What does it mean?!

This morning I came to work to find an email saying, "Free breakfast is provided in the lunch room!" (the "lunch room" is actually the former supply closet and currently a hallway to the kitchen. but whatever)

Clearly I was excited--even though I ate my last 2 eggs this morning, (damn!! if only i knew!) I still decided to partake in the smorgasbord of bagels and muffins...clearly.

I then found out that two of my coworkers, Joe and Kenneth, had made a bet as to how quickly I would respond to the email about free food when I got in...

I got in at 10:26 and got up to get the food at 10:36. I think I surprised them with my restraint...

:)

I am currently on hold with the Gateway Customer Service line---ya see, after 5 1/2 weeks of Best Buy "working" on my computer, I got it back today (more broken than when I originally brought it in) and was told, "just call Gateway and have them send you the system restore disks and you can install them yourself"



Thanks Best Buy. Ya'll are swell.



What's more frustrating, is the automated radio disk jockey, "Jennifer", who is there to make my wait time more enjoyable just said--in a super condescending tone, mind you...



"You're computer's broken? You know what I like to do? I turn off my computer and then turn it back on again--a lot of times that fixes whatever problem there is. Just think of it as a reset for your computer! Now, up next is Otis Redding's 'Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay'"



This is exactly what frustrated people on the verge of homicidal rage want to hear from some automated robot cunt: "try turning off your computer!!!"



good lord, stop the insanity!!!!!!

Fat Kid Series Part 3: The King And I

The summer after 7th grade I was in the prime of my childhood chunkies. The summer was the worst season for fat kids; coming up with different reasons for why you have to wear a shirt while swimming in the pool is an arduous task. "I don't want to get a sunburn." "It keeps me warm in the cold water." or my last resort, "It's fun to swim with a shirt on--you should try!" Any reason to not have to de-robe and show the world my 11 year old bitch tits and prominent stretch marks was good enough for me. It was a stress you should be grateful you didn't have to deal with (unless you did have to deal with that, in which case you know what I'm talking about)

This particular summer I was in a grand production of the Rogers and Hammerstein classic, "The King and I." For those who don't know, the story revolves around an English woman and the brutish King of a land known as Siam. I, in my 11 year old, awkwardly large body, portrayed the pivotal role of, "dancer."

The crux of the costumes for us dancers were these huge, M.C. Hammer style pants; super baggy and in the dark, rich colors of the orient. These pants and a matching vest, and that. was. it. Nothing more. No shirt to hide my lumpy torso.

Clearly when I learned of these costumes, I broke into a cold sweat--desperately trying to remain cool and unaffected while on the inside I scrambled for reasons we should wear shirts, "Isn't it cold in Siam?" "We're all really pale, so we wouldn't look Asian" and "Wouldn't it be fun to all wear shirts?"

Yeah, none of it worked. After weeks and weeks of sweaty dread, we finally had our first dress rehearsal. Everyone was excited, looking at each other in their awesome costumes. I undressed quickly and pulled my hammer pants up above my belly button, as to mask the bulge, and slipped on the vest very carefully , as to create minimal jiggling.

Everything was okay. I wasn't hanging out all over the place, it wasn't disasterous. Everything was fine---standing up.

The problem arose--or more aptly, plopped out--when I had to go through the blocking in costume. You see, much of the show was spent kneeling and bowing towards the king. Gravity, my friends, is not kind to fat kids with boobs wearing vests.

I quickly realized the problem I had and began to solve it by slowly and non-chalantly closing my vest flaps and keeping them pinned together using my chin as I cautiously went down to bow. I looked like a deformed seal--neck-less, blubbery, and wet with sweat. I don't know how I thought I wasn't drawing attention to myself. In fact, after a few dress rehearsals, I thought I was getting pretty damn smooth.

Well about a week before the show, one of the moms working on the costumes--Vicki Kangos--called me and said that she was working on the vests and needed me to drop by her house for a quick fitting. She lived in the same neighborhood as I, so this wasn't a problem. I hopped on my bike and pedaled my fat ass up to her house. She made me take off my shirt (which was embarrassing in and of itself) and put on my vest. She started fiddling with it, pulled out her measuring tape, looking things up and down and then added, "we're gonna put a button on your vest"

a button. a little black button to fasten the two sides of my vest closed so I wouldn't worry about my tits hitting the stage when I bowed down.

