CP Lannan

A desperate pursuit of mediocrity.

Halloween got a little too real.


Halloween got a little too real. 

It started out, as most things do, with a scrambling to get something done – in this case, purchasing bags of candy for Trick-or-Treaters.  Rite Aid #1, which wears its panhandlers, garbage piles, and parking lot as a shameless middle-finger to the continued crowded gentrification of Fairmount Avenue, had a 40 person line and zero bags of candy.  Assuming it was still uncouth to hand out unwrapped Lemonheads to children, I left empty handed.

Bodega #1’s shop-keeper was happily doling out full-sized Snickers to Treaters, which was evidence enough that he did not stock any fun-size bags.  I scrambled to Bodega #2, J&K Market, and was met by a wonderfully curt sign: 

Sorry.  No Trick-or-Treaters. 

K’s signage was backed up by his inventory – the only thing he sold individually wrapped was Brillo Pads. 

It was starting to rain and I was hustling to Rite Aid #2.  All they had left was 1 bag of Hershey Bars, 1 bag of Hershey Kisses, and 1 bag of Tootsie Pops.  Scraps, certainly, but they were individually wrapped and would fill a plastic pumpkin.  Our fate as a pretty shitty house for Treaters was sealed, and then:

Mother reaches to the top shelf of the seasonal fixture and grabs something wrapped in cellophane

5 year old boy (excitedly): Is it a costume?

Mom (sadly): No…

Lady what the fuck?  It’s 6:30 on Halloween and you’re in a Rite Aid for a last ditch effort to ‘stume your kid?  You can DIY pretty much any costume with a same-colored sweatshirt sweatpants combination and a construction paper mask!  You can hit up the SalVal and get him in a Mr. Monopoly costume for pennies!  You’re throwing your hail mary at a god damned Rite Aid looking for a $14.99 “Arachnid Super Person” polyester throw-away?! 

Candy purchased and I scrambled back home.  The fancy block of Brandwyine was coned off for their Pleasantville Philadelphia private Halloween party.  Orange cones were the best investment that neighborhood group ever made…there is no municipal authority backing this street closure, they just put out the cones to ward off vehicles.  It’s a complete ruse!

We set up our chairs and filled our pumpkin with our weak candy selection and cracked beers.  There were kids everywhere, and consecutive assholes decided to do 45 mph rolling stops down 20th street in defiance of Halloween’s traffic norms.   

All over the neighborhood old Corollas and SEPTA busses let out mountains of kids from North Philly in unlicensed ninjas and fairies that lay hidden under coats in stark contrast to the local kids’ Spock or Jack Skellington splurges.  The Tootsie Pops were way more popular than the chocolate, which proves that kids really have lost their minds.  One delightful kid, who apparently was a novice at this game, traded us a Clementine for a Tootsie Pop.  That’s a good trade by him! 

We were low on candy in about 25 minutes.  A mother approached us and asked for our beers in a way that skewed more towards “hostile beggar” than “adult winkingly referencing how beers make annoying stuff more tolerable.”  Her daughter was dressed as Hermione Granger and was delightful. 

We were soon down to only Hershey Kisses which were met with mostly disappointed glances or toddlers placing the aluminum wrapped treat directly into their mouths.  Happy Halloween, hope you like choking hazards!

At the 40 minute mark, I was regulating individual kisses to each bag, no more doubles for good costumes!  And then, the perfect storm.  A crush of a group, 11 kids, at least one of which tricked me by coming back in for seconds, put our candy gauge to nearly E.  Three Kisses remained, and 5 kids were approaching and the house with shit candy had to turn away a family like we were Chez Fancypants and ran out of duck.  Listen, kids, you probably hit up 100 other houses today, you aren’t allowed to dagger me with a look of disappointment.  That’s unfair. 

Fazed by the depressingly apparent socio-economic divide, we went back inside and watched the best Halloween movie: fucking around on the Internet for 4 hours and going to sleep.

Millenial Rage


I read this article today, which is just wonderfully depressing.  It lists 10 (of the 1000000) reasons as to why the “Millennial generation,” of which you are likely apart of (and if not – get out of here Mom!) are completely screwed.  My thoughts on the article are as follows:

·         Fuck the guy who names generations.  Millenials sounds like some sort of CrossFit achievement or some race of adorably terrifying aliens.

