Away Message of the Day

"If I was in a band, I wouldn't wear any shoes"


-Mike Giunta

Away Message of the Day

I feel like doing a little somethin somethin everyday with Donzi's Basement. I would like to be more committed, but unfortunately I am too busy reading the want ads, digging through garbage cans, and selling my body for cheese. I think if I write a quick little entry daily, it will help with my dedication to all 5 of you who read this blog. I decided to write an "Away Message of the Day." This will consist of me waking up and writing down random nonsense that I make up, like fake quotes and general hogwash. It might be funny, it might be weird, it might tank, I don't care. It's 100% random and 100% Donz.

"Is that Jon Secada in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

Mike Giunta's Real Worl Facts

It is necessary that the 12 Real World Facts of Mike Giunta, a gentleman whose blog has been dead for over a year now and that I used to contribute to, be told. These were written, after Fratastic Mike himself just joined the daily grind of work, 3 years ago:

*Note: I tried for about a week to make this look better...No matter how many times I edited, it just looked like shit...deal with it...

Real World Fact Number 1

No one cares how Fratastic I once was…

Real World Fact Number 2

There is no hazing in the real world. The senior guys at my office didn't degrade me and make me stand in a hot, dark room listening to a cotton eyed joe hamster dance remix for 4 hours at a time for 3 months before they would hire me. They actually treated me with respect and helped me when I needed it. Weird…

Real World Fact Number 3

There is no such thing as morning cocktails. Putting a bag of wine down your pants and trying to get your boss to drink out of the spigot that is dangling from your zipper is unacceptable. Along those same lines, working into work with nothing but your boxers and a bathrobe with a big red grain stain on the front is grounds for immediate dismissal. The Frat has done nothing to move me ahead in the corporate world…

Real World Fact Number 4

No one cheers when you vomit…

Real World Fact Number 5

There is no such thing as an eighties work day. Dear Christ how I would love to throw on a pair of short shorts and my official Bruce Springsteen tour shirt and dance all day long to the likes of AHA and Tears for Fear but I’m sad to say that those days are officially over…

Real World Fact Number 6

Wearing your collar up still makes you vastly superior to everyone else…

Real World Fact Number 7

There is absolutely no reason to drink Ice Beer. Ice Beer, otherwise known as “Fight in a Can”, is responsible for blackouts, bar fights and destroying relationships and should be outlawed.

Real World Fact Number 8

Peer pressure does not work as well in the real world. Saying things like “Just fucking sign those papers you pussy”, “Funnel that coffee bitch”, and of course “Dude, she’s good to go” don't get you any further.

Real World Fact Number 9

Red Bull is a modern day panacea. Drink too much in the afternoon but just have to make it to the bar at night? Red Bull. Hungover but have to get to work on time? Red Bull. On the bad half of a Charlie Sheen like bender? Red Bull.

Real World Fact Number 10

Don’t tell your co-workers stories from college. They just don’t understand and they never look at you the same after you explain to them some of the things you did during pledging.

Real World Fact Number 11

Freshman girls think I’m creepy

Real World Fact Number 12

Don’t give your college buddies your work number. The last person you need interrupting you during an important meeting with your boss is your old roommate who is currently on his 16th beer at four in the afternoon and can do nothing at this point except yell into the phone about how much of a pussy you are for being at work.

From my mind to yours, Donz.

Donzi's Disasters

The thorns in my side. The actions that make me shake my head and grind my teeth. The things that make me want to take a cold shower and stare at my shriveled bean bag in the mirror while putting on tangerine lipstick...Wait...What? Anyway, just a couple of things that I just can't figure out:

