Wednesday, April 7, 2021
Saturday, March 6, 2021
Super Strider Poem Video
Here is me reading my poem "Super Strider" from my book O Conman My Conman: Sick Rhymes for Sick Times.
Monday, June 29, 2020
The Teddy Graham Miracle (An Inspiring Tale for Dark Times)
These are dark times. Metaphorically, and literally as I sit here writing at 4:30 a.m. But if John Krasinski has taught us anything, it is that we need to appreciate the good that is out there too. The following story could only be described as a certified Catholic miracle (though the characters in question are Jewish, Jewishy and Iowa Neutral).
The Teddy Graham Miracle
(the box speaks for itself)
Like his father, Dan Jr. (not his real name. It's actually Dan Sr. Dan Jr. is my dad) seeks solace in food items of the sweet variety. You can catch him licking ketchup off his plate at dinner time or absconding to his pillow fort with hot chocolate packets. So yesterday at snack time (which lately has been any time mommy and daddy aren't paying attention), he took down the box of chocolate Teddy Grahams and brought them over to the table. This time we were around so we told him he could pour himself a bowl (as opposed to eating the entire box--which is, of course wrong to do unless you are over 35). So he begrudgingly did as was asked. The box got taken away.
"This isn't enough!" he whined. Daddy silently agreed.
"Yes, it is, " mommy says. "See, what's a serving? A serving is 24. Count them."
So Dan Sr. begins counting. One by one. 6, 7, 8. 12, 13, 14. He's up to like 16 when daddy realizes this might be exact and starts to get excited.
"Woah. Could there be 24 there?"
19, 20, 21.
"I think there is---" Mommy gives daddy a look like, you good over there? .
22, 23-
Holy sh$%!
24, exact! There is a god!
"It's still not enough," Dan Sr. whines.
So count your blessings, because they might be an exact serving size!*
*Also, coincidentally, 24.
Wednesday, June 24, 2020
PanDUMBic
A pancake would be great.
A pan pizza I'd decimate.
I'd gladly take in a panorama
of Panama or Alabama.
A panapoly of pansies would be lovely.
I'd die happy if a panda hugged me.
My pancreas is useful I'm told.
But this pandemic? Growing old.
A pan pizza I'd decimate.
I'd gladly take in a panorama
of Panama or Alabama.
A panapoly of pansies would be lovely.
I'd die happy if a panda hugged me.
My pancreas is useful I'm told.
But this pandemic? Growing old.
© Daniel Sennis 2021. All Rights Reserved.
Tuesday, January 9, 2018
The Origin of Daniel Sennis
In my last entry, I discussed the new movie, Social Suicide which explains part of this blog's beginnings. But there is another tale that needs to be told about this blog. One filled with Media Moguls, amazing super powers, pizza sauce and a girl by the name of Ivana Betterman.
It started with a book. The Huffington Post Complete Guide to Blogging,which I found in the bargain bin at my local bookstore and thought, though I had absolutely no interest in blogging...$3...what a steal!
That night, I was so excited--I read most of the three page introduction before carelessly throwing the book in the trash. I knew I had to find out more about blogging, and how I could use it to distract myself from the important things in life.
First, I tried sending Ms. Huffington an e-vite to my upcoming Charlie's Angels themed Birthday party, but no such luck.
Then fortune intervened. I heard that Ms. Huffington was going to be attending one of those mean-spirited rich people bring-an-idiot parties at the end of the week. I knew that if I could get close enough to one of the party guests, I would surely get an invite.
The first time I got a chance to talk to Arianna was when she was handing me out first prize at the end of the night. I took the opportunity to tell Ms. Huffington how much I desired to be a blogger just like her. She laughed for a while.
“Oh, you’re serious.”
She then looked at me pityingly. Then she bit me. She took my hand and bit it as hard as she could.
“Ow!” I screamed. “What was that for?”
“You’ll see, Daniel Sennis.”
“My name isn’t Daniel Sennis!" I shouted as I ran crying out the door, trophy in hand.
That night, I wasn’t feeling very well.
“What’s the matter?” asked my girlfriend.
"Ever since Arianna Huffington bit me as hard as she could at the Idiot Party, I haven't been feeling very good. I'm going to lie down.”
