Sunday, December 30, 2012

Christmas in New York

LG used to live in New York City, as many of you know. 

Three different stints, totaling 20 years. 

Now LG lives in the sticks of Pennsylvania farm country. The S-T-I-C-K-S. [LG doesn't know why he wrote "sticks" like that, it just seemed to give it a more stick-y feeling.] 

More people lived in LG's former NYC residential building than in his whole town in Pennsylvania.  But there's more deer poo in his town in Pennsylvania than people in his building in NYC (that is, if you could figure out a way to equate people with deer poo for census purposes.)        

You've probably seen the humongous Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center.  LG used to see it every year.  He'd marvel at how big it was and would wonder from what God-forsaken corner of the universe such a big tree would've come.  LG now lives in that God-forsaken corner. 

This year's tree probably came from LG's town.  Come to think of it, LG has noticed a big tree missing from the town square...

Actually it's not that bad here in Pennsylvania [Note to authorities: The Wife just slapped LG after reading the previous paragraphs over his shoulder.  Send help!]

LG still visits New York City about two or three times a month when he's on parole for work. 

LG was there recently and took a few photos at Rockefeller Center for the viewing pleasure of readers of The LG Report who couldn't visit in person this year.  Please enjoy responsibly.

This is a view of the tree from the north side. It's a big mofo.  While LG was taking this picture, his wallet was pickpocketed.  Luckily, he made up for that loss by offering to take a photo of the couple in the foreground who were taking their own self-portrait.  They handed LG their camera and he ran off with it.  LG got $200 for it at a pawn shop.  What goes around comes around...

Here's an aerial view of Rockefeller Center from a helicopter that LG hired just for the ocassion (billing the cost back to The LG Report, of course.)  No, that's not a Lego structure and those aren't children in the foreground.  Those are mutant zombies that LG had to fight off in order to get this picture.  You're welcome. 


Ditto here.  Scary mutant zombies in foreground.  Zowie! 

Funny caption for this photo under repair.  Please come back again soon. 

This is the statue of Prometheus in Rockefeller Center.  Here, get your learn on:  According to Greek mythology, Prometheus was a Titan who defied the will of Zeus and brought fire to Earth, helping mortals while risking harsh retribution from the authorities. The mountain-like-pedestal at the base of the statue symbolizes the earth, while the circle containing the signs of the zodiac represents the heavens. The red Balmoral granite wall behind the statue has a quotation from Aeschylus: "Prometheus, teacher in every art, brought the fire to earth that hath proven to mortals a means to mighty ends."  Next time you're there, you can impress the hobos with your knowledge!
Seen here is an elaborate decoration sponsored by the swanky crystal company Swarovski just moments before LG inadvertently knocked it over.  Stuff happens Mr. Swarovski, LG is sorryski. 

 Another view of the tree.  Pictured in foreground: People who had no idea they'd ever be lucky enough to make it onto The LG Report. They probably would've dressed better if they had any advance notice.

 No, he's not a real person.

 In honor of the NHL strike, ice skaters refuse to use the rink at Rockefeller Center.  If you believe that, LG has a bridge to sell you. Actually, this was a skating party for all of the effective and reasonable members of the U.S. Congress. 

 Finally, a photo of LG's and The Wife's Christmas stockings.  As you can see, Santa thinks so highly of LG that he forces LG to have a Costco-sized stocking to be stuffed with all of the goodies that LG deserves.  This has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that LG was in charge of purchasing both stockings last year.  

That's it for this time kidz.  It appears that The LG Report is only publishing monthly at this point, but LG will try to post a bit more frequently in 2013 (as if you care, we know...) 

From everyone here at The LG Report (a staff of thousands, internationally), we wish you a very happy, healthy and prosperous 2013!

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Doggie Door Challenge 2012

Gather 'round folks to hear (or read, technically) the tale of the Great Doggie Door Challenge 2012.  It is, as you know, a world-wide phenomenon (in LG's mind anyway) and has taken the internet by storm.

It all began in 2010 with the Snowpocalypse that battered the Jersey Shore (yes, a precursor to Superstorm Sandy.)  LG was at his sister MIG's house when the Snowmageddon-like blizzard struck. 

The white stuff was so high that it blocked the doggie door.  This was problematic because MIG's two dog friends, Jake and Sophie, couldn't get outside to do their business.  And nobody wants their dogs conducting their business from a home office.    

So MIG grabbed her shovel and headed out through the doggie door (the only feasible way to get into the backyard, since the gates were blocked with 3+ feet of snow) so that she could clear an area for the dogs to relieve themselves.  Being a chivalrous brother, when MIG grabbed her shovel, LG grabbed his video camera.  He knew that readers of The LG Report would need to see this.

In case you missed it, you can see a video of MIG crawling back through the doggie door by clicking HERE .   

This is NOT Dannie.  Close though.

Fast forward to sometime thereafter.  LG and The Lovely Wife were dining at the home of some friends.  These friends happened to have a doggie door.  LG's buddy Dannie, feeling his oats (or Alpo), bet LG five bucks that he, Dannie, could successfully crawl through the rather small doggie door.   

And gosh darn if he didn't.  Woulda made Snoop Dogg proud.

LG paid Dannie the five bucks and threw in some Milkbones too.

Of course, as Dannie was pushing his way through the doggie door from outside the house, he got momentarily stuck and received a number of wet kisses from Mark's affectionate pooches who were anxiously awaiting Dannie's arrival on the other side.  Unfortunately, no video record of this event exists. 

Fast forward again, this time to last weekend. 

LG and The Lovely Wife hosted a bunch of friends at their house for a dinner party on Saturday night.  LG, always being the gracious and entertaining host, jury-rigged a makeshift doggie door (and a narrow one at that) to further test Dannie's doggie door abilities.  It should be noted that Dannie has become a P90X workout fiend and has lost 20 pounds or so since his last doggie door foray.  LG made the doggie door a tight one.

To see a short video of the pre-attempt interviews that LG conducted with Dannie's legion of doggie door fans ("Dannie's Doggs" they're called on the Professional Doggie Door Crawlers Circuit, or PDDCC) shortly before his first try at getting through the door on Saturday night, click HERE.

Now here's where things got a bit tricky. 

Due to a technical malfunction with the video equipment, and through absolutely no fault of LG's or the homemade wine or the homemade limoncello, the camera failed to record Dannie's first attempt at squeezing through the door. 

Which was just as well. 