1. EZ Pass has to furnish an instruction manual, or just get their shit together. Someone has to tell the motorist from Maryland that they don't need to come to a complete stop, just to wait and read the fast food menu for the words, EZ Pass Paid, Thank You. Honestly I don't even know what comes up on the screen, that's how fast I go through an EZ Pass. Please cut the shit with the 10mph, 15 mph, 20 mph, 55mph signs. I was actually in one lane that read 10mph, and the lane to my left read 15mph the other day. Seriously? Even when it says 15mph, why do people insist to slow down to a baby crawl and see if their EZ Pass is paid? Do they think their pass is electrically connected to their motor and it will automatically shut off, if god forbid the device was misread? Or that the EZ Pass troll comes out of the booth and races after your car spitting fire balls from its ass to melt your tires? The Express lane uses the same fuckin RFID transponder technology (Wiki!) that the actual toll lane does, so why can you drive 110mph through that? Safety reasons you say? If you need to be told how fast to drive through a narrow toll, you shouldn't be on the road. Stop defeating the whole purpose of the EZ pass and please fly through that motherfucker at a solid 30-50mph (toll) and at least 95mph through the express.


2. Little girl, please take that washable paint off your windows. I don't give a shit that you are: ***Class of 2007***District V Field Hockey Champs***# 2 Oral Satisfaction North Jersey***Heyyy and Gay***Good Luck Bayside, Beat Valley***We did it!***

We don't give a shit. Hey I graduated fucking high school too. Guess what, it's not that hard. You know when you can put fake paint on your windshield? When you graduate from Harvard Law or Wharton Business School, or cure cancer, or bring back Alf on TVLand.

***Harvard Law 2007...I'm Better Than You & I Know It***

3. 800 Giuseppe Franco commercials when I am trying to watch a Yankee game on the YES Network. "Hey I'm fuckin Giuseppe Franco, and I'm the fuckin son of Skelletor and Christopher Moltisanti." YES please sponsor anything else. I wouldn't care if you through a Wiggles commercial in there every game, just lessen the ginzo beautician.

4. Rubbernecking. Fuck. I love sitting in an hours worth of traffic when I am making a midday run to the strip club, to finally get a glimpse offfff....a cop helping Mrs. Pigglesworth change a tire. If there is an arm laying on the ground, or an old school cops and robbers shootout going on, or if they are filming Debbi Does the Garden State Parkway, then it might be worth it. But anytime there are flashing blue and red lights, we are instantly put in a trance and have to look to see what is going on. We are so fucking nosey. A moment of clarity, hoping that they see something that makes them say..."Hey I could always be that guy." Helicopter medic airlifting half a body from a multi truck accident, understandable. It's almost like waiting on the long line at Six Flags because you know the ride is worth it. But a fender bender, two teenagers on their cell phone because they have a flat tire, or someone has their hazards on while taking a piss. Unacceptable. Move it along you child molester.

On a similar note: If a cop is on the other side of the highway... you don't have to slow down from 85mph to 45mph in 0.5 seconds. He's not going to jump the cement divider.

That is all. Stay tuned for some random daily thoughts and a nostalgic post. From my mind to yourz, Donz.

Let Me Lay it on the Line: The Gym

YAWWWWWNNNNN...oh man...what happened? I guess I took a 3 month nap or something. What?! Paris Hilton went to jail? The Yankees got Roger Clemens? I joined a gym?! That's right, I am doing the "wake up early, beat the traffic, and pump some iron" routine at the crack of my ass dawn. The environment I enter and the people that I encounter everyday are definitely worthy enough to have an article dedicated to them. Here is Donzi's guide to The Gym:

The Environment:

You will immediately walk into an open room, with a gust of fake, cold air blowing into your face, and the sounds of DJ Gofuckyourself blasting over the 158 speakers that are sprinkled throughout the arena. If you are lucky there will be 80's rock Tuesdays at your weight pit. Bally Total Fitness, Lucille Roberts, and Curves, will be noticeably clean since they are geared towards the females. Gold's Gym, World Gym, Uncle Vito's Gym, The Gym, The Weight Pit, The Pit Pit, and basically anything with Gym or Pit in the name will be geared towards guys and smell like every dude's ball sweat plus ammonia. You will be greeted by either the trainer or the hot chick.

