​So while attending one of the best rock shows I’ve ever seen, I noticed what most people notice while watching shows, sporting events and the like, people’s heavy-handed use of their phones. I know, I know, what is this amateur hour? Jesus Tap Dancing Christ, Ben, tell us something we don’t know! Fuck you buddy. You’ll listen and you’ll listen good. I am so fucking aware that this is not breaking news that people are cunts and don’t care about you or the society we share. But this was different. This was maddening. This was people of MY AGE being shitty little ass fucks and ruining my time down here. It may be there time up there but this is my time, my time down here. Look, I don’t want to get off on a rant here but holy millennial-type behavior Batman! I could give two fucks if you want to take that picture of yourself and your what I can only assume is your dumpster fire of a girlfriend in front of the stage or in front of the venue or in the bathroom sharing a stall. Whatever man. Have fun. We have this piece of shit little device in our cancer-ridden pockets all the time. It takes – let me rephrase –it SHOULD take 3 fucking seconds to pull that radiation machine out your pocket, pull up your camera app, and take a horrible, not framed dick of a picture. I am okay with that. I will tolerate sharing what is and should be a private moment that you will never post or look at after tonight. But anything beyond that is repulsive. You have 4 Facebook friends. Why the holy hell do you think going live video stream is a good idea? Do your shitty group of friends not aware that you are at a show? Will they not believe you when you present them with your concert T, ticket stub and DUI arrest report? Oh, you want them to experience what it’s like to be at the show. You know, through a 20-megapixel-shit-box that gives reverse perspective on how close or far you actually are. And unless you are recording the whole show and getting paid for it, if I see one more fucker watching the band/sport through their viewfinder I will shit my old man pants. Oh but Ben, it’s in super penis tugging HD! I don’t care. You know what else in in HD? Life. But I want to remember this awesome moment. Man, if only we had an organ capable of storing memories and moments that we carried around in an Otter-Box type case that was totally free and easy to use. We could call it, a “brain”. Maybe issue one to every person at birth. Now, like most other devices, some are better than others. Some may have been damaged at the factory. Some maybe were soaked in alcohol prior to installation. Some maybe missing a part or two and we can put those in a special class and make them wear helmets until they die of old age at 31. That would be great right? If only. So fuck you regular guy that sat in front of me and brought his own tripod. Fuck you other guy in front of me that decided to stand on his seat to get a better angle for his phone. You sir, are an asshole. And a very special fuck you to the guy who taped the ENTIRE FUCKING ENCORE on his phone WITH THE LIGHT ON! I shit you not, this motherfucker decided the stage multi-million dollar stage lights and the professional handling the light board sucked so much and he had so little confidence in them that he needed to light his own production with the pinhole shit light on his phone. Fuck you buddy. Fuck you so much. Fuck you with every fiber of my being. And fuck you to the cowardly lions around that dude who put up with that shit. Your enabling ass is to blame too. We coddle these millennial fucks by giving them trophies and them chastise them for wanting trophies. Lucky that dude was 3 rows behind me or I would’ve told on him so fast! And another fuck you to Mr. This Is My Space Guy sitting next to me. You don’t want to dance like I am? Fine. You want to stand there with folded arms the entire show? Fine. You want to spread your feet out announcing your presence with authority and letting me know you get more space than me? Nah. Fuck you buddy. Hope you enjoyed the scuffmarks on your shoes and the couple of times I may have farted in your beer. Yep, I am a badass. Or maybe I’m just an old ass. But I digest…

​Big Brother is watching us, right? We live in an age where we have no privacy and all our dirty little secrets are out there for the world to see, right? Damn government spying, I can’t go a day without someone telling me how this age of information and treasonous acts by our own government has our public life on display for the world to see. They’re to blame, right? WRONG! Wake up stupid. It’s no the government that’s invading your privacy. It’s not the cell phone companies selling your information that’s the problem. You are the problem. But, wait, I’m not the problem, I’m just a consumer, and they’re the ones prying into my life. Yes. Yes they are. And whom the fuck do you think let those vampires in?
 
