a gun” (it’ll be subtitled), and will pull out a bazooka. Before you know it, gang members will carry bazookas, and then we’re all screwed. Well, unless the bazooka misses my face, in which case, I’ll survive.
So there you have it, our Australian friends are the reason for gang violence. Thanks to all of my readers for the text messages, emails, and snarky comments about my lack of writing. I’ve been doing other things, but I have some other topics that I plan on scribbling about for you in the coming weeks, so stay tuned.
We had yet another appointment with the doctor this past Tuesday. The reason for this appointment was for screenings for various disorders that can be detected early on, including Downs Syndrome.
We walked into the OBGYN office, and what did we see in the waiting room? The usual group of senior citizens, and approximately one woman in our age group. I still can’t believe that old ladies have vaginas. Why? All they’re doing at that age is peeing with that thing. I should invent some sort of genital crack sealant, that leaves the opening needed for urination, and that’s it. It’d be so much simpler for these poor women, and they wouldn’t have to see the doctor all the time. I bet if I did it, I’d be a bigger hero to them than Bob Barker. Oh yeah, there was one man in the room who was around my age. He was alone, and holding a purse, poor bastard.
My wife had to pee after she signed in, so I took a seat while she went to leave her specimen. Unlike the poor bastard in the waiting room, I made sure that she took her purse with her. She came back and took a seat next to me, and a few minutes later, we were called back.
We went into the room where they do the sonograms and ultrasounds, and my wife laid back on the bed. The overly excited woman (who is very sweet, by the way) came in and placed the lubricant/jelly on my wife’s abdomen. Her first question to my wife was “Did you pee?” to which my wife answered “Shit! Yeah, I did.” Apparently, this ultrasound is easier with a full bladder, because it pushes the baby up higher, out of the pelvic region, and is easier to see. We attempted the ultrasound anyway, and although we could see our child, we weren’t getting the angles we needed for this screening. The ultrasound lady had the answer; a can of soda. She handed my wife a can of Coke, and sent her back to the waiting room. The caffeine will make the baby move around a little bit, and the fluids will fill the bladder, win/win.
While we were waiting for my wife to fill her tank, we went ahead and had them take her blood, which is sent off to be examined. About a half hour after that, my wife was ready for another ultrasound. We headed back into the room, lubed my wife up again, and everything was visible. The lady did a measurement of our baby’s neck, and identified the nasal bone. Having a nasal bone at this point is one of the things they check for Downs Syndrome, and the skin on the back of it’s neck is another. Nothing looked abnormal, but I think we’re still waiting for lab results to be certain. Nobody seemed worried, or gave us any kind of reason to be alarmed, so I’m assuming that so far, everything is good. Then the ultrasound lady said “While I’m here, let’s take a look down below, and see if we can determine gender.
She looked at the baby’s private parts area, and said “Ok, there are the legs, and we have one leg, two legs…. three legs.” followed by “I’ve been wrong before, but let me take a different look. There it is again, three legs.” at which point I let out a big “Oh yeah!” followed by a Tiger Woods fist pump. Here’s a couple of pictures of my son’s little dinger:
The above picture has an arrow pointing at his little pee-pee, I think the angle is from beneath him.
I think this picture is from below also, and his little man bits are in the middle of the shot.
I was shocked that we found out so early on, because my wife is only twelve weeks along, but the ultrasound tech seemed pretty sure. She said that she’s been wrong in the past, and then showed us three different angles of his penis. I’m going to go ahead and run with my kid being a boy.
I would have been happy to have a daughter too, because the baby being healthy is far and away the most important thing. I’m so happy to have a son simply because I know how to handle guy stuff. “Your wee-wee is feeling funny when you look at pretty girls? That’s ok, it’s normal.” “You want to play baseball? I’ll be your coach!” I can do all of that stuff. With a girl, it’s a different story. “Your boobs are growing? Umm, talk to your mother.” “Blood is coming out of your pee-hole? I’ll cut a couple of holes in the bottom of this trash bag, and you wear it until your mom gets home.”
On top of that, two of my very best friends just had boys, so I know that my son will have a couple of good friends with good parents. My wife’s best friend has three girls, so either way we were good. Another thing is that my mother already has a granddaughter from my sister, so now she’ll have one of each.
