Monday, March 13, 2006

short and sweet

I know its been quite a while. The length of this blog will be equivalent to the length of my penis; short and unimpressive. I am extremely frustrated right now because I was 'chiefed' really hard at my job today, now my xbox wont work when all I want to do is play some FIFA, my ipod wont turn off, and I just drank a heaping helping of Jim Beam. Needless to say, I would like to get into a fistfight with someone right now. Also, my brothers blog ( contains about 600 more entries than mine (go read it) and he has been doing it for like 3 weeks. Mine has been up since September. Thanks for making me look like Frank Stallone, Sly.

I guess its not the quantity that counts, which thats why i only have sex twice a year. That is totally a personal decision and it makes me value those 2 times immensely. It has nothing to do with the fact that I speak to women with about as much success as a comedy club in Bagdhad.

Anyways I have had enough. Come see me March 27 at the Comedy Connection. New material, same alcohol soaked stage presence.

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

Takin the Stage

I made it through amateur night and I have to tell you, that was definitely the coolest thing I've ever done. Thanks to everyone who came we had a strong turnout from both home and St. A's. Respect it. The server is currently not cooperating with me so I cannot yet upload the audio onto the blog, but if any of you lost souls would like the clip just shoot me an IM (officerdiorio) and I will gladly send it along. I am now on my own ipod which is cool. I feel like my boy Dan Blanchard, who has a band called Offshore that you will all be hearing from very very soon. They rock hard. Anyways, the quality of the file isnt top notch because it was recorded from the crowd so you hear a them louder than me, but if you crank it you can at least hear the performance if you couldn't make it or were to cheap to go...... like Matt Neumann. Mr Neumann wears a headset and a yellow tie to work every day and they dont pay him enough to gain admission into the comedy connection.

Now about the actual performance. I didnt even go to work the day of because I would have been freaking out and shitting myself all day. I decided to sleep in and do that from home. Once I finally decided on what I was going to say, it was just a matter of time before I went downtown and got onstage. Since I have a debilitating fear of speaking in front of people I decided that there was only one way I was going to make it onstage: Booze. I only had 3 beers before I left but I got to Fanueil Hall at 7 so there was plenty of time for my Guardian Angel....gin. I found what has to be the shittiest bar downtown and went in and started drinking. I wasnt even done with my first drink when two of my old chums from St. A's randomly walked in. It was at that point when I realized I couldnt fuck up too bad because there were a lot of people I know coming.

Fast forward to 7:30. I walk upstairs to the club and see some friends outside and I check in with the doorman. I set out on a mission to hammer as many drinks as the waitress can bring before I go onstage. I am going on 6th because I am assuming they dont want half of the tritown to leave early. You have to tell them who you are seeing for amateur night. Anyway, the show begins and I am still nervous. Still drinking, but still very very nervous. Strangely my hands were not shaking. DiOrio's hands shake when they eat soup for fuck's sake but thankfully mine were not even tho I was within an hour of trying to make a bunch of people laugh. I didnt pay too much attention to the acts before me. I wrote on my wrist some bullet points in case I froze up there. Still boozin but not feeling as wacked as I should have, my time was up. The host called me up and it was showtime.

Thankfully I had a lot of support there which made the whole thing a lot easier. You can get the audio from me if you wanna hear how it went and/or talk to someone who was there. In my personal opinion though, it went pretty well for my first time. I'd say it beat when I lost my virginity in terms of my performance. I did forget a couple lines that I really thought would have went well but what the fuck are you going to do. One thing I did learn was that going on stage is fucking addicting. I think I may try to do this more often.....

In other news read my bro's site,
and if you dont get the Blazing Saddles reference in the title, die a slow and painful death. His blog is more current events related so freshen up your world perspective and get ur news from a DiOrio.

