The Lonely Broken Road That Led You Straight To Me


I’ve surpassed 2,000 followers. That’s like the population of a Manhattan apartment building! And judging by the search engine terms that brought you to my site, you guys are even edgier and more eclectic. Here are the strangest of the search terms, excluding the ones that are too strange (disturbing) to publicize. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

Mouth pedicure slave: I think the phrase you’re searching for, sir, is dental hygienist.

Guy doing pedicures + slave: Now, is the guy ALSO a slave, or do you want a male to do your pedicure BESIDE your slave? Weirdo.

Stripper body odor: You’re into some strange stuff.

Adult bathing in a bucket: REALLY strange stuff.

Sexy elephant: REALLY, REALLY strange stuff.

Female without clothing: What an articulate and precise way to search for porn.

Order strippers to the Waldorf Astoria: Sounds like one classy bachelor party. Hopefully you figured out the whole stripper body odor dilemma.

What to do with my beauty: I suggest you use it for good, not for evil.

I knew I shouldn’t have shown off on the dance floor: Why?? What happened???

How to be fat and look good in a one-piece: I might be able to help you figure out the first part. The solution to the second part still eludes me.

Pee in the ocean today?: Eh, I don’t feel like it today. Maybe tomorrow.

Abandoned Warehouse: Hopefully you’re a contractor searching for a place to renovate into lofts, and not a serial killer looking for a place to dump bodies.

If buying a vibrator from Groupon, will it be in discrete packaging: Groupon will be discrete. I will not. You are outed, you fiscal pleasure seeker!

Count Munch and the Wicked Witch: What the hell kind of fairytales are you reading, and where can we find them?

Terrifying feathered dinosaurs: Yes! “Bird” is a euphemism. This is accurate.

Celebrities doing chores: I, too, would like to see this.

No pants subway ride tighty whities: Sounds like you were ready for some interesting images. I fear I disappointed you.

Authentic brawd: I’m flattered that I was the result of this search term. So flattered, maybe it’ll be the title of my next book!


For you longtime followers, allow me to draw your attention to an added tab on the site: my Merchandise Shop! Here you’ll find T’s and mugs with quotes from my book. If you have a quote you’d like made into an item, feel free to submit a request!


Finding Myself On Buzzfeed


We’ve learned so much in 2014. We learned that Russia has a city that sounds like the name of a blonde telepathic waitress and vampire lover. We learned that Patrick Stewart is gay, and then we learned he isn’t. We learned that Ron and Hermione need marriage counseling, and we’re heartbroken about it. We learned that Alec Baldwin has feelings too. But most importantly, we’ve learned about ourselves.

Take me, for example. Before 2014, I never knew I should live in West Virginia, or that if I were reincarnated as a dog, I’d be a Corgi. I never knew if I fell asleep and woke up in King’s Landing, it would be as Arya Stark. These are critical, life-altering lessons that deserve to be shared with my 508 Facebook friends, both so that they can see me for who I truly am, and so they have the opportunity to become acquainted with themselves for the very first time. The shadowy corners of my identity that before were dark, are now lit with blinding fluorescent bulbs.

Remember back when there was no clear way to determine which member of Destiny’s Child you are? (I might have Beyonce’s booty, but I have Kelly’s quiet sparkle. So, who am I? Keyonce? Belly??) Remember when you spent hours wracking your brain over which European city you should live in? When you wondered which Thanksgiving fixing best represents the essence of you? (Cranberry sauce?? Am I cranberry sauce??) Remember when nobody could tell if you most closely resemble Monica, Rachel, Phoebe, Ross, Chandler, Joey or–god forbid– Gunther?

Maybe you don’t remember. Maybe you’ve repressed the chilling realities of before Buzzfeed. Allow me to reminisce. Before, when we were met with existential questions like, “What Muppet are you?”, we couldn’t simply choose a song, a facial expression, a board game, a pizza topping, a baby’s face, and click! Answer: You’re Animal. And all doubts were quelled. No, we struggled. We conducted surveys. We receded into the desert for 40 days and 40 nights. We fasted. We meditated. We climbed mountains and sought counsel with monks. It was the only choice we had. Do you think Gandhi knew which Charlie Chaplin character he was? No. He could wager a guess, ask his friends, but he’d never know for sure. You could never know for sure.