I was the sole dancer with a button.

And honestly, I don't know what was worse--fat flopping out or having a button call attention to the fact that I had fat about to flop out. So I went through the show, wearing my button, answering questions about the button with, "uh, I don't know, they said that this color vest needed a button..." It was tragic.

My favorite part was after one of the performances my dad came up to me, clearly not thrilled by the 3 hour, 300+ person production he just sat through and said, "Great job! You looked, really, uh, muscular up there!"

I smiled and said thanks.

A question for the ages...

i did a google image search of "inherently funny" and this is what popped up first.




This came in second.






Clearly, this was third.


Why are cows and Phil Collins so god damn funny?

Congratulations!!!!

Today marks the one month anniversary of bringing my computer in to be fixed by The Geeksquad at Best Buy

YAAAY!!!!!

I hope I can go another month with out having it fixed, getting no updates on it, and being put on hold for 30 minutes to ultimately just be hung up on! Maybe they'll even let me pay them another $200 dollars!

A boy can dream, can't he?

A Call I Made At Work Today...

Me: Hi, is Lalonde there?

Woman: Who?

Me: Lalonde? I'm calling from Broadway.com about your ticket request for Mamma Mia

Woman: I think you have the wrong number.

Me: Is this Lalonde Golles

Woman: Oh, Lalonde Golles

Me: Yes.

Woman: That is my ex-husband's girlfriend, so I think you have the wrong number.

Me: Oh........this is awkward. I'm sorry. This is the number that was on the form...yeah ya know what? I'll just email her.

Woman: Yeah, well, I think you have the wrong number.

Me: Okay, sorry.

The Latest Reasons I am a Giant Douchebag

1. I forgot my keys to my apartment (which I moved into less than a week ago) and was locked out at 2 am. 2 of my roommates were home and sleeping, but had their phones turned off. Our doorbell does not work. I called my other roommate, Brian, who was at his girlfriend's.

The remedy: catching a cab to take me to Brian to get his keys. Huzzah for spending $12 I don't have on something completely avoidable.

The Kicker: Brian and I split a cab back to Astoria in the first place; before Brian was dropped off at his girlfriend's, I thought to myself, "Hmm, I should check to make sure I have my keys in case I forgot them."

2. Last night I did laundry and managed to throw 1/2 my clothes in a dryer with a blue pen still in one of my pockets.

The Result: 1/2 my clothes (a majority of the shirts I wear) have blue ink stains all over them. They are now sitting in a pile in my room, next to boxes yet to be unpacked, awaiting the trash or some Martha Stewart miracle.

The Kicker: When I took my clothes out of the washer and moved them over to the dryer, a pen cap fell out and I thought to myself, "Hmm, there is probably a pen in one of the pockets."

I should probably learn a lesson from all this. I'm not quite sure what it is yet though.

The positives of my douchiness:
1. on the way to pick up the keys from Brian, I got to witness a pretty kick ass accident between a van and a van cab

2. I have a legitimate reason to buy new clothes. Yay for my gap card...

a wee bit pissed.

this is NOT my weemee.

Have you seen this new phenomenon on Instant Messenger?? They are called WeeMees. Little cartoons you can design and use as your buddy icon. You can pick different hair styles, clothes, shoes, hats, glasses, drinks, backgrounds etc. All day, more and more people at work have had these little tykes pop up next to their screen names. They are taking over the world, people!

Between myspace and the blue tooth, I really think this might be the next step in our evolution of becoming borg people. I'm kind of opposed to it, but it's the perfect way to kill a good 1/2 hour of your time. Besides, if borg people take over the world, I want to be a part of it. I decided to keep mine naked, though--in protest (in actuality, I just forgot to put clothes on it, and decided to keep it). In any case, my WeeMee is free and all natural--save for earmuffs, a scarf, gloves and a leaf over his junk. He has a little dancing penguin friend standing next to him...clearly, why wouldn't he?