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

The Clock is Ticking

During my morning commute I discovered that I am a complete scumbag. The act that led to this realization was inadvertant and could normally be excused, if any effort at all was made to undo my actions. I exited the bus and made my way down the stairs into the Copley Station. For as long as I have been using this route to work, every morning there is a portly fellow playing the clarinet at the bottom of the first set of steps. This morning he seemed to have been replaced by a wild haired woman with no discernible talents (clarinet, guitar, bongos, shaking change cup, etc.) other than the fact that she had a horrid lazy eye. I would have assumed it was glass but I saw it move.
Since I had never seen her there before I did a double take and immediately noticed said lazy eye. My eyes locked with hers, one at a time for her, and I took out my wallet. She looked as if she were an Asian overachiever and I just took out a shiny new rubix cube for her. Mind you, this is all told in hindsight because at the time I was listening to my ipod and temporarily oblivious to what I was doing. Like I said, I took out my wallet immediately after or maybe even during eye contact with her. Naturally, her assumpion was that some green was coming her way. Oh no. I took out my T pass, put my eyes down and continued down the stairs, right passed her and to the right to my train. When I was out of sight from her, I stopped and thought about what I had done.
I locked eyes with a bum, took out my wallet, and took out my T pass and kept on walking. I ate an ice cream cone in front of a fat kid. I had sex with your girlfriend while I knew you were watching through a double mirror. I could have gone back and given her some money...but I didn't. I teased a bum ladies and gentlemen, and I am not proud of it.

Does anyone remember the toy guitar that was sold in the early 90's called "Hot Lixx." A quick refresher for those who do not. This was an "electric guitar" toy that instead of strings had blue buttons up the neck. Each of these fuckin buttons played a short different riff. This thing even had a whammy bar to really stretch the notes out while you furiously hit the buttons on the neck. For whatever reason, I was thinking about this toy today and the commercial that advertised it. A group of uncool kids gathered around a 9 year old Zack Morris wannabe and his new 'guitar.'
The loser kids shouted, "Where'd you learn to play like that!!??!?"
Our little hero responds cooly with, "Never took a lesson in my life." (I neglected to mention that this little fuck has a backwards adjustable ball cap with a clump of dirty blonde hair sticking straight through. Fuck him) The kids go wild after little Zacky regales them with his self taught style.
Hold the phone here for a second. You never took a lesson in what, button pushing? This is the type of shit kids fall for. Stick a wicked sweet kid with a backwards hat and have him hit a few buttons. Could the writers of this commercial not do any better than "Never took a lesson in my life." There arent even any fuckin strings on this thing. How about he answers the loser kids with "I dont know how to play you fucking loser. I am pressing a button and pulling on a plastic bar that is painted to look like metal. No wonder you dont have any friends. Fuck you you loser kids, you retards thought I was playing the guitar." Works much better.
(After I am through with this blog I am sending a check for $100 to my parents for the Hot Lixx I so desparately wanted one Christmas, which they provided for me. I never said I wasnt a total pussy when I was a kid)

I saw a black guy without a moustache today. It was weird.

Also, I am extending the blog naming contest until the first blog after amateur night. The front runner right now is ""

Also I am pleased to announce that there is another blogger in the DiOrio family. I will announce thelink and pertinent info when it is ready. It is a change of pace from this one. It appears that my brother is both more intelligent and more socially aware than I am. Stay Tuned.

Thursday, January 26, 2006

Thank You MBTA

The madness of riding the bus and/or the T every day has finally reached its apex. Earlier this week I was doing my normal scan of the Orange Line faithful and I happened upon the all time winner in the "I Totally Dont Give a Shit What People Think About Me" Hall of Fame. Or for short, the ITDGASWPTAMHOF." Now normally when I conduct my subway scans I log in someone that deserves a second look into my temporary (and some would say creepy) people watching file and keep the eyes moving. I then steal glances at them throughout the trip until they lose my attention and most likely leave the file. If you've never relied on public transportation, you can't know what a spectacle it is to people watch every day. You can't help but look.

Anyways, back to the hall of fame inductee. As I said, I was on the orange line scanning the crowd. Making my way around, my eyes stopped moving and focused on the obese black woman standing across from me. Why mention her race you ask? Why do you take dumps? Because you have to, that's why. She was standing in the middle of a crowded train reading. She wasn't reading Harry Potter or the Da Vinci Code, oh no. She was reading the Hoboken Times Bestseller, "G-Spot: An Urban Erotic Tale." In the middle of a fucking subway train. I don't have to tell you that this is the equivalent of seeing a fat white woman reading one of those romance novels with Fabio on the cover in public. Aren't those the type of books that you read in the privacy of your own home. That's how I know that this lady did not give a fuck about what anyone on the train thought, and let me tell you I wasnt the only one who saw the title.

