Blog - The Sack Artist: Jack of All Trades

It's Time To Stop Discriminating Against The Big And Tall

6/15/2018

Dear Readers,
As all of you know—likely because you have run into me, literally, while walking past me on a sidewalk and then stared up at me from your phone dazed, as if your body colliding with mine was something that just couldn’t have been avoided—I am a very large fella. In fact, if I am being honest with myself, then I am also forced to acknowledge that my size is probably my defining characteristic. And I am usually alright with that. After all, there are perks that come with uncommon size. I can always see at concerts. People instinctively give me the front seat in ubers. On occasion kids ask me if I play in the NFL or NBA, and sometimes I lie and say yes, just so they can feel cool telling their friends they saw a pro athlete buying an ungodly amount of $5 footlongs at their local Subway and not because saying no makes feel undeniably sad.

When The World Ends, I'm Fine Going Down Without A Fight

6/1/2018

Dear Readers,
As all of you are about to know—assuming you possess the ability to read what I’m about to write—the world is on the brink of implosion. According to a group of scientists who I’ll instinctively trust because I assume they never scored a 17% on a 11th grade physics test like some other people who will forever remain nameless, the doomsday scenario we’ve all been dreading since watching Bill Pullman’s wife die in the original Independence Day has never been closer. What I’m trying to say is that our planet is on the edge man. The end looks to be near. And while some of us may have different strategies for surviving our race’s collective demise—rich people with their nuclear blast reinforced condos built on the interior of Teddy Roosevelt’s nostril, poorer people with their stockpile of Arby’s Roast Beef & Swiss sandies—we all know what the most important aspect to surviving the imminent apocalypse will be: a strong desire to not die.

The Sack Knows: How To Raise Other People's Money

5/17/2018

Dear Readers
Think about the last charitable event you attended. Was it something fun, like a trivia night where you cost your team a silver medal by incorrect believing in your heart that Mr. Miyagi will live forever during a game of dead or alive meant to break a tie for 2nd place, or something lame, like a stuffy gala where you pitted out your dress shirt so bad you refused to remove your jacket at any point during the evening even though it was literally cooking your body like a Boston Market rotisserie chicken? At this charity event, did you enjoy yourself? Did you have a good time? Given your experience would you be more likely to come back and donate your hard earned cash money to the cause again?

10 Things I Hope I Don't Do On My Wedding Day

2/1/2018

Dear Readers,
As all of you know—well unless you aren’t invited to the yet to be mentioned ceremony, in which case the problem is me, not you. I am just a loner who doesn’t have many friends—I am getting married on Saturday. Yes, this Saturday. And, as I currently spend my free time pondering off into the distance and imagining a long life filled with marital bliss and far less White Castle than I would’ve eaten if I were to spend the remainder of my existence single (that’s what happens when someone else suddenly cares whether or not you have a massive heart attack), I am nothing but excited. So excited that I only slept for 8 and a half hours last night. So excited that this morning (Wednesday), for the first time in my adult memory, I woke up before my alarm

This Is Who I Am. This Is Why I Write.

1