The Secret's Out.

Many people are familiar with the phenomena known as the Victoria’s Secret catalogue. A tantalizing publication featuring a wide array of women’s clothing and undergarments which are almost guaranteed to make the wearer the desire of almost anyone’s heart. As a man, I’ve stumbled upon the VS catalogue, and I’m aware of the wonder which lies within its cover. Though I don’t know where to get said publication nor have I ever owned one myself, through television ads and pop-culture hearsay, I’m more than aware of what I might find within its pages… women. Beautiful women wearing next to nothing.

The Victoria’s Secret catalogue is not of this world. It is perfection. It is pure wonder. It is completely perverted to own one if you’re a guy. There’s no way around it, the VS catalogue is incredibly alluring, but if you’re a man hoping to put off the ‘not creepy’ vibe, the VS cataloged is the first thing to avoid. Though I don’t condone the ownership of pornography, it would be far more attractive to be caught with a Playboy, than to explain to a lady why you’re looking at women’s underpants. Face it guys; its creepy.

The only thing worse than a man with a VS catalogue is a man who needs not explain where he got it. Case in point: my old roommate. Not more than 2 days ago while retrieving the day’s parcels from the mail, I opened the box to discover the VS ‘Semi-annual SALE’ catalogue. As I attempted to understand how such a publication could find its way into my mailbox, I flipped the ‘wonder document’ over to reveal


Granted, before I begin crying wolf and calling Kuhns a perv, let it be known that he has an attractive girlfriend who is, indeed, the owner of VS track pants which were purchased by Mr. Kuhns during the holiday season. It is entirely possible that Kuhns entered his mailing information at the time of the purchase to enable a discount of some sort which then allows VS to mail him publications for future purchases… but it’s much more enjoyable to believe he’s a sick-o.

If you’d like to personally confirm or disconfirm my assumptions, please do so here.

As for the catalogue itself, which is now in my possession… I intend to do the right thing: I’m going to go to an elementary school and try to sell it to some 6th graders.

The Greatest Day of My Life

Not every day is a good day. In fact, unless you wake up watching/thinking about your favorite episodes of Romper Room, most days aren’t that great. These days can be the result of poor luck, poor planning, or sheer exhaustion due to staying out too late for absolutely no reason. Said bad days are only ‘enhanced’ further when one is subjected to a stuffy office performing a task a pigeon could endure if a nutritional pellet system could be implemented. Needless to say, my Saturday fell short of the ‘pursuit of happiness’ (Jefferson’s words, not Will Smith’s resume), until I stumbled upon man’s greatest discovery since Uranium.

While running a menial errand in the Burbank area, my vision became skewed by what appeared to be a fire raging from a building. Smoke bellowed across the open street in a manner that cared not for man, nor the Sabbath. From three blocks away, I became quite alarmed as my mind rushed to the previous week’s scenes of firemen engulfed in Griffith Park fires, but as I approached closer, I discovered I was the only one alarmed. This sensation was only further supported when I saw t-shirt clad people heading toward the mouth of the flames.

Though the odds were slim I would have stopped my car in the event of an actual fire, I began to slow down to look concerned. I craned my neck awkwardly around in my automobile so I might catch a glimpse of whatever pagan ritual was being so openly honored, when I discovered the goat they were sacrificing wasn’t a goat at all, but beef. Sweet, sweet beef. Racks upon racks of beef, but they didn’t stop there. I saw pork, chicken, fish, and basically everything than can/should be cooked and drown in BBQ sauce. Upon a further investigation, I realized I had stumbled upon a Saturday tradition known as the Handy Market BBQ.

This holiday I dubbed ‘Christmas Jr.’ happens every Saturday in Burbank, at the Handy Market on Magnolia Blvd. The BBQ offers a wide selection of delicious meats mixed with an eclectic dialogue and subtle puns involving the word ‘meat.’

I, of course, asked for half a chicken drenched so heavily in BBQ, you’d thought it owed money to the mob, which I completely destroyed upon reaching my apartment. The BBQ was incredibly delicious, but more than that, it allowed me to feel at home in a place so far from anything ‘normal,’ that I couldn’t help but smile. That smile was short lived, however, as I became reminded that one shouldn’t eat an entire ½ chicken by him/herself without bracing for the consequences (Rolaids).

Though I’ve learned my lesson this week, anyone free for lunch on Saturday?