Look, I don’t want to get off on a rant here but holy 1984, Batman. Look, invasion of privacy sucks. Getting your personal, private, sensitive information put out to the world for all to see warts and all sucks but stop blaming everyone else. We caused this problem. The minute we decided it was a good idea to have a tiny little information machine in our front or back pocket. That’s right fuckos, keep your phones in your pocket. Unless you’re a cop or a cowboy, you shouldn’t have anything “holstered” on your belt. Once we decided that we wanted the comfort and ease of having literally every, single piece of information available at our fingertips, we unlocked Pandora’s Box. Want to document every move your child makes and then let Aunt Flo see it instantaneously halfway around the world? Well, go ahead. But just like eating Taco Bell drunk at 3am, there’s always a catch. Yeah it tastes fucking amazing but don’t come crying to me when the government shits your bed. Look, I’m all for technology but there is a price to pay. We literally put out all of our personal information on Social Media pages including where we go, what we eat, who we sleep with, who we want to sleep with, what kind of car we drive, etc., etc. We do that and we do that willingly. Don’t complain when a Ford dealership contacts you 2 days after you post on Facebook how you really want to buy a Ford. That’s the equivalent of me shouting, “I love ice cream!” in front of Ben & Scary’s and then complaining when they offer to sell me a cone. (Side note: if you’re gonna eat an ice cream, eat it on a cone like a normal person. Cups are for beer kegs and baseball players.)
 
Now, where was I? Oh yeah. I know you can argue that these inventions may have been tools of the government to access these bits of information from us to use at a later date for good and/or evil. OK, I’ll buy that. But if you are smart enough to realize that yet continue to provide such information to the powers that be than you lose your right to complain. We get so frothed up when private conversations and photos and situations come out and we clamor for justice when those situations may disagree with our personal taste. We force out basketball owners for saying mildly inappropriate things during an ILLEGALLY TAPED CONVERSATION. We all line up and file trade (is that still a thing?) ILLEGALLY HACKED photos/videos of celebrities taken without permission. Sorry Charlie but who here hasn’t done or said something when they had an expectation of privacy? Can you imagine if that one tiny misstep you said or did got out and you lost your ability to earn money because of that? Sounds crazy, right? But nobody has a problem when it happens to the rich and famous. Look you want to hang with a vampire, eat Chinese food, fly around Santa Clara stealing carnival tickets and comic books? Go right ahead. Just don’t be surprised when once you invite those suckers into your house, you get exactly what you deserve. But I digress…

​Greetings Citizens! It is I, your humble host, Uncle Ben. Now before you rip this paper into a thousand pieces and denounce me as a filthy, lefty, commie, socialist nut-bag democrat, pump the brakes my brothers and sisters. For I mean no harm with my click-bait-esqe title. And surely you will see after you get dome with my scribble, I am just a man of the people. And the people are tired. Of everything and everyone.
 
Now I know what you’re going to say, “hey UB, I like that misogynistic, xenophobic, Oompa Loompa-looking, born of a reality show, orange headed, dollar-squeezin’, race-baiting, gutter-dwellin’, no good dirtbag…” And that’s fine. We are all entitled to our opinions. It used to be what made this country great. It used to be what forced people from culturally and socially diverse backgrounds to get along. You know, for the “Greater Good”? I can remember it like it was pre-September 11, 2001. The sun would seem to shine a little brighter, Uncle Ben could keep his shoes on as he passed through Airport Security in less than it takes for me to look up the Final Jeopardy answer on the internet and pretend I knew it all along. I’m not saying 9/11 has caused this massive, almost (nearing) violent divide within our nation but well, OK, I am saying it’s 9/11’s fault. We are currently involved; no strike that involved is too benign a word. We are currently entrenched (yeah, that’s more like it) in what could amount to the most divisive, polarizing election in US History. I mean every election. You thought ol’ Incumbent to the Comptroller’s seat Lindsey Buckingham versus upstart challenger Fergie Jenkins was bad back in the local De Moines, IA election of ’86, you ain’t seen nothing yet.
 