The Hot-Chick:

All she has to do is watch people beep or swipe a membership card and verify that they indeed look like the asshole whose picture comes up on the computer in front of her. She has to have an ass like a 10 year old boy and a low cut spandex shirt. She also might be able to make smoothies.

The Personal Trainer:

Pumped the fuck up! Low voice, veins everywhere, bleached blond spiked gel soaked hair, with a perfect fade, will try to convince you he knows about nutrition, which consists of: boiled chicken, steamed broccoli, protein shakes, creatine, andro, horse tranquilizers, and brown rice... or ... The dude who resembles a stock broker / C++ Programmer, who looks like he doesn't have a spec of athletic ability, but is some how "famous" and "the man." Both will pretend to motivate and spot you, but really they are staring at the MILFs or their own ass in the mirror.

The MILF:

You know they are married to money, the least they can do is look good. All spandex, post-two- kid-semi-saggy ass, fake tits (Merry Christmas!), fake tan, possibly on the phone, only lift 3-5lb teal or pink rubber dumbbells, walk for about 2 hours on the treadmill, go "anorexic girl" hard on the elliptical, and have a love/hate relationship with all 200 mirrors in the gym. They are there to impress the Young Studs.

Young Studs:

The most broad of categories...but usually is between 18-35, has a baseball cap that is worn forwards/backwards or is taken off just before a blow out a set. Can be seen in pairs, lifting the beach muscles, one muscle group a day; won't be caught dead on an elliptical, but goes Michael Johnson on the treadmill, has more energy then a 4 month old puppy, loves maxing out in curls and the bench press while staring in the mirror, and grunting... envies the muscles of Alpha Male, but laughs at his penis size.

Alpha Male:

"Yo bro, you doin legs today?!!!" is screamed across the room, radiating off the black rubber floor. "Na bro, it's my delts, lats, glutes, clavicle, nostril, temple, forearm, right pectoral day." Their back looks like an inverted triangle and his jugular looks like a clown straw, there are veins everywhere, does 8 sets of 1 rep, with at least three 45 plates on both sides of the bar for every exercise, drinks protein mixed with creatine, bat's blood, and the hair of a baby Viking, is tanner than Roberto Kelly, asks for a spot from at least everyone in the gym, screams with every rep, wears a tank top with nipples showing, chalk on hands, hangs out in a white towel in the locker room, looks like Hercules' roided up half cousin Bret, loves the mirror and laughs at the Just Happy to Be Here Guy.

Just Happy to Be Here Guy:

Thinks by just walking through the door, he gets bigger. Talks to everyone, loves the water fountain, stretches for 30 minutes, wears a headband, lifting gloves, wears sweatpants with elastic bottom, or short nylon shorts with lined tube socks, sports the name of the gym he is working out in on his shirt, curls the bar with no weights, is balding, tries to friend the Scary Old Timer.

Scary Old Timer:

Between 50-65 years old, sporting a gold chain with his favorite Saint and Jesus, which being swallowed up by his protruding silver chest hair, no muscle definition but is stronger than an ox and could beat the shit out of a Young Stud, never smiles, showers and air dries, is nicknamed Pops, Mac, Joe Joe, or Sir, healthy Florida tan, tries to avoid, just like everyone else...The Happy Nude...

The Happy Nude:

He talks to me like we are two guys watching our kids play at the park, he loves being naked, he could fall in any category, but is usually a 40+ male, he just will not put his pants on, he'll shave naked, he'll walk to the shower naked, walk out naked, put on a collared shirt, strike up a conversation with you as the head of his dick and the bottom 1/3 of his balls peeks out like a turtle testing the morning air, if you make him laugh you get the whole show, combs his hair with just his T-Shirt on, loves to talk about sports, stocks, terrorism, and just about anything that will get another male to agree or disagree, most of the time just talks about stupid shit: "hot out isn't it?" "How good is Jeter, right?" "You see those iPhones? Wow-ee" Shut the fuck up, put some pants on, and leave me alone you creepy fuck!

Stay tuned, Donzi's Basement is back. When will the next one be? I don't know, I need a nap. From my mind to yours, Donz.