Total Request Josh

[HAVE YOU VOTED FOR THIS WEEK'S MONDAY MUSE OF 2009 POLL?!]

As we all know, I like to pretend that I have tiny bitz of musical talent floating around aimlessly in mah body. As you also may know, I like to post videoz of me displaying these [fictional] skillz while operating a motor vehicle. If the NJ DMV ever see mah videoz, I bet they'd rip that license outta my wallet faster than my student loanz do to mah money!

Wellz...most timez when I post some singysong vidz, I get peepz commenting on songz that they'd like me to sing en la futuro. So I thought, "Why not let the hoz that like watching me sing growl like demonz from hell pick what I sing next?!" So comment below wiff what trax in the following genrez you'd like me to murder and it's a possibility that I might make all your wildest dreamz come truuuuuue!

Twangtastic country song...
Badunk-adunk hip-hip song...
Sunshiny pop song...
Crusty old person song...
Sparkly Broadway song...
Scary hardxxxcore rock song...

I'm your music slut! What do you want me to do?! ::wink, wink, smile, vom::

So folkz, are you ready to order?

I work in a restaurant. You all should be aware of that, what wiff my occasional constant complaining about not being able to land a [non]food service jerb. The establishment I work at is fantastic and I have been there for seven and a half yearz now. Like a second family, my co-workers have seen my dopey azz grow up and have been a constant grounding force for my otherwise manic life. I say all of this because I don't want this following post to at all hint that I am anyting but appreciative for my jerb and how lucky I am to not want to kill the people I work wiff.

No, this post is more focused on a specific aspect of my experiences in serving tables. Each Sunday, I usually work a double shift. Brunch + Dinner shiftz = Me, a disgruntled, exhausted grumpster who wants nuffin' more than to crawl into my bed like a spider into a sleeping infant's mouf. Sunday brunch in partix is mad chaotic what wiff all the God-lovin' peepz who get outta services circa noon and wander aimlessly around town until they find their way into my restaurant.

Without fail, the Sunday morning shift is always brimming with throngs of especially demanding, hungry cholitoz who expect their food to take no longer than 5 minutez to cook who also become inexplicably agitated at the fact that I just might have other patrons to attend to occasionally. And in this midst of running and jabbering and OJing and breading, there are always the certain few customers that are oblivious to my pain (feat. suffering) and desire to make mah life a sad, sad hellhole each and every Sunday.

These are the top five most aggravating tingz I got asked last Sunday [aka the top five tingz that make me want to hurl mahself Sylvia Plath-style into the large bakery ovens]:

"Nuttin' ma'am. Absolutely everyting in this dump is absolutely dizzgusterz. Yes, I AM lying to you, but I am merely trying to expose the pointlessness of this question. The customer is alwayz right, so therefore every-fuzzing-thing you pester me about will be the greatest culinary creation ever to grace my tongue."


"Of course! I'd lurrrve for you to keep me preoccupied @ your table with your shopping list of allergiez/taste specificationz/dietary restrictionz while all mah other customerz grow more and more hateful of me [not you] by the minute! And please make your demands as confusing as possible so the chefz in the back hate me and so you can pick apart everyting that's wrong wiff your fancy-pancy order when I finally bring it out."


"Yes sir. It is quite hectic. Tanx for noticing, wasting my time taking the time to point out this obvious fact and doing nuffin' about it [aka be an easy-going patron]. I look forward to running lapz around your table only to have you leave me a 15% tip."


"No! A cappuccino is not an acceptable excuse for a dessert! Plus the machine never workz properly, it takez three yearz to get the foam to froth, the steam burnz the skin off of mis manos and then you're goin' to have the audacity to expect FREE refillz of coffee afterwardz. I don't care if you're not hungerz anymore, spend $9 and get the key lime cheesecake instead! No work for me + higher bill!"


::head explodez in fiery volcanic eruption::

the Monday Muse of 2009!