Like I’ve said before, ten fingers and ten toes is a winner. Ten fingers, ten toes, and one penis is a mega-winner. If I had a healthy daughter, I’d feel like I won the lottery. With a healthy son, I’ll feel like I won the powerball.
I literally am having trouble typing on my phone, because I have a cut on the tip of my thumb. I have to keep this short, sorry. It’s been a great week, aside from my obvious laziness. Sorry gang, I’ll work on that.
Here are the winners:
Tweet of the Week
@ConanOBrien said: “For the second time in under a week an iPhone has exploded. Now I want the one that explodes.”
Picture of the Week
You know that you’re tough when you can just calmly look at your broken arm.
YouTube Video of the Week
Stand-up Comedy Clip of the Week
Asshole of the Week
I love Dana White, but he’s an asshole this week. He fired Miguel Torres for tweeting a rape joke, but didn’t fire Rashad Evans for telling a child molestation joke at a press conference, nor did he fire Forrest Griffin for tweeting a rape joke. Double standard much?
Also, congrats on being the first dual winner (person of the week in my first weekly awards).
Person of the Week
Louis CK’s fourth hour long special was released this past Saturday. Rather than signing with a big production company, and selling it for $20+ on DVD and Bluray, he instead paid for all of the production out of his own pocket, with the ticket money from the actual event itself, and then sold it on his website to be streamed or downloaded, all for $5. How awesome is that? I bought it, and it’s well worth the money, surprise surprise. I’d expect no less from him.
If you pirate this, you are a piece of shit.
Here Louie’s breakdown of his expenses and profit:
“People of Earth (minus the ones who don’t give a shit about this): it’s been amazing to conduct this experiment with you. The experiment was: if I put out a brand new standup special at a drastically low price ($5) and make it as easy as possible to buy, download and enjoy, free of any restrictions, will everyone just go and steal it? Will they pay for it? And how much money can be made by an individual in this manner?
It’s been 4 days. A lot of people are asking me how it’s going. I’ve been hesitant to share the actual figures, because there’s power in exclusive ownership of information. What I didn’t expect when I started this was that people would not only take part in this experiment, they would be invested in it and it would be important to them. It’s been amazing to see people in large numbers advocating this idea. So I think it’s only fair that you get to know the results. Also, it’s just really cool and fun and I’m dying to tell everybody. I told my Mom, I told three friends, and that wasn’t nearly enough. So here it is.
First of all, this was a premium video production, shot with six cameras over two performances at the Beacon Theater, which is a high-priced elite Manhattan venue. I directed this video myself and the production of the video cost around $170,000. (This was largely paid for by the tickets bought by the audiences at both shows). The material in the video was developed over months on the road and has never been seen on my show (LOUIE) or on any other special. The risks were thus: every new generation of material I create is my income, it’s like a farmer’s annual crop. The time and effort on my part was far more than if I’d done it with a big company. If I’d done it with a big company, I would have a guarantee of a sizable fee, as opposed to this way, where I’m actually investing my own money.
The development of the website, which needed to be a very robust, reliable and carefully constructed website, was around $32,000. We worked for a number of weeks poring over the site to make sure every detail would give buyers a simple, optimal and humane experience for buying the video. I edited the video around the clock for the weeks between the show and the launch.
The show went on sale at noon on Saturday, December 10th. 12 hours later, we had over 50,000 purchases and had earned $250,000, breaking even on the cost of production and website. As of Today, we’ve sold over 110,000 copies for a total of over $500,000. Minus some money for PayPal charges etc, I have a profit around $200,000 (after taxes $75.58). This is less than I would have been paid by a large company to simply perform the show and let them sell it to you, but they would have charged you about $20 for the video. They would have given you an encrypted and regionally restricted video of limited value, and they would have owned your private information for their own use. They would have withheld international availability indefinitely. This way, you only paid $5, you can use the video any way you want, and you can watch it in Dublin, whatever the city is in Belgium, or Dubai. I got paid nice, and I still own the video (as do you). You never have to join anything, and you never have to hear from us again.
