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…with this dumb post.

What began as a way for me to stay productive after Tastes Like Chicken folded has become an archive of the past decade of my life.

On May 6th, 2008, I was living with my girlfriend and an old college roommate in Milwaukee. As of May 6th, 2018, I am a husband, a father of two, I make my living as a screenwriter, and we’re about to have a different old college roommate move in with us!

Some things never change.

This is The Blarg‘s 3,668th post. Over ten years, 15,667 comments have been posted. Not too bad for something I started on a lark.

Thanks to anyone who has ever supported me and this site with a read or a comment. Hopefully, I can keep the stupidity coming for another ten years.

Starting up eleven,



…I adopted a little four-month-old mutt named Lacy.

Lacy had been adopted by a family one month earlier. An hour before I arrived at the shelter, that family had returned Lacy for “playing too rough” with their child. I translated this into “just being a puppy.”

I had never owned a pet, let alone a dog, so I was admittedly nervous about my decision to take this sweet little girl—a sweet little girl with a ton of energy and a penchant for eating things that weren’t even remotely edible—home with me.

I’m so glad I did, because it was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

On the morning of March 18th, 2006, Lacy was returned to a shelter. Later that afternoon, she left it for good with me and a new name: Mr. Fabulous.

The best.

She’s the best, I love her to death, and I can’t imagine life without her.

Happy Anniversary,



…I was fortunate enough to marry this little lady.

Since then, we traveled all over the world, picked up another cat along the way, and became parents. I can’t wait to see what comes next.

Happy anniversary, KB. Love you.


Wills Fargo Motel in Baker, California.

Six years ago today, KB and I woke up at the Wills Fargo Motel in Baker, California (as seen above) and drove the final leg of our cross-country move to L.A. It also just so happened to be the same day as the Obama/McCain election.

Six years later, Obama is still in office and we’re still in L.A.

Six years.


I thought we’d be here for two, tops,


this was happening.


Happy anniversary, KB!

Can’t believe how quickly it’s gone,


KB and I prefer the Mexican wrestling and burlesque of Lucha VaVOOM!

We saw a camera-shy cyclops and his cheetah-skinned girlfriend!

Lucha libre wrestlers don't like having their photos taken! Especially ones with one eye!

And a lot of cleavage!

Boobs, I tell ya!

The girls had a photo op with Dirty Sanchez (AFTER he shit his pants)!

Ladies love Dirty Sanchez!

Ol’ Sanchez and I got close, too!

Dirty Shadchez!

KB flirted with a six-pack…

KB likes six-packs!

…while I found Jesus!

Oh, Jesus!

We saw a guy jump off the balcony and almost die!

Just moments before the silence!

Here’s another angle of that same shot (from LA Weekly)! If you look in the bottom left corner, you’ll see me (in my hat) taking the photo above! Meta!

Right there! In the bottom left! With the hat!

The crowd was pleased!

All in the gang!

Especially the ladies, who got to meet Hispanic Liberace!

The ladies with Hispanic Liberace!

And finally, KB and I ended our second anniversary with a traditional kiss!

The way we kiss!

What a wonderful way to end our second year together. Thanks to Michael and Andrea for an amazing evening… that ended with bacon-wrapped hot dogs.

Be sure to check out LA Weekly’s full slideshow of the evening here.

On to year three,


The madness is about to begin!

And happy anniversary to D.B. Cooper,


…be sure to head on out and help celebrate the ten-year anniversary of The Midnite Show (AKA Cock ‘N’ Toast) with a bunch of my good friends.

Read more about the anniversary event here.

Wishing I was home,


…I missed the three-year anniversary of “The Blarg” by two weeks. (I officially started “The Blarg” on May 6th, 2008 with this post.)

Guess I’ll celebrate tonight by drinking an entire bottle of wine. Alone. Again.

I’m gonna make a terrible husband,


…was my last day at a horrible job at “The Other Paper” in Columbus, Ohio.

I knew it was time to quit when I began considering purposefully getting into a car accident on my way to work just so I wouldn’t have to go in. That, and I began routinely drinking on the job, hiding a beer or mixed drink in my travel mug, sipping it (and refilling it) throughout the day.

The reasons for it being a shitty job were definitely there. First, the owner was a monster; he once told me that if I didn’t have something to work on that I should fake working on something so he felt better about paying me. Second, my direct boss, who also happened to be the daughter of the aforementioned monster owner, wasn’t qualified to tie her own shoes let alone be placed in charge of anyone. And third, it was thankless. I once asked for a raise only to be told that if I thought I was worth more than what I was getting, I could look elsewhere for employment. “Those who can do better move on,” the owner explained to me. “Those who can’t stay here.”

Way to push for total mediocrity, pal.

In the months leading up to my last day I saved up as much money as I could. By the time I gave my two weeks I had accumulated a little over $1,000. That doesn’t even cover a full month’s worth of rent now, but back then it gave me enough cash to pay all rent, bills and necessary expenses (food and booze, mostly) for three whole months.

“At the very least,” I remember thinking, “I’ll get another summer vacation out of it.”

Outside of my parents, I’ve admittedly always had a bit of a problem with authority. I don’t like being told what to do. I remember my dad yelling at me once because I disregarded a warning from one of my middle school teachers. I don’t remember exactly what the details of the incident were, but I distinctly remember the argument that took place afterward.

Dad: “Why can’t you just listen to your teachers?”

Justin: “Because I don’t want to listen to my teachers!”

Dad: “Justin, everyone has to listen to someone! When you get older and have a job, do you think you’re going to be able to not listen to your boss?”

Justin: “Yes! Because I’m not going to have a boss!”

My dad paused, thought for a moment. Finally…

Dad: “You’re probably right.”

My dad and I had that conversation over twenty years ago; I was twelve years old.

Somehow, miraculously if you ask me, what I once saw as a three-month trial run has now become a ten-years-and-counting lifelong project. Sure, it hasn’t always been easy, but so far things have managed to work out.

I realized back in June that my ten-year anniversary was coming up. “On July 14th,” I thought, “I’m going to write up a post that commemorates the day.”

Well, that was two days ago. I completely forgot. I guess it just proves that while it’s still an accomplishment I’m proud of, the anniversary has just become another day of living. Another day of the self-employed grind. Another day of sending out emails and working on self-promotion. Another day of waiting for a check that hopefully comes sooner than later.

Still, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

On to 2020,


Old Poop!