Look, I honestly don’t care what your political leanings are but when one side is spewing hate and violence and exclusionary tactics towards only certain people of this country, it’s time for people to take a stand. I am all for working with both sides to create compromise. Compromise is good. It’s like having to clean the garage but then getting homemade meatloaf afterwards. Yeah, the garage was a mess but you’re going to be eating meatloaf sandwiches for a week. Compromise. The problem is we don’t know how to anymore. And that goes for both sides of the aisle. If I see one more State Of The Union where only one side of the chamber full of rich politicians stands when (insert sitting president here) says cancer sucks and we should try and find a cure, it will be too soon. Really Republicans? Really Democrats? You hate the other side so much you can’t even stand and clap against cancer?? You’d think that just once some dude would be like, you know what? I hate cancer too! I’m standing up! Oh no, can you imagine what would happen to that guy/girl? And that’s the problem. We can’t get anything done because no one wants to compromise. It’s literally like dealing with children. They only want to do something if it’s their idea and it benefits them and they get rewarded. The reverse psychology that must have to be done on these politicians is amazing. I can just imagine some upstart newbie telling a 37-term Senator in some condescending tone, “Now Billy, you eat your peas and pass that bill and I’ll let you stay up an extra 30 minutes to watch Magnum P.I. tonight!”
 
What’s the solution you ask? Well, I for sure think it’s not adding more fuel to an already burning fire. Build a wall! Deportation! Papers please! Where are your papers? Look the left doesn’t have all the answers either and I’m sure the most correct and sane thing to do would be to meet in the middle and compromise. But I cannot fathom a time in this country where blatant racism, scary xenophobia and outright meanness was as celebrated as it is now. Look in the mirror. Is this who you want to be? Is this how you want your kids to learn about what once was the greatest country in the world? This is not the country I grew up in but it certainly can be again. Or maybe we just need an outright alien invasion to eliminate this divide that has grown between Americans and also the world. Then it will no longer be the Fourth of July, it will be our INDEPENDENCE DAY!

​There I was again, late for class. No homework done. Absent for the last 3 weeks. Cramming for a final of which I had not studied for at all. Just about to throw in the towel yet again when… my alarm went off! YES, just another anxiety-filled, sweat inducing recurring dream. It has literally been 20 years since I last brought my pencil (gimme something to write on man!) to any type of educational class and I still can’t shake the nightmares. And, in doing extensive research (I asked like 3 people) I found that I am not alone in this situation. So to spare future generations from cold sweats and night terrors, I propose the following: cancel school. Forever. That’s right. No more pencils, no more books, no more teachers’ dirty looks. School’s out… forever.
 
Look I don’t want to get off on a rant here but haven’t we hit our apex with the current educational system? I mean, no offense but there are certain kids that peak right around birth and no amount of school is going to help them. I know what you’re saying, but Uncle Ben, my child is the exception to the rule, the diamond in the rough. No. No it’s not. You may be looking through rose-colored glasses and that I understand. But take it from me, an outsider with a non-biased perspective, your kid is dumb as dirt and no amount of remedial geometry is going to help it succeed.
 
Now before you run to the woodshed for torches and wooden stakes, let me explain my point of view. We live in a golden age; an age of technology (probably extraterrestrial) unlike any before us. We need to evolve just as our ancestral primate cousins did once they invented the wheel or fire or the 24-hour convenience store. I realize there are certain benefits of herding your kids to a prison-like institution for 8 hours a day. You get to relax knowing your child is spending most of its formative hours, days and years with a complete stranger who has an almost creepy desire to be surrounded by that much youth on a daily basis. Another benefit is your kids will develop the social skills needed to adapt to other critical situations later in life. I mean, what is life than just one big group of kids on monkey bars trying to get to the top without being pushed or dragged down or humiliated in front of the cool kids? And you get to be alone!! It frees you up to go sit in a desk with other people your age, taking orders from a superior and turning in your assignments on time. What’s that? Missed your deadline? Well then, someone needs to stay after work and finish it or they’re in trouble. Does anyone else see the irony? We are just constantly in a state of school and I for one think there are more important things in life.
 
So as to not be a Negative Ned, I am putting forth my plan.: My plan for everyone else’s kids. I know, but UB, what gives you the right to tell us how to raise our kids? The constitution, my friends, you got a problem with America? I didn’t think so.
 
First and foremost, there will be no more inside schools. If we have to have any type of class, it will be outside.
 
That being said, the second part of my plan involves just one lesson: The Internet. You have but two jobs as a parent: First, teach your kid how to use the Internet. Second, pat yourself on the back and crack open a beer. You deserve it.
 
There is nothing one cannot learn without the Internet. It is a magical gift bestowed upon us by our future slave leaders from a distant planet and I will be damned if I’m going to go back to a life pre-YouTube! I wont do it! So tell your kids the good news, no more school, no more homework, just a life of constantly looking up how to boil an egg and other trivial pursuits. Or maybe I’m still asleep and this is all a dream. Or a nightmare… but I digress.

