Where #SanFrancisco ends. (Taken with Instagram at Point Lobos)
Sure, I’ll use this as an excuse.
(via missellacronin)
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We’ve all lost our keys/passed out outside our front door. (Taken with instagram)
I’ve always said and written about how I am horrible at keeping in touch with people. I guess we all are, but in any friendship I have I am half responsible for “keeping in touch” and that’s a half of which I’m not putting in a full effort.
I am writing this because I just spent 20 minutes going through pictures of my trip to Cambodia in 2010 and “friend-ing” people on Facebook with whom I traveled to Cambodia. Besides some bumps, we had a great time and enjoyed each other, at least that’s what I remember (My memory tends to ignore the mundane details of life and only recall the great or horrible). But, besides a brief exchange on Facebook or random email from our GMail group, I don’t keep in contact with any of them: I am a horrible friend.
(Two of us were having a good time)
I found this malefic looking motherfucker waiting for me on my couch, under my favorite blanket. He had fallen asleep waiting for me, and was woken up when I accidentally sat on him. His name is Dafoe. Or Da’ Foe, I never got the actual spelling of his name because I was too busy being threatened by him!!
I was at work and I left my son, Buscemi, in the hands of my roommates, Dom and Laurie. They said that after I left, Buscemi went to buy some salted caramel gelato on a crepe cone and never returned. Dom and Laurie found a cryptic note that had been pasted on my door with Peep brand marshmallows.
It read:
“Manet- I hop u Had a gud day becuz u R about to hav a wary baD week. I puppYnapped Buscemi and u wonT see him tilll u cuM up with 1 mililion dollyrz$ & them giv mEe tat money 4 frEe.
—Ur Wurst nitemErde ”
Anyway, I got home pretty late and found Dafoe on my couch, under my favorite blanket. He asked me for one million dollars and I told Dafoe I didn’t have one million dollars, and that I had just read his note no less that a minute ago. After he threatened me with a tiny plastic shovel, saying he would bury me alive, I agreed I would do something in exchange for my son Buscemi. We worked it out so that I would get Buscemi back if I paid him $50 in Kraft singles and killed a ruthless drug dealer, Olmos, who owes Da Foe money. I wasn’t left with much of a choice, it’s either I kill Olmos or Dafoe kills me, and I’m too pretty to die. Plus I’m a dad; I want my son back.
So, Buscemi, if you’re reading this, I’m doing everything I can to get you back. Hopefully, by next week, I’ll be able to do something about the Da’ Foe and Olmos. Buscemi, I’ll get you back.
Took me over 2 hours to frame/mount this piece, but it’s worth it. NAILED IT! (Taken with instagram)
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My son, Buscemi, now 13 weeks old, got jumped today. It happened after his little league baseball-catching practice, as he rode his bike home. The asshole that jumped him took his backpack containing a Pacific Cooler Capri Sun, a six-inch tuna sub, at least thirty-five redeemable Chuck E Cheese tickets, and a first edition copy of Lolita.
Buscemi and I are seeking retribution. As a father, I can’t stand seeing my son getting bullied and beaten. So, if you’ve seen this man:
Give us a text or Tweet my son @LilBuscemi.