·         We are basically fighting this battle, but without the super powers or general uncanniness of the X-Men.   

·         Are we sure this isn’t one of those things that the media keeps repeating until we all believe them?  Obviously, some of that is objectively true, but there is incentive to promote the “young people are completely fucked” meme, right?  To keep the world’s next group of leaders in a self-induced depression of cynicism and low expectations?

o   Wait, how many young people are unemployed in the US?

o   And that’s actually low compared to Europe?

o   And student debt is how high?!  (note there’s been another year’s worth of compounding of interest rates and graduates since that figure was estimated).

·         Oh man, we really are fucked.

The article above lists the surveillance state as one of our generation’s main problems, which is inarguable.  The horrible, horrible actions of the government and major internet companies has been a raison d’etre for the Internet (and myself) since the Snowden thing leaked.  In case you are the least-read person on the Internet and get your news from me, here is a summary of some of the recent developments that should hopefully fill you with this much rage.   

·         This is the mother lode, it’s everything that the Guardian and Snowden have released.

·         Google’s lawyers are arguing that Gmail users have no reasonable expectation of privacy when using the Google service.  So, you may want to pick a different forum for sending your hate mail to PennDot.

o   An unrelated aside: Coca-Cola used a very similar argument, asserting in court that no reasonable person would think Vitamin Water was a healthy beverage when defending itself in a Class-Action.  So, please, do not think that Power-C is anything other than god damn fucking obviously sugar water.

·         Also, the new iPhone has a finger print scanner.  Hold on, this is more than a bullet point.

I can barely even put coherent together thoughts this about.  Fucking gah!  It’s like Idiocracy in real life.  Don’t worry, guys, it’s actually “Biometric security!”  We need to stop being complicit with social engineering.  We need to stop being so lazy that instead of punching in 4 digits, we’d rather let a human rights violating domestic spying shit of a company take our finger prints – the thing police do to criminals to identify them as criminals!  (Yes, I have an iPhone – you should have guessed that). 

Yes, I know – everybody says it’s no big deal, like the Washington Post here.  First of all, the Washington Post basically fucking owns Facebook – the consensual creation of an insane government database (which, remember, already exists!!!)!  Apple is claiming that the fingerprint is recorded only on the internal memory of the phone and not on their cloud servers.  Thank God.  The company that was completely complicit in illegal domestic spying says it’s no big deal guys! 

Football Season


The internet is probably filled with more sports writing than anything outside of cat pictures and straight porno.  But, I figured I’d give it a go anyway, because I’ve been feeling pretty conflicted about football. 

On Sunday and Monday, I have plans with my friends to watch football together.  It’s gonna be awesome.  When exciting or violent or hyper-violent shit happens, we will feel these primal, atavistic emotions that can pretty much not be replicated in any other way.  Leading up to Sunday and Monday, I will spend inordinate amount of times thinking of point spreads, betting over/unders, researching fantasy football match-ups like it’s a PhD thesis, and reading a billion articles previewing games and players.  This week, I’ve probably spent 18 hours involved in some type of football-related activity.  That makes me wonderfully happy and thoroughly disgusted.

One of the most horrible aspects of our society is the massive income inequality between the rich and the middle and lower classes.  This ever-increasing gap is so large that it led to fast-food workers striking, Wal-Mart employees protesting for fairer wages, and of course, there was that pretty sweet party in New York and a dozen other cities 2 years ago.  (Shit, Occupy was 2 years ago??).  I, of course, intermittently become obsessed with participating in the fight for income equality to save our culture from the clutches of these awful corporations and governments which have an agenda so clear and detailed that they have a Joint-Planning Session like they are a corporate cog prepping for the big Q4 project!

One of the merit badges that rich men pursue after getting rich enough is ownership of a football team.  The 32 owners of NFL franchises include an oil tycoon best known for conniving Texans to low-sell their oil rich lands, trust-fund assholes who inherited these million-dollar assets just because they crowned out of the right womb, and real-estate speculators like this guy who helped provide us with two of America’s worst problems: the financial collapse of the 2000s and modern Florida. 