Lying on the couch, I was bombarded with images of blogger dashboards, Google image searches, templates, RSS feeds, Arianna Huffington going in for the bite.
"What's happening to me?" I screamed.
Then my Huffington bite glowed red and I heard Arianna’s accented voice:
"It's time, Daniel Sennis. Blog your huge blogger butt off. Huffington out."
The blog came naturally due to new-found powers: enhanced word play ability (needed for the obligatory play-on-words blog title); super touch typing speed (over 35 wpm); and most importantly, Super Human self-importance.
The next day, my girlfriend, Ivana Betterman, asked me why I wasn't at work. My hair was disheveled and I had pizza sauce all over my face.
"I'm a blogger now. This is my work."
"Yeah, well, tell me how that works out for you.
That night, I was so excited--I read most of the three page introduction before carelessly throwing the book in the trash. I knew I had to find out more about blogging, and how I could use it to distract myself from the important things in life.
First, I tried sending Ms. Huffington an e-vite to my upcoming Charlie's Angels themed Birthday party, but no such luck.
Then fortune intervened. I heard that Ms. Huffington was going to be attending one of those mean-spirited rich people bring-an-idiot parties at the end of the week. I knew that if I could get close enough to one of the party guests, I would surely get an invite.
The first time I got a chance to talk to Arianna was when she was handing me out first prize at the end of the night. I took the opportunity to tell Ms. Huffington how much I desired to be a blogger just like her. She laughed for a while.
“Oh, you’re serious.”
She then looked at me pityingly. Then she bit me. She took my hand and bit it as hard as she could.
“Ow!” I screamed. “What was that for?”
“You’ll see, Daniel Sennis.”
“My name isn’t Daniel Sennis!" I shouted as I ran crying out the door, trophy in hand.
That night, I wasn’t feeling very well.
“What’s the matter?” asked my girlfriend.
"Ever since Arianna Huffington bit me as hard as she could at the Idiot Party, I haven't been feeling very good. I'm going to lie down.”
Lying on the couch, I was bombarded with images of blogger dashboards, Google image searches, templates, RSS feeds, Arianna Huffington going in for the bite.
"What's happening to me?" I screamed.
Then my Huffington bite glowed red and I heard Arianna’s accented voice:
"It's time, Daniel Sennis. Blog your huge blogger butt off. Huffington out."
The blog came naturally due to new-found powers: enhanced word play ability (needed for the obligatory play-on-words blog title); super touch typing speed (over 35 wpm); and most importantly, Super Human self-importance.
The next day, my girlfriend, Ivana Betterman, asked me why I wasn't at work. My hair was disheveled and I had pizza sauce all over my face.
"I'm a blogger now. This is my work."
"Yeah, well, tell me how that works out for you.
"You're leaving me?"
"Yes, you have shown me that I really need to figure out who Betterman is."
The next day Buster, the disabled Orangutan moved in, and the rest is movie history.
The next day Buster, the disabled Orangutan moved in, and the rest is movie history.
Monday, January 8, 2018
Aaron Dorkin to Direct Movie About My Blog!
Excited to announce that the critically acclaimed filmmaker Aaron Dorkin will be making a movie of the controversial founding of this blog entitled Social Suicide. Starring Jesse Ears'n'berg, the movie chronicles the legal battle between an emotionally unstable nutty bar-addicted blogger (me) and my roommate at Disney University, Buster, a mentally disabled Orangutan -- who claims I stole his idea for the blog. Tensions rise, as Buster and I enter Judge Judy's court to fight over the blog's considerable investment money -- $100 dollars raised on Kickstarter from a mysterious donor named "Love Dad." I won't give too much away, besides that someone goes home with a ton of bananas.* Not only is Social Suicide a legal drama of the high caliber of such Oscar worthy films as Legally Blonde 2 and Liar Liar, it is also a chronicle of a historic website that forever revolutionized social relations.** Don't miss Social Suicide. Hannukah 2015.
*Spoiler alert. It isn't Buster.
**After the site's founding, people have pretty much given up on the belief that learning about other people is worthwhile and have begun isolating themselves socially.