Any bloggy friend of mine, nuevo o viejo, should be familz with mah weekly Monday Muse features. Wellz, since I have yet to miss a week since I first started it last summer, I thought that it would be fun to take a look back @ all the gorge y fab peepz that have filled my our borrring azz Mondayz wiff so much wonder and excitement. And then I though, "Well fuck, why not make a contest outta dis shit?" So here we have it, My Monday Muse - the American Idol Remix! I've divided up my 23 musez into five sets of finalists. For the remaining Mondays in 2009, I will post these groups and allow all of yourvundervill readerz [read as: how many of you are there? 10? 15?] to pick your favo each week. It's almost like you folkz have a reason to exist! [I kid, I kid...kinda...]

Then after a winner is chosen from those sets, it will go to the semi-finals...then the final two. The winner will get a special spot on the much coveted [read as: probably ignored] info bar on the right of Josh Is Trashy. Make sure you pick wisely...cuz you will have to stare @ the winna'z puss for all of 2010!

Now onto this week's contestants...

Screaming Parking Lot Behemoth - Majestically irate beauty defending her home turf [aka rando abandoned lot]. She's just tired of photographerz that beat. on. her.

Rhonetta Johnson - Talent like you've never seen in befo. She's sexxxy. She's different. And no, she don't want any of yo bubbly water.

the Totz of YouTube - The shining futurez of tomorrow: High, terrified, violent & foul-moufed, they'll kick the azz of any monsta that gets in their way!

Deven Green - Comedic geniuz who can teach you everyting you're too stupid to already know about STDz. Remember, if the guy seems suitable, put out!

Bitchez Gettin' Hurt - They say laughter is the best medicine. If so, the physical and emotional pain of deez hoz should make dem your personal doctor. Oooowwwwwowooow!


Review these videoz above and cast ur vote! And feel free to comment and campaign for your favorite. Remember folkz, this is really important [read as: not in the slightest].

This is what earplugz are made for.

It's dat time again! Time for me to force you choloz to listen to the vocal belching I delusion mahself to believing is "singing." I asked on Puntabulous what songz peepz thought I should sing and one of mah favo peepz ever, Tam, responded. They suggested that I go old-skoll [aka circa 2003] and pull some Hilary Duff outta mah pocket. Remember her?! Back before she was making out wiff peepz on Gossip Girl and having sex wiff scorpions, she was Disney's favo pop-slut. Then she grew outta her diaperz and was replaced wiff an even spunkier starlet, Miley Cyrus. Sorry Duffster, but to quote Rhonetta, you're for def def deffers "funky & played-out."

Then I asked peepz to suggest male singerz for me to crap on and of course someone said Justin Timberlake. Then I imagined mahself punching whoever said dat in the nose, cuz let's be completely honest, I might be a douchebag, but Justin frrrealz is ten timez worse. What a dick! So after I shot down that suggestion, Jesse McCartney's punkazz name was brought up and I smiled and agreed.

Then as torture a bonus I thought I'd record a third video...one that I am sure none of you peepz know about. I blogged about it befo anyone liked me and I thought this was a prime time to pull it outta mah little bag of trix. That growling little dog-gremlin Lil Mama released a song last year that honestly NO ONE seems to know about (except for Val, who I shared it with). It's mad hott & sassyfrassy and I'm pissed (but not surprised) that it bombed. Take a gander @ the vidz and feel free to send me a mailbomb:

"What Dreams Are Made Of" - Hilary Duff

"Leavin'" - Jesse McCartney

"Truly In Love" - Lil Mama (feat. Peter Toh)

I could eat you up, I love you so.

I've had mah heart ripped out. I am legally dead and mah funeral is nexxxt week [bring party favorz!]. Okay, I'm not totez frrrealz, but after seeing Where the Wild Things Are last wednesday wiff David, I have to admit that mi corazon is un poco broken. I was expecting this movie to be a bit of a cheez-festival what with it being based on that kid's book that I never read/looked at. All I really know about its author, Maurice Sendak, is that he is also the creator of that god awful Little Bear series that was alwayz playing on Nick Jr. when I wanted Rugrats to come on. Booo! That bear was such a little bitch and I hope someone made a rug outta his punk-azz.