Dannie rose to the challenge rather easily, so LG tightened up the adjustable door (which LG has since patented, given the high deamand for makeshift, non-functioning doggie doors in America today) and asked Dannie to try again.  Dannie graciously agreed. 

If you'd like to see a short clip of interviews with Dannie's Doggs before the second attempt, you can click HERE.

[NOTE: Dannie doesn't spell his name as "Dannie" with an "ie" at the end.  He seems to prefer just plain ole "Dan," but LG spells it that way in an attempt to annoy him -- even though it never seems to have that effect.  In fact, Dannie has never even commented on the weird spelling.  But, of course, LG won't let up...Dannie, Dannie, Dannie, Dannie, Dannie, Dannie...]

So now we come to the moment of truth, the spectacle that you've all been waiting for...the video clip of Dannie actually attempting to pass through the World's Narrowest Doggie Door (which may not be a strictly true statement, but it's written in the best tradition of the P.T. Barnum School of Blogging).

The LG Report's team of lawyers has advised us, however, that we must post this notice:

WARNING:  Do not view this video of Daredevil Dan and the Doggie Door Attempt 2012 unless you are over seven years old (chronologically, not maturity-wise, that restriction would exclude half of our readers) and you do not have any cardiac health issues.  This video has been rated "I" (for Inane) but the Motion Picture Academy of America.  Any resemblence to any person, living or dead, is strictly coincidental unless it's actually them in the video.  Void where prohibited.  Not valid in Canda. 

Now sit back, grab your bowl of snausages and prepare to be amazed by clicking  HERE! 

That's it for today folks, thanks for stopping by, we hope to see you back here again soon.  Our doggie door is always open. 


Sunday, October 21, 2012

Why LG is Leaving Facebook

Editor's Note: When LG wrote this post, he was sincerely intent on leaving Facebook, but has since been talked off the ledge.  He is now going to limit his FB activity to once a week or so.  But in the meantime, he saw no reason to allow a perfectly good blog post to go to waste, so it appears below.  Please enjoy responsibly. 

LG knows, this sounds dramatic.  HE'S CLOSING HIS FACEBOOK ACCOUNT!

But it only sounds dramatic because... IT IS DRAMATIC!

LG is leaving Facebook for a number of reasons.  He's not sure if he's permanently signing off or just taking a hiatus, that's TBD.  Reportedly, it takes at least ten minutes and the execution of a very complicated series of maneuvers (involving eye of newt, bat wings and a dead rabbit) in order to actually close down your account, as opposed to merely suspending it. 

If if you simply "suspend" your account, Facebook makes it very simple to reactivate it.  Just trying to log in will automatically reinstate your account and thrust you back into Facebook's sticky web of privacy invasion and annoyance.  And even when you close your account, as we all know, your posts and other information stay in Facebook's archives forever - or at least until the impending Mayan Apocalypse.

So why exactly is LG leaving Facebook? 

Good question, he knew you'd ask.  Here, in no particular order of importance, are LG's reasons:

The privacy invasions are out of hand.  Facebook takes every opportunity to share all of your information with not only advertisers but also other members.  Their thinking, LG believes, is that the more "friends" you have on Facebook, the less likely you'll be to leave.  Thus, they randomly post your comments from other people's pages on your page so that people can see what your friends (who are not their FB friends) are up to, thereby possibly motivating them to extend a friendship request.  When LG tells Friend A (who is not connected to Friend B) that Friend A is not as big a jerk as Friend B, he doesn't want that posted on his Facebook page for Friend B to see (in all fairness though, LG also needs more friends who don't just go by first letters.) 

Another example: The other day LG caught Facebook going through his attic looking for girlie magazines from the 1970s (there are none up there, of course, but LG is quitting FB before it gets to the basement...)

It's a gigantic time suck.  It not only distracts us from more important pursuits (like Angry Birds and, but it also takes time just to explain why you're leaving it.  LG finds himself wasting far too many minutes checking FB and providing witty commentary (some might say "snarky" but he'll ignore those haters) on the posts of far too many people.  Of course, now LG likes some people on Facebook who he's never met in real life better than people who he has met in real life.  Oh well, that's the way it goes..  

Honey Boo Boo beckons.  Facebook eats up valuable time that LG could be using to watch Honey Boo Boo and her exceedingly talented clan.  LG realizes that Honey Boo Boo is still very young and he doesn't want to jinx her, but if the girl plays her cards right...she may grow up to be as talented and intelligent as Snookie!

Snookie is reportedly living in the beautiful house behind Honey Boo Boo in this photo. 

The election season is gearing up.  LG generally (with a few notable exceptions) uses Facebook for his own amusement, not to try to sway others to support a particular candidate or cause.  The multitude of political rants are getting annoying and they'll only grow more frequent and strident as election day nears.  LG realizes that everything that everyone posts on Facebook is true, but he already know these interesting facts so there's no reason to remind him that President Obama was born on Venus and the U.S. Government actually pays taxes to Mitt Romney. 

LG is fed up with being mistaken for George Clooney.  When women see LG's photo on Facebook, they immediately try to friend him, assuming that he's really George Clooney operating under a pseudonym.  LG knows that it sounds ridiculous, but it's true.  To set the record straight, here's what George Clooney looks like:

And here's a recent photo of LG: 

As you can see, there's a significant difference, so why the confusion?

They don't allow you to eat KFC on Facebook.  That one is self-explanatory.  Facebook says it's too greasy and messes up the "Like" buttons.

Cat photos ad nasuseum.  And not even actual cat photos of Facebook member's pets; we're talking stock photos of cats typing on computers, talking on phones and using the toilet.  Facebook Feline Fanatics: When your effin' cat can actually drive a car, then LG would like to see the photo.  Until then, stick it!

Getting off Facebook seems so much more Gangnam Style than staying on it.  Self-explanatory.

LG needs to spend time helping Big Bird polish up his resume.  Again, self-explanatory.

The Tanorexic Mom.  It turns out that she actually got her deep bronze tan from spending too many hours in front of the computer screen posting Facebook updates.  She's actually an albino underneath all of that Facebook glow.  

Fear not friends, The LG Report will continue to publish, weekly or so (The LGR has been on a particularly long hiatus, LG knows...) and if you don't have LG's email address and need to get in touch, you can do it through the blog. 

Keep it real out there folks.  Maybe LG will see you soon in real life.  But not on Facebook. 

[Another Editor's Note: The last sentence above struck LG as fittingly dramatic for his Facebook exit blog post but, alas, it doesn't ring true now that he's sticking around FB.  If you're one of LG's FB friends, you can assume he's staying on because of you and you alone.  Thank you.]


