So yes, let’s just get this out of the way early: We have a dog now, and I’m going to talk about her incessantly. You’ll have to forgive me because 1. She’s the first proper pet I’ve had, and 2. She’s cuter than all other dogs combined. Also, she’s way cuter than everyone’s dumb kids. (Sorry about your kids.)

My girlfriend and I had talked about getting a dog forever, but kept putting it off until some undefined period down the road when we, I don’t know, had more money, or were better able to handle the responsibility or something. I think we were making excuses to some degree. Finally, a couple months ago, Roberta asked me how I felt about just going for it and becoming puppy parents. I hesitated briefly, but then I remembered how much I love giving belly rubs to little fuzzy weirdos.


That’s Stella. She’s 2 years old, and we were told that she’s a Yellow Lab/Terrier mix. We’re pretty sure she’s got some Whippet in her, too; she’s very sleek and slender. She was a stray on the streets of Puerto Rico until she was rescued at 4 months old, and she’s been living in a foster home ever since. Her given name is Gatubela, and it wasn’t until after we decided to change her name that we found out this means “catwoman,” which is fucking adorable.

Needless to say, it’s taking our girl some time to adjust to life in NYC. Everything is VERY LOUD AND SCARY to her, but I suspect she’ll eventually just tune all that shit out like the rest of us have. It’s really only a matter of time before she’s just another Brooklynite complaining about the G train, blowing all her money on Ubers, and blaming everything on de Blasio (aka Mayor Tall). I’m trying to enjoy this time before she’s too cool and jaded for me to give her lots of forehead kisses in public.

The Force Is Strong in My Family

A couple weeks ago, my coworker noticed the little Lego Millennium Falcon and Han Solo on my desk and asked, “So, you like Star Wars?”

(While you and I both know that this was a fairly stupid question, it was still an improvement over my boss, who noticed the ship one day and asked me, “So, you into Star Trek?”)

“It’s okay,” I replied.

“You know they’re coming out with a new one?” he asked.

No. No, sir, I had no idea. Tell me more. It’s not like I haven’t watched the trailers nine hundred fucking times. Nope. I don’t want a tiny Lego Oscar Isaac figure. I certainly don’t know that the movie comes out in 76 days. No, that would be the behavior of someone who signed up for text alerts so they’ll know the second that tickets go on sale.

I mean, come on, dude. It’s not like we bought our dog an R2-D2 costume for Halloween.



I’m practically forty. I don’t watch children’s movies.

Funky Carter’s 2015 Shocktoberfest of Irritation and Vague Discomfort STARTS NOW

Halloween 3

Fuck, you guys, what am I going to do, not post for 31 straight days? Come on, it’s October. I’m pretty sure it’s the law.

Which, is this a super outdated pursuit at this point? Is blogging finally dead, or what? Tell it to me straight, dudes, because listen, here’s the thing. Are you listening? Pay attention.

Okay, here’s the thing: I’M GOING TO TURN FORTY THIS MONTH.

*starts screaming, scares dog, tries to comfort dog, realizes there’s no point in doing anything, eats a bowl of ice cream anyway*

I mention this because it is now more important than ever that I stay in tune. Hip with the kids. Guys, if I’m the equivalent of a forty-something dude who’s still on MySpace telling everyone about this great new band called The Strokes, you’ve got to let me know. Or kill me. Whatever; your discretion.

Hey, speaking of death, though: It’s Halloween month, you jack o’lanterns! It’s my favorite fucking time of year! (Admit it, you miss my deftly deployed profanity.) So while the next 31 days will probably see some posts about my life and shit (did I mention I have a dog now?), they will also be chockablock with tales of ghosts, goblins, Freddys, Jasons, candies, and pumpkin-flavored beers.

Sneak peek: It occurred to me the other day that I have never seen any of the Halloween sequels in their entirety.* This was not accidental: the original is pretty much a perfect horror movie, and I saw no need to spoil its memory with inferior 80s garbage sequels (or that one with Busta Rhymes). But it occurred to me that it would be great if, in the interest of science/your entertainment/my need to self harm, I watched them all and wrote a whole series of delightful posts about my experience. Cracking fun, right?

Oh my golly, this is just a taste of the insanity in store for you assholes this month. You are so lucky. I am jealous.**

* — No, wait, I’m sorry, I saw the one with Josh Hartnett. I remember nothing about it.

** — Because if I were you, then I wouldn’t have to write this crap.

There’s No Place Like Ben for the Holidays


Note: A Very Ben Christmas has gone back into the Funky Carter vault for another year! See you in 2015!

Merry Christmas Eve, Santa’s elves! It seems like we just did this, but it’s somehow time once again for that most hallowed of holiday traditions: A Very Ben Christmas.

Sorry, I think the autocorrect on my phone changed “ridiculous” to “hallowed.”

Nerds, this damn story is now 12 years old. How is that possible? I suspect we’re caught in a weird time anomaly. Either way, make some cocoa, put on your Santa hat, and enjoy the magic. Also, pay Ben’s blog a visit. Or don’t. I’m not the boss of you.

Seriously, though, raise a glass of holiday cheer to Beej, nerds. I don’t want him to sue me for using his likeness or something.