​As recent deaths in the music world have left me melancholy, disheartened and am sure, soon to be wistful and pining for the days of yore, I can’t help but think of a certain term I heard a while back that doesn’t directly tie in with the news de jour but certainly can be tied tangentially if one tries. The term I am referring to is Slactivism. Slactivism, as described to me, is the act of being an activist for a certain cause or causes primarily for the self-congratulatory feeling of being and activist – all the while not actually accomplishing anything for said cause(s).
 
Example: It’s really easy to pin a virtual ribbon on your social media profile stating the fact that you hate this certain disease or that you think little Mary Joe Anonymous should get 500 likes because she had her hair pulled on the playground today and you are SO against bullying. Not saying those are necessarily bad things to be against and I am certainly not saying we shouldn’t get behind certain causes to force their eradication from our society BUT you strapping a magnet on your car or sharing a post from your 32nd cousin on Facebook and then DOING NOTHING isn’t the cure for cancer we were hoping for.  Being a Slacker Activist i.e.: SLACTIVIST does nothing but make it a little easier for you to sleep at night because deep down in that soul of souls, you know you didn’t do a damn thing.
 
Actual change, actual tangible change is not made through virtual likes and shares, it’s made through hard work, financial contribution, research, trial and error, and dudes and dudettes that have much bigger brain mass than yours truly.
 
How is this connected to the recent loss of uber-talented musicians the likes of which we probably won’t see for years to come? Stay with me on this one. We may go down a few rabbit holes. Ok, said rock star dies of a tragic, non-discriminatory, evil, bitch-slap of a disease. Said rock star’s fans, new, old and phony (which is ok, by the way) take to the Internet to conjure up their best memory/song/picture/meme/whatever secretly trying to be the first on their feed to post so that everyone knows how cool they still are. Inevitably, you will start to see the “why” and “how” posts describing his/her death as tragic and “God’s plan” or “Devil’s Plan” (depending on what artist we are talking about) and why we cant do anything to stop this. Well, here’s the rub. I’m pretty sure we can. Look I don’t want to get off on a rant here but we live in the greatest, most advanced age in the history of mankind. That means of all the time since the Earth cooled and we crawled out of that septic tank/petri dish and learned how to walk, RIGHT NOW is the best. Think about that. We have running water, TiVo, self-parking cars and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. We aren’t communicating with sticks. We aren’t setting off on a 5-mile journey only never to be seen or heard from again because, well, nature. So that being said, how the hell are we still letting certain diseases take down our loved ones, friends and lead singers?
 
I’ll tell you why. Slactivism. That combined with apathy, ambiguousness, laziness and a myopic sense of responsibility. We don’t care about anything unless it affects us directly. You may post how much #CancerSucks but do you really feel that way? Not until you get it. Then it really sucks. I honestly think that if we had a problem -  a real problem - that was going to affect all of us, not just us here in the States but everyone in the world, we’d get on that shit faster than you can say Independence Day - the movie, not the holiday. We waste so much time on shit that doesn’t matter that we have failed to see the bigger picture. We spend trillions on wars over nothing and yet have to dress up like Santa and ring a bell to get donations to cloth the homeless. We spend 57 Gazillion (real number, I looked it up) ridding the world of baldness and flaccid genitalia. Congrats, Grandpa Joe, you will at least look great and get to chase skirts while that tumor eats its way through your lower intestines. All I’m saying is if we can somehow re-prioritize our focus away from the bullshit that doesn’t matter onto the shit that does, guess what? We will get to live longer and spend more time and money on the shit that doesn’t. See? Problem solved. And all I had to do was post this online. I’m helping. But I digress..

I want to be the first to wish you a Happy New Year! Wait a sec, let me rephrase that: I’d like to be the LAST to wish you a Happy New Year! Holy Beating A Dead Horse, Batman. Dude, we get it, it’s February 37th and I haven’t seen you since 2015. You’re pumped, I know. I’m pumped when I don’t see myself for 8 hours whilst I sleep. Nothing says good morning like seeing this fresh face once awoken at the crack o’ noon by my annoying roommates as they step gingerly over my couch-laden body on their way to their “jobs”. We get it, mom and dad—I mean roomies, you’re responsible. I’ll have the rent money next week! Wait, where was I? Oh yeah, I don’t need you to wish me a Happy New Year 3 months after the ball dropped. But if you feel you must hold onto that happy, refreshing feeling like a bald guy holds on to the wispy remnants of his once glorious, flowing mane, by all means try to channel that into something productive.
 