I would be able to show you all of this, but I can't figure out a way to get the image of my WeeMee on here. I've spent a good 2 hours trying to figure out how to share it with the blogging world to no avail. I also can't figure out how to make the little guy appear full size on my IM box. Right now, it just looks like a WeeMee headshot in the lower corner. Ugh, when we do become borg people I am going to be a mess! I won't know what to do---there will probably be some new technological way of breathing and I'll be shit out of luck, trying to fidget with some sort of doo-hicky application on an ipod, slowly suffocating to death.

I know there has got to be some sort of WeeMee expert out there to help me! Where are you?!

She could probably help.

Meet Celia Francis, the CEO of WeeWorld. She is leading the company as it "embarks on a period of global expansion through strategic alliances, partnerships and presence around the world."

That's all well and good, Celia, but how can I get the damn WeeMee on my blog so I can show my handful of readers what I did with a 1/2 hour of my life today!?

You Can Do Better Than This: Betty White

This is the first installment of a new series entitled, "You Can Do Better Than This!"

Spotlight: Betty White

Commercials for 1-800-PetMeds is the best her agents could get her? C'mon, there's gotta be a better vehicle for her talent.

My proposals for new Betty White-driven sitcoms:

1. Betty plays a former prostitute turned elementary school teacher. Hilarity ensues as she desperately tries to keep her students and colleagues from knowing her past as it slowly creeps back into her life.

2. Betty plays a former prostitute who becomes legal guardian of her grandson after his parents die. Hilarity ensues as they butt heads and learn to live together in the same house.

3. Betty plays a former prostitute who is desperate to get back in the game. Hilarity ensues as she hits the streets and learns how to turn tricks in the 21st century.


Call me, Betty! We'll work something out!

What are YOU doing next friday?!?!?!

Friday, February 2nd




10:30pm




The official debut of:

LORETTA!

She is lonely, unfortunate-looking, and a comedic genius

LORETTA! is:

Brian Belcinski
Kevin R. Free
Corey Johnson
Chris Kelly
Cody Lindquist
Katie Schorr

Come check out our improv show and be amazed and dazzled by our talent, good looks and humility.

Friday, Feb 2nd
10:30 pm
Under St. Marks
94 St. Marks Place (between 1st Ave and Ave A)

Opening for the UCB house teams

Fwand and Tantrum

Tag....

Let me first start this off by saying I do not like Tag. I was fat as a kid, so the whole running thing was not an activity I enjoyed, and let's be honest--there's not much more to the game of tag besides the running. If I had to pick a favorite type of tag to play it would probably be Freeze Tag because at least in this version you got a little break every now and then. You could wait there and catch your breath until someone crawled under your legs or some shit like that.

Apparently the game of tag is making it's way around the blogosphere and I, ladies and gentlemen, am it. Katie Schorr "tagged" me to list 5 things you don't know about myself. This is a much easier game of tag, in my opinion.

1. When I was a kid, I LOVED Janet Jackson. The cassette tape of Control was a permanent fixture in my walkman. One afternoon I was out on my driveway listening to this tape; listening and dancing. My driveway was a stage and I was pouring my soul out into my clumsy, thrashing, chunky dance moves. It was intense, I was sweating, but loving every second of it. After about 15 or 20 minutes of my solo concert, I look up to see that my Mom had been watching me from my bedroom window for God knows how long. I got so upset and embarrassed and yelled at her as I threw off my headphones and walked into the garage to hide from my sole audience member.

2. I kind of want to be a pilot.

3. I hate Best Buy and want to start a nation-wide boycott that puts them out of business. Seriously, those fuckers don't know how to fix a computer and have the worst customer service. ever. That's right, I would even go so far to say their customer service is worse than Time Warner Cable....And Time Warner is about as helpful as a monkey holding its dick. So if I start a petition, will you sign it?

4. I read Chris Kelly's 5 things, as he was tagged by Katie as well, and was surprised to see that one of his items was similar to mine. His was that he always pictured his life as a TV show. Mine is that I thought my life was just like The Truman Show. This was way before the movie came out though; I totally thought (not constantly, but every now and then) that I was being filmed and everyone in my life was an actor. Everything that I had experienced was carefully planned and scripted: my parents, family vacations, and even me riding my bike around the neighborhood. The entirety of elementary school was one big, choreographed movement sequence. A slight variant on this imagining was that I had a horrible, deadly disease and no one told me, but everyone in the world had gathered together to create the life that I knew. So every stranger, teacher, friend or foe knew who I was, and that I was dying and wanted to help create this epic masterpiece that was my life.

