Life of Ben

A friend just told me that that lady Kristine…Katherine…what's her name again? Kylie, that's what it is. Anyway, she got her own show called "Life of Kylie." I thought she already had her own show called "The Entire Internet." I mean, you can't look anywhere without hearing about these people's expensive bathing suits and sex lives. But everyone has problems, right? Of course. However, while we have problems like "My car just ran out of gas in the middle of the desert and I need to take a massive dump," these people have problems like "No pizza for Kim: Reality TV star makes a late-night run to Manny's Pizzeria but arrives to find it's closed." That's a real quote from Daily Mail. Some people can't afford to order Domino's, and these people make national news for that? Come on, America.

I need my own show. If you disagree, go read every other post on this blog. When you're finished, you'll know that I deserve to be out there, soaking up the spotlight. If I had a reality show, I would let the world know that some people on TV actually do take dumps. I would show the people that some celebs-in-the-media's lives don't focus on fashion, and are actually more focused on getting into a good college. Tell your friends who long to see a person like themselves on Netflix! Tell your fat dad who watches football all day! Tell your mom who reads magazines about these people while she gets her hair dyed! Tell them, Ben de Plume needs a reality show. Also, feel free to tell the people at Netflix, Amazon Instant Video, and, why not, throw Hulu into the mix. They deserve to have an original show as good as my life. On second thought, is good the right word? I'm gonna order a pizza.


The Male Hole

A long time ago, in a place far, far away (the Poconos), four boys were assigned a cabin for a school camping trip. One of the boys, we'll call him Brian, stepped out of the cabin in the middle of the night. He walked a few steps towards one of the girl's cabins, and stopped. He then unzipped his fly and took a wiz.

Meanwhile, back in the cabin, an intense game of poker was just about to get pretty real. I (yeah, believe it or not, I was there too!) pushed all of my M&M's into the center of the dusty floor, exclaiming, "I'm all in, suckas." Sixth grade me had no idea how to play poker, so he thought he could win the hand off of a two, a three, a four, a six and a ten. In fact, current me also has no idea how to play poker. (Don't tell those guys at the casino.) Fortunately for sixth grade me, the other three guys had no clue how to play poker either, so I happened to take the pot.

Little did we know, hundreds of miles away in New Hampshire, someone was pointing a gun in our general direction. Probably. I don't know for sure, but every story needs a problem, right? Anyway, the man fired the gun, an apple fell off of some little girl's head, and the boys fell asleep in a pile of candy and cards.

In the morning, they woke up and did the usual stuff you do on a sixth grade camping trip. They roasted two marshmallows each (there's gotta be enough for the whole class, so no thirds), went on a hike and got lost in thorn bushes, and flirted with their crushes (especially Brian). So what's the Male Hole? It's a sacred bond of brothers, which will never be broken. It's also what Brian thought the graffiti on the wall of the cabin said, when it actually read "mole hole." Brian isn't the brightest.

Just One Skittle!

"Write about the rage and heartbreak of losing a Skittle to a trusted friend."

This was what my survey told me to do. Before I begin, though, I have a few questions.

  1. How many Skittles did you have left?
  2. What color was the skittle? If it was red, there's an issue. If not, who gives a damn.
  3. How much do you weigh? All I'm saying is maybe it was a blessing in disguise.

An hour later…

I just received an anonymous response to these questions. There were 2 skittles left, it was red, and the dude weighs 85 lbs. I'm assuming it's a guy. There's a 51% chance I'm wrong, but, being the daredevil that I am, I'm choosing to go against the odds. Either way, they're pretty skinny. They need every skittle they can get. I mean, was the thief considering his victim's physical health?

I'll tell ya, loss is painful. Some of us might choose to put it out of our minds, some might choose to sulk in a corner for hours, and some might choose to wildly attack the Skittle-snatching scoundrel with a broom and an open knife. My general preference is the latter, but in this case I might go with option two, just to make the thief feel really goddamned guilty for stealing one Skittle. I think that'd be pretty funny. Just picture the look of remorse on their face.


“What superpower would you have?”

This question always tricks me into thinking I have a goddamned choice. It’s not like I’m gonna say “Flying!” and the heavens are going to bestow upon me the power of flight. Nope, I’m gonna be the exact same, bland, boring human being after I answer the question. So why not have some fun? What is the most random, useless, ludicrous power I can think off? Well, I am Ben de Plume, the boy with the infinitely useless imagination, so, of course, I have the answer. It’s the power to know the exact proximity of the nearest cement mixing truck.