Thursday, September 13, 2012

The LG Report Visits Katie Couric's New Show

OK folks, you've read the headline.  Here's how it went down:

BACKSTORY: LG's sister, MIG, asked him to join her and family friend Marge C. (name has been abbreviated to protect the innocent) in the audience of The Martha Stewart Show a few years ago, when LG still lived in NYC.  So he went.  While there, Martha's slaves staff solicited guys to sign up for the all-male Super Bowl show audience.  LG did, brought three friends, and they were rewarded with, among other things, a $350 indoor grill (like a George Foreman grill but 10 times better.)

So, a few weeks ago LG received an email from the new Katie Couric Show asking if he'd like to be in an all-male audience and bring a few friends since he'd been in one before (apparently, that bitch Martha sold LG's info to other talk she'll be going back to the pen for invasion of privacy...)

Hoping for another muy awesome grill or the like, LG said yes, as did his buddies Jimmie and Geo.  Dannie also said yes but had to back out in order to defuse a nuclear bomb under the Empire State Building.  Or take a client to lunch, LG forgets which. 

The show's theme was "Probing the male mind" -- deciphering how men think about things (those "things" being mainly women, the largest demographic of Katie's viewers, by far.) 

The guests were former longtime Sports Illstrated writer Rick Reilly (one of LG's faves; LG has been subscribing to SI for 3/4ths of his life) and two other guys whose names LG couldn't be bothered remembering.  They were all pretty funny actually, although Reilly stole the show (in LG's biased opinion.)

What follows is a pictoral essay on LG and Friends' day with Katie.

Here was the line of guys waiting to get in to the show.  Just to prove that LG and Company weren't the only guys there.  Although these guys were mostly losers, as you can see. The show did request, however, that everyone wear a brightly-colored shirt because "Katie loves to see bright colors in the audience."  The guys in dark blue and purple shirts apparently didn't get the memo.

This was the scene in the "waiting room," an ABC cafeteria judging by the chips and sodas that were on display but that audience members couldn't touch.  That's Jimmie in the foreground (although by the look of the glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, it's Jimmie's grandfather).  He's texting a bet to his bookie. Notice that he's not wearing a watch because he lost it on a horse in the fifth at Aqueduct.  Those guys in the background never thought they'd be so lucky as to appear on The LG Report.  LG received a full waiver from them of course (NOT.)

This a survey that they asked us to complete before heading into the studio.  Those answers belong to some anonymous audience member, not LG of course! (LG wouldn't lower himself to objectifying women like this...)

Geo was so excited this morning when he dressed for the show that he mistakenly wore two different shoes (honest).  As you can see, the one on the left has pronounced white stitching and the one on the right is a penny loafer.  At least the socks match.  Geo says that he throws all of his shoes in a pile, hence the tendency for a mix-up every now and then.  You have a sock drawer, Geo has a shoe drawer.  Just pull two out randomly in the dark and hope for the best.  It makes for good entertainment for his friends anyway. And now you.

Jimmie and Geo pose with Katie for a photo for The LG Report.  Katie said she'd be thrilled to appear.  She also broke down and said that she was a fool for leaving "The Today Show" and hates Meredith.  As you can see, she's much taller in person that you would imagine.  She used to play linebacker for the Bears.  That's a motorcycle chain around her neck.  She lifted Geo by his head shortly after this photo was snapped to get a better look at his mismatch shoes.

Most of these daytime talk shows have a warm-up comedian.  This guy was pretty lame.  He asked people where they were from to discern who came the furthest to attend the show.  One guy said "South Africa" and another said "Australia."  LG, not wanting to be outdone, raised his hand and said that he lives on the International Space Station.  The guy didn't appear to believe it, although he knew he was no match for LG when it came to wit and humor.  At least that's what LG picked up on, and he's never wrong.  Notice the guy and gal making out behind the Katie sign. 

Here's what the audience looked like.  There were some women, as you can see in the back end of this photo.  All of the guys, as you can also see, are watching the "Ellen Show" on their smartphones.

Candidly, LG and Friends attended the show in the hopes of getting another excellent audience gift.  Unfortunately, Katie screwed them.  The gift was a free copy of this bogus book by one of the guests who appeared on the show.  That was it, one damn book.  It's worth about $345.00 less than the gift that Martha Stewart (although a bitch) provided. 

Jimmie was so disgusted that he gave his copy of the book to LG.  So here's the deal: The LG Report reader who leaves a comment stating the most compelling case as to why they want this book will get it mailed to them free (LG will pick up the postage and handling fee).  Leave your comment below (not on Facebook, thank you.)

None of the show's crew would specify when this episode will air, but it should be sometime next week ("Katie" is on at 2pm on ABC in the NYC viewing area; check your local listings.) 

LG suspects that he, Geo and Jimmie may be on camera in the audience because they purposely fake laughed excessively on the way to commercial breaks in order to attract the cameraman's attention.  LG was wearing a bright blue checked shirt, Jimime wore a pink shirt and Geo had on two different shoes.

Until next time, thanks for stopping by!  

Monday, September 10, 2012

Remembering September 11, 2001

[Note: This post, originally published on September 10, 2010, is the most-viewed in the history of The LG Report.  It's being published again as we approach the 11th anniversary of the September 11th attacks.] 

It's hard to believe that nine years have passed since that horrific day in September of 2001. Nine years. In a way, it seems like it occurred a lifetime ago, but in another way, it feels like it was much more recent.

As many of you know, I was in my office in downtown Manhattan on the morning of September 11, 2001, about five blocks away from the World Trade Center.  Shortly before the first anniversary, I sat at my computer and wrote 21 pages of stories about things that occurred on that day and in the year that followed. I had passed on all offers of grief counseling, preferring instead to cry by myself periodically, usually while in the shower. My stubbornness may have been a mistake at the time, but I'm the son of a native Greek father who only went to the doctor when he had an appendage to present for re-attachment. Actually, not even then. So writing about what I'd experienced was, I believe, my catharsis.

I had a feeling, as I was memorializing those stories, that one day they'd appear in a book. Six years later, I published a volume on the professional lines insurance industry, and those stories comprised the bulk of the chapter on September 11th.

A large number of people employed in the commercial insurance industry perished on that day, including former colleagues of mine.

There are many memories that I didn't record in those 21 pages; maybe someday I'll reduce those to writing as well. It was a very surreal time in the lives of most Americans.