When I saw the first preview for The Truman Show, I freaked out a little and thought, "hey, maybe it was true. Maybe this is their film-with-in-a-film way of telling me what was going on." I soon realized that I wasn't the center of the universe and no one really knew or cared who I was...

5. I am a convicted rapist.


just kidding.

the real 5. I was potty trained at a normal age, however I refused to go poop on the toilet and MADE my mom put a diaper on me every time I had to poop. I don't know how old I was when I finally shat on the toilet...but it was probably a year or 2 past "normal." My mom finally put her foot down when diapers didn't fit my pudgy body anymore and said to me, "No. You have to go poop on the toilet." I then waited 3 days, holding it in, until I finally succumbed to the building pressure and made the giant step towards adulthood.

Now it's my turn to tag people:

Lauri

Courtney

Carolyn

Brian (i don't know your last name but your blog is named countdown to 28)

Daniel Vosovic (okay...so the likely hood of Daniel Vosovic from project runway reading this and seeing that he has been tagged is not likely...in fact near impossible... but I'm still tagging him.)

YOU'S IT BITCHES!!!

My favorite part of the Golden Globes:

Tim Allen, in his drunken splendor, making a shout out to Galaxy Quest while announcing the nominees for best actor.

Classy Tim.

The sad part was the pride he still had for this movie. Granted, Galaxy Quest is fucking Awesome and it deserves pride(if you haven't seen it, put it on your netflix queue, stat), but the highlight of ones career? A film that needs to be remembered 8 years after on national TV in a booze-inspired exaltation? No, probably not. And the fact that he had to show his connection to Tony Shaloub as if to say, "yeah, I know one of the guys nominated!!! wooooooooo!!! I'm not washed up!!!!!!! YEAH!!!" It's laughably pathetic. Tim Allen is Hollywoods drunk uncle they are forced to see on holidays.

And who did he present with? Was it Vanessa Williams? He made some awfully awkward comment about how "if beauty was a minute, she'd be the longest day of the year." Or something equally as lame. We totally witnessed one of those old-guy-at-the-bar-hitting-on-someone-COMPLETELY-out-of-his-league moments..except it was on stage at the golden globes. hilarious.

But really. Go and watch Galaxy Quest



Help support this man's career...we don't want another one of these:

I am in the house...

My roommates and I were flipping through channels last night and came across the new Disney Show, "Cory in the House."

Whaaaaat?

Okay, first of all, they spelled my name wrong. Second of all, what in God's good name is this?

There was a brief concern that this may actually be a reality show that has hidden camera footage of me bumming around my apartment--watching TV in my underwear, going to the bathroom, sleeping, etc. This, however, was not the case. No, the stuff they actually put on TV is far far worse. Take a look at the opening credits--You will begin to understand what this show is about.

Yeah. Cory's dad gets hired as the Presidents personal chef and they move into the White House. Cory lives in the White House. Clever, no? And, oh how this series is ripe with an unimaginable amount of situation comedy. For one, Cory has to contend with the hijinks of the President's adorably bratty 8 year old daughter; he also must grow accustomed to the stuffy air of private school that is so foreign to his urban upbringing. The possibilities are endless.

Upon further research, I was very surprised to learn that this is not an original idea birthed from a nebula of comedic minds--but, rather, a spin-off of That's So Raven. It's hard to believe that something with such originality, depth and promise is a spin-off. Let's hope that in the land of spin-offs, this is more of a Frasier, than a Joey.

Ya know, talking about this show is getting my creative juices flowing. I think I want to pitch an idea that the Disney Channel might enjoy:

Okay, the show would be me taking a huge crap in a brown paper bag and each week I would light it on fire and throw it at a different TV executive's face. We can call it Corey Shits in the Bag (and then throws it at a TV executive's face)

I will sell this idea for a pilot for no less than 1 million dollars. Commence your bidding.

