For years upon years my go to story when it came to little known information was the one about an A-list Hollywood actor who was booked on one of the 9/11 flights, but instead of boarding the fateful flight he decided to rent a Camaro and drive to Boston. The story always went over well, usually leading people to ask me if I had any further wondrous tales that their ears would be pleased to be filled with.

That was until Mark Wahlberg decided to take a page out of Mel Gibson’s playbook by telling Men’s Journal that if he had actually been a passenger on one of the planes that slammed into the World Trade Center, he most definitely would have prevented the deadly disaster by forcing the terrorists to land the plane.

“If I was on that plane with my kids, it wouldn’t have went down like it did. There would have been a lot of blood in that first-class cabin and then me saying, ‘OK, we’re going to land somewhere safely, don’t worry.’”

Look Mark, not only did you make one of the most ignorant self prophecies of all time but you also exposed and belittled my go to party story that captivated friends and acquaintances alike. You may have played a cop, a boxer, a stalker, and a firefighter, but even with all of that training, I highly doubt that you could have single handedly strong armed the hijackers into postponing their 9/11 agenda.

I want my story back, Mark Wahlberg.

Like sporting events, a night of epic drinking can also grind out a comeback kid the morning after. The ability to power through a work day when your motivation drags lower than your confidence is an act of physical and mental endurance that in some instances goes unmatched in the world of hangovers. Vomiting is only half the victory.

Approximately a fortnight ago I began a dangerous dabble into the tropical combination of pineapple juice and sailor rum, only to be followed by a handful of Mimosa refills. Prior to all of this liquor consumption I had tasted not a single morsel of food. Once beers the length of my tibia were being chugged there was but one thing to do…get into a hot tub.

How long I floated in the dehydrating bath of my own filth I do not remember. Following a few more drunken words of inspiration to my fellow party goers the curtain fell on my night of jovial intoxication. Pretzel stick filled pockets turned to crumbs as I made my way home like a disheveled Cinderella.

Morning arrived and the questions began to flood in, rattling my cloudy mind and jumbling my vulnerable stomach. The sugary liquor, champ, and beer smoothie sloshing against my naked inner belly wall turned every blink of the eyes into a nauseating roller coaster ride. Better judgement had been drunk under the table, or in my case into a hot tub. How had I allowed myself to fall folly to the biggest drinking mistake known to regular drinkers from here to Moscow; beer on whiskey, mighty risky.

Oatmeal. A big bowl of instant oats should be enough to soak up the remaining toxins and put a solid lid on this queazy hangover. One and a half minutes later and I was halfway from completing the meal in front of me when the sick realization that this hangover was not going away without a wicked fight settled in. My bed was no longer a safe place to reside. The couch was much closer to the bathroom and allowed for stable rest. A bodily explosion, from which end I was not yet sure, was coming sooner than I had hoped.

Seasonal allergies that had blown in a few days prior to my heavy partying had caused a massive amount of congestion to accumulate in my breathing passageways. Blowing my nose meant movement and movement meant sitting up and sitting up meant awakening any monster that brewed within my belly. The television droned along as I forced myself to ignore the problem. Work loomed over my conscience as I lay motionless and pained. Sickness creeped closer by the minute.

Suddenly I was hit with a messy decision: vomit vertically on myself or force myself up and vomit into a possibly unflushed toilet. With these two undesirable options as solutions to my sickening problem I made a choice to confine my situation to the restroom.

Puke poured from my guts. A reverse geyser of oatmeal pounded the toilet bowl like a wall of water coming down a canyon. There was no end to the destruction. The expelling of oats became so violent that I thought I might actually shit my britches. Dry heaving soon became my worst enemy as it attempted to push the hot, thick oats out my nose. My nasal passages were clogged with mucus and there was nowhere for the slightly digested food to go. Panic set in as I began to struggle to breathe, unable to swallow the oatmeal that was stuck in limbo between my throat and my nostrils.

Finally the Quakers blasted their way free and life flooded back into my shocked system. Three oatmeal filled tissues later and I was ready to wipe my face clean and pull it together. Wallowing in my misery was what my body begged but there was no way in holy hell that a night of sipping sissy cocktails was going to KO my ability to make it to work.

Courage, determination, and a dash of denial allowed me to persevere over the mighty obstacle that blocked my view of the end zone that day. Drunk, sober, or hungover there will always be the howl of the underdog guiding me to victory.

The other day I was browsing through the crunchy corn chip section when a bag so deliciously repulsive popped out at me that there was no way i was walking out of that corner store empty handed.

Frito Lay has really done it this time with their devilish Molten Hot Wing flavored chips. They are more addictive Flaming Hot Cheetos and even more tasty than Pringles pizza pockets. Each bite is like licking your fingers after a bowl of sauce soaked Hooters buffalo wings. Although indigestion is a guarantee they are easily balanced out with a bag of the Ruffles Chili Cheese Fries sister chip. Fight fire with fire for best digestible results.

There will be tears, spills, torn trousers, broken floor boards, unattractive eye gazing, uncomfortable groping, wardrobe malfunctions, sprained torsos, Lincoln Log legs, Kraft table disasters, awkward camera shots, and many many more things that should never be shown on prime time television. Thanks, ABC?

When one of the women asked the flight attended for a glass of white wine prior to takeoff, her sobriety was quickly questioned and her ass was grass. The blubbering siblings were quickly rebooked on a flight later in the day.

