Dear Evil Discussor... Are you eating the world's largest salad right now?

Yes I am actually. I mean, it's probably not Guinness Book material, but it's huge. Really fucking huge. I haven't had a salad in a while so figured I'd splurge and get the larger one. But this one might actually be too big.

And dammit, I should've gone with my gut and added the crispy bacon. Always go for the crispy bacon. Especially when its descibed on the menu as crispy bacon.

Sincerely,
E.D.

Dear Evil Discussor... Where do you get your e?

This query was posed to me by an obviously inquisitive ad dude copywriter blogger guy named Copyranter. Some of you might know him. His blog is quite popular and funny at the same time. He's a nice guy, it seems.

Or... is he? (Sometimes italics can be used to denote that you're saying something... in a sneaky sly way. I just learned how to use... them. Just now. Now I'm an HTML wizard. I am the king of motherfucking HTML. Anyhow. Sorry. Back to the question at hand.) Clearly we can ad 'druggie', 'menace 2 society' and 'negative role model for your children' to Copyranter's long list of credentials. Because by this tiny, harmless, cutesy, little lower case 'e', I assume you mean 'ecstasy', Ranter. That dirty little party pill known to make people want to dance all night to dance music. Yes, it's true, I am very much into dancing. And I do like to dance all freaking night long. Perhaps you've even seen me on the dance floor at our monthly Dancing With Bloggers party, shimmering and shaking like a glossy smooth piece of velvet under the staccato blue strobe light. Intensely making eyes with the ladies before I come up from behind them and hypnotically press my pelvis against their collective bums. And, yes, it goes without saying that, of course, ecstasy would help this little trance dance of mine along. Shit yeah it would.

But wait. Why must you know where I receive my e, Ranter? Is it because you're out of e and totally jonesing? (Cause, if so, call me, man. I'll hook you up.) Or is it something more sinister? Is it because the 'e' you refer to stands for ENTRAPMENT!?! Come on. Admit it. You're baiting me to reveal my e dealer to you so you can bust my ass and break up this ole blog party of mine! Isn't that right? Well, the gig is up. I knew it all along. You weren't just put on this earth to blog it up. No. You're not even actually an ad dude blogger guy copywriter. You're really an undercover narc cop masquerading as an ad dude copywriter guy posing as a blogger dude! Here to infiltrate a nefarious and deadly ring of mediocre, hardly popular, self-masturbatory bloggers like myself, and bring us down from the inside, 21 Jump Street-style! You even referred to 21 Jump Street in a previous post of yours. Coincidence? Pshaw! I think not!


And this isn't just my druggie paranoia kicking in, I don't think. No. No way. It couldn't be. I mean look at you. So mysterious. Never fully revealing your true identity except for the fact that you might be named Mark. And that you have a back. I mean, come now. This photo of you even. In full fake perp pose ala Serpico. (By the way, I can't tell if those are just super hairy forearms or prison tattoos. Hmm. The mystery deepens.)


Well, Ranter, here's the truth. The truth is I don't do e. Tell your goddamn superiors. And let it be known to the world. I'm clean, motherfuckers. Clean as a whistle. Sure I party. Oh fuck, I party like the best of em. I party hard, man. Really fucking hard. I'm like the craziest partier ever. Ever ever. You've never seen someone party like I party, I swear. You haven't even partied til you've partied like I've partied. It's crazy. But anyways. What was I saying? Oh yeah. I party, right? But I party clean-like. No drugs. Nothing like that. I'm all natural. High on life is all. Don't need no drug to keep this ass shaking.

Now excuse me while I get back to feverishly rubbing my crotch against the edge of my desk and keyboarddddddkjl;jhlkdhjasio'ur0 93q4 wepjferlckjnlknrkwanilqfjp'o'wj4q4lierfhvnsadjbnvja sdbnvk.ajsrjkvbjkrrrrrrrrakjjkkjjjjjjjkjjjdhcb,

E.D....rsgeaigohi;irabnsvrdrj;


By the way, if by "where do you get your e" you just meant "electricity", well, that's just a god-given gift really.