I am one step closer to fulfilling my dream of becoming a Super Model

Yeah, that's right. Your eyes do not deceive you. 'Tis I, C. Johnson, pictured on the front page of The Onion as one of "800,000 Privlidged Youths [that gets to] Enlist to fight in Iraq".

I am really important shit--clearly if you didn't know that before, you know it now. I mean, not everyone get's to stand in the rain for 15 minutes in the middle of times square and have their picture taken for a fake news newspaper. If that doesn't scream super model, I don't know what does.

Here Here!

mmm...

If you've talked to me at all today you know the exciting news:

I got Olive Garden for lunch!!!!!!!!!!!

I know, it's pretty sad, not to mention super lame that this makes me so excited. It makes me even sadder and supremely lame to then go ahead and post a blog about it; honestly though, this is literally the best thing that's happened to me today. Knowing I was going to order Olive Garden gave me a purpose to get out of bed this morning. And besides, read the description of this blog--I'm fulfilling my mission.

That's right folks, straight from the succulent adds on TV to my mouth: Stuffed Rigatoni with Grilled chicken in a delightful cream sauce. Let me repeat that: Stuffed rigatoni. 3 kinds of cheeses in those tubes. No more plain, hollow rigatoni for me. I can't even believe I used to eat that shit. Who likes pasta stuffed with air?!

AND to add to the splendor of this, there is enough for me to get dinner out of it too!!!!!

I know what you're thinking, "Whoa, Mr. Moneybags!! Eating like royalty today, are we?" and "What village did you rape and pillage in order to be able to afford The Olive Garden?" The answers to these questions lie in the two most glorious words spoken by man:

Gift Card.

I had an $11 gift card I had gotten for Easter last year. (we are not religious and don't really celebrate Easter, however my mom still likes to give us presents and who am I to stop her? She had told my sister to put $15 on the gift card, but Katie only had $11 dollars on her. She bought the card and then my mom gave me the difference in cash.)

For $7 (the difference of what the card didn't cover--$18 for a lunch?!?!? that's crazy talk, olive garden!) I got a huge salad, bread sticks, and the delicious entree pictured above. Lunch and dinner. Done and done.

I hope your jealousy doesn't overshadow the joy you should feel for me.

I am, indeed, in mourning.

Yesterday, when I got off the plane from New Orleans, I spent more time waiting for the car service to pick me up than I did on the plane. In that time I waited with a very classy woman named Dorris. She had some sort of 1/2 British-Madonna accent that made her sound extremely dignified and pretentious--you know she has spent years perfecting it as to disguise her unimpressive American accent. She did succeed, however, in proving her high status position.

Dorris: Tomorrow is a national holiday for the mourning of President Ford.

Me: Ooooh, I wonder if I'll get time and a half at work!

Dorris: (pause. smile.) That's not the right attitude.

Yeah, it's probably not the right attitude. But I still want to know if I'm getting time and a half!

That being said, here is this blog's tribute to our former president.

I bet Dorris didn't publish a picture of him photoshopped in front of an American flag on her blog! Did you Dorris?!?!?

What an unpatriotic bitch.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

So I bought Christmas Cards this year way the fuck back in October. I was all excited because I got an early start on holiday cheer and giving.

These cards, which have the classic claymation Rudolph on them, are still sitting in my dresser drawer, unopened.

I'm sorry, but my laziness is sometimes overwhelming. BUT fear not, for if you are reading this, consider it your own PERSONALIZED holiday greeting card. It's actually more of an obscure Christmas movie reference than a holiday greeting card, but I hope that it brings you fond memories of Christmas past.

DO YOU REMEMBER THIS MOVIE?!?!?!?!?!

ANYONE?

This truly is a great Christmas movie. When I think of the excitement leading up to a magical Christmas, this is the movie I think of. It is, by far, the most accurate representation of the North Pole and Santa's workshop in the Christmas cannon. Also, it was made in 1984 so its got the 80's street cred we all look for in holiday classics.

My gift to you, loyal blog readers, is this movie. No, I'm not going to buy it for you--but I'm informing you of it if you've never heard of it; and if you have heard of it, I'm reintroducing it to you.

WATCH IT ON TV:

Monday, December 25th (Christmas...)

