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A charming little Magpie whispered this disclaimer into my ear, and I'm happy to regurgitate it into your sweet little mouth:

"Disclaimer: This blog is not responsible for those of you who start to laugh and piss your pants a little. Although this blogger understands the role he has played (in that, if you had not been laughing you may not have pissed yourself), he assumes no liability for damages caused and will not pay your dry cleaning bill.

These views represent the thoughts and opinions of a blogger clearly superior to yourself in every way. If you're in any way offended by any of the content on this blog, it is clearly not the blog for you. Kindly exit the page by clicking on the small 'x' you see at the top right of the screen, and go fuck yourself."

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

The Cake Up My Ass

It all started when my shoelace broke off in my hand.

I mean-- shoelaces are supposed to be like cockroaches, right? Indefuckingstructable. Especially on a pair of Doc Martens that I haven't even owned for four months. Obviously the shoelaces on Doc Martens are not impervious to fat, acid rain, gluten, locusts, etc, etc.

Then, my car wouldn't start. To be more accurate, the key wouldn't turn in the ignition. At all. I was fulfilling one of my sworn duties as a non-profit lackey, going to Staples and purchasing a huge box of Avery 5160 mailing labels-- easily one of my least favorite errands, and, when I got back inside my car, the key wouldn't turn. I took the key out. I put the key in. I jiggled the steering wheel gently at first, then I shook it like it was a paint can and I was the MAB mixer. I fucked the ignition lock with the key like I was an epileptic on PCP, but it would not turn. I called my boss to tell her what was going on and to let her know that I might very well be late returning to the office.

Then I called Soly, my often irate, unpredictable, sixty-two-year-old Israeli mechanic. His younger, harder-to-understand Chinese employee, Jack, answered the phone. He told me to jiggle the wheel.

"I did that, Jack. Do you have any other ideas, please?"

He passed the phone off to Soly without even saying "hold on" or "goodbye" or "no."

"Do you have a hammer?" Soly asked me. I laughed. Who, besides Bob Villa, wouldn't laugh at that question.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LAUGHING AT?" Soly screamed at me, "Do you have a goddamn hammer or not?!"

"NO!" I yelled back, "I do NOT have a hammer. I do NOT DRIVE AROUND WITH A HAMMER IN MY CAR!"

"Okay, okay" he says, feigning that he's offended. "Are you wearing shoes?"

I resisted the urge to laugh again.

"Yes, Soly. I am wearing shoes."

"Are they good shoes?" he asked. It was sixty-five degrees out and I was boiling inside this car.

"They're good shoes. They're Doc Martens, in fact, with a broken shoelace," I replied.


"Nothing, they're good shoes."

"Okay," he said, "take one shoe off, and beat the key into the ignition. Four or five times. Hard-- not hard to break the key, but hard."

And so I took off my shoe and I beat the hell out of the key. I felt a little ridiculous doing this in the middle of the Staples parking lot, but I did it because Soly told me to do it. If he had told me that dressing up like the Queen Mother and singing the Chinese national anthem while sticking my finger up a fish's asshole would start my car, I would have done that, too.

Do fish have assholes?

And, don't you know-- the motherfucking car started.

"Okay, goodbye," Soly said after hearing the car turn over.

"Wait, wait, wait," I protested, "there's no 'goodbye' yet. Is this going to happen again?"

"Probably," Soly said.

"Well, what the hell do I do when this happens again?"

"Same thing. You obviously have magic shoes."

When I got home from work, I found that our computer had been completely assraped by a Trojan virus. I'm blogging from work. (Shhhhhh!)

Then, on my smartphone, which suddenly seems very smart when your CPU is sitting in the back of your car that often refuses to start, I received an email from a woman named Lisa. The subject line was "20sb featured blogger."

I knew that, on March 8, she wasn't already telling me that I'd won. I knew it was more bad news. But I opened it anyway. Here's what it said, word for word:

"Hello, Mr. Apron!

I'm Lisa, the founder and chief admin of 20SB. I just want to make sure that you realize that the high number of females who have been featured isn't some sexist ploy. Only 14% of our members are male, yet by my last count, 25% of our featured bloggers are. Our list of featured bloggers represents some very diverse demographics, and I'm super proud of that. But also- each featured blogger was voted for by the community at large in a process that's as democratic as democratic gets!


ps. I'm not sure how you decided that insulting everybody who has previously been featured is the best campaign plan, but hey, do what you gotta do."

Well, that was pretty much the icing on the cake of a day meant to be lubed up with poisoned icing and shoved up my ass by a waiter named Babyfucker Jones.

Lisa, I don't know who the hell you are, but my computer and my car and my goddamn fucking shoelace are all broken, you know what I mean? There's earthquakes in Turkey and Chile and Haiti and Karl Rove is an asshole and the polar ice caps are drowning the polar bears or whatever, and I'm really not terribly interested in the statistics of how many members of 20something bloggers have penises and how many have vaginas. I don't know who you think I've insulted or how, but, if I've insulted anyone who was a featured blogger before, I'm very sorry.

It's funny, I know of at least one former featured 20sb bloggers who is a follower of my blog, and that's Lilu, and she's pretty hard to insult. So, Lisa, Chief Administrator of 20sb, the site that you're "super proud" of-- perhaps you ought to ask people if they're insulted before presuming that they are, and then taking time out of your day to insult and offend someone else who takes at least an hour out of every day of his life to share some creativity and humor with a very tiny chunk of the world. And I'll tell you something else, if this is the kind of hypersensitive horseshit that goes on in the 20sb world, then the last thing I would want is to be featured on that site.