This particular situation brought to mind one of my favorite songs by renegade hobo musician Wesley Willis. “Northwest Airlines” recaps the singer’s tale of one unforgettable flight. In honor to pay tribute to the track I have remixed the song to fit the crying:( sister situation.

Once upon a time, I took an airplane ride
I went to Dallas, Texas
That was a bumpy trip
I enjoyed myself, crying in the air

Southwest Airlines
Southwest Airlines
Southwest Airlines
Southwest Airlines
Southwest Airlines

While I was in the air, I had a decent time
The aircraft was serving soft drinks and snacks
It was a tiring trip
It was an obnoxious flight

Southwest Airlines
Southwest Airlines
Southwest Airlines
Southwest Airlines
Southwest Airlines

The ladies on the airplane were grieving
I chatted with them a lot
I was having a frightful time
It was a violating flight

Southwest Airlines
Southwest Airlines
Southwest Airlines
Southwest Airlines
Southwest Airlines

While searching endless websites dedicated to group coupons and once in a lifetime buffet-plus-tokens offers, I Googled upon one offering large living room candles at reasonable prices.

Jankity Candle, the self-professed evil twin of the notoriously popular Yankee Candle corporation, offers offensive and repulsive candles with appropriate names, depicting the indecent aromas that emanate from their diabolically-crafted wax melting scent sticks.

If quality in a product means nothing to you than these are the candles your nostrils have been waiting for. If discount had a smell I am sure it would be similar to the Items listed below:

*Smegma Sunrise
*Bile Drip Dreams
*Sensual Poo Leather
*Trash Compactor Delight
*Body Odor Burst
*Underarm Lilac Lump
*Backwoods Litter Box
*Cyst Surprise
*Mango Mold Mobile Home

Did I mention that with each purchase of a 8 X 11 inch candle comes two highly flammable wall outlet smell dispensers? Well it does, so there I said it.

Since the Swine Flu did not turn out to be the tragic epic everyone projected, before you get too comfortable, we would like to inform you about the next hip pandemic crisis.

Louder than Mono and much more sensitive than Herpes, the newest disease sweeping the nation is Scarlett O’Hara Fever. The only drug on the market to cure the illness delivers a strong dose of humility. The medication is called Oxycotton-ball Liquid Codone.

Swallow a hearty teaspoon of the pride elixir once a day for three weeks and all that ails you should disappear. Besides the constant case of rosy cheeks and the lackadaisical demeanor, here is a quick list of some of the symptoms to be aware of incase you fear you might have contracted the social illness:

*Unexplained racist rants at the dinner table
*Uncontrollable swooning at the sight of shirtless men
*Periodic pouting over spilled milk and other such affairs
*Ravenous appetite, but birdlike eating habits
*Excessive eye rolling at every little annoyance
*Skipping becomes the preferred mode of transportation
*Prone to wearing gaudy jewelry to bed

If symptoms persist contact your doctor and ask for a bottle Oxycotton-ball Liquid Codone and let the healing begin. Like all good things in life there are some concerning side effects to taking the medicine that we feel obliged to tell you about.

*Loss of dignity
*Sudden urge to gamble the family plot away
*Trouble keeping strong opinions to yourself
*Hugging family and friends for an uncomfortable amount of time
*An uncanny ability to succeed at any lawn game. Cricket, Croquet, etc.
*Referring to anyone that dry cleans or folds your clothes “Mammy”

If you begin to display any of these side effects discontinue use immediately.

For another fabulous blast of summer holiday entertainment fun The movie gods have aligned their cameras and lucky superstars for another film starring Julia Roberts and Tom Hanks. If this is the first time the two overpriced actors have appeared on screen together all I can say is this formula feels familiar.

Hanks plays an ex-Navy Seal who is fired from his job as a supervisor at a storage box store. Due to the demand for more educated employees at the box store, Larry is fired in favor of a more qualified college graduate. Because Larry loves his job so much, and with the lack of job options in the market the upbeat lovable loser enrolls in community college in order regain his paycheck and his credibility.

Considering she is has played a prostitute and a fairy it is no stretch that Julia Roberts portrayals a funky home room speech professor that Larry falls hard for before final exams. Amidst the text book romance Larry joins a motor scooter gang that roams the campus at cool 35 mph. When Larry and his anti-climactic gang pull an end of semester prank that goes horribly wrong, Professor Mercedes begins to rethink interest in her middle-aged student.

I will not ruin the ending of this not-so-enduring movie for you, but all I will tell you is that money buys the power to make incredibly irrelevant movies that empty tour pocket book while you munch on popcorn drenched in space butter.

Having recently acquired over 200 channels of cable television, I have been made increasingly aware of the unnecessary amount of cooked up drama that passes for entertainment these days. Even more annoying than that realization is the fact that instead of planting a tree, taking a CPR class, or offering my money to orphans I instead choose to comb through endless episodes of fame hungry housewives. Needless to say, the quotes below should justify my actions.

Favorite Quotes From Housewives of New Jersey

Season 3: Episode 6
1.) “You probably know I am going to have a drink or two on a Friday or Saturday night.” – 14 year old kid telling his parents his intentions whie renewing his conduct contract.

2.) “Throwing a pregnant woman’s cookies in the garbage is not funny and it’s not a dig, it’s just plain stupid.” – Sister-in-law of New Jersey

3.) “I just want to be Carrie Bradshaw.” – Spoiled 18 year old telling her dad who she aspires to be like every.

4.) “No laundry, no food, no laughter. It’s a hell of a blow.” – Caroline describing her extreme empty nest syndrome.