*** Jimmy, who is not a mentally disabled Orangutan himself, is up for an academy award for his ingenius portrayal of a mentally disabled primate .
Monday, October 26, 2015
The Curse of Ken Rizzo
The wallet lay atop a shelf in the bedroom closet. Wyler and his wife Lola were nearly done cleaning out their apartment; Wyler was making sure the couple hadn’t missed anything from the bedroom when he found the chestnut bifold. What the? He opened it, and facing him was a photo ID of Ken Rizzo, the former tenant of their soon-to-be former apartment.
"Check this out,” Wyler shouted to Lola.
Weird,” Lola said, upon seeing the mysterious object.
“Think we should try to get it back to him.”
“It’s been a year and a half, I don’t think he needs it.”
“Hey, I need a new wallet!”
"Take it!”
Wyler tossed the licence, credit cards, and Auto Zone reward card into the garbage. The garbage started ablaze, but Wyler was too busy rejoicing in his luck to notice. He sashayed around the living room, wallet raised like a flag in his right hand. "Look at me, with my new wallet! See how fancy!" .
"Wow, you're really fancy," his wife said. "Why don't you get your fancy ass back to work, seeing as how we're trying to move."
"Right."
Behind Wyler, back in the unnoticed roaring garbage can flame, an image of a young man bearing a devilish smile appeared just for a moment and then disappeared.
Wyler and his wife hadn’t known anything about Ken Rizzo, really, besides that he didn’t tell the former landlords when things were broken and was reputed to be heavily into dark magic.
The day after their move to the new apartment, Wyler and his wife pulled up to a Dunkin Donuts drive through window.
"That will be 12. 66," the cashier announced. Wyler handed over his debit card, more than ready to shove a double chocolate doughnut down his gullet.
"This card only has six dollars left on it," said the cashier.
"What? There must be some mistake."
"Maybe you’re cursed,"the cashier offered.
"Maybe you are!" Wyler screamed before squealing out of the parking lot, dismayed and donutless. As he drove, he heard a mysterious cackle.
"Did you hear that? Wyler asked his wife.
"Hear what?"
"The mysterious cackle"
"I thought that was you."
"Why would I cackle mysteriously?"
"I don't know why you do the things you do. It was probably just the wind. You're hearing things because you're in double chocolate doughnut withdrawal."
The day after the doughnut incident, Wyler, his wife, and their 15-month-old became sick.
"Ugg," said Wyler
"Ugg." exclaimed Wyler's wife.
"Da da?" exclaimed the baby, sickly.
I feel awful
Me too.
Bah!
Wyler called Dr. Ben Mahlprekteson.
“Doc, I’m real sick like Yeah. Yeah. No, I don’t think I’m cursed. Yeah, I know the dark arts are nothing to mess with, but, OK, OK. I will. Bye.”
“Says it’s a cold.”
That evening the broke, sickly couple attempted to do a load of laundry in their new washing machine.
"I can't wait to use this new machine!" Lola exclaimed.
Wyler and Lola were reading in the bedroom (Wyler,"The Monkey's Paw"; Lola, So Your Husband is an Idiot) when they heard gushing in the kitchen.Gush gush gush.
"That can’t be good," Wyler said.
Wyler rushed to the kitchen and almost slipped on the wet floor; "Shut off the washer," came the cry of a distressed Lola from the bedroom. Within minutes, the entire kitchen floor was flooded.
The next day the plumber came to check out the situation.
"Nothing wrong here. Seems to me like this is just an old-fashioned wallet-based curse"
"Ken Rizzo! Wyler and his wife shouted at once!"
"Yup. Sounds like Rizzo Alright."
"Wait, you know Ken Rizzo?"
"Sure I do. He was my apprentice, before he became You Know Whose apprentice.
"The Baker's?" Wyler inquired. The plumber took a hard look at Wyler.
"Let me tell you, you better deal with this, or it's going to get worse."
"Worse than not getting to eat my doughnut?" Wyler asked.
"Well, how would you like your Netflix service interrupted."
"For how long?"
"A week."
Wyler gasped; his wife fainted. The baby cried.
"The curse could do that?" Wyler said when he regained his composure.
