I had some friends write testimonials about what an upstanding citizen I am. This is what they wrote:
"Matt is always claiming he was in Vietnam. He's 29. There's no way he was in 'Nam. His dad wasn't even in 'Nam. Whenever he is in a forest, he claims it reminds him of the time he was in 'the war,' and proceeds to check for trip wire. He even went to a VFW meeting. He got thrown out. But, to be fair, he did it to a mason meeting too. The boy thinks that if he brings cookies he can pretty much go anywhere there's a meeting and they won't kick him out. Look out, Avon ladies. It's only a matter of time."
"He pistol whipped my kid, took him hostage, and used him as a human shield in a game of laser tag. LASER TAG! My son is nine years old."
"Matt is immune to every brand of mace available, including military grade used for crowd control. I'm not sure how he not only tested this, but obtained such high-grade material. I'm just certain it's not legal in any way. But he's proud of this to the point that it's how he answers his phone and starts any conversation. We met at a cemetery while I was mourning the loss of a loved one."
"I heard Matt say that he grew up in the Hamptons. I asked him if he wanted to go take a look at his childhood home, and he gave me a bewildered look. Then I asked him if he even knew where the Hamptons were. He asked what business it was of mine, and then implied that my mother was a prostitute!"
Well, my name is Matt
I'm an INTJ
I like to do typical things that typical people like to do...typically.
I wish some people called me the gangster of love...or, at the very least...Maurice? [maybe followed by a whistle sound?]
I live every day like I'm Glenn Coco...
But, really, I'm the Community Outreach Director for a nonprofit organization: Puzzle Parts. We take older unwanted donated laptops, fix them up, and give them to special needs children.
Going back to school for a degree in special education.
Stand-up comedy most nights out of the week, trying to get that stage time.
I almost missed my [comedy] set once because I was eating pizza with a hobo. That's not a weird new euphemism for anything...I was literally outside in the parking lot of the venue...eating pizza with a homeless man...it was HIS pizza. My life is a mess!
The kind of ridiculous shit you'd probably see on The A-Team.
Ranting to people about bands that I like and suddenly having to stop because, WHOA, I just a little too Patrick Bateman about it.
My arms are too long for my body? I guess...
I'm a highly poised savage. But a fucking savage nonetheless.
I look like a really burnt out child...
I don't know what else to say, and to be honest I resent this question.
In no particular order:
Wes Anderson movies (Bottle Rocket), The Rural Juror [or The Rurr Jurr], Documentaries about Vietnam and also the assassination of JFK (seriously, who shot that guy? Any thoughts?), Hunter S. Thompson, Saves the Day, Elliott Smith, Descendents, The Queers, Alkaline Trio, Gaslight Anthem, Velvet Underground, The Gimme Gimmies, NOFX, Minus The Bear, Tom Petty, Fleetwood Mac, Alice in Chains, Gin Blossoms, The Menzingers, Beastie Boys, The Melvins, Bouncing Souls...and way more things.
Various possessions that I can't get through my day without
COFFEE! Black coffee!
My appreciation for life- I'm currently involved in a Tontine pool/bet with five other people over some stolen Nazi gold. So, realistically, I could be killed at any moment.
That's five things...close enough.
So, maybe I pick you up and we go and have dinner somewhere bla bla bla. But afterward, maybe we go for a drive, just to converse and see some sights. Maybe I look away from the road for a minute because I get lost in how cute you are...or something dumb like that. BUT, in that split second, I run down a hobo. We get out of the car to check it out. You're a little freaked out because you've never seen a dead body before, but then I shake you a little to bring you back to reality. You finally calm the fuck down. We realize the hobo isn't completely dead. So, I bring out the Colt .45 I keep in my glove box...because needless to say, we can't just let him live. Mutually assured destruction, right? Anyway, I hand you the Colt. You're a little nervous because it's your first time. But I look into your eyes, and say, "Sweetheart, we'll do this together." So I put my hand over yours, and we both squeeze off a round into the hobo's head. Together. Then, we make a trip to Belle Isle, dump the body in the river, and that's when I notice the lights of the city reflecting off of your eyes. And that's when I kiss you for the first time. I guess you could say I'm a hopeless romantic.
It doesn't really help matters when a random girl that you meet online makes you swear that you won't try to murder her right before she agrees to hang out with you and then she gets in your car and JUST the passenger door locks...and she can't open it. So she starts shouting, "YOU SAID THIS WOULDN'T HAPPEN. I WANT TO GET OUT! NOW!" and, in a panic, you're shouting, "I KNOW! I WANT YOU TO GET OUT JUST AS BADLY!" Thanks, car, for making me seem incredibly rapie. Or when you get invited into her place, and it's covered wall to wall in weird creepy 1970s style paneling, looking very much like the scene of a horror movie. And you're thinking, "I WANT TO GET OUT! NOW! BEFORE I'M SHOVED DOWN A WELL!"
Thoughts in general:
There's nothing sexier than a girl who says, "I know who FDR is, I know about the New Deal, and I'm going to give YOU a new deal." And then, over a period of years, she structures her sex acts in such a way that they save the economy.
If you ask me what the best feeling in the world is, I'd have to say it's slapping someone across the face with a thousand dollars cash in singles. But if you ask my little sister what the worst feeling in the world is, she'd probably say it was the time I slapped her across the face with a thousand dollars cash in singles.
I find it difficult to believe that a Q-tip company has never tried to use "Just the tip" as a slogan...
I think my spirit animal is meatloaf. Technically, this isn't an incorrect statement...
I'm old enough to where having kids eventually doesn't seem like a bad idea...but I'm still young enough to where naming one of them O.J. seems absolutely hilarious (and a good idea). I mean, his whole life I'd never tell him anything about that case, but I'd drop subtle references to it: Like, "Look, son, it's a family name. You're named after great uncle Orenthal...and the 'J' stands for...uh....Juice!" I'd give him cool nicknames like "one-glove" and for his sixteenth birthday I'd buy him a white Ford Bronco.
fuckin' shit up old school.
I didn't really know what it meant to be a man-child until recently when I was on a date and I noticed my table etiquette. There I was, at the table, sitting on my knees (up on the chair), holding the fork with my full fist around the handle, and my plate of food cut into bite-sized pieces so I wouldn't choke. I was so embarrassed and I needed to leave quickly...but not before finishing my entire glass of milk, eating just two more big bites of my food, and asking if I could "please get down from the table now."
Growing up, I thought Indian summer meant three solid months of binge drinking...
I once fought a kite...and lost.
Let me give you a valuable piece of advice- the next time you try on a suit [or dress...considering a woman is probably reading this] at a fancy place make sure you plan that out instead of randomly marching into a place and yelling [with the intensity and enthusiasm of an overly-sugared child], "GIVE ME THE DON DRAPER!!!" Because the salesman, with much gusto, will hand you a very expensive Calvin Klein. Which is well and good, but make sure that hours before that you weren't cooking dinner while a six year old asks you ridiculous questions causing you to slip with a sharp knife and take a large chunk out of your index finger (and you don't believe in bandaids anyway so you figure "whatever, it'll just bleed until it doesn't bleed"). And before you randomly try on an expensive suit with a freshly clotted index finger wound, don't go and drink a ton of espresso... Which will inevitably cause you to get all jittery and shakey...causing the wound to open back up, thus bleeding all over the suit, thus causing you to inform the salesman that it was just an OK suit and you could probably find something better elsewhere...and then quickly get as far away from that place as possible, and avoid that area forever.
Are you a girl?
Have you always been a girl?
If not, can you keep a secret?