Look I don’t want to get off on a rant here but let’s ditch the whole New Year’s Resolution thing. Not to be a Sassy Sally but if you need a calendar to tell you when to make drastic changes in your life, you may be in more serious trouble than you think. We all need change and we all need to change as soon as possible. But I find it hilarious that we rely on a man-made series of numbers and grids to motivate us to make said changes. Quit smoking? Um, let’s see, January 1? Lose weight? How about this, eat like Lard Ass during a pie-eating contest for 2 months then I’ll start to exercise, I promise. Repetition and organization is great and if this goal falls on the dawn of the New Year then by all means proceed. But if you are consciously aware of a problem that needs addressing on July 1, then you should address it as soon as humanly possible. I don’t want to be the one that breaks this to you but this is the only shot you get on this flying blue marble we call home. Make it last. Get motivated.
 
What the heck do ya mean? I’ll tell ya what I mean: GET MOTIVATED SON! Get pumped. Get psyched. Realize that you are presently occupying a finite form on a finite piece of rock in a finite gathering of celestial objects that happens to be part of an infinite ever-expanding universe. If you actually took the time to realize how absolutely tiny and insignificant your existence is relative to the universe we currently dwell in, you would be an absolute Hammerhead to spend your life worrying about trivial nonsense. So that’s what I mean when I say get pumped and get motivated. You have on average 78.8 years here on Earth. That’s 78.8 years to get that sh*t done you need to get done. I’m not advocating total societal anarchy but at least try and do something daily that makes you and/or your loved ones happy. Hate your job? Start looking for another one or just freaking quit. Quit, pick up a guitar, master some tasty licks and go on tour. Boom: problem solved. Hate your spouse? Start looking for another one or just freaking quit. Quit, pick up a guitar and master some tasty licks and go on tour. Boom: problem solved. Never been to the ocean? First off, what year is this? We have planes, trains and automobiles that will actually drop you off on the sand. Secondly, get on that sh*t. In love with that mousy girl from accounting but don’t have the stones to ask her out? Just do it. What’s the worst that could happen? She says no, makes fun of you in front of AND behind your back which causes so much pain and embarrassment you end up in a clock tower picking off strangers with a high-powered sling-shot. You go to jail, become someone’s “jail-spouse”, have to make license plates for 25 years only to get out and find nobody will hire you because of your multiple homemade facial prison tattoos and you die alone – poor, tatted and crying. Um, on second thought, maybe leave that chick in accounting alone. Or wait until next year. We all need resolutions. But I digress…

​As your faithful host, I have a sworn duty to uphold the constitution, protect this country against all enemies (foreign and domestic), and provide a weekly rant filled with hilarity, hi-jinx and good-natured ribbing of you, my faithful followers. But, thanks to fucking ASSHATS that can’t stay home from work when they’re sick let alone cover their fucking pie-holes when they cough, yours truly has now come down with a Christmas bug and is writing this high as fuck on Nyquil, Thera-Flu and vitamin C. Look I don’t want to get off on a rant here, but holy spread the virus, Batman! Look, I get it, you need to work, hell we all do. Working is what we do to kill the time between Facebook status updates (Hey everyone, I’m sad and single, here’s a picture of a whole lasagna I ate last night whilst watching America’s Got No Talent!) and Fantasy Football trade offers (No, I won’t trade you Tom Brady for your shitty defense and your one-legged kicker). We all have to work. Some of us get to work less than others and that’s cool. I will never begrudge anyone who can make shit work by working the least or the most amount of time. But if your job entails you to deal with people, any kind of people, be it your dumbass co-workers or your dumbass clients or dumbasses that meander in off the street, you need to STAY THE FUCK HOME if you are sick. Let me explain how viruses work. Let’s say you’re a, hmmm, I don’t know, a fucking bank teller at a branch Uncle Ben banks at. And then let’s say as a certain host is asking to withdraw cash to slip into his employees stockings as a Xmas bonus you decide now is the time for you to let out the cough of all coughs. Hey, I get it, coughing is the body’s natural reaction to expel bad shit and phlegm and other bacterium. We all do it, hell that guy from Pawn stars sounds like he’s expelling fucking E-Bola every time he laughs, but to do it DIRECTLY IN MY FACE WITHOUT COVERING YOUR FUCKING MOUTH is beyond rude and just plain old fucking mean. Hey everyone, we live in a society. That means we must all make sacrifices to keep said society in working order. That means stay the fuck home when you are sick, don’t bring your sick ass virus machine baby over and then proceed to tell me how it’s been deadly sick for 2 weeks but you can still hold it and for the love of Pete, stop taking pulls off of my beer if I offer it to you. Um, wait; I just realized that’s where I may have gotten sick. Damn, I hate these rants when I go down a rabbit hole and realize it just may be my own fucking fault. You know what, fuck it, you should still stay the fuck home and cover your mouth when you talk to me. In fact, I want everyone to stay home, sick or not. Uncle Ben needs a break from society anyway. But I digress…