Nearly (all?) of football team owners want nothing more to continue to pretend that they are serving the community by owning and providing sweet, sweet football to fans.  All the while, they are fleecing tax-payers for new stadiums, gouging prices for tickets/parking/beer, and continuing to represent the worst of the upper crust.  18 of my hours this week, and let’s face it, the next 20 weeks, are going to directly support the off-shore bank accounts of people that deserve to be guillotined like a French courtesan.

The football-industrial complex exists to increase revenue for owners into the billions, to control the focus of fans, athletes, and journalists, and to dumb down some members of society to much that they think this is the right move.  I won’t even attempt to properly convey the horror of football-related brain injuries and the bullshit lip-service and (relative) chump change thrown at the problem.

A few years ago, I had successfully de-attached myself from football for the most part.  I was still aware of major events, watched the Super Bowl, and could fake a conversation with other dudes.  I was really happy about it.  Then, slowly, I weakened and the football culture strengthened, and now I’m as into it as Patton Oswalt in that movie I should really see.  As I was writing this post, I impulsively checked my fantasy team like 3 teams – I’m not even making a conscious fucking choice at this point. 

I realize it’s good to entertain and bond with friends and take your mind away from stupid work or stupid NSA domestic spying or stupid nation-building in the Middle East.  It’s communal to bond over a regional identity, a logo, or a shared hatred of that fat fucking walrus Andy Reid.  But fuck, it’s definitely gone too far right? 

Nah, fuck it:

Earth vs. Effort


Moral Dilemma #1

Earth vs. Effort

Did you know the Earth is pretty much dead to rights?  I know everyone has some basic understanding of global warming, pollution, fossil fuels, and other buzzy enviro-words.  Everyone was super stoked when NBC did that “Green” night a few years back when Ross Gellar was on 30 Rock as Greenzo.

And we’ve come a hell of a long way, right?  It wasn’t that long ago where we were all happily throwing Gushers wrappers on the ground, using hair spray to kill spiders, and organizing a multi-billion dollar professional sport where they burn over 6,000 gallons of fuel per weekend.   Shit, that last one still exists.

After we went to the Pacific Northwest last month, Moira and I became (temporarily?) obsessed with the environment.  We were in some Wal-Mart near Humboldt, California, a Wal-Mart so vile it rivaled the awful ones here in PA.  Imagine all the hick idiots that normally populate a Wally, now imagine them all on meth sporting neck tattoos and speaking some super-villain form of Spanglish.  That was this Wal-Mart.  So we’re basically surrounded by Skinny Petes (minus the piano prodigy aspect) trying to buy a blanket and marshmallows, and at the cash register – bags cost 15 cents! 

We learned that in all of Mendocino County, California (and a bunch of other places in the northwest of the US), plastic bags are banned and paper bags cost a fee.  Now, we have to assume that this was agreed upon in some political manner.  To my prejudicial eyes, I was surrounded by human filth.  And this human filth was environmentally active enough to organize and execute a moratorium on plastic bag usage!  Can you imagine if they tried to ban plastic bags in Philly?  The Acme Union would have that rat inflated in a fucking second.

So, anyway, this obviously gave me some perspective on the environment, and when I got back to real life, I took the most obvious first step – made a bookmark folder entitled “Env. And Nature” on my Google Chrome.  Then, I did what I do better than most, did some “inch deep, quarter-mile-wide research” on the topic.  Things look bad.  Pretty bad.    Really fucking bad.

It seems to me, then, that we humans have a pretty big responsibility to try to fix this, right? It seems to me that most of us have stopped using Styrofoam cups as often as possible, and do some worthwhile, if not tremendously effective, things – recycling, re-using consumer and home products, riding bikes or driving Priuses, etc.  Is that making an impact?  I hope so.

But, I like using automobiles and airplanes to go to cool places.  It’s easier to use paper plates and plastic forks during picnics.  One time I took a 55 minute shower!  It was awesome!     

It’s almost as if there’s some organized effort to socially condition the public to become addicted to environmentally devastating behaviors from a young age, almost as if multi-national conglomerates make tremendous profits from these types of behaviors and would take serious financial and cultural losses if these behaviors were replaced by more environmentally conscious lifestyles.  (Just in case you didn’t click the link before – NASCAR uses 6,000 gallons of fuel per race weekend!)