Reading this in public shows a lot about her. She was bascially broadcasting, " I am lonely. I am horny. I will fuck you. Now." I get self conscious when I read a Michael Crichton book on the bus and this lady's reading a book called "G-Spot." I just wish that she stood on some newspapers before she got off the train. That puddle was fucking disgusting.

I would like to share with you a post that my good friend and college roommate left on my last entry. I will not deny or confirm that this ever took place. But it did.

Dear Matty, and Dear Friends of Matty,

Of all the trying times I've followed Matty through, none were as potent and as terrible as the night we came to the following understanding....
We were at the cheapest Chinese food place we could find in old Manch Vegas...we were at the bar with a few other sorry souls. I was challenging my cohorts to dare me to steal a bottle of Jack Daniels from behind the bar when Matty told me. He said, " you know how we hate our whore housemate, Allie?". "yeah" i said, "she's the filthiest skank i ever lent my t.v. to". "Well", matty went on " I was taking a shower the other day and I decided I hated her so much that I would scrub my ass and balls with that lufa she leaves in the shower. I think I swabbed my colon" He laughed.
I laughed too and thought about what the fuck a lufa was...then, as my face went white and a sudden feelinf of helplessness fell over me I realized what fate had done to me. " Matty," Isaid " my mother gave me that lufa, I used it two hours ago". Since then, my nipples have fallen off, and the doc tells me not to swim in sewage anymore.

Monday, January 23, 2006

A Taste of City Life

Thus far I have received 13 entries for the blog naming contest. If you havent entered yet, I expect that you will do it soon. Either post entries on this blog or the one where the contest was announced. Click on the comments link at the bottom of the post and fire one off from there. Also, February 6th is fast approaching and besides my crippling fear of public speaking, I think I will be ready. People have asked, but I dont know if you have to buy tickets in advance. Generally you do not because not that many people go to watch amateur night.

This past Thursday I saw the Father of the Year at a liquor store. Maybe you noticed that the "Father of the Year" was spotted at a liquor store and detected the sarcasm, but maybe not. This gentleman, sporting corn rows and fluent Spanish, waltzed into the liquor store with 2 kids who's combined age was no greater than 9. Now I don't speak Spanish, but I did see him kneel down and look his kids right in their eyes and say something that ended with "nada." I am assuming he told them not to touch anything, because they immediately congregated in front of a shelf that housed various economy rums and vodkas. With his kids standing like statues in front of the Rubinoff, Daddy went to the back of the store. At this point I had made my way to the counter and I was paying.
Still as curious as a cat, I watched as Super Dad returned from the cooler in the back and moved towards the counter. I thought my eyes were deceiving me, but as his little statues sprung to life to join him at the counter, I could see that my vision was not impaired at all. Papa was carrying a 12 pack of Natural Ice. It appears now that my initial impression was wrong. Drawing on my own personal experience of wrestling with the Natty Ice 12 pack (blacking out and waking up NEXT to a dumpster, 5 inch scar on my arm from tripping over a bathtub and ripping it open on a jagged soap dish, yes that was all the same night), I concluded that he wasn't babysitting his kids at all, it was their night to take care of him. Way to go Father of the Year, may your kids stay out of juvenile hall until they are at least 14.

Saturday night, I was on a mission to find a "slump buster." Myself and a few others were planning on going out and finding "fat whores with low self esteem." What happened next is so chock full of cruel irony that I am having trouble typing this story. We made our way to Boston Billiards around midnight. We walked in and I chose the first open seat and me and my two partners in crime set up shop. Before long, a beautiful young lady who was "off duty" approached us and aked us if we wanted to do some shooters. She sais she worked there but tonight she was just hanging out. She was hot and we were hammered so we said sure, bring onthe shooters. Several shots and several more dollars later, it was near closing time and not one of had spoken to the aforementioned fat whores with low self esteem. Reflecting on this the day after, I came to a conclusion.
My friends and I turned out to be the fat whores with low self esteem. We were on a mission to basically just get some ass and we were sidetracked by a girl with a nice rack who we all knew wasn't even going to leave the table with us, let alone go back to one of our apartments. She must have thought to herself, here are 3 hammered dudes who will most certainly not say no to shots served by beautiful women. I think I will help my friend the shot girl out. Just like if I scouted out a beast that I thought would hook up with me, this off duty Boston Billiards employee decided she could get a bunch of money and several free shots out of the deal.
This is why I think shot girls should be illegal. They are generally among the hottest chicks employed by their bars and they prey on drunk men like Steve Irwin hunts crocodiles. Notice, next time you are out that they never lead in with "I'm selling shots for 6 bucks a piece." Oh no, its more along the lines of "WHO WANTS A SHOT OUT OF MY TITS!!" Of course all the guys nearby hop in line. You never think to ask a price on something like that. After you all down your boob shots, she comes at you with an absurd bill that no one wants to pay. Shot girls are no different that the late night sausage vendor that swindled me out of $21 a few months ago, other than the fact that they all have huge tits.
Needless to say, my night ended with a one mile walk home alone and a Tony's fucking Pizza. Hey, there's always next weekend.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Better late than never....