Dear Evil Discussor... Where've you been, you horrible motherfucker? I missed you.

Whoa. Easy, buddy. I mean, I missed you too, but come on. Don't confuse hate for love or love for hate or vice versa or whatever.

I've been busy. Crazy busy, k? Plotting my world domination. Planning revenge against all those who might've wronged me be it purposely or accidentally. Conducting crazy elaborate deadly science experiments in my basement.

Alright, fine. I haven't been doing any of that. I don't even have a basement, sucker. I've just been on the phone alot really. And maybe, as a previous post mentioned, spending much of my time looking into unloading ludicrous amounts of hard-earned cashola on the tiniest apartment ever built by man.

What else is a man to do? It's our innate nature to want to own land. And also, of course, to want to receive bi-weekly fellating. The former need might soon be taken care of.
The latter, I'm still working on.

Yours,
E.D.

Dear Evil Discussor... Who's got the most bestest blog on the webby web web?

(sing at first in a hushed whisper, then build dramatically into an explosive crescendo of lights, dance, spectacle, sequined outfits and fireworks display)

I do I do Yes I do
I do I do How about you?
I'm the most amazing blogging man
From here all the way to Turkmenistan!

It's so hard not to love me so
Cause everything I do is hilarious, no?
Up your ass and out your nose
I'm more popular than Lindsay Lo!

I discuss things like pants and tits
Why just yesterday I got four hits!
Douchebag! Douchebag! Shut your trap!
Sometimes there's pictures... like this map.










Everybody sing with me
Evil Discussor is the place to be!
Come on and sing, everybody
Evil Discussor is like a god to me!

Yes I've got the greatest bloggy ogg
Cows and horses, cats and dogs
June, July, March and Feb
I am the king of the whole
goddamn
wickedly
wonderful
wonderly
wickedful
wild and fantastical
digital festival
punch em in the testicle
world

wide

webbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb!




Best wishes,
E.D.

Dear Evil Discussor... Why, at the birth of TomKitten, was someone holding a sign saying "Yahtzee!"?

NY POST 4th Paragraph

Whatthefuck?

I don't know. You've got me. Even the Evil Discussor is stumped on this one.


Oh wait a minute. Of course. Got it. When you think about it, under the circumstances, it makes total sense.
In that it makes no sense whatsoever.

Yours,
E.D.

Dear Evil Discussor... Did you know that "us viscid loser" is an anagram of Evil Discussor?

This question was submitted recently by a fellow named anon. Although I neither speak Latin nor anagram, I will try to answer it for him. No. I did not know that. I am so happy that I know that now. Thank you for taking the time out of your hectic schedule to work out an anagram of your favorite blogmaster's wickedly wild given name. You're so much fun.

Here's one for you. Did you know that "Lay smile leo uk bee new rig" is an anagram for "You smell like a big weener"? (Not to mention, also a common Ojibwe phrase meaning "Pass the dried beef legs, for I am hungry, and it is getting late." But that's besides the point.)

But I want to get to something just a wee bit more meaningful here. Anon, although your question seems harmless and playful on the surface, I believe it's actually masking something. Something darker and deeper. It's a cry for help. Come on. We can all see it. I'm just the only one with the balls to say it. And I'm not like the others, anon, leaving you to squirm and self-destruct in your own filthy pit of self-hate. I will help you. I will pluck you out of harm's way like the small boat in a summer's squall that you are. Like the human trainwreck you seem to be. Right now. That's right. It's like that A&E show Intervention, except it's happening right here on a blog and instead of holding an emotionally charged family meeting where a crack-head-crack-whore-glue-sniffing-pre-teen is finally persuaded to save what's left of his/her life and give up his/her crackheadwhoring ways, I'm just going to write some stuff about something or something. But it's just as riveting.