Now, I have to run, I need to throw this nectarine core into a compost box and then drive 400 miles this weekend.

I’m embarrassed to even be here.  There it was, I’ve finally written another word.

This is a picture of an ostrich.  It’s relevant because that’s how I’ve treated this blog and my increasingly silly thoughts/dreams/goals of being creative.  This Thursday afternoon is as good a time as any to pull my ostrich out of its hole, or however you want to phrase that.

One of my strongest skills as a human being is to turn away from things that are good, like this blog was and, god dammit, will be again!  I won’t even attempt the arm-chair self-psycho analysis that one would expect here, and the recipe of my predilection to go back-first towards good shit is probably similar to this:

  • Thaw a 3.5 lb filet of laziness, chop into cubes, discard previous successes and momentum
  • In a separate dish, mix together ¾ cup of bad anxiety, ½ cup of self-doubt, and 1 tsp of as-yet-unknown psychological fragilities
  • Coat a baking dish with whoa-is-me oil
  •  Add all ingredients into baking dish
  • Sprinkle with freshly ground fear of failure
  • Bake for like fucking 24 years

This is my baby-step back to exercising my creative mind.  It seems like throughout most of the post-Dark Ages span of human existence, people kept diaries and notes all the time.  My notes are basically like “Yo man, check out this article” or “Project Management is key for this project.”  I want something more than that, something better 

So these pages will sometimes be filled with whiny nonsense similar to this.  Occasionally I’ll strike something funny, like I have a few times in the past.  Maybe I’ll write about traveling or seeing all sorts of absurd shit when I’m riding my bike.

Today, for instance, I was riding to work and I saw some bro whipping around in one of those "nouveau El Caminos" that Subaru made a few years back.  He was fucking owning that car, too.  That was good times.

Maybe sometimes I’ll write about all the good stuff happening in the world, like how we’re all being spied on or how we’re about to be in another war or whatever.

And tomorrow, I’m going to write about some common moral dilemmas that I find myself facing pretty often.  I’m telling you that now to create a sort of social contract between me and you.  Now, inaction is a failure for someone else, you know?  I’ve even written some down in a notebook to riff on.  I’m hoping to be funny.

If you feel like it, let me know what works and what doesn’t work.  If you like something that I’m writing, let me know, that would be awesome.  If you don’t like something, please also let me know, but do so in a decently nice way.  I know it’s kind of awkward because we know each other in real life too, and next time we hang out we’ll probably talk about Fantasy Football and drink a bunch of beers and not really talk about how I have a blog that you’ve read recently.  But that’s ok, we should both feel ok about that! 


You said it, kitty…Copyright 1968! Hmm, determined or not, that cat must be long dead. That’s kind of a downer.


Notes on Europe

Over the holidays, I found the strength to climb to the upper levels of my credit card limit and finally head to Europe, namely, Barcelona and Paris.  These are some assorted thoughts. 

Previous Attempts to go to Europe

Fall 2005 Study Abroad Info Session:

You’re too young to study abroad, you have like 5 more semesters to give it a go!

Fall 2006 Study Abroad Info Session:

Yikes, that’s a lot of money…what a convenient excuse!

Fall 2007 Study Abroad Info Session:

You’re too coward to study abroad and you always have been, stop coming to these meetings.

Fall 2008 Study abroad Info Session

“Sorry sir, Study Abroad is not available to recent graduates.”

Travel Learnings

Traveling on Christmas, now that’s the move!  I avoided at least five family holiday-based mini panic attacks by only doing Christmas Eve.

I replaced these mini panic attacks with one giant panic attack:

Hurry up, we’ll be late!

Get in line, get the fuck in line!

Why are you punching me in the chest? You’re not?

Which seat if F?  Which seat is fucking F?!?


Airplane food.  Let’s just say Seinfeld was right.

That’s as bad as a Seinfeld joke, or no?

By hour 7 of an 8 hour flight, everyone’s just farting openly.

…right guys?