"The curse will do that if you don't find a counter spell, and soon."
"How the hell are we going to do that?"
"Not my problem. Hey, do you think it's alright that I parked in front of that Wiccan shop next door?
The plumber left, and Wyler was left to ponder what to do.
"Oh, what are we gonna do?" Wyler moaned, crashing down on the couch. He heard the apartment door shut.
"Lola?"
Ten minutes later, the apartment door opened and Lola came into he living room.
"Ook," said the baby, pointing to a book in Lola's hand.
"Here you go, stupid." Lola handed Wyler a book.
"What is that?"
"Book of spells."
"Where did you find this?
"Spells R Us. Next door. Got a good price for it too: half off with the purchase of any Voodoo doll."
:"Huh." Wyler flipped through the book. "Trances, Vampire bites. Volkswagen engine trouble--here, Wallets, spell removal from, 33.
"To get rid of a wallet curse, gather the following ingredients: hot sauce, a ski vest, a dirty sock, a clean sock, a sock that is mostly clean but just a little bit dirty; a mystery novel (but nothing by Agatha Christie), your most recent bank statement, and two forms of ID." Wyler gathered the items. "Now, stir these items together and chant the following words out loud three times. Ok, here I go." Wyler stirred the ingredients and began chanting.
Spiders, Snakes, Toads and Trump,
Lift this curse from off my hump.
Screw your curse, Ken Rizzo, you dog
I banish your lousy curse to a nearby bog!
A howl came from Ken Rizzo's wallet. "Leave the wallet be, or else!" came the previously cackling disembodied voice."
"Or else what?.
"'Or else' obviously implies something bad, so...something bad!" the wallet responded, testily.
"Oh," said Wyler.
"Keep going, you schmuck." Lola shouted.
Wyler repeated the chant.
"You stop that right now," the wallet chided.
Wyler was not deterred. He said the chant one last time. "--To a bog!"
"Oy Vey!" screamed the wallet Yidishly.
"Quick, check Netflix." Wyler yelled. Lola clicked the Netflix button on their Roku.
"Still works!"
"Thank God!
Two hours later,Wyler was searching for a missing piece of double chocolate doughnut under the couch cushion of the couch the couple had inherited from the previous apartment renters
"Hey, check this out. He held up a pair of worn, ragged boxers for Lola to inspect. "I could use a new pair!"
The End
"Check this out,” Wyler shouted to Lola.
Weird,” Lola said, upon seeing the mysterious object.
“Think we should try to get it back to him.”
“It’s been a year and a half, I don’t think he needs it.”
“Hey, I need a new wallet!”
"Take it!”
Wyler tossed the licence, credit cards, and Auto Zone reward card into the garbage. The garbage started ablaze, but Wyler was too busy rejoicing in his luck to notice. He sashayed around the living room, wallet raised like a flag in his right hand. "Look at me, with my new wallet! See how fancy!" .
"Wow, you're really fancy," his wife said. "Why don't you get your fancy ass back to work, seeing as how we're trying to move."
"Right."
Behind Wyler, back in the unnoticed roaring garbage can flame, an image of a young man bearing a devilish smile appeared just for a moment and then disappeared.
Wyler and his wife hadn’t known anything about Ken Rizzo, really, besides that he didn’t tell the former landlords when things were broken and was reputed to be heavily into dark magic.
The day after their move to the new apartment, Wyler and his wife pulled up to a Dunkin Donuts drive through window.
"That will be 12. 66," the cashier announced. Wyler handed over his debit card, more than ready to shove a double chocolate doughnut down his gullet.
"This card only has six dollars left on it," said the cashier.
"What? There must be some mistake."
"Maybe you’re cursed,"the cashier offered.
"Maybe you are!" Wyler screamed before squealing out of the parking lot, dismayed and donutless. As he drove, he heard a mysterious cackle.
"Did you hear that? Wyler asked his wife.
"Hear what?"
"The mysterious cackle"
"I thought that was you."
"Why would I cackle mysteriously?"
"I don't know why you do the things you do. It was probably just the wind. You're hearing things because you're in double chocolate doughnut withdrawal."