I am not surprised that your question would involve the word 'loser,' anon. I have a sneaking suspicion that that word's been hanging around you for quite a long while now, following you wherever you may go. Ever since you first heard it uttered, that time on the playground when Ronnie Harliss pulled down your pants in front of the girls, and left you standing there in your pale yellow undies for all the world to see.

Well, maybe it's time to escape the persecution of that horrible word! To pull off the shackles and tear down the wall! Maybe it's time to take a small step back towards dignity! To walk with pride all the way back to pride-land! Maybe it's time to say to the Ronnie Harlisses of the world, under your breath, "Hey, Ronnie Harlisses, eff you, man" and then, of course, turn and run really really fast. Maybe it's time to make some little, small, tiny, somewhat insignificant move forward or something! And maybe, just maybe, the first step to doing so would be to stop spending time posting stupid questions on stupid blogs like mine all day.


Thanks for writing,
E.D.

Dear Evil Discussor... Are you too busy to blog today cause you're doing things like talking to mortgage brokers about lending you money for a house?

I am never too busy for you, dear readers.

Never.

Never ever.

Never ever ever.

Except for maybe today, that is.


Lovingly yours,
E.D.

Dear Evil Discussor... Are nipple slips the new plumber's butt?

Absotively. Yes. There does seem to be a certain increase in the sightings of nipplage slipplage. I believe you've got something here. Keep at it.

Nipple slips are the greatest gifts one could ever receive, aren't they? I pray that next X-Mas, my stocking will be filled to the brim with them!

Yes indeed, nipply slipplies just might be God's greatest creation. And big side booby slips aren't half bad either.

Many thanks,
E.D.

Dear Evil Discussor... Should I tell my friends about your amazing blog and how amazing you are in general?

Fuck yes, you crazy you!
Tell your friends!
Tell your enemies!
Tell your co-workers!
Tell your pen pal!
That's so cute that you have a pen pal!
Tell the pizza guy in lieu of a tip!
Tell your sister!
After you're done rifling through her drawers just to get a whiff of her bra!
Tell her hot friends too!
Tell your crazy landlady!
Also tell her to shave her legs!
Tell your spiritual advisor!
And then hit him about the knees with a stick!
Tell the person who drew this picture!
That maybe they should keep their day job!
Unless its drawing!
Then they should go back to college!
Tell that guy on the corner with the moustache and the lisp!
Tell him to leave you alone and stop leering at your ladyfriend!

I don't care who you tell, just tell!

As always,
E.D.

Dear Evil Discussor... Can you write a short post today? I need to catch up on your incredibly amazing previous posts.

Yes. Yes I can.

Yours,
E.D.

Dear Evil Discussor... Are you available?

This pressing question was posted by a swooning young fan of mine named e.g. She wants to know what, I'm sure, all my adoring fans want to know. Am I taken at the moment. Unless of course, she's the receptionist at my dentist's, and she's just wondering if April the 17th at 3:30 works for me. If so, yes, that's fine, Wendy. Or, maybe e.g. is just asking if I'm available to do kid's birthday parties. After all, I am astonishingly hilarious, and the kids can't get enough of me. But still, I don't think that's what she's wondering about. I'm pretty sure she's curious about my love status. As any hot-blooded american woman would be. And c'mon, as we all know, this question should pique not only her interest, but the interest of most of my readership. Which, by the way, happens to be mainly young, spring break going, Daytona beach hopping, wet t-shirt wearing, body shot shooting, pillow fight fighting co-eds looking for a #1 blog lover man. Like these two. Who look like they went a-spring breaking this year in Mesopotamia.



Look, I know that I'm desirable. That each word that pours out of me and onto the screen can't help but tantalize and tease. That I tug and pull at your heartstrings like a tasty piece of Poly-O. But am I free to romp around with you, party-style?