But now we know. All Buzzfeed needs are a few significant bits of information– your favorite movie, fast food joint, word, color, and weekend activity– and it can see through the screen and into your heart. It takes your uncertainty into its omniscient arms and whispers: Don’t worry, you’d win the Hunger Games.

The difficulties of self-discovery are over. You find yourself on Buzzfeed.

Now that I am equipped with this new insight, I can more accurately and more confidently enter into situations. I know that since I’m a Corgi, I couldn’t take a German Shepherd on my own, but would be fine with the help of my direwolf, although things are awkward with him since the pet I should REALLY have is a monkey, which might be a problem since I should be moving to London to be an athlete. But who am I to question the great all-powerful Buzzfeed? I’m going to be an athlete!

Here I come, Sookie!

Alena Dillon is the author of the humor collection I Thought We Agreed to Pee in the Ocean.

Satirical Commercial for Drug Now Known As Flaccidone


Erectile dysfunction is no joke. The commercials for its treatment, however, are:

You’ve reached the age when you know a thing or two. You know how to be a silver fox. Just look at you. You’re wearing a fleece, so it must be chilly out, yet somehow your skin is tanned. And your pearly white teeth match your hair. Was that intentional? It doesn’t matter—it works. You know how to stare off at the horizon, and look damn good doing it. You know how to stand in front of the Washington Monument, and now the Eiffel Tower, and now the Space Needle, and now the Old Faithful Geyser. You, obviously, know how to travel fast. You know how to wield a variety of power tools: drill, grinder, and that buzzing chainsaw. You know how to hold that baseball bat by your waist. What you don’t know, is how to get an erection.

Is it because your wife doesn’t look like she used to? Or is she just not trying anymore? Is your own biology to blame? Hard to say. What isn’t hard, is you.

Flaccidone is here to help. It’ll help you rise above Mount O-limp-us. It’ll help your Willy Wonk her. It’ll give your floppy some drive.

Five out of six doctors deny ever needing to take Flaccidone, but that’s because two out of six doctors are women, two out of six doctors are below the age of fifty, and one out of six doctors are liars.

Do not take Flaccidone if you take any other medication or if you expect you might have surgery in the next decade. Do not take Flaccidone if you’ve ever had a headache. Do not take Flaccidone if you are over the age of 85, because that’s just gross, or if you were born during any month with fewer than 31 days. Do not take it if you didn’t get at least seven hours of restful sleep the night before.

If your erection persists for more than four hours, my god, roll over and seek medical attention. But three and a half hours is normal. If one of your fantasies includes lasting through the entirety of James Cameron’s Titanic, this is good news for you (bad news for her). But if you have errands to run, you might find yourself between a rock and your hard place.

Common side effects include nausea, loss of vision, fatigue, heart attack, flatulence, breast growth, divorce, Benjamin Button syndrome, pant ripping, creepiness, and death—but you’re old and probably about to die anyway. Could there be a better way to go?

(Flaccidone is endorsed by Shawn Konnery, Jack Nickelson, Bobby Dinero, and, obviously, Clint Westwood.)

The 10 Best Valentine’s Day Ideas To Lower Expectations For Next Year


Have you found the one? Or at least the one for now? Then you must recognize your worst enemy this Valentine’s Day: Hope.

Hope is that glimmer in your girl’s eye when she sees a deliveryman appear in her office doorway with two dozen long stemmed roses and for a second thinks they could be for her, when really they’re for her coworker—the coworker whose fiancé hid a pearl engagement ring inside an actual oyster and proposed to her while they were scuba diving (when she accepted, her entire family floated up from behind a nearby coral reef). Hope is when a package arrives on the morning of February 14th and instead of finding that scarf whose website page she emailed you, and then printed out and taped to the fridge, she opens the next razor in your Dollar Shave Club subscription. Hope is the Spring in her step. But on February 15th, you’ll know Winter is coming.

Maybe you’re planning a little something. But know this: Russell Stover will only show your sweetie that life is like a box of chocolates—sometimes you pay more for something than it’s actually worth. Instead of letting her endure years of lackluster romantic gestures—the generic card, candy hearts, or yet another stuffed teddy bear—don’t gesture at all. Cross your arms over your chest. Stomp your foot from the start—all over her dreams.