The day after the doughnut incident, Wyler, his wife, and their 15-month-old became sick.
"Ugg," said Wyler
"Ugg." exclaimed Wyler's wife.
"Da da?" exclaimed the baby, sickly.
I feel awful
Me too.
Bah!
Wyler called Dr. Ben Mahlprekteson.
“Doc, I’m real sick like Yeah. Yeah. No, I don’t think I’m cursed. Yeah, I know the dark arts are nothing to mess with, but, OK, OK. I will. Bye.”
“Says it’s a cold.”
That evening the broke, sickly couple attempted to do a load of laundry in their new washing machine.
"I can't wait to use this new machine!" Lola exclaimed.
Wyler and Lola were reading in the bedroom (Wyler,"The Monkey's Paw"; Lola, So Your Husband is an Idiot) when they heard gushing in the kitchen.Gush gush gush.
"That can’t be good," Wyler said.
Wyler rushed to the kitchen and almost slipped on the wet floor; "Shut off the washer," came the cry of a distressed Lola from the bedroom. Within minutes, the entire kitchen floor was flooded.
The next day the plumber came to check out the situation.
"Nothing wrong here. Seems to me like this is just an old-fashioned wallet-based curse"
"Ken Rizzo! Wyler and his wife shouted at once!"
"Yup. Sounds like Rizzo Alright."
"Wait, you know Ken Rizzo?"
"Sure I do. He was my apprentice, before he became You Know Whose apprentice.
"The Baker's?" Wyler inquired. The plumber took a hard look at Wyler.
"Let me tell you, you better deal with this, or it's going to get worse."
"Worse than not getting to eat my doughnut?" Wyler asked.
"Well, how would you like your Netflix service interrupted."
"For how long?"
"A week."
Wyler gasped; his wife fainted. The baby cried.
"The curse could do that?" Wyler said when he regained his composure.
"The curse will do that if you don't find a counter spell, and soon."
"How the hell are we going to do that?"
"Not my problem. Hey, do you think it's alright that I parked in front of that Wiccan shop next door?
The plumber left, and Wyler was left to ponder what to do.
"Oh, what are we gonna do?" Wyler moaned, crashing down on the couch. He heard the apartment door shut.
"Lola?"
Ten minutes later, the apartment door opened and Lola came into he living room.
"Ook," said the baby, pointing to a book in Lola's hand.
"Here you go, stupid." Lola handed Wyler a book.
"What is that?"
"Book of spells."
"Where did you find this?
"Spells R Us. Next door. Got a good price for it too: half off with the purchase of any Voodoo doll."
:"Huh." Wyler flipped through the book. "Trances, Vampire bites. Volkswagen engine trouble--here, Wallets, spell removal from, 33.
"To get rid of a wallet curse, gather the following ingredients: hot sauce, a ski vest, a dirty sock, a clean sock, a sock that is mostly clean but just a little bit dirty; a mystery novel (but nothing by Agatha Christie), your most recent bank statement, and two forms of ID." Wyler gathered the items. "Now, stir these items together and chant the following words out loud three times. Ok, here I go." Wyler stirred the ingredients and began chanting.
Spiders, Snakes, Toads and Trump,
Lift this curse from off my hump.
Screw your curse, Ken Rizzo, you dog
I banish your lousy curse to a nearby bog!
A howl came from Ken Rizzo's wallet. "Leave the wallet be, or else!" came the previously cackling disembodied voice."
"Or else what?.
"'Or else' obviously implies something bad, so...something bad!" the wallet responded, testily.
"Oh," said Wyler.
"Keep going, you schmuck." Lola shouted.
Wyler repeated the chant.
"You stop that right now," the wallet chided.
Wyler was not deterred. He said the chant one last time. "--To a bog!"
"Oy Vey!" screamed the wallet Yidishly.
"Quick, check Netflix." Wyler yelled. Lola clicked the Netflix button on their Roku.
"Still works!"
"Thank God!
Two hours later,Wyler was searching for a missing piece of double chocolate doughnut under the couch cushion of the couch the couple had inherited from the previous apartment renters
"Hey, check this out. He held up a pair of worn, ragged boxers for Lola to inspect. "I could use a new pair!"
The End
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