I returned back to my apartment on Monday after a long weekend of drinking and punching one of my best friends' in the face focused on delivering my Monday blog, as promised. The makers of my wireless router had other ideas. I was politley told by an Indian gentleman on the phone that he couldn't offer me any technical support because my router's warranty had run out. Sweet policy netgear and kudos on the outsourcing. The fuckin thing is only a year and a half old and this clown wasn't allowed to help me. Fine, fuck him....Ramon from Staples hooked it up and I am back online.

Also, if you feel inclined post a comment after these posts. Tell me how much I suck, or that you want to hook up with me, I really don't care. I think I've finally figured out how to get the thing working right so let's take advantage of it. I have grand visions of a message board type deal where men praise me and women leave me their bra size and phone numbers. But if the amount of people who got at me on facebook after my last entry is any indication, the comment function will go as unused as a female retard's box. I implore you, if you like this blog send it around to your friends. I will update as much as I can. I am desperately looking for a way out of the corporate world. In addition to "chief," my boss recently added "captain" to his belittling nickname repertoire. The clock is ticking......

I went back to the gym this week for the first time since......October 26th. I know this because I asked when I swiped my card and the alarm went off. Day 1 I did 35 minutes on the treadmill watching PTI (they have TV's on the treadmills). I'm not claiming I ran the whole time, I had to walk once in a while because my beat ass headphones kept falling out of my ears which is wicked annoying. I need to roll into the gym with some DJ headphones. Anyways, when I stepped off of that treadmill I looked like I just stepped out of a horny whale's snatch. Day 2 was no better because I wore long sleeves in an attempt to cover up my 4 months pregnant stomach. Again, I exited the whale's box, showered and here I am.

Another funny thing that happened yesterday occurred on the bus. What a surprise. I was reading a book like I usually do when all of a sudden from behind me I hear none other than "This is How We Do It" by Montell Jordan. You guys remember that track. Montell is kind of buzzed and its all because, "this is how we do it." You never really realize how sweet those lyrics are when you are a 14 year old kid blasting that song in your mom' blue subaru wagon. I guess age has its perks. Speaking of age, I neglected to mention where this sound came from. A black man no younger than 45 with those headphones that are so terrible that the music is as loud in his head as it is to everyone around him. This guy was jammin so hard I had to put my book down and stare out the window for the remainder of the trip. Also, I can't be sure, but I think I saw a white woman lean up a bit and put a metro newspaper underneath where she was sitting. I guess its pretty obvious. Montell still makes the bitches wet.

Also, some unsettling news about one of my closest friends. I believe it was two weekends ago, we were hanging out and a preview came on for the show "Love Monkey" (starring Larenz Tate, Tom Canvanaugh and Jason Priestly...Tuesdays at 10 on CBS!!!). Then came the 7 magic words that changed my friendship forever, "Dude, I will definitely watch that show."

American Idol is back for another season. Unfuckingbelievable. Granted, I am madly in love with Kelly Clarkson, I still think the show sucks balls. I personally feel (and this opinion is based solely on the commercials...I havent watched sine my man Ruben won) that Simon should be allowed to swear at the contestants to spruce up his lame, condescending British putdowns. Instead of the smarmy (probably not a word) "That went from torture to murder," how about Simon unleashes something like "I would rather have my testicles shaved with a rabid dogs mouth than listen to you sing one more fucking note of 'rythm divine'" Not bad, but now put it into that guys accent and we have a winner, a show that I would tune into religiously. If that were the case, Clay Aiken would have been called a "queer fucking pedophile" and this whole 'If he is in fact straight, Clay Aiken gets more pussy than Matt DiOrio and that isn't fair at all' thing would have never happened.