The first event which made me realize how screwed up things had become was when, on September 12th, I saw a Michigan State Police car cruising along Third Avenue in Gramercy Park, not far from my apartment. Did New York City really need help from that far away? I'll also never forget emerging from my normal downtown subway stop on the way to work in the weeks after 9-11 and seeing the remaining shell of the World Trade Center Towers smoldering. The entire Ground Zero site emitted an odor of burnt wire and rubber. During the first couple of days, I had to show my business card to National Guard troops in order to be allowed into the area where my office was.

One of the more emotional moments, at a time when such were plentiful, engulfed me as I was on the phone with a woman at Hertz trying to rent a car. It was a couple of days after September 11th and I wanted to drive from Manhattan to my sister's house at the Jersey Shore. When the rental agent, who, I believe, was in Oklahoma, realized that I was calling from Manhattan and had been living through the event and its aftermath, she suddenly dropped her businesslike tone.

"What's it like up there? Are you OK? Can we do anything else to help you?"

Her genuine concern and kindness struck a chord deep within me. It was at that moment that I took a break from thinking about the craziness around me to realize that September 11th was not a New York catastrophe, or a Pennsylvania or Pentagon catastrophe, but truly a national catastrophe that affected every single American in a profound way. Those who were close to the events of that terrible day have no special ownership of its tragedy or an enhanced right to receive sympathy. All of our lives were changed immeasurably on September 11th. Some of us, I believe, have a duty to report what we experienced so that other Americans, current and future, may have a better idea of what transpired on that fateful day.

With that in mind, below is a brief excerpt from the September 11th chapter of my book.

This is one of the few times that The LG Report will not attempt to provide a humorous posting.

[Excerpted from "Claims Made and Reported: A Journey Through D&O, E&O and Other Professional Lines of Insurance," Soho Publishing November 2008; All Rights Reserved ( Click Here For Book's Webpage)

May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith

May your hope give us hope

May your love give us love

– Bruce Springsteen “Into the Fire
Into the Fire” by Bruce Springsteen. Copyright © 2002 Bruce Springsteen (ASCAP.) Reprinted by permission. International copyright secured. All rights reserved.

VIII. September 11, 2001

[Note: This chapter is a revision of a piece that I wrote just prior to the first anniversary of September 11, 2001, well before I knew that I would be writing this book. I attempted to memorialize many of the events that I had seen and heard about on September 11th and during the year following that unfathomable tragedy. Given that so many commercial insurance people died on that dreadful day, I thought it appropriate to include those writings in this book. One-quarter of this book’s net proceeds will be donated to the National September 11 Memorial & Museum.]

The morning of September 11, 2001 began like most other mornings for me at the time. I woke at 6:30 am and spent 32 minutes riding my exercise bicycle in my living room on East 18th Street in Manhattan while watching TV. I then showered and got ready for work at AIG’s downtown offices. Every morning, just before leaving my apartment, I’d rip a page off my horoscope-of-the-day calendar to see what the stars were predicting for me. This routine was attributable to my mother, who passed away in 1993. She used to put a horoscope-of-the-day calendar into my Christmas stocking every year starting in about 1980. After my mother died, my sister Maria continued the tradition. My guess is that I had read my daily horoscope almost every morning for 21 consecutive years.

That day, something very strange happened even before I left my apartment. I was about to rip off September 10th’s page to read the new day’s prediction when I said to myself, for no discernible reason, “The world is different now, I’m not going to read horoscopes anymore, I don’t believe in them.” With that thought, I unceremoniously threw the entire calendar into the garbage. This was the first time in 21 years that I knowingly refused to read my daily horoscope.

Outside on Third Avenue I flagged a cab and headed south to my office at AIG in the financial district, in keeping with my routine. I want to emphasize here that I don’t claim to have ESP or any special ability to see the future, but there was an unusual aspect to my commute. Riding down Third Avenue (which turns into Bowery Street in lower Manhattan), there was a point in Chinatown, called Chatham Square, where the Twin Towers would become visible from the cab after being obscured earlier by buildings. In my mind’s eye, I would regularly imagine the Towers exploding from a high floor just as I entered Chatham Square. I didn’t know what would cause an explosion and I certainly never thought that a plane would be responsible. Nonetheless, I was envisioning a large eruption of gray and black smoke. This vision was the only reason that I knew the name of Chatham Square (whose sign was rather obscured): I felt strongly that someday it would be an important detail and I took special note of it. Over the previous three years, whenever I’d arrive in Chatham Square to see the Towers unharmed I would literally breathe a sigh of relief. Even on September 11, 2001 I had that (false) sense of security upon seeing them intact.

My next significant memory of that morning occurred shortly before 9 am. My home phone service had inexplicably been malfunctioning for a few days and I finally got around to calling Verizon. I was dialing customer service when a colleague, Jason Brown, entered my office to tell me that he heard on the radio that a plane had hit one of the World Trade Center Towers. I looked out my office window and saw dense clouds of paper fluttering high across the sky towards Brooklyn. It reminded me of the many ticker tape parades that I had seen along lower Broadway after a championship season or during a world dignitary’s visit. But I knew there was no parade that day. Something was wrong.

A bunch of us went downstairs to get a better look. Standing on the sidewalk in front of 175 Water Street with an ever-growing crowd of upward-looking gawkers (much like the throngs in a 1950s science fiction film watching descending UFOs on a city street), I remember thinking, or perhaps hoping, that helicopters with fire hoses would show up…of course, they didn’t.

Mesmerized, a colleague, John Feniello, shook his head and said, “That fire is going to burn for days.” Of course, he had no idea, nor did I, that the fire would burn not for mere days but for months – but not high in the sky, rather much lower, among the ruins of the Towers. But it seemed logical at the time; it was the only thing that we could believe.

When the second plane hit the South Tower, any doubts I had that this was a terrorist attack were immediately erased. We knew the country was under attack. Shrill screams could be heard and genuine panic started to set in, even though the worst was yet to come. Security guards announced that our building was closing for the day and told everyone to leave the area immediately. Much of the crowd started heading toward the ferries that were gathering at the foot of Wall Street. Others started walking uptown toward subways or buses that might, or might not, be in service. People also began walking across several bridges to escape the city.

It was a horror movie coming to life.

But I couldn’t leave, not at first anyway. I wanted to watch the firefighters battling the blazes. There’s no rational explanation, but I didn’t want to move until I knew that the situation was under control.

