Before I was a minor league celebrity I did a lot of odd jobs. I delivered newspapers, drove limos, worked for a private investigator and did a shit load of construction.

One of the construction jobs I worked on had this fucked up Irish kid named Murph working there. Murph was a varsity level alcoholic and he always had the best fucking weed you could possibly imagine. His brother Pat used to grow it in their grandmother’s basement in South Boston, and since Pat was always stoned, Murph used to steal it from him with impunity.

Now, I’m not normally much of a pot smoker, and this incident is one of the main reasons why.

When we were 18 we were doing this job on a house in Revere, when the boss left the two of us knuckleheads alone to finish for the day. Murph thought that since what we were doing was basically mindless labor (carrying cinderblocks up two flights of stairs) it wouldn’t do anyone any harm to get stoned beforehand. I can still see his dopey smile as he said to me:

"Come on, don’t be a fucking pussy! Nobody’s gonna find out."

I figured there was no harm in it, so we smoked the joint and all was fine for about 30 minutes.

Then it kicked in.

I have no fucking idea what was in that shit, but the stairs slowly started to turn into a bouncy rubber as I was walking up them. I started to panic, so I called down to Murph who was at the bottom of the stairs stoned out of his fucking mind, talking to a can of Pepsi.

"Murph, you fucking asshole! What the fuck was this shit laced with?"

Murph starts giggling, and then laughing hysterically like this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard. He was literally curled up in a ball on the ground crying laughing. I start to think this is pretty funny too as I’m swaying back and forth on the rubber stairs, looking at him practically pissing himself on the ground below me. I start to laugh, when all of a sudden the cinderblock I’m holding Morphs into Large Marge from the Pee Wee Herman movie!

"What the fuck are you laughing at cocksucker!!!"


I drop the cinderblock in a panic, and it bounces down the stairs and lands smack in the middle of Murph’s forehead.

He was out knocked out cold and the cinderblock was still screaming at me.

"Look what you did now, you stupid fuck!!"

I ran home and hid in my closet for the rest of the night, and Murph apparently was unconscious until the boss showed up the next morning and took him to the hospital.

So, needless to say I feel like I owe him, so when I got this call from him the other day asking me for a favor I felt like I had to oblige.

Murph likes my website, and has decided that he would make a good contributor to it. So, pending the results of numerous upcoming trials, and the fact that he’s on an AOL account funded with stolen credit cards, you may or may not be seeing him around here every now and then.

Here’s Murph, and here’s his offering:


You can’t turn on the fuckin TV these days without watching a report on the whole Ford Explorer/Firestone thing. Now, I’m not a lawyer, but I have watched shitloads of "The People’s Court", with both Wapner AND Koch and I’ve also had 2 DUI’s last year alone, so I’m very familiar with the legal system. The biggest problem in this fucked-up place we call the US is frivolous lawsuits.

Like this one time, I was driving my truck on the turnpike, coming home from this shitbag job that I had painting houses and I felt something way up in my nose, not a tickle, but like something was throbbing. So I start picking – DEEP.

So I’m diggin deeper and deeper but I can’t get at it. I mean I am going to town! And then I realize before I got in the truck I was cleaning paintbrushes and I didn’t wash too good, cause I can smell the turpentine fumes on my finger.

I start getting dizzy, and this douchebag in a Geo Metro in front of me stops short.

Now this fuckin asshole complains that he can’t feel his feet anymore. Well what about me?

When my truck tapped his piece of shit car, my finger went so far up my nose it took 3 emergency room doctors and a jar of KY Jelly to get it out.

Doctors say I got brain damage and that’s why I developed a stutter and only dream in Spanish.

If you ever get in some sort of an accident, always gets names. My aunt Josie had like 30 shots last St. Patty’s day and tripped over a bum in front of the check cashing place on L street. She felt OK then, but the next day at work she threw out her neck giving a lap dance. She went to find the bum the next day but he was fuckin gone!

She got laid off at the club, still owes 1,500 bucks on her implants and now she’s got bill collectors trying to repossess her hooters.

So anyway, here’s the point: If I had the cash, I’d buy a fuckin Ford explorer with the bad tires. Seems to me, you can drink and drive all you want if you have one of those puppies.

Alls you got to do is staple a couple of old cushions to the roof and wear your seat belt. If the cops behind you turn on their lights, GUN IT and hope for a flipover. Then you can sue Ford, Firestone, AND the cops.

P.S. Never take the breathalyzer.