Anywayz, I went into the film a little skeptical. I left it, however, quite speechless and quite in love. Yes, the story was great. Yes, the effects were amazin'skatez. Yes, the acting was prett brillz. But what really got mah heart to erupt in a barrage of empathetic volcanic juicez was the character of Alexander! He was this goat-being that was smaller than all the other Wild Tingz that was constantly picked on and occasionally ignored by the otherz. He was tragically innocent and sweet and sensitive and easily wounded. JUST LIKE ME! I wanted to give him a thousand hugz and then marry him.

I spent the entire film pinching David whenever Alexander was on screen (so he knew to pay extra close attention!) and then screaming in disgust whenever he wasn't. I want him to have his own spin-off movie/television series that I can cry to every night. For some reason I always fall slightly in lurrrve wiff the fictional characterz that are pathetically insecure and overtly delicate. So therefore I shall induct Alexander into mah Supa Sensitivo Cry-A-Lot Club where he can mope around and be sad along wiff Billy Bibbit from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest and Chad Linus from the MTV television series 2Gether. Huzzah!

David got mad jellerz and annoyed wiff me for the rest of the night cuz all I tcould talk about was my new boyfriend. He threatened to beat me up and then I cried. Then he did beat me up and I cried some more.

As we were walkin' through the movie theater [which is like a maze!] I took note of several movie posters that caught mah eye:

Some scary movie called The Crazies that looked cool. Though I would have liked it better if it was renamed Drag Me To Hell 2 starring Enrico & I.

I saw this poster and went blind due to the thousand rapid eye-rollz I experienced. It's just mah initially reaction to gratuitously annoying photo-shopped whore-men. This movie lookz dumb and seems like sumfing the majority of the Puntabulous peepz will be all hawt & bothered about. Boo! I'ma go watch The Texas Chainsaw Massacre for the 50th time instead!

Then as we were about to leave the theater, I ran into two of mah best friends, Enrico & Mo'Nique. They were kabitzing about how hard it is to be women and what they were planning on putting in their frying pans when they got home. Sadly I have yet to see Mo'Nique's sure to be Oscar-nominated performance in Precious. NEED. TO. SEE. IT. SOOOOON!

What movie have you choloz y gringaz seen lately? What are you excited to see?! Let me judge your cinematic choicez!

Ten Rando Tingz

So I'm back with another installment of Ten Rando Tingz. Commuting to and from Nueva Nueva three diaz a week allots me many instancez to witness bizarre and picture-worthy situations. My camera-phone has been in overdrive lately trying to keep up with the constant barrage of weird shit I find mahself staring at each and every day. Here are some of the stranger cosas I've had the pleasure of experiencing in the past month or so:

Abused Boy on Bus Advertisement: Being as I am a commuter that must ride a bus for a total of over three hours each day I work in Brooklyn, I am routinely bombarded with absurd and highlarious advertz that are plastered to the sidez of public transportation vehicles. This geniuz example of publicity comic perfection alwayz putz a smile on mah puss. I'm guessing it's promoting some study about kids with tourettes/attention disorderz/some other fake crap people make up so they can feed their kids drugs. First off, blah blah...ADD...zzzz...snore...not real...chut uh...zzzz. Secondly, I wish this picture was actually a television commercial cuz I can only imagine the bust-a-gut situation that took place prior to that little brat making such a pathetically overacted facial expression. Hell, if/when I have a kid, if he/she are obnoxious assholez that make noise and shout rando trash @ strangaz then I will give mahself a pat on the back and a congratulations for raising a child in such a cookie cutter image of mahself. Don't condemn mayhem and chaos! Encourage it!


Bathroom Sign: I don't know why I find this so damn funny. Oh wait, yes I do...I was drunk as three skunkz when I saw it. After grabbing a few drankz wiff mah sister in the Port Authority bus terminal a few weeks ago, I went to make some lemalade at the restroom. This sign was plastered next to the door. Literally looking at the sign it seems that you're allowed to do only two things while in the bathroom:
1. Stand next to crippled peepz; or
2. Punch midgets.


Seahorse: This hand-crafted beautiful work of art is the only bit of decoration used to spice up the bathroom at the CVS pharmacy that's next to mah bus stop. So if my bladder is about to explode by the time my bus dropz might bloated azz off in central Jerzee, I know I can look forward to staring at this burn-victim sea animal while I whizzz away mah worries. I don't question its existance or its reason for adorning the bathroom wall. I simply enjoy.