If you are with someone you even remotely suspect you might still be with next Valentine’s Day, go ahead and arrange a bad date. Hurt her feelings. Maybe even outright insult her. The prudent Romeo plans ahead so that next year, the love of your life will anticipate nothing, and therefore won’t be disappointed.

Here are some awful Valentine’s Day ideas to inspire you:

1)     Sit down with a lawyer to prepare your living wills.  Till death do you part? Maybe sooner rather than later.

2)     Drill her expectations into submission with a couple’s dentist appointment.

3)     Go see 47 Ronin. It has a startlingly low Rotten Tomatoes rating—even for a Keanu Reeves movie.

4)     Swap gifts with the requirement that they have to be items found in your junk drawer.

5)     Over a glass of box wine, stare into each other’s eyes and share your best Valentine’s Day experience shared with a former partner.

6)     Light some candles and listen to Kevin Federline’s greatest hits. Perk: They’re all on one album. Because he only had one album.

7)     Present her with a slew of whatever scares her so that she may overcome her fears. Snakes? Ravens? Guns? The latter would be especially handy because you’d get to use the expression, “Stare down the barrel of a gun” literally, for what will most likely be the only time in your life—because you might spend the rest of it in jail.

8)     Slap a bow on your neighbor’s Mercedes and tell your girlfriend it’s your gift to her. Let her believe it for at least thirty minutes.

9)     Take in all of her pant waist’s by about one inch.

10)   Plan a beautiful evening—for your mother.

Despite what Hallmark and Patrick Dempsey movies would have us believe, Valentine’s Day is an inorganic, saccharine holiday that only sets us up for failure. So, if you’re going to fail anyway, why not fail like a champ?

On Losing My Starbucks Gold Card Status


The news was delivered over email. Not face to face, or even by phone. Over email. They may as well have texted.

Starbucks demoted my Gold Card to a Green Badge.

I’d been a Gold Card Member for nearly five years. It saw me through my Master’s thesis, the writing of three manuscripts, and the release of my first book. It was in my wallet when my fiancee (now husband) proposed, and when we asked our limo driver to stop for a venti pike coffee on the way from the church to the wedding reception hall. (My guests wouldn’t have been surprised if I gripped the Starbucks cardboard cup as I walked down the aisle, rather than a peony bouquet.)

We grind Starbucks beans for home brewing. I suggest Starbucks runs when we’re away, and my web browser suggests when I type “St”. (Sorry, Stubhub.)

But five years of commitment and devotion means about as much to Starbucks as it does to Timbaland’s wife.

They lowered me to the Green level two months ago, and took the stars I’d earned toward a free beverage or food item with them (I should have signed a prenup). I don’t know how many stars I had; I didn’t get to say goodbye. I submitted a customer service email in which I demanded the return of my stars, but it has so far been unanswered– the silent thieves.

The one thing they didn’t take from my trembling over-caffeinated hands is my physical gold card which, like a nouveau-broke who still wears family furs, I’ve used to disguise this recent demerit in social status. It still swipes. It still sparkles beside my driver’s license. But that just goes to show you: all that glitters is not gold.

Being degraded to the green level means, not only can’t I earn free items, but I also no longer receive special offers.

Last week, my coworker said, “Oh, look. Half-off espresso beverages now through Sunday.”

And across the office, my boss chirped, “Yup, I just got that too!”

I clicked to my inbox. Empty. “Weird,” I said. “I didn’t receive that coupon.”

“Huh. That’s odd,” my boss said. “Don’t worry, I’ll forward it to you.”

I approached the barista, carrying the forwarded coupon offer. “Grande skim latte, please.”

The barista punched in the order, and then extended his hand for the coupon and my gold card. He typed the code into the register and swiped the card. His forehead furrowed. He retyped the code and swiped my card again. His lips pursed. He retyped the code and–

“There might be a reason it isn’t working,” I said in a burst, unable to watch him struggle with my worthless gold card a third time. “Just charge me full price.”

Now when my coworkers announce their deals, I echo their delight, although my inbox is empty. I’m ashamed to admit I’m now a class below, that I’m a pauper dressed as a Starbucks princess.