There is no use for this power. It’s not even a little bit cool! I mean, even the power to make Advil levitate is at least a little bit interesting. Can knowing the proximity of the nearest cement mixing truck even be called a superpower? It’s more like a strange…ability, I guess I’d call it.

“Would you even want that power? Like, if the heavens were like, ‘bro, how would you like to be able to tell exactly how close the nearest cement mixing truck is anytime you want?’ Would you, like, take it, bro?”

My initial reaction was yes, my reasoning being that I might be able to win a few bets or something. Then I realized that nobody is going to bet on cement trucks anyway. It might be fun for an afternoon, but…wait a minute. It could make a good movie ending. Like, they have the bad guys trapped but they need a cement truck to pour cement on them so they can’t escape…Call the Marvel people, I have an idea for a new Avenger!

The Incredible Journey

I was down at the store, to buy some shampoo,

After having eaten a dinner or two,

When I suddenly realized that something was wrong,

Thus began my adventure, exciting, and long.


I realized then that I had something to do,

And it was pretty bad, between me and you.

I had fallen into fate’s cruel, hungry trap,

It was late in the night, and I had to…crap.


So I said to my father, and my mother too,

And I yelled to the clerk, “Good evening to you!”

I left that damned store with my stolen shampoo,

Ran halfway to hell just to go to the loo.


I crossed street after street, with tiring feet,

I knew I shouldn’t have eaten all that meat!

I ran red lights and yellows, with sweat on my face,

Faster than Bolt when he’s running a race.


I got texts from my parents, saying “Go to McDonalds!”

But I passed it already…What rhymes with McDonalds?

Nonetheless, I continued towards my destination,

And to be sure, I wasn’t suffering from constipation.


Finally! The front door, but where are my keys?

I searched for the spare on my bare hands and knees,

I found it, and rushed for the toilet at last,

But I had time to spare, thank God I’m so fast.


So I hopped in the shower, and washed off the sweat,

Then I sat on the can, but I wasn’t done yet!

I wrote a poem, seven verses in all,

And that’s how I killed all my cholesterol.


Drowning. I feel my lungs fill with sorrow, and my heart fill with pain as I…Psyche! You guys know I wouldn’t put you through that crap. That seems to count as writing these days, huh? If you ask me, it’s easy to write something “deep.” here’s five things you need to know about being deep.

  1. Start with a negative verb ending in ING, such as “drowning,” “burning,” or “failing middle school.”
  2. Start the next sentence with “I,” followed by “feel my <insert organ here> fill with <emotion> and <another emotion>.
  3. After this, continue to describe a boring activity that leaves room for reflection. Some examples might be sitting on the beach, or cooking a hamburger.
  4. Insert something philosophical.
  5. End your deepness with the same verb you began with, to give it a full circle.

Here’s a sample:

  1. Asphyxiating. I feel my bladder fill with sorrow and distress as I sit on the toilet reading the paper and wondering if there are kids on the moon who sing songs about moon-cows jumping over Earth. Asphyxiating.

And there you have it.


There seems to be a direct correlation between comedy and alcohol. 90% of open mics in Downtown Philadelphia are in bars. Bars! With drinking people! Drinking people who will soon be, if they aren't already, drunk! So how does a young comedian make it in the world of comedy?

He doesn't. Partly because practically no comedians make it in the world of comedy, and the ones that do make it make ten dollars every fifteen years, which they spend on alcohol. At bars.

So why do comedians still tell jokes? Why hasn't live comedy just ceased to exist? There's a simple answer to this question. A comedian when they are just starting off is an optimist. A raging optimist. Then, over time, their egos start to disappear, at which point the only thing keeping them alive is comedy. It's a pit of despair, but the good news is that the jokes cancel out about 2% of the depression.

Where can one find a genuine comedian? It's easy. All you have to do is go to a bar. Or a cliff somewhere. If you don't get that one, just…please don't try to figure it out. It's dark. Really dark.

The thing to remember is that not all standup comedians are bad. In fact, a lot of comedians are hilarious. But they're all broke. No matter how good they are. So, if you see a comedian on the street, just…give him a quarter. Please.