Barcelona & Paris Learnings

The day-time high in Barcelona was like 65 degrees in late December.  And yet, all the locals were wearing parkas! 

Leave your science at the door, I don’t care if cold is relative.

Barcelona (and all of Catalonia) wants out from under the control of the Spanish government.  Think Texas, but legitimate.  It was moving to see Catalonians from all ages and walks of life wear their want for independence on their face and in their core. 

But don’t’ get mad at the Americans for calling it Spain!  I’m sorry!  I come from a country where people don’t realize that there are different nations within Africa! 

Pickpockets everywhere!

I admire the Europeans specialize in a crime that required subterfuge, subtlety, and cunning. 

But still, fuck you!  If you want my money, approach me on Spring Garden Street yell “Now it’s time to play, bitch!” pull a knife and take my money like a god damned man.

I am happy to report that I yelled “GET AWAY FROM ME!” to a homeless man before he even had the chance to approach me

And even happier report that I made it home without being pickpocketed!  Kiss my ignorant American ass you sneaky fuckers!  I live in a city way more fucked up than yours!

There are three primary sects of English-speaking travelers: Australians, Brits, and Americans.  All three are looked down upon by the Spaniards, the French, the Italians, etc. 

As a last desperate attempt to maintain their international credibility, the Australians and British team up to straight crush any Americans they encounter

In front of the Notre Dame Cathedral, a British man told me to “get lost buddy…you must not understand how this works, American.” 

The first time I’ve ever experienced prejudice in my entire life!  I’m a white, middle-class, corporate cog!  It’s impossible to prejudice against me!  I’m the worst!  I’m so vanilla no one has even thought to show prejudice towards me!

Granted, I cut in line in front of him and his wife after they’d been waiting for 45 minutes.  But that’s because I was temporarily being a dick, not because my ancestors bravely crossed the Baltic and Atlantic back in the day!

On New Year’s Eve, I opened champagne for the first time in my life

I was never a whiz at geometry

I had the bottle angled 45 degrees, upwards and outwards

Luckily nothing happened, except I cracked the shit out of some French woman with the cork

The French term for “I’m sorry” is “Je suis desolee”

Which is about the ugliest sound an American pretending to speak French can make

I did not get the chance to see if the angry French boyfriend of the struck woman buoyed the “wussy French” stereotype coined by George W. Bush

Because I ran like a coward

Universal Truth

People are selfish ass-holes everywhere, and the young spoiled/emo/self-hating American’s view of Europe as this magical place full of cultured demi-gods is a crock of shit. 

Sure, you’re less likely to see a fat piece of shit in a Dodge Ram with a “Kill ‘em all let God sort ‘em out” bumper sticker, but everyone’s still self-centered, egotistical, and slightly to very racist.  Rich people still carry briefcases and shout into their blue tooth, teenagers still gather in packs and terrify a whole block of tourists, and house music still terrifies and confuses me.  There’s no Applebee’s but there’s the equivalent, selling worse food for more money.  There’s little chance you will see two homeless people yelling at each other across the street about past injustices…actually, there’s totally a chance, because homelessness is, unfortunately, everywhere.  And over there they all had dogs!  Buddy, you live underneath the awning of Monoprix grocery store, maybe you shouldn’t have a Bichon Frise. That being said, I was in a room that was built like 2800 years ago and is nicer than my apartment, so that’s a win for Europe.   

That’s a Dick Move (Internet Monster 12/3)


Hey man, you’re kind of being a dick.  I realize you’re laying on that part of the sidewalk because the grates give off steam and it’s the only heat you’ll feel for at least 100 days.  But, dude, it’s fucking 60 degrees out!  You really need to be reclined as if 16th street is your own personal chaise

I’m on my way to the bank and you have the nerve to ask me for a dollar as if you were some Nubian prince asking for additional grapes?  A dollar?  I’ll have you know that I just spent 500 dollars to register a recreational volleyball team with a tremendously witty name and need to cash some checks to pay off my credit card.

Yeah, I put them on credit, but don’t worry, douche, it’s no interest until July 2013.  Yeah, ZERO INTEREST, just like I have zero interest in your terrible socioeconomic plight.