Hallmark Channel

1pm and 11pm

***Looking on IMDB...I'm a little disappointed with these comments made by viewers:

THE NIGHT THEY SAVED CHRISTMAS has to be one of the most annoying movies ever-(made-for TV or otherwise). The storyline is really insipid, the performances-with all due respect to Art Carney-are unbelievably bad.

A real good-for-nothing holiday non-classic.

MYSTERY SCIENCE THEATRE 3000 can't even salvage this one.

Rating: 1/4 * out of *****

Hmmm...It's been a while since I've seen it--I hope I'm not horribly disappointed and disillusioned at 1pm Christmas day...

Let me know what you think.

Happy Holiday's!!!

"I am like a retard with Alzhiemers"

--My roommate after overdosing on Airborne.

Apparently an overdose of vitamin A (Airborne)can cause serious health problems. The National Institutes of Health says, "Signs of acute toxicity include nausea and vomiting, headache, dizziness, blurred vision, and muscular un-coordination"

She learned this after drinking 3 glasses of Airborne in an hour (recommended dose: 3 glasses in a day) and then violently throwing up.

Airborne is some hardcore shit, yo!

Non-Denominational Company Christmas Party

Broadway.com went ALL out last night for the annual holiday party. $1 drinks, fajita buffet, dancing, it was off the hook ya'll. And to think, I almost didn't go, what a shame that would have been. It's a damn good thing and came to my senses and realized I would be passing up cheap booze, free food, and a perfect blog entry. It wasn't long after I arrived when I set out 2 goals for the night.

1. To get wasted and make a fool of myself.
2. To dance with my supervisor, Kelly.

Mission accomplished.

It's a funny thing when a bunch of co-workers who don't really know each other that well get together and party. All boundaries go out the window; there are no titles, no offices, and no corporate ladders to climb. It is a free-for-all and the perfect opportunity to let the booze drown out all inhibitions that prevent you from acting like a moron and doing something you'd look back on the next day while hanging your head in shame.

Granted, I did not achieve the embarrassment I had hoped for; in my mind I imagined myself grabbing the microphone out of our President's hands and in a drunken rage start praising everyone, telling them how beautiful they all were, how much they meant to me and how important they were, all the while getting more and more angry and belligerent until eventually I collapsed in a ball of tears, waiting for someone to remove me.

Unfortunately, that didn't happen.

I did, however, partake in the clusterfuck that was "The 12 days of Christmas: Broadway.com style". This was the second year in which someone wrote a parody of the 12 days of Christmas, but changed the lyrics around to make fun of Broadway.com and it's customers. Bret, my friend who wrote it, roped me in the last minute--I'm so glad I did too, because I am pretty sure it was more painful to be in the audience watching than it was to be on stage.

15 drunk people singing a Christmas song with altered lyrics + 1 microphone + 100 drunk people not listening = disaster.

I had a blast though! And fulfilled 1/2 of one of my goals--as it was in a group, I could not fully count the 12 days of Christmas as making a fool of myself. No worries though, I grabbed another drink and hit the dance floor to conquer my second goal.

I am not a good dancer---but after enough drinks, the jolly holiday vibe buzzing around the room, and the mission at hand, I was ready to get down.

Kelly is known to get wasted at company functions, and this night was no exception. I arrived to the shindig a little bit late, to find Kelly on the dance floor in full force. As the night progressed and the liquor flowed, I threw caution to the wind, and bounced, flailed, bumped, and jumped along side the woman who interviewed me and gave me a job 2 years ago. It was all that I could have hoped for!

1--the number of times she ran and jumped in my arms as I twirled her around.

Numerous--the number of times she grabbed my ass.

0--the number of times she made eye contact with me at work the next day.

See, going to work the next day is all part of the gloriousness of the Office Holiday Party. Everyone forgets that they have to see each other the next and they show up embarrassed and ashamed. Not me though, I wore my hangover proudly. When I saw Kelly around the office, I would say, "heeey Kelly" in a way that said, "yeah, we both remember what went down. We had a good time. You split your pants and then showed us" But all I got in response was a quiet, "hi" which said, "I'm not quite sure how to act in the office today."

Broadway.com would be so much more fun to work at if we had these kinds of parties on a regular basis.