After a while of just staring up at the Towers, I heard a deep rumbling, like gigantic concrete bowling pins colliding. The noise didn’t last long, maybe five seconds at most. Before I knew what was happening, the South Tower slipped down out of my sight. It just disappeared…like a high-rise house of cards, its base kicked out from under it by an angry child. Moments later, the three-story building in front of us stood taller than the 110-story tower in the distance that had just been compressed back into its foundation. It was the sickest feeling, one that I don’t think I can quite explain. I saw it and I heard it and I felt it but I still can’t believe it. The Twin Towers seemed like the 100-year-old oak trees in your front yard: they couldn’t be moved or bent. If anything, they held up the sky. They anchored lower Manhattan and provided a sense of direction for every New Yorker who’d ever lost his bearings.

The collapse and disintegration of the South Tower seared my brain. I sincerely hope that I never see anything as stomach-churning again. People around me started screaming and crying. Everyone on the sidewalk knew someone who was in the Towers – a relative, a friend or a business acquaintance. Some people threw down briefcases and started running. I kept staring in shock. At that instant, I think everyone on the sidewalk knew that we had just witnessed the death of an unimaginable number of people. It occurred to me almost instantly that even the most battle-hardened soldiers never see so many people killed in a single instant. The aircrews who dropped the atomic bombs in World War II were not five blocks away at ground level when their payloads did their dirty work. And five blocks was relatively far in a sense; hundreds of firefighters, police officers, emergency medical technicians and other heroes were right on site. One firefighter later described the scene in this way: “Everything was on fire, everything you saw was burning. It was what I imagine Hell to be like.”

Quickly, certainly more quickly than I’d have imagined, a thick white cloud of smoke came rolling at us. It was a five-story-tall fog and it was moving fast. For a few seconds I froze. The bright September sky was being obscured. Then a guy not ten feet away from me breathlessly shouted “Run…ground smoke…it could kill us!”

I suddenly realized that there might have been deadly chemicals in the plane. There was no rational basis for this belief; but then again, nobody knew anything for sure at that point. The frenzy spread instantly: people dropped briefcases and bags and started running, screaming, just trying to get away from the smoke as quickly as possible. I remember thinking, “Those bastards, they might get me too, this could be how I die…” The fear of death was real and it was everywhere.

About two or three hundred of us ran straight toward the East River, only a block away, and then north past the South Street Seaport. I’ve since heard that some people actually jumped into the river to avoid the smoke but I didn’t see that. As we ran up the closed FDR Expressway the dense white fallout followed us. We formed a seemingly endless herd of stampeding business suits. Burning smells and the piercing screams of emergency vehicles joined to assault our senses. It was a war zone, although until that moment I don’t think that I had ever actually thought to imagine one. The word that describes it best and one which I’ve never truly experienced before: Bedlam.

I was alternately running and walking with four coworkers as we headed to my apartment about two miles away on 18th Street. A friend from San Francisco who was in town on business, in the lobby of the North Tower when the first plane hit, had – by some unbelievable stroke of good luck – noticed me amidst all the confusion and joined our group. When we were about halfway up the FDR, a guy who had been listening to a hand-held radio via earphone yelled out “The second tower just fell.” People gasped but we all just kept running. A few looked back.

When we got to my apartment, I wanted to tell the outside world the names of those who were safe. However, I still had a dead home phone and cell phone service was, at best, sporadic. Fortunately, my computer’s internet connection was working so I sat down and composed a message to everyone in my e-mail address book. To this day, many years later, I have not re-read that e-mail because I know that it will bring back many painful memories. But, I later learned, it was forwarded around the globe to those interested in first-hand accounts of the events in New York City on that dark day. My friend’s wife, who is an elementary school teacher, said that she used it in her classes as an example of a first-person account of September 11th. Here is that note:


Sent: Tuesday, September 11, 2001 12:58 PM
Bcc: Everyone in my address book
Subject: The Surreal Events of Today

I am shaking like a leaf in a windstorm as I type this. I cannot believe the events of today, as I'm sure you can't. I was in my office at 8:50 this morning when a colleague came in and said

that a plane had just crashed into the World Trade Center and papers were flying everywhere. I looked out the window of my office and saw a ticker-tape-parade type stream of papers flittering across the sky. After a few short minutes and various reports, some erroneous, a group of us descended in the elevator to the ground floor of our building, where we exited and looked to the left a bit where we saw Two World Trade Center, five blocks away, ablaze from the top third of the building. It was unreal. The black smoke and red flames framed against a clear blue sky.

The crowd on the sidewalk grew exponentially until we were standing shoulder-to-shoulder, at least 300 people staring upwards. One of my colleagues had just been in the lobby of One World Trade when the plane hit. He said smoke immediately came shooting down the elevator shafts and filled the lobby as people exited in terror. Pandemonium. He ran back to our

building, covered with soot, where he stood with us to watch in horror. We all stood around gaping at the flames, not aware of any possible danger to us. I sat and thought about how many people I know in those two towers who have no doubt perished. I'm aware of at least seven people from my subsidiary of AIG who were in one tower on a high floor. We do a lot of

business with Aon, an insurance broker on the top three or four floors of Two World Trade Center. As I type this, emergency vehicles are swirling by on the street outside my apartment on 18th Street. The massive cloud where the WTC used to stand is visible out my living room window.

As we watched the flames, after about twenty minutes, all of a sudden World Trade Center Tower One, which we could only see above the 40th floor or so ,collapsed before our eyes. It was the sickest, most surreal, most stomach-churning thing that I have ever seen in my life. My nerves became electrified, in a bad way, and I felt almost like I would collapse as well. Other people did. People started crying and getting hysterical, obviously because they knew people in WTC One and/or know any of the many, many police and firemen and rescue workers who were in and around the building trying to extinguish the fire and save lives. I just heard the mayor on the radio and he said he can't even get a rough estimate of how many firemen and police and EMTs died in the two WTC Tower collapses, he just said the number would be very large, staggering.

This whole day is unfathomable.

As I type this I continue to shake. I think about all the people who I know in those two towers and I can feel tears well up. There will be far too many funerals to attend. Many bodies, I'm sure, will never be identified. It is unbelievable. At least 50 to 100 people I know died today. Can you imagine that? Unless you're in a war, which I think we will be soon, that doesn't

happen. Many of you too, if not all, are in a similar situation, maybe you know even more who passed. Hopefully many of our friends and acquaintances were away on business or vacation, or running late. Our lives are changed forever and I don't think I'm being dramatic in saying that.