You may notice that I've removed the link including Paris Hilton's admittedly hot and overfondled tot that was used as a link to vote for me for this supposed "honor." How silly of me to forget for a moment that the reason I blog isn't for recognition or accolades, it's to make other people happy.

Thanks for your email.


  1. Fish do have holes, just no asses. Funny when you think about it, isn't it?

  2. HAHA!! Lisa can suck her own tit because who would send that?? Even if some penis toting guys (and possibly chicks..who are we to judge??) have been a featured blogger it means squat. Because of the blogs featured, THEY ARE ALL THE SAME. No funny, nothing original, more fashion than I even care about and a lot of the "omg my life is so hard as a college student". REally? Let's just see how you do with a mortgage, maybe kids, and neverending bills. Then come talk to us.

    Anyways. Off THAT soapbox. Doc Martens have crappy laces. Sorry. Your mechanic sounds like the one who once gave me "temporary" spark plugs. Like how temporary are they? An hour? A year? Love it.

  3. People are really too fucking uptight.

  4. This post started off so funny! Magic shoes! Hilarious...

    I'm sorry if I created "a movement" that ended up getting you attacked. I get your humor. I got it from the first time you commented on a 20sb post directly after I did and I cracked the hell up and was curious enough to seek out your blog. Based on a snarky, sharp-witted comment. So that's a pretty good indication of what I think of your blog.

    I really am not pointing fingers at other blogs. I don't think you were either. I'm just saying, your blog is different and that's why I like it and I thought other people should notice it too. And yes, Heather is right. People are really uptight. But if you're not pissing someone off, if someone doesn't hate something that you're doing, then you're not making an impact.

    But again, I'm sorry for my part in this. You didn't deserve that.

  5. Thank you, Maria. And you are not to blame either. If I were a better writer, I'd be able to more aptly express how appreciative I am for your support of "My Masonic Apron."

    But "thank you" is a good start.

  6. While I could give a crap about what goes on at 20SB, I do think I'm in love with your mechanic. Funny shit. Stay strong and keep beating that key.

  7. I found your blog last week because of the number of votes on the featured blogger post on 20SB. I started reading for the exact reasons you and others have stated: you're fucking hilarious, and so unlike the dreck that it seems most other featured blogs contain. So that's what I have to say on that topic.

    More importantly: My mechanic is also an old Israeli guy, named Izzy. He's equally angry (and angering) and also gives ridiculously vague advice. Once my car stopped steering to the right (rack and pinion was broken apparently) and I had to map a route from school to home to Izzy's using only left turns. When I got there, he told me what was wrong and then proceeded to tell me to take a right into the garage.

    I had no choice but to laugh.

  8. Okay, first of all, I want you to know that your comment on my last post answered my motherfucking question. I will, without reservation, marry the man who says this about me: "I don’t think there was any way, any possible way I could have met my wife and not fallen in love with her. The meeting was very much up to chance, but the falling in love was rather mandatory." Sweet mother of Mary, that's the good stuff, right there.

    Secondly, I am so excited to have an alternate step to include in my troubleshooting process when my key won't turn. I wear some serious shoes, and beating the key with them has to be more productive than wailing pitifully while honking my horn with my forehead.

    Third, I could only be so lucky as to be worthy of your insults. Fools, the lot of them.


  9. "Do fish have assholes?"

    I will now ponder this for the rest of the day, thanks to you.

  10. I only read you for your accolades. And to listen to you bash other featured bloggers!
    Sorry she felt necessary to explain herself like you might write some sort of pissed off post about her. Paranoid.
    (By the way, this was drowning in sarcasm - but I don't need to explain that to the person that writes "Dr. Apron")

    Keep your chin up, your shoes handy, and your middle finger poised cuz we love you.

  11. Your mechanic is obviously former MOSSAD.

    Fucking hilarious, and yet sad at the sametime.

    P.S. Lisa is a dirty cunt.

  12. Also? I've worked with her personally... and Lisa is pretty freakin' awesome.

    Just sayin.

  13. Ed: If my views on censorship were different, I would have removed your comment. As it is, your views are your own and in no way represent the views and opinions of "My Masonic Apron."

  14. Sorry to hear your day was such shit. But hey, at least now you know you've got the right shoes for car maintenance.
    Just starting checking out your blog, I like what I see so far.
    Keep it up.

  15. Dear Lisa,

    Exactly who was insulted? Because I am a member of 20SB and I don't think Mr. Apron did anything other than state the obvious. Wouldn't the world be a much happier place if we all stopped being so defensive all the time?


  16. It's the p.s. at the end of the note that takes it out of "okay, slightly professional" mode to silly and inappropriate. Not a good move, chief admin.

    But, anyway, I really could have used this advice about hitting the key with my shoe when my last car kept repeatedly refused to start. Also, I had Doc Martens in high school and those shoe laces lasted me about two months. Shortest shoelace life ever.

  17. i like your mechanic.

    also, i'm one of the insulted ones. if you wanna make it up to us, please blog about your thuper favorite lipgloss flavor and who you think the twilight girl should stay with; the pale emo vampire or the tan wolf vampire.

  18. WOWOWOw people say sororities have a lot of drama, but until now, I have yet to see the kind of out-for-blood-as-serious-as-cancer battles that tend to permeate the blog world around the coveted "featured blogger" voting time.

    And, you know, I think insulting people is a perfect "campaign strategy" for you because I for one enjoy your blog for that very reason! Not sure why you're bothered by that comment?

    On a side note, not sure how far you live from West Philly but I saw a "shoe maintenance engineer" shop today on 40th... I feel he may be able to use his skills to address the lace issue.


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