And another thing, you’re out here looking for compassion? – it’s noon on a Monday!  Compassion during the business week is feeling bad for Joan because her kid’s football team lost in the playoffs.  And mercy, fuck man, I already showed my mercy today - Grant jammed the copier again and I helped him fix it.  You want me to care that you have no money, no food, and have been abandoned by all your loved ones?  You want me to shed a tear because this nation spends 600 billion dollars on missiles and lets its own people rot to death in city streets?  Talk to me on Christmas eve, asshole.

Can’t you just get a job?  Oh.

Can’t you just go to get food from a charity or some shit?  Fuck, really?

Well, at least you probably won’t be murdered, right?  THREE HUNDRED AND SIX?

Internet Monster - 11/29


  • One time I was in Times Square to go to the M&M store, and there were a bunch of people swooning because Hugh Jackman was getting into a car.  Obviously, I wanted all of these people to die for thinking that getting a wave from HuJa was some sort of validation or noteworth event.  And then, a semi-popular comedian favorited one of my tweets to him and I IMMEDIATELY TOLD LIKE 40 PEOPLE!  Can there be anything less validating?  He only had to click a star…it was probably an accident.
  • For weeks, I compulsively checked the availability of the Google Nexus 4, desperate for it to come back in-stock.  And then, yesterday, it did!  I immediately put one on the Slate card because I’m totally chill with putting 400 clams on credit to “check out” Android.  Unlike the first release of the phone, it did not sell out “in seconds.”  Now, I compulsively check the availability, desperate for it to be out of stock so I can feel smug.  Today, I decided to “put aside” a long-form article about governmental corruption here in Philadelphia in order to check if something I already purchased was out of stock yet.  Fuck!
  • I learned this exists.My god.
  • Yesterday, I put on the ol’ torrent gloves after not stealing any intellectual material in a while. Meanwhile, I continue to half-ass an attempt at eventually monetizing my own creativity on the web.
  • I finally listened to one of said stolen records (jk Eric Holder, I bought it at FYE), the St. Vincent & David Byrne album.I wasn’t sure if I liked it because there are a bunch of horns and I don’t really know what David Byrne is and I only like maybe 5 bands.So, I turned to Metacritic for guidance only to find mixed reviews!Someone tell me if I’m supposed to like this!
  • This morning, I tweeted to Senator Bob Casey, imploring him to vote no on the NDAA act for 2013.I then immediately began following Accor Hotels hoping for some awesome deals at Sofitel. 10% off a room, how can I lose?!

"Saturday," a One Act Play


Int. Apartment

Present, 11 pm

Brain: Don’t do it, Cory.  Seriously.  Don’t do it.

Ext. the Shadow of the Walt Whitman Bridge

Flashback, 2 pm

Friendly Motorist:You need some help?

Brain:  Really subtle, Cory.  A white guy wearing powder blue pants looking at an iPhone in a Volkswagen next to an abandoned warehouse in Camden.  That’s your move?


FM:You tryin’ to get back on the bridge?

Cory:Yeah, but I…I need to find a bank first.

Brain: Maybe he’ll follow you!

FM:Go down to that light, take a left, go ‘bout six blocks and there’s a TD.

Cory:(sincerely) Thank you so much!

Brain:  Alright, situation improved.  Now we’ll be deeper into Camden, and with cash!

Int. Apartment


Brain:  I’m fucking serious, don’t even do it.  If you do it, you’re even more pathetic than I thought you were.  You think it’s going to make you feel less lonely, doing that?  You think it’s going to reduce the boredom?  You fucking idiot.  You fucking child.

Ext. Golf Course

Flashback, 3pm

Brain: I cannot believe we are wearing these pants.

Cory:Hi, 18 with a cart for one.

Golf Pro:(eating hot dog) Ooo, not looking good.  We are all backed up today with a tournament.  I don’t think we can get you out.

Brain: Did your eye just get hit with hot dog shrapnel?

Cory:You can’t squeeze in one?  I can start on 10.

GP:I’d let you if I could…

Cory: (whimpering?) But, this is the only think I have to do today…

Brain: This is our just reward for escaping Camden unscathed!

GP:  You want to hit balls at the range?

Brain: No!