Subway Safety Sign: Craig already pointed out the peculiarity of another subway precaution sign a few weekz ago, so I thought I'd share one that I found to be delightfully silly. Basically if you decide you want to cha-cha slide between the closing subway doorz, you will not only delay the train and everyone on it, but you will begin to bleed uncontrollably out of every pore until you start to look like you're completely coated in red paint. I tink that this is a viable precursor to being dragged to hell [read as: something I'm totez gonna try out tomorrow]!


The Creepiest Thing of All-Time: This poster is hanging up in mah friend Xtina's apartment in Brooklyn. It belongz to her roommate. Neither of us know what's goin' on. But even though it makes me feel as though mah eyeballz have been raped, I still think that it's a fine substitution for Adam Lambert's debut album cover.


Lackluster Advertising: There are roughly 7 to 8 eateries in mah little hometown outside of Princeton. And the number of restaurantz/pizza parlorz/coffee shoppez just keeps growing. The demand for all of these establishments is starting to dwindle, thus creating quite a heavy bit of competition amongst the restaurant entrepreanuers of the town. One of the places that is for def def defferz losing the battle of the food wars put this chalkboard up in front of their door last week. I lurrrve how they have basically accepted their failing defeat and have given up on even trying to compete. No daily specials listed. No sale promos. Not even "GOOD FOOD," or sumfing cheeky like that. Just an illogical "Yes!" But you wanna know sumfing? It's cuz of the pointlessness of this goofy-ass sign that I actually went into that store that day and bought a coffee. A small coffee, but still a coffee nevertheless.


Bus Stop Vandalism: As you can tell, my skills as a graffiti artist are quite stellar.


Thrift Store T-Shirt: Really? Oh yes, really. I was minding mah own business, attempting to scavenge through rack after rack of dirrty, musty clothes in some Indie NYC thrift store looking to find a plaid shirt for mah costume to wear on Helloween (I ended up wearing one I already owned) and then I come across dis. Seriously, is there anything anyone can really say about it? Anyone? Anyone?


"Murder With Puffins": Why yes, I was an English major el la universidad! How ever did you guess? Was it because I have a literary nose fine-tuned to such a delicate degree that I can smell the high-quality readz out of a stack of libros? Fellow bookworm Enrico joined me during a visit to the local Goodwill a few months ago. I forget the reason for our trip in the first place, largely because once we got to the "used book section" [read as: a broke-ass shelving unit wiff twenty raggedy paperbacks on it] my mind was ensnared and captivated by the single greatest title I have ever laid my eyes on. The Catcher In the Rye? Fuck off. To Kill a Mockingbird? Snoooore parade! In Cold Blood?! Go eat a dick! The winner is most definitely Murder with Puffins. Oh yes, the puffins are the weapon in this murder! Sadly I didn't have the 50 centz needed to purchase this surefire classic. Guess I will just have to wait until the box set (feat. fellow bestsellers Arson with Polar Bears and Petty Theft with Sea Otters) comez out and get all three for a bargain price down at the Pick 'N' Save.


Dick Chicken: I'm always saving da best for last. Xtina and I were going on a cute little straight couple date a few weeks ago [aka getting pizza and gossiping about sexxxy dudez after work] when we came across sumfing that caught my eye. As anyone who knowz me can inform you, there are few tingz in the world I lurrrve more than pizza. It could be raining beluga whalez who are vomming meteors at the Earth, and if I'm in the mood for pizza, ain't shit dat's gonna stop me from getting it! Well ladiez and choloz, the Dick Chicken [oh yeaaaah, it gets its name bolded already] stopped me dead in mah stupid trackz. I forgot about my ensuing pizza heaven and literally collapsed to the ground and fumbled wiff my camera-phone for three minutez trying to get the picture just right. I needed to get the highest quality photo I could, so that when I go to pick up the family poultry for this year's Tankzgivin', I can have an accurate picture to show the butcher at the supermarket. And if he scoffs @ mah request for a bird that is half chicken/half cock, well...I'm just gonna have to look that hater in the pupils and tell him that he can "suck it!" BEAUTIFUL.