My family used to call me a coffee snob. They would mock me in the morning as I brewed a separate pot of coffee in addition to the already steaming pot of Folgers. “I can’t drink that coffee,” they said in a sneer, because apparently cafe aficionados have high-pitched and whiney voices. “It isn’t freshly ground. And it isn’t my beloved Starbucks.”

Now they don’t say anything. They watch me grind my beans, their heads tilted in sympathy. And when I catch them staring, they avert their eyes.

They know it and I know it: I am a fraud. I’m no coffee connoisseur or Starbucks savant. Without my gold card status, I don’t know who I am anymore.

But Starbucks is quick to tell me. I’m a greenhorn. No, a Green Badge. When once I was java royalty, now I have the esteem and inexperience of a Girl Scout.

Anybody want a Peanut Butter Patty?

Hey Everybody– The Grinch Was White!


“Santa just is white…Santa is what he is.”–Megyn Kelly of Fox News

It is a verifiable fact that our beloved Grinch, the curmudgeon on the hill we all love to hate and, ultimately, love to love, was originally white. As white as Cindy Lou and the rest of the Whos. As white as the paper on which this very real fake character was illustrated. So white, in fact, it makes me wonder if perhaps his name is short for Newt Gin-Grinch.

That’s right, when the original version of How The Grinch Stole Christmas! was released in 1957 by Random House, Dr. Seuss depicted Christmas’s favorite antihero without any distinguishing color. Except for, it seems, the red of his eyes, whose bloodshot nature might explain why the Grinch was content being a hermit.

Then, suddenly, our Grinch was green, which I’ve been told, is a color it ain’t easy being. (I’m not sure when exactly the green was introduced. I didn’t care enough to research it.) So how could this be? How could a color just… change? Did the good Doctor intend the original version as a coloring book to be filled at the discretion of the individual child? Had he misplaced his paint palette? Or maybe we’re to believe the Grinch ripened over time? Or that he stumbled across the same gamma radiation that transformed Bruce Banner into The Hulk?

Or, is it possible, that nothing happened to him? That legendary characters can simply be revised, reshaped, and reinterpreted through the retelling of their stories?

I’m beginning to think the latter might be true, because I always thought Spiderman looked just like Tobey Maguire. Now, well, Spiderman has thicker eyebrows.

But what really boggles my mind is that nobody has resisted this kidnapping of a holiday icon from the race of the Whos to the race of the Yodas. Why aren’t we debating this? Why don’t the Whos fight back? How can they let the Grinch’s ethnicity be stolen, in much the same way he attempted to steal Christmas? Et tu, Cindy Lou?

I’ve given this a lot of thought. In fact, I’m almost done with my coffee. And I’ve come to the conclusion that maybe it’s because The Whos of the world know more than the humans. Maybe The Whos know that the color of the Grinch doesn’t change his story. They know that, just as Santa Claus represents faith, love, and cheer, the Grinch represents forgiveness, transformation, and celebration—universal themes that are not bound to any one color, and perhaps being territorial or demanding over his depiction defeats the very spirit of Christmas that the character was designed to teach you.

Maybe we, the humans, are the three-decker sauerkraut and toadstool sandwiches with arsenic sauce. Maybe our hearts, too, could use to grow three sizes.

So, with that: Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good fight.

Shia LaBeouf’s Movie Credits

“LaBeouf apologized for failing to credit artist Dan Clowes’ work in his new short film”– USA Today

  1. The Quiet of the Sheep
  2. It’s A Rad Birth Until Death
  3. An Immediate Apocalypse
  4. The Green 5,280 Feet
  5. It Was Right Here A Second Ago But The Wind Just Took It
  6. United States Beauty
  7. A Clockwork Peach
  8. To Murder A Finch–Not Atticus Finch, The Bird Finch
  9. Never-ending Sunshine of a Blank Mind
  10. Batman Starts
  11. Monsieur Smith Goes to DC
  12. Blade Sprinter
  13. The Sense That’s One Higher Than The Fifth Sense
  14. 10 x 100,000 Dollar Infant
  15. 8-1
  16. 4×3 Pissed Off Guys
  17. The Decent, The Evil, And The Homely