A few seconds after WTC One collapsed, a large, probably five-story high plume of white smoke erupted, far denser than any fog I'd seen living in San Francisco. All of a sudden, someone yelled "ground smoke, run, it can kill us!" and people began panicking, although, I must say it was a controlled panic if there can be such a thing. Hundreds of people began running, although not trampling each other, actually helping each other to some extent. Although one friend of mine asked a car service to give him a ride to Westchester (the car was empty but for the driver) and he said, "Sure, $2,000." I'll let that statement stand as its own condemnation of mankind, or at least one (hopefully small) segment of mankind.

As we walked/ran up the East Side under the FDR, past the South Street Seaport, the white cloud of deep dust/soot/whatever, followed us intently. It was moving at a good pace and, I must say, I feared for my life briefly, either from dying of smoke inhalation or being trampled. I don't think I was

alone in that feeling, it was very, very scary, and my words don't do it justice. We continued running and walking up the East Side, myself and four co-workers. All of a sudden I heard someone say "Larry Goanos!" I looked and it was Fran Higgins, a friend from San Francisco who's brother-in-law, John Doyle, works with me at AIG. He was scheduled to be in a meeting at Two WTC at 9 am and was running late, it took him an extra hour to get in from his sister's house in Westchester and he was in the lobby when the first plane hit. He ran outside and saw debris falling and three people actually jumping off high floors in order to kill themselves via the impact rather than await being burned by the intense flames. Reports are that many other people jumped as well. Fran didn't know where to go so I invited him to join me in the trek to my apartment about two miles north. He had two heavy bags but lumbered on. His father narrowly missed the bombing at WTC in 1992. Two bullets dodged by his family at the WTC.

Cell phones weren't working. People were screaming out names. It was sick (to re-use a phrase again and again; it is, sadly, the most appropriate.) The FDR expressway was closed. People were running everywhere, keeping an eye on the large cloud following us. Some were ready to jump into the East River to escape the smoke if need be. As we got about six or eight blocks up the FDR someone who had an earphone of a radio in their ear reported that WTC 2 had just collapsed as well. The whole thing was the sickest, most twisted, surreal, screwed up thing that I had ever heard or imagined.

Eventually we made our way to my friend Jim Riely's place on East 22nd Street. As fate would have it, my phone had gone out of service last night and I was going to call Verizon to fix it this morning. My cell was working only in spots because of the great strain on the system. At Jim's we found Jim, Dan O'Connell, Colleen Dempsey (Doreen, Jim's wife, works uptown and ,I'm sure, is safe) and Chris Doyle, Jim's partner. Because a lot of you know a lot of these people, here are the names of people who I know are safe beside those above (a lot of phones are down but my internet cable connection is working, at least for now): Dennis Gustafson, Rose Mosca, Peter Wessel, John Feniello, Sandy Nalewajk, Kirk Raslowsky and Jennifer Raslowsky and their young daughter Alexandra (who they were just about to drop off in day care at the WTC when the first plane hit; they made it our office in tears, clothes askew, Kirk had just thrown down his briefcase, grabbed his wife and daughter, and ran) John Iannotti, Ray DeCarlo, Greg Flood, Mike
Mitrovic, Kris Moor, John Doyle, Susan Eagan, Gail Mazarolle, Dawn Paolino.

If you know any of their families and don't know if they've been contacted, please call them if your phone works.

Many more are safe, I'm sure, it was just hard to get a gauge with all the smoke and pandemonium. There are now six of us in my apartment watching CNN.

I stopped and picked up more bottled water on the way here because people were saying there are rumors of chemical warfare and possible contamination in the water (probably not true but why take a chance.) Things seem to be calming down a bit now (I've been taking a break between typing to let others send e-mails) but I'm sure our lives will never be the same. The tranquility of life in America has been shattered, we have been dragged into the trenches with the rest of the world. Our soil is no longer sacred, protected ground. Anyway, the people who I've mentioned are all safe, as am I. God bless America and God bless us all.

My friend Dennis and I met twenty five years ago, when we were both in college. He came to live for a summer with the Campaniles, close family friends of ours who live down the block from my childhood home at the Jersey Shore. A Virginia native, Dennis was interning for the summer with Kidder, Peabody on Wall Street. He is now Father Dennis, a Catholic priest in the New York Archdiocese. One of Father Dennis’s good friends, Father George, was an auxiliary chaplain with the New York City Fire Department in September of 2001. He was summoned to the World Trade Center shortly after the first plane hit on the morning of September 11th. That day, I was told, marked the first time in the history of the New York City Fire Department that all 30 auxiliary chaplains were summoned to a single fire. They gathered at St. Peter’s Church on Barclay Street, about two blocks north of the burning towers.

Father George said that virtually every fire truck racing to the World Trade Center stopped at St. Peter’s so that the crews could confess their sins (the majority of NYC firefighters are Roman Catholic) before charging into the flaming buildings. The commanders admonished their subordinates to skip confession because of the magnitude and urgency of the situation, but the rank-and-file firefighters paid no heed. These men forced almost every truck to stop at the St. Peter’s on what would be the final fire call for most of them. Father George sensed that these brave men did not necessarily foresee the Twin Towers collapsing, but they knew that they would very likely lose their lives saving others and they wanted to square up with God first. So many firefighters stopped for this final holy sacrament – despite the unprecedented importance of their mission – that the priests had to absolve them of their sins en masse as they jumped off the trucks. There was no time for individual confessions. These courageous public servants knew that they were going to die, and yet they pressed onward to discharge their duties. In the face of the fiercest fires anyone had ever seen, they had no thoughts of their own safety, only of saving others. Ironically, St. Peter is believed to usher the deceased through the Gates of Heaven. Perhaps on September 11, 2001 his work began for 343 firefighters at a church bearing his name.

I have not seen the story above – every word of which I believe true – anywhere in the media. Despite that, I think it’s an important account to record. The same holds true for most of the other entries in this chapter, collected during that fateful day and in the year that limped along behind it. In most cases I have not changed the temporal references so that it’s clear these were the thoughts of someone writing just a year after September 11, 2001. Every New Yorker, and every American, has vivid recollections of personal experiences connected to those attacks on our nation. As we all know, it was not merely a New York tragedy or a Washington, DC tragedy or a Pennsylvania tragedy; it was an American tragedy which left no citizen untouched. This chapter is one New Yorker’s attempt at documenting some of the events of that horrific day and its aftermath in the following year.