All in all the night was a delight capped off by me and Joe Tropia stumbling to the after-party and getting side-tracked by the Scientology building on 46th. We walked with a woman named Jennifer for about 10 minutes talking to her about Scientology. That's a whole other blog though. Maybe I'll get up the motivation to write it. Probably not though.

A short scene inspired by my journey from the 125th street subway station to my apartment last night:

EXT. Harlem
It is night, about 11:00pm. Corey walks home listening to his ipod nano; Jamie Cullum's All at Sea plays. He walks up to an intersection and waits for the walk signal. Random Man (or prostitute?) enters, he is mid-late twenties and Puerto Rican or possibly Mexican. He stands looking at Corey. Corey pretends not to notice him.

Random Man(or prostitute?): Hey.

Corey pretends not to hear and continues to listen to music.

Random Man (or prostitute?): walking closer Excuse me.

Corey takes out one earphone as to listen to what this innocent looking man is saying.

Random Man (or prostitute?): Where's Madison?

Corey: Oh, that's a ways away, but if you walk that way you'll eventually run into it.

The Random Man (or prostitute?) looks confused and stumbles for words. His eyes start to become shifty. Corey takes notice and increases the awareness of his surroundings as to make sure he is not the target of a multi-thug sting operation.

Corey: Where do you need to be?

More shifty eyes and confusion

Corey: Madison is that way, so you'll hit it if you just keep walking.

Random Man (or prostitute?): Where are you going?

Corey: uhh... I'm walking south--Madison is east; that way.

Random Man (or prostitute?): Can I go with you?

Corey: What?!

Random Man (or prostitute?): Can I go home with you?

Corey: laughing in his face Sorry.

Corey quickly walks away.

---ALT ENDING---

Random Man (or prostitute?): Can I go home with you?

Corey takes in his question and looks into his sad eyes which are crying out for the warm, matronly embrace of a friend or lover.

Corey: Sure. Lets get you into some warm clothes--do you like hot cocoa?

Random Man (or prostitute?): Do I?! Thanks Mister!

Cut To:
INT. Corey's apartment
The apartment is alive and bustling with the excitement of the quickly approaching holiday. Although meager, their Christmas tree is decorated with lights, ornaments and other accoutrements of holiday cheer. Presents lay strewn underneath the tree and Christmas music is playing in the background. The roommates are singing and drinking hot cocoa and eggnog. Corey Enters.

Corey: Greetings!!

Roommates: Merry Christmas Corey!

Corey: And a Merry Christmas to you too! I have a surprise!

Jon: Is it a gift for us?

Corey: Well yes, in a way.

Brian: Were you able to get the extra fat goose for Christmas dinner? The one that's hanging in the butcher's window?

Corey: (laughing) Not this year, Brian. It's a different sort of gift.

Courtney: Well what is it?

Corey: His name is Julio. I ran into him on the street and he asked if he could come home with me.

Roommates: How is this a gift for us?

Corey: Well, I think he might be homeless.

Jon: You mean, he doesn't have a home?

Corey: Yes, Jon. That or he's a prostitute, I'm not quite sure. Either way he looked sad, confused and possibly on drugs, so I invited him back to spend the 3 weeks leading up to Christmas with us.

Courtney: I don't know...Is he nice?

Corey: Well yes he is, Courtney. He didn't talk much on the walk here, but he seems very pleasant. What better way to bring in the Christmas holiday by inviting a stranger in and welcoming him to our home with open arms. What do ya say?

Roomates: YAY!!

Corey: Come on in Julio!

Julio Enters. The roommates shower him with gifts, cookies, eggnog and hot cocoa as they all sing along in joyous harmony with the David Bowie, Bing Crosby version of Little Drummer Boy. A claymation snowman narrator enters in front and begins speaking to the camera.

Snowman Narrator: Corey and his roommates learned the true meaning of Christmas that year. After Julio sold their belongings for drug money and raped their innocence, they were left with nothing more than their Christmas spirit shattered beneath the tree. There were no more presents, no more carols, no more cups of eggnog spiked with delicious optimism. All that remained was the hope that next Christmas would be a better one, one in which they learned from the mistakes of Christmas past. Have a happy Christmas children!