Int. Apartment


Brain:  Hey man, I know I’ve been giving you a rough time for the past 26 years, but seriously, please don’t do this.  I know back in the day it was fun, and you had good times with friends and all.  You were young and stupid; you aren’t young and stupid anymore, man.  All those emotions and expectations it gave you – it was all fake!  I swear to God, it was fake man, it was all fake.  Seriously, Cor, this is a long & dangerous road. 

Ext. Restaurant

Flashback, 9pm

Cory:  Pick-up Order #79.

Hispanic Teenager:  (to kitchen) NUMBER SEVENTY NINE!  SEVENTY NINE!

Brain:  Alright, keeping it classy.  Chicken parmesan for one, please!

Hispanic Teenager:  Eleven eighty three, please.

Cory:  Here you go.

Hispanic Teenager:  You need a fork, right?

Brain:Oof!  You’re ordering chicken parm at nine pm on a Saturday…you probably don’t own a fork!

Cory:  No, thanks though.

Int. Apartment


Brain:  Seriously, I know it was a rough day, but you don’t need this.  Please, for me.  Don’t do it…no, no, no!!!

Jim Ross:  Ladies and gentlemen, I’m Jim Ross, and welcome to our presentation of the history of the World Wrestling Federation Championship, hour one of nine…

Brain: You fuck.

Found in my Closet (Plus a contest!)


Remember the Fukushima Nuclear Reactor situation – when the Japanese totally fucked up their nuclear business and coal barons everywhere smiled in their top-hats?  Well, all that radioactive air and water didn’t just circle around Japan like a buzzard over that person you killed with your car, it traversed the Pacific!  And what’s across the Pacific? America! 

Thankfully, I learned that seaweed is a natural combatant of high-radiation levels.  Thinking quick on my feet, I ran to the Whole Foods, where I was promptly laughed out for being days behind the seaweed rush.  I feigned interest in Acai Berry Iron Ore supplements and soap made out of lavender and human hair before sullenly leaving.  As if divinely intervened upon by the god of retail, I noticed a GNC.  And there, bam – Maximum Greens!  It contains like 4500% of my DV of iodine and other sea weeds.

I raced home to cure myself of the Japanese’s poison and promptly remembered to take Maximum Greens for about two days before letting it ride with the radiation. 


 Deposit Slip for a Moog

My friend has a pretty sweet band, and I love striving to be an artist despite showing outrageously low levels of ambition or talent.  Seeing an opportunity, I decided to phony my way into becoming the synth player for the band.  What’s that? No, of course I had never played synth before.  I was raised in a house with a piano, however, and it served as a great inspiration to me – I powerbombed my cousin off of it once.  My gawd.

In the 10 days that I devoted my life to the ivories, I got pretty far.  I learned some notes from a music teacher AND managed to put a Ulysses down on a Moog synthesizer.  If Sam Ash the store is as honest as I imagine Sam Ash the man to have been, then it’s still collecting dust in King of Prussia (just like all those housing developments, am I right?!).  .

And in the future, when you’re 10 Miller 64s deep and decide to give it a go on one of those bar computer trivia challenges, I am the answer to the question: “Who is the long lost 4th member of Grip of the Gods?”


Package of Thank You Cards

I was once overcome with an idea to send Thank You Cards to all of the people who deserve my gratitude.   Conveniently, this independent initiative to provide cardboard gratitude to friends and family occurred while I was in a Hallmark. 

The package purchased contained only 10 cards, which has lead me to become extremely conservative in deciding who deserves my thanks.  Birthdays and Jesus Birthdays are too obvious choices for Thank You cards.  I’m occasionally surprised by a random gift or note, but am regularly too lazy and inconsiderate to even remember I have a package of Thank Yous. 

So, it is with this that I announce the first CP Lannan contest – anyone who does something deserving of the gratitude of this blog shall receive a Thank You card hand-signed by me.  Thus far, the response has been overwhelmingly minimal.  Options include:  Liking the blog, telling others to like the blog, and continuing to inflate my artistic dreams the afternoon per week I remember I maintain this thing. 

Acts deserving gratitude can be directed to my Facebook, Tumblr, or Twitter page. 

I’ll leave it up to you to determine if this contest is real or not.