The Call

My friend John works at Marsh’s world headquarters in midtown at Sixth Avenue and 45th Street. On the morning of September 11th he and his colleagues heard the reports of a plane crash and looked out their midtown windows to see the flames and smoke consuming the WTC North Tower that housed additional Marsh offices. Frantic calls to coworkers in the World Trade Center went unanswered.

By early afternoon Marsh management decided to survey their World Trade Center employees’ families to determine who was accounted for and who wasn’t. They asked for volunteers to call employees’ homes to see if they had checked in with their families. John, wanting to help out in some way, volunteered. He was given a list of names and phone numbers. He called the first few numbers and got only answering machines. Then a woman finally answered at one residence. “Hi, this is John, I work for Marsh,” he began, “I’m calling to see if your husband has contacted you to say he’s OK.”

The woman who answered the phone began crying. “I thought you were him,” she said through her tears. She hadn’t yet heard from her husband. John gave the woman two Marsh hotline numbers. His stomach twisted into a knot as he hung up the phone. John dialed another couple of numbers but then turned in his list, unable to make any more calls.

Michael Cahill

Mike was the one I knew the best out of the three Marsh FINPRO victims whose memorials I attended. When I worked at Marsh for two years in the mid-1990s I had called Mike often for his advice on fidelity insurance matters (about which I knew nothing and he was an expert.) When I returned to working for AIG, I dealt with Mike from the other side of the table. The universal opinion on Mike was that he was a great guy who was always willing to help out and had as much integrity as anyone in the business. He was the kind of guy who you knew would be an exemplary brother or teammate; Mike was always there for you when you needed him.

Mike’s memorial service was held at St. Aidan’s Church in East Williston, New York (Long Island) on a morning in early October of 2001. The place was already jammed 20 minutes before the start. In retrospect I recall a rainy and gloomy day but I’m not sure if my memory is accurate or simply clouded by the general nature of the proceedings. Like hundreds of others in the packed church, I filed in quietly and found a seat. What transpired over the next hour I won’t recount in detail, although I can tell you that the first three to speak at the ceremony (Mike’s parish priest, his brother and his boss at Marsh, Tom Vietor) all rose to the occasion and did an admirable job under staggeringly sad conditions. The last eulogist however, Mike’s wife Colleen, left to rear their two beautiful young children herself, took it to another level. She spoke with unparalleled eloquence, passion and composure.

I don’t think I’ll ever truly understand from where Colleen drew her strength (the inspiring memories of Mike, no doubt, had much to do with it), but I have never witnessed such a display of courage and composure in the face of a tragedy of this magnitude.

Her eulogy was funny, endearing and engaging. It was simultaneously heartwarming and heartbreaking. It captured the essence of Mike perfectly, at least as I knew him, which only magnified our sense of loss. She recounted, among other things, that the story of who-pursued-who in the relationship differed depending upon whose version you heard, Mike’s or Colleen’s. They had met as summer-share housemates in the Hamptons. According to Mike’s version, Colleen sat by the pool reading a paperback with eyeholes cut right through the book so that she could follow his every move.

Colleen’s eyes, amazingly, remained dry throughout the eulogy. Both her words and their deliverance were truly inspirational. The final piece to Colleen’s tribute was an REM song, one of Mike’s favorites. St. Aidan’s graciously allowed the family to play the recording over the church’s loudspeakers as the memorial concluded and people filed out even though, strictly speaking, it was against church policy. I don’t recall the title, but it was about a guy who, smitten with a woman, calls to ask her out but gets her answering machine. It mirrored in a way Mike’s own courting of Colleen. As the song played my eyes were drawn to the couple’s innocent children fidgeting in the front pew of the church. It was a sledgehammer of sadness and it found its mark in most of us. As Colleen walked up the center aisle to exit, the previously-muted sobs of the crowd began to rise in unison, unabated. All but those few souls who had already cried themselves out were in tears as the church emptied.

For information on the National September 11 Memorial & Museum, please go to

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Cleaning Out the Old Camera-Phone

LG thought that you might like to see a few pix from his camera-phone.  If not, just pretend you're interested... thank you. 

This is a friend of LG's who shall remain nameless in case he ever wants to apply for a new job or get a credit card.  He wanted to smoke this cigar during a recent tailgate party but the outer tobacco wrapper was slit so he couldn't get a solid drag on it.  LG helped him remedy the problem by offering up some duct tape (which LG always carriers in his car) to seal the slit. It worked like a charm so LG is now going to patent a new duct tape wrapper for cigars (made in Cuba, of course...)  Jeff Foxworthy would approve, no doubt.  

President Obama was supposed to stop by LG's house for a visit this week but, as you can see, Joe Biden came instead.

The crowd prepares for LG's appearance on stage just before his latest stand-up comedy gig.  

 LG has some great ideas to improve America and is thinking of running for president.  Case in point:  LG thinks that everyone, especially city dwellers, should spit their chewing gum into potholes when they're done with it, thereby solving both sanitation and faulty road problems at once.  He may be revealing more of these brilliant ideas in the next few weeks, stay tuned! 


Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Flat mCat Goes to the Horse Races

That little rascal Flat mCat (see previous post if you missed it) wasn't quite ready to return home to Utah last week.  She insisted on being taken to the horse races at Monmouth Park (known as "The Resort of Racing") on the Jersey Shore before heading west.

Luckily, an LG Report photog was on hand to capture all of the action.

  Here's Flat mCat arriving at the track.  She likes to get there early, she told us, so that she can size up the horses in person and use her patented handicapping system to pick winners.  For a photocopy of a paper plate decorated with Sharpies, Flat mCat is very intelligent.

Flat mCat surveys the action to determine the best viewing spot.  She's partial to standing near the finish line along the rail, but only when it's not wet.  Horses can kick up mud on a wet day, causing a disaster for Flat mCat's hair (which is understandable, considering that it's made of copier paper.)

We managed to keep Flat mCat away from the beer (unlike her outing at Yankee Stadium), mostly because she didn't put up a fight (she said she needed to be stone-cold sober to pick winners.) But boy did her gambling vice spring to life.  As you can see here by the 50 spot, she was wagering rather heavily.  We warned her that she should be more conservative, but Flat mCat waved us off.  At one point, she took a wad of cash from a bag in her pocketbook that was labeled "Retirement Nest Egg."  Uh oh!

Flat mCat had to hit the ATM before long.  In fact, she withdrew so much cash and worked the ATM so hard that she put it out of service.  Bad Flat mCat, bad!  As Flat mCat later said, "The race track is the only place where the windows clean the people!"