I really hope people keep buying it a lot, so I can have shitloads of money, but at this point I think we can safely say that the experiment really worked. If anybody stole it, it wasn’t many of you. Pretty much everybody bought it. And so now we all get to know that about people and stuff. I’m really glad I put this out here this way and I’ll certainly do it again. If the trend continues with sales on this video, my goal is that i can reach the point where when I sell anything, be it videos, CDs or tickets to my tours, I’ll do it here and I’ll continue to follow the model of keeping my price as far down as possible, not overmarketing to you, keeping as few people between you and me as possible in the transaction.
(Of course i reserve the right to go back on all of this and sign a massive deal with a company that pays me fat coin and charges you straight up the ass.). (This is you: yes Louie. And we’ll all enjoy torrenting that content. You fat sweaty dolt).
I probably sound kind of crazy right now. It’s been a really fun and intense few days. This video was paid for by people who bought tickets, and then bought by people who wanted to see that same show. I got to do exactly the show I wanted, and exactly the show you wanted.
I also got an education. And everything i learned are things i was happy to learn.
I learned that people are interested in what happens and shit (i didn’t go to college)
I learned that money can be a lot of things. It can be something that is hoarded, fought over, protected, stolen and withheld. Or it can be like an energy, fueled by the desire, will, creative interest, need to laugh, of large groups of people. And it can be shuffled and pushed around and pooled together to fuel a common interest, jokes about garbage, penises and parenthood.
I want to thank Blair Breard who produced this video and produces my series LOUIE, and I want to thank Caspar and Giles at Version Industries, who created the website.
I hope with all of my heart that I stay funny. Otherwise this all goes to hell. Please have a safe and happy holiday, and thank you again for all this crazy shit.”
That’s it folks. I’ve been taking it easy for the past week or two, but don’t worry, I’ll still be writing. I just wore myself out a bit, and I’m recharging my brain’s battery. Until next time!
I’m a big guy, always have been. When I was young, I was very skinny, but I’ve always been tall. These days, I’m a little over 6’4″ and around 260 pounds. Like I said, I’m a big guy.
I was also very active in my younger years. I’ve always been into sports, and during my younger years, I played sports on a daily basis, in either organized leagues, or out on the street with my friends. When it got too dark, or if it was raining, I was indoors, playing sports-based video games. As my sister puts it, I had a permanent ring of dirt around my neck.
In my early twenties, I dislocated my shoulder playing football with my friends. Shortly after that, I dislocated it again. I had to have surgery on my shoulder, to repair a ligament that was torn, due to the dislocations. After surgery, I foolishly tried playing football again, before it had fully healed. Of course, I dislocated my shoulder again. After about a dozen dislocations, I had to have a second surgery on the shoulder.
When it became obvious that my shoulder was permanently screwed, I stopped playing sports. I had a couple years where I was playing paintball on a weekly basis, but other than that, there wasn’t much physical activity that I was doing.
During my twenties, my weight hovered around 205 to 215 pounds, without me putting any effort into staying healthy. Shortly after I turned thirty years old, the pounds began piling on. If I was in the gym constantly, my weight was fine, but after I quit going, the weight shot up to where I am today.
After moving into our new house, I decided that since we live in a nice big neighborhood, with decent scenery, that I would start riding a bike daily. When the weather warms back up, I’m going to start doing laps in my pool nightly. Even if it’s a struggle to lose the pounds, I think being active is important. I can’t get motivated to spend tons of money on a gym membership, and I didn’t really enjoy lifting weights that much either. Bike riding and swimming sounds fun though.
I downloaded a few apps for the iPhone that log your daily food intake, and also take your exercise into account. The apps I have then give you a regimen, and a period of time to reach your desired goals. The way it looks to me, I don’t even have to go on a strict diet to get back in shape. I basically just need to not eat disgusting food like McDonald’s all the time, and make sure that I exercise often. I’m not great at diets, but my eating habits aren’t horrible either, so I should be fine.
I’m not going to be like some people, and post shirtless pictures of myself through the process. I mean, I will have the pictures, but they are for me. If I undergo a swan-like transformation, then maybe I’ll post a picture of how disgusting I am now, compared to my end goal. For now, numbers will have to do.
12/10/11 – 260 lbs, 40 waist.
Let’s do this….