Well, if one were to take a magical journey through the past, nostalgically drifting back through the illustrious and always mind-expandingly captivating history of this here formidable blog, from awesome post to even awesomer post, one would find a few nods to this person I refer to as "wife." Now, sure, it sounds like when I say "wife" what I'd be referring to is "wife." But, I suppose, one could read this many ways. Maybe I'm referring not to my wife, but to someone else's wife. Or maybe even I meant to say "life" or "wizard" but mistyped. Maybe I have a friend who after a bizzare and experimental high school boating weekend was given the nickname "Wife" and it just stuck. Perhaps what I call a "wife" is really just a cardboard cut out of Soledad O'Brien I prop up on the couch. Or, better yet, was I making all that stuff up about a wife just to appear wiser and more husband-like to my adoring fans? Just to make my words and opinions seem more worldier? Or is it possibly true? Would someone marry me? IS THERE REALLY A MRS. DISCUSSOR?

No. I'm not married.

I just choose to spend most of my weekends at Crate & Barrel, deliberating over whether to get the Twin Coverlet in aloe, aqua or azure.

And wait a fucking minute. Aren't those all the same color?

Yours as always,
E.D.

P.S. Yes, of course we went with azure.

Dear Evil Discussor... Is the new Cuisinart Coffee-On-Demand Coffee Maker the greatest invention ever invented?

Yes. It is. It is it is it is. Tis tis tis. Tizzy tizzy tizzy. Thin thin lizzy. I'm giddy with excitement just thinking about the greatly greaty greatest invention ever blever inventioned! I can't even write words I'm so crazy craptastically crappy happy!

Check it out:











See. There it is. See how it shines. Imagine how proudly it sits on any sort of countertop. Just waiting for you to sneak up on it and tappity tap tap its little love lever! That's right! Lever! No carafe, no burner, no nothing. I didn't even know what a carafe was before this, but shit, now I do! And I say up yours, carafe! You've fooled us with your games for too long. Get out of the way, ye glorified pot. We need you no longer. Now we will fill our mugs up one cup at a time, mofo! And have our coffee sit and percolate up top, so as to not burn. It's freaking crazy science! Technology at it's finest. Fuck cloning! We're done. Stop working on your science, scientists. Stop working. It's over. There's nothing left to do here. The inventor of this machine should be crowned Supreme Leader, given a boatload of cash and a harem of concubines or ladyboys or whatever he wants. He deserves that and more. You know why? Because he took back the morning. He took back the morning and he handed it to us. In the form of a smartly styled brushed stainless coffeemaker with removable parts that are top-rack dishwasher-safe. No more coffee pot, no! No more coffee burning or spilling. Just good, nay, great times. Like the box says, I'm "Bringing the Good Life Home."

Am I a materialistic pig fucker consumer-loving whore? Yes!
Am I a slave to the latest trends? Yes!
Did I just spend way too much on a coffeemaker? Uh huh.
But do I receive my coffee in a carafe-free fashion? You bet!
Do you? Probably not.
So keep pouring your drippity drip pours and dreaming your small dreams, carafe-hugger. I'll just be here, kicking back, drinking my coffee. As I demand it. Via lever, loser.

It's like I've always said. Anything with a lever is better.

Actually I've never said that before. But it kind of rhymes and I like it. We call that an imperfect rhyme in poetry. But its a rhyme nonetheless. After all, I can't be perfect all the time.

Or can I?

With love,
E.D.

Dear Evil Discussor... Is writing a blog a lot like masturbating?

It is. Only, instead of a sock, you have a computer screen. Instead of a dick, you have a keyboard. And instead of your hands, you have a... no, I guess the hands are the same. As is the solitary nature. The excitement. The euphoria. The guilt. The shame. The hopeless all-consuming addiction. The hiding it from your wife/girlfriend. The crying. The having to immediately shower. And the not being able to touch or be touched by human hands for 3 hours after.

Come to think of it, the only thing that's truly different is that writing a blog doesn't necessarily involve wearing a cowboy hat.

Yours as always,
E.D.

Dear Evil Discussor... How do I go about submitting a question for you to answer?