But, in the end, as she always does, Flat mCat charmed her way to wherever she wanted to go, including the Winner's Circle.  That's her with the winning jockey after the 8th race.  Before she could get into any more trouble, we loaned Flat mCat the bus fare home to Utah and put her on a Greyhound.  We saw her buy a 40-ounce Budweiser just before she boarded the bus...

It was a pleasure hosting you Flat mCat, come back again soon (but not too soon!)

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Flat mCat Visits Yankee Stadium!

Chances are you read blogs, since you're reading one now (busted you there, didn't we!)

If you read blogs, or even if you just post on Facebook or Twitter, you know that you can pick up random friends through the internet.  People to whom you had little or no previous connection. 

This happens to LG and is why he now knows (although he has not met in person) such cool folks as Eva, Pearl/Peggy, Abe, Kelley, Kate, Rodney, Susan, Katie, Sandra, Tiburon, Jamie, et al. (there are a lot of them.) 

Oh yeah, and mCat.  LG met mCat through Abe (who he also doesn't know in person). 

LG can just imagine what would transpire if any of these people were ever being investigated and he was questioned:

FBI Agent: How do you know mCat?

LG: Through Abe.

FBI: How do you know Abe?

LG: I think I was turned on to him by Pearl.

FBI:  And how do you know Pearl?

LG: I don't.  In fact, that's not even her real name.

FBI:  You're coming with us... 

mCat is a mother and the wife of Splenda Daddy.  He's sorta like a Sugar Daddy, but not quite.  mCat is a BIG New York Yankees fan.  Trouble is, she lives in Utah.  That's a bit of a haul to get to Yankee Stadium.  LG mentioned in an email that he was going to Yankee Stadium this week and mCat, wanting to attend in spirit, sent along her "Flat mCat" likeness for LG to bring along.  This is a spin on Flat Stanley, with whom some of you may be familiar.  You may also remember The LG Report's previous post on Flat Abby, which you can access by clicking HERE.

So without further delay (we know the anticipation is killing you...) here's The LG Report's photo essay on Flat mCat's visit to Yankee Stadium....

 First, Flat mCat checks her ticket to make sure that she has her date correct.  Nothing more embarrassing than showing up with a ticket on the wrong day.  Well, maybe pooing in  your white pants is more embarrassing, but the ticket mix-up is still bad...

                 Flat mCat is excited.  Not only is she going to the game, but she gets to ride shotgun too!

Flat mCat is psyched to be at the Stadium.  And she has yet to threatened with robbery, assault or recycling!

 Flat mCat buys a foam finger to show her Yankee spirit.  But, being New York and all, she assumed it would be a middle finger.  How disappointing! [Note to Yankees' Marketing Dept.: New product?]

 While she tried on a hat, the $25 price tag was a bit rich for Flat mCat, a regular ole piece of paper from Utah without a dead president imprinted on it.

 Flat mCat got into the action right away, enjoying the sights and sounds of Yankee Stadium.  Quite a sensory overload for a modest piece of Hammermill copy paper from a small town. 

Uh oh! Flat mCat's mom warned us to keep her away from the brewski.  Flat mCat eyeballs the selection at one of the Yankee Stadium concession stands. Each beer sells for the price of a case anywhere else. What a bargain!  Hey, someone has to pay for Jeter's Lambo. 

Here's where it all started to go south.  Flat mCat didn't know when to say when.  This was just the first in a series of tall frosties that Flat mCat enjoyed.  She claimed to be 21 and had a Flat Utah's Driver's License to prove it although the photo looked suspiciously like Marilyn Monroe.

Flat mCat claimed it was just an "honest mistake" when she ended up in the men's room after five beers, hanging around the urinals asking guys if she could bum a smoke.  It took two security guards to escort her out of the latrine using a fair bit of force.  They eased up, however, when Flat mCat decided to yawn in technicolor (i.e. drive the porcelain bus, toss her cookies, say hello to Ralph, Earl and Mel, etc.)  She was not looking good.  She had lost her high-gloss finish. 

 Like many over-served tourists, Flat mCat had to make use of the Yankee Stadium on-site medical facilities.  Luckily, the paramedics were familiar with advanced medical techniques for pieces of photocopy paper and they were able to use a defibrillator, some Elmer's Glue and Wite-Out(tm) to revive her.  Flat mCat was up and about and as good as new in no time.

 No Flat mCat, no more beer!  Sorry, we have to ship you back to Utah now.  Say goodbye to New York and all of its vices and get on home to resume your idyllic life.  Hopefully you have enough memories of Yankee Stadium to last you for a long time!


As always, thanks for stopping by The LG Report, we hope to see you back here again soon (but not too soon, we only post once a week or so these days...)

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

More Tweets To Share...

Kids, here are some more of LG's recent Tweets, please enjoy responsibly...

U.S. Government, seeking to curb AIDS, is distributing clean needles in all Delta meals.

Women say they're going to "Tar-jay" to make Target sound French + sophisticated. I go to "Home Depeaux" for the same reason.

BREAKING: Needles found in meals on Delta flight; authorities still searching for actual food in Delta meals.

New Yahoo! CEO when asked how she found out about job: "I Googled it. "

Penn State announces it will move Paterno statue to area of campus where statues of Jeffrey Dahmer + Bernie Madoff are displayed.

Rejected Obama campaign slogan: You can't picture Mitt as president, Kenya? Oops, we mean "Can ya?" Damn, costly typo.

Sarah Palin: "Who cares if Obama was born in Kenya, it's still part of America isn't it?"

My favorite Today Show fatty is Al Roquefort.

I went to Midas for a new muffler and it wasn't solid gold. "Where the hell is that Midas touch?" I asked. #FullRefund.

Does anyone know the name of that country song where the wife runs off?

I'm writing a book: "Jerry Sandusky: From Penn State to state pen."

Observation: Between "Magic Mike" and "50 Shades of Gray," women are becoming 1/10th the pigs that men are.

People who trusted their life savings to a guy whose name phonetically was "Made Off" probably go to doctor "Scalpal-Leaver "

It's so hot at the Jersey Shore today that Snookie's fetus isn't lighting up a single cigarette until it cools off.

Women always hit on me down at the butcher shop. That place is such a meat market.
Swiss scientists just discovered the smallest particle known. It contains all the talent of Paris Hilton, Kim Kardashian and Snookie.

Macy's hired me for the holiday season to be a rapper, I'm psyched. Or is that "wrapper?" I'd better check the application again.