Contest Alert!!!!! Since this blog has no decent name, I would like to welcome any suggestions to be posted on the site for a good blog name. Leave your name and a way to contact you if you win. Deadline FEB 1!!!
The person with the winning submission will receive a personal check from me, Matt DiOrio, for $15 US Dollars.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

And We're Back

It has been over a month since this was last updated. For those who noticed, I apologize and it shant happen again. Beginning on January 16, I will have 2 updates a week. One will be every Monday by 9 pm. The other will be a floater day or whenever I feel like writing. Please welcome this humble scribe, who has guaranteed at least two posts a week, back into your life.

In an unrelated note, I will be taking the stage at the Comedy Connection on Monday, February 6th, for Amateur night. I have to last at least 5 minutes and if you've slept with me you know that this is nearly impossible for me to do. I'm going for it anyway, so come on down. It will cost you 15 bucks but you've been getting this for free since September so I don't want to hear any complaints.

During my recent trip to Colorado it was brought to my attention that a member of the 2000 ORR Football team was stricken inseason by Scurvy. You know scurvy, that disease that pirates used to get when their bodies went too long without vitamin C. And by too long I mean weeks and months baking in the Carribbean sun on a disease filled boat. This guy got it in Southeastern Massachusetts during football season. Either this is the most random affliction I have ever heard of or it is the all time absolute worst excuse to get out of practice. Why not just go up to your coach and say, "Listen, I am a total pussy and I do not want to play today or know what, Ill be ready in a couple of weeks." I bet that was met with a better reception than, "Coach I cant go today"
"Why not"
"I got scurvy....came out of nowhere." Followed by the coach looking like he just had a frontal lobodomy. Looks like this guy's health plan didn't cover 'glasses of orange juice' or 'bites of clementines.'

The holidays have recently passed and I am disappointed that I did not fire off a seasonal entry. I will keep this brief since it is totally irrelevant on January 12, but I want to bestow upon my faithful reader(s) a few gifts crafted out of words.
I am 99% sure that when I have children someday I will not feed them lies about Santa Claus. We all remember when we found out that that fat fuck wasn't real. It is a traumatizing experience for a 14 year old to handle. Nothing about it makes sense. He travles by sleigh to every house in the world, leaving better gifts for the "good children" (kids who's parents have money) and leaving crappier gifts or sometimes nothing at all for the "bad kids" (who are obviously poor). Why not just sit your kid down and tell him that people with money are good, and people without money are bad. That is the basic idea that the legend of Santa is projecting.
And another thing that sucks about Christmas is Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. Santa can deliver presents to every house with a chimney on Earth, but a little fog hits and he has to call on a Reindeer with a 2 volt battery for a nose or else Christmas is lost? Buy some fucking lights you obese tub of shit. Fuck Rudolph.

On a lighter Christmas note I want to share a story about my dear old Grandmother. She has dished out some all star gifts in her day; a bottle of cologne shaped like a choo choo train that happened to smell like burnt matches, a black phil simms sweatshirt (in 1999) and a ratty stuffed Siberian Husky that served as an intended reminder to my mother of her precious dog that ran away 19 years earlier. She outdid herself several years ago, however, with a gift so legendary that it is referred to in the DiOrio household only as...."the shirt." Our expectations are always rock bottom and even we didn't understand what a gem we had in our possession until a few days later. Grandma gave my brother Adam a forest green crew neck sweat shirt, embroidered in paisly
with a huge purple and yellow LV on it. Across the LV read "Las Vegas." A hideous shirt, but basically par for the course. It wasn't until a few days later when we were looking through old photographs that the legend was born. In an envelope from the previous Easter, there is a photograph. At the center of this photograph is my smiling Grandmother, wearing a forest green, paisly embroidered Las Vegas sweatshirt. A used Christmas gift. To keep in line with family traditions I am going to give out old socks (that there is a 99% chance they have been jizzed in).

facebook me

or Will Mahoney, he crushes facebook