Well, the best way is to write it in the comments page of my most recent post. That way I'll be sure to read it and, if you're lucky and worthy enough, I will respond to it in a post.

Alright, okay, forget about luck and worth, I'll respond to everything. I promise. I'm desperate.

Imagine how proud and happy you'll feel on that fateful morning when you arrive at your humdrum office job, tired and world-weary, wondering where it all went, evaluating your own little existence, and check in with your dear friend Evil Discussor, only to discover that your question is being answered! That your very own important question is the sole focus of such a popular and amazing blog! What excitement!

Of course, if your question is a dumb-ass question, that initial delight might start to dissipate when you realize that I, like usual, in a half-hearted attempt to make you feel just a little bit stupid and useless, am craftily, meticulously, seamlessly and hilariously picking apart your question like a disgustingly fat-riddled, gristly piece of chuck steak. Like the school nurse picking the nits out of your hair with one of those pointy little sticks that felt so good scratching away at your head cause your scalp was so damn freaking itchy. Like the... umm... That's how... That's how I'll... umm... That's how I do... what... the point... of...well, whatever. I forget.


Sincerely,
E.D.

Dear Evil Discussor... Why were you getting all Lenny Bruce-like about that Roll n Roaster thing?

I suppose I was getting a tad obsessive, a wee bit fanatically maniacal, and mildly later-years Lenny Bruce-ish about the whole R-n-R closing, and the subsequent all-out comment page war, which it turns out, was mostly in my head.

You might think that I was just trying to stir the blog pot a bit yesterday, maybe gain a whole new slew of readership. You might think I tasted fame and wanted to suck its toes bone dry. You might think it was a concerted effort on my part to garner some undeserved attention, glory, an over-priced book deal and a lucrative development contract at HBO for a pilot about a guy who writes a blog under the name Evil Discussor by day, but is actually a crime fighting masked avenger with access to all sorts of crazy wicked gadgetry and millions of dollars in Swiss bank accounts willed to him by his now deceased (or is he?) great uncle Baron Von Frank. Or you might think it was simply an attempt on my part to win over the ladies. You might think all these things. And you'd be right. I see how this blog world works. And I'm going to ride its digi coattails all the way to the top! Bring it on!



Or, more likely, don't.

Dear Evil Discussor... Is it true that the Roll n Roaster is closing?

Dear Evil Discussor... Have you ever been mentioned on curbed.com?

Dear Evil Discussor... Is anyone who dislikes Roll n Roaster a total and complete jackass?

Dear Evil Discussor... If a tree falls in a forest and no one's around to hear it, does it make a sound?

Sure it makes a sound. It sounds something like this.

YOOOOOOU ARE THE STUPIDEST PERSON ON THE PLAAAAANNNETTTTTT.

Sometimes, depending on the angle, it can also sound like so.

YOU ARE A HUGE PIECE OF CRAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPP.

And often, if the wind direction is just right, it sounds just like this. Listen closely.

I WISH YOU WOULD SHUDDDUP FOREVER, YOU TOTAL EFFING ASSSSSSSSSFFFFFFACE.

And that's the sound a tree makes when falling, while no one is around. Thanks for your question, questioner. Next time you think of a question like that, why don't you write it down and then immediately rip it up. And then punch yourself in the face.

I mean Fuck. You make it so hard for me to do my job here.


Yours truly,
E.D.

Oh, and here.
Here's an image that perfectly suits today's tree theme. And my total sadness at having to answer such soft-brained questions.

Dear Evil Discussor... Is anyone who dislikes Roll n Roaster a total and complete jackass?

Yes. Well said.

A bunch of Roll n Roaster hating jackasses, and me.


Who's with me on this one?

Roll n Roaster lovers of the world unite!

Or anyone who even kind of likes it!

Or anyone who thinks they might enjoy it if they ever were to go!

Or, I guess, anyone who's ever believed in anything really. Whatever. That's fine too.



Dear Evil Discussor... Is it true that the Roll n Roaster is closing?