​So as all you nerds are waiting in line for some fucking movie about wookies and an old space pirate nailing an equally as old princess, I’ll politely pass. Not that I don’t enjoy a good fantasy movie. Hell, I just watched the fantasy adult erotica film Ronda Arouse-me, and that’s about as close as I’m going to get to her hammer-fisting my heavy bag. So I get it, you gather up your sleeping bag made out of a dead Ewok, pull out that camping chair and load some snackie-poos into your Yoda-shaped backpack and head to the movies 6 days before it opens to get a good seat. Is that about right? Value your time much? Why not wait an extra 32 hours and see that shit on a Monday in a half-empty theater? Afraid another fucking 56 year-old is going to ruin what is basically a kids’ movie for your ass? Just turn off the Internet. It’s liberating, trust me. I turned off the Internet and found porn DVDs I didn’t even know existed nevermind the fact I owned them. Star Wars: Attack of The Merchandise will still be there a few days after it’s released. Pretty sure that cash cow is going to run in theaters until Indiana Solo finally moves on to that great big archaeological dig on Tatooine. But that’s not what I came here to talk about. While all you droid-a-philes are drooling over that movie, I have a complaint about a certain movie about a certain alien fighting some rich cunt in a mask. No, not Ted Cruz vs. Donald Trump, I’m talking about the only fucking superhero that matters vs. some depressed orphan with a black Amex: Superman vs. Batman, Dawn Of Justice or as I like to call it: S v B, Dawn of the worst fight in history. Look, I don’t want to get off on a rant here but holy inconceivability, Batman! (Hey that actually worked there for once!!) I don’t give a shit what fucking suit ol’ Trust Fund Bruce puts on; he is still just a man. Flesh and blood. Skin and bone. Hell, it’s Ben Aflac. Other than having the coolest first name in history that dude sucks. Now granted I’ve never seen a movie he has been in but I can only assume he acts as well as he stays married. Too soon? Why don’t we just put Matt Damon in as Robin and make this a full-fledged shit show. I actually could get behind that. I love Matt Damon. I’ve seen everything he has ever done and he acts about as well as he stays married. Not soon enough? But enough about those wicked shitty actahs frahm Boston, let’s get back on track. So I’m supposed to believe that an alien from another planet whose only---let me repeat that---ONLY weakness is a rock from another planet that in reality the chances of it AND the superbaby-carriage making it to Earth AND someone finding both are slim to none. This is the guy who flew around the world in the opposite direction and turned back time. Granted he didn’t think about the ramifications of his actions. We had to deal with Lois Lane/Margot “Is This My House” Kidder for 3 more films but still, pretty impressive. He stops bullets with his body, shoots molten lava laser beams from his fucking eyes, can freeze anything with his breath and he is supposed to think Bruce “Cyber Punk” Wayne is a threat? Fuck Bruce and his complex. We get it, you watched your parents shot to death when you were a boy. Get over it. I lost my car keys the other day; you don’t see me dressing up like Optimus Prime and throwing around little car-shaped ninja stars, do ya? Ol’ Supes could literally pick up BW’s entire batcave and throw that shit into another galaxy—with one hand tied behind his back and one eye focused on Lois as she takes a reporter piss at the Daily Planet. Man, x-ray vision would be great. So save all your “what ifs” and “Ben Aflac really is a good actor” and all that shit. Supes wins 100 times out 100. But then again, I said the same thing about Ronda Drousey and look what happened. May the Force be with you all. 

​Dear Facebook. It’s me. Ben, your faithful servant since like 2010. Yeah, I was late in seeing your awesomeness. I stayed away. Watched you from a distance. Going over the perfect time in my mind when I would muster up the courage to finally ask you to be a part of my life. Then it finally happened. Oh joyous day! I remember it like it was 2010. Filling your pages with status updates and pictures of literally every meal I was eating. Nice chile relleno, Ben! Thanks Facebook. Looks like you had a good time at the ballgame, Ben! Thanks Facebook, I did. Hey, Ben, remember this guy/girl that you haven’t seen in 20 years? Well, here’s what he/she had for breakfast. Thanks, Facebook, you always know what I need to hear. We had it all, Facebook. Friends, bands, food and pictures of kids I don’t care about. It was glorious. You understood that Social Media was never meant to be taken too seriously. It was about prompting social interaction and promoting social events. Come see my band, Facebook! Come read my blog, Facebook! Come look at how much my kid has grown since last night, Facebook! It was the best of times. I never wanted it to end. But then you changed. You started seeing other people. People I never thought you would see. People who update their status on the way to the hospital after hearing their parent just had a severe heart attack. Is he/she ok? No idea, thought I’d check in to the Emergency Room first, LOL/sad face! Types of people who want me to pray for their plants because they look depressed. Types of people who didn’t care what I had for breakfast the last 31 days. Types of people that didn’t care that I met Dave Grohl at a Transcendental Meditation class and then went and got a FroYo together. Types of people that like a virus slowly infected everything that was good and decent with you - racist, unabashed, stupid, sociopathic, psychotic assholes. Look, I know you went through a difficult time. We all remember the 2012 Election, but this is different. I used to look forward to seeing your little blue icon light up with red notifications every morning as I awoke. But now I hesitate before I give you the slightest touch. You’re cold and distant. You make me upset every time we are together. I feel that you’ve gone down a path you cannot come back from. So it with a heavy heart that I must say farewell to you and your new crowd of race-baiting, vitriolic, non fact-checking, Trump-supporting clique of “cool kids”. I’d like to say I’d wait for you as you weed out these asshats and realize what you’re giving up but I just can’t. So, goodbye Facebook, we had some good times, some bad times and some times I drunkenly can’t remember. Hope you and your new friends have a great time without me. I’m perfectly happy here on Twitter. Oh yeah, that reminds me… Dear Twitter, it is with a heavy heart that…

​So as we sit in a world full of violence, misogyny, terrorism, racism, xenophobia and any other Scrabble-worthy word you can think of, I can only watch so many viral videos that make me lose my faith in humanity. But as I waited for my eyes and my faith to start bleeding as I scanned the plethora of cats and Star Wars shit on YouTube, I noticed a little video of some fast food executive beating the shit of an Uber driver and couldn’t help but think… good. Good for that guy. Fuck Uber up its giant loophole-havin’ ass. Look, I don’t want to get off on a rant here – and I certainly do not want to deny anyone the opportunity to make money – but holy DC Cab, Mr. T! As someone who recently was rated 5 stars (out of 37, apparently) on Uber AND someone who knows the value of a sober ride to and from the bar(s) I frequent, I thought this Uber thing was a fucking godsend. Take me to and from a bar for 8 bucks? Fucking sign me and my sketchy criminal record up! But then one foggy summer’s eve, Uber came to say, Benny with your drunky on, we’re gonna fleece you out of $100 and accuse you of puking in said Uber and charge you $200 for that! Fucking Rudolph had it better! Hey Uncle Ben, it was jut one driver that tried to fuck you and your hard earned money up right? Why so serious? Well, I’ll tell you. ‘Twas only after threat of a lawsuit (who am I Perry Fucking Mason), countless emails of them accusing me of not knowing where I lived (the Uber ended up in Riverside or Redlands or some shit) AND a virtual photo lineup of my mug for the driver was I refunded my dolla dolla bills y’all. So fuck that company. Fuck those drivers. Fuck the fact that they skirt the federal, state and local laws that require background checks and hack licenses. Fuck the fact that they charge ½ the price of regular cabs. Fuck the fact that their cars always smell like what I imagine Heaven smells like (Olivia Munn’s inner thighs). Fuck the fact that maybe they’re providing a service and providing jobs for people looking to make ends meet. You know what? I’ve changed my mind. I’d write more but my LYFT is here. And it smells like Aaron Rodgers. Fuck me running. But I digress…