Dear Evil Discussor... Have you ever been mentioned on curbed.com?

Dear Evil Discussor... Have you ever been mentioned on curbed.com?

Why, yes. Just this morning in fact.

curbed.com

I'm so famous now, I barely even have to bother posting today. But I will. That's how dedicated to you I am, dearest reader. Even with all of this success, I haven't changed. I still put in the time. I'm still down with you, pleebs. I'm still the same old Evil Discussor. Just a little bit better than you, that's all.

I suggest to you, friends, that you make a pilgrimage to the Roll n Roaster in these next couple of weeks and get your last bites of their sumptuous offerings. Enjoy it while you can. I myself will be holding down a booth there, stuffing roast beef into my face at a furious pace, slurping as much lemonade as humanly possible, filling my knapsack with side order cups of Cheez, refusing to leave, getting into a scuffle with the management, jumping the counter, dunking my head in the gravy vat, handcuffing myself to the Cheez Squeezing Pleezing machine, yelling obscenities, getting carted away by the popo, posting bail, and then of course, organizing the inevitable Roll n Roaster candlelight vigil.

Hope to see you there.

With warm regards,
E.D.

Dear Evil Discussor... Is it true that the Roll n Roaster is closing?

Dear Evil Discussor... Is it true that the Roll n Roaster is closing?

Upsettingly so. I just heard that this 3rd Ave fast food heaven is about to meet its demise. This upsets the Evil Discussor. With its amazingly fresh, tasty and cheap grub, it should be a local institution by now. Instead, word is it'll be gone in three weeks time. To be replaced by a sports bar.

Although it is upsetting, I will try to remain calm.




AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! WHY DIDN'T YOU FREQUENT THIS PLACE ENOUGH, EAST VILLAGERS? OR SHOULD I SAY, FUCKERS? WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU? WAS IT NOT DELICIOUS ENOUGH FOR YOU? WERE THERE NOT ENOUGH OPTIONS FOR YOU ON ITS INSANELY LARGE MENU? WAS THERE NOT ENOUGH GRAVY FOR YOU ON ITS DELIGHTFULLY JUICY ROAST BEEF SANDWICH? IF NOT, YOU COULD'VE GOTTEN SOME EXTRA ON THE SIDE, IDIOT!

You should've been there for the Roll n Roaster when it was there for you. Shame on you.

I will miss your tasty roast beef, R n R. Your turkey sandwiches, with extra dipping gravy. Your delicious taters with a side cup of cheese sauce that you spelled Cheez, also for dipping. Oh how I loved to dip when I visited with you. I will miss your burgers, sweet Roller. Your chicken tenders and amazingly cheap yet tasty pizza. But now I see, as I write this list of your delicious offerings, that perhaps you offered too much product. I haven't even mentioned the shrimp cup, sweet potato and steamed vegetable medley. And perhaps the prices were a little too low, don't you think? $3.95 for a 10" individual pizza? I am grateful for this extreme undervaluation, but shit, you could've charged more. I would've paid. And just maybe you overextended yourselves and took over too much space. No one was ever in that back dining room, fellas. Let's be honest. We all saw it coming.

You will never be the landmark you were destined to be, Roll n Roaster. But we will remember you. And possibly, though doubtfully, take a trip down to your original location in Sheepshead Bay. Wherever that might be. Sounds like a strange seaside town full of drunken sailors. Anyways, hopefully you didn't blow all of your coin and can still keep that original location alive.

As I sign off of today's saddening post, I wish I could say something mean and bitchy here, but I can't. All the vim and vigor has been sucked out of me like the delicious Cheez sauce off a perfectly golden rippled fry. Besides, I can barely see the keyboard through this wall of tears.

E.D.

Dear Evil Discussor... How do you feel about pants?

I love pants. Of course I love pants. I need pants. Pants are my everything. What else would you wear if you didn't wear pants? Shorts? Shorts are for leg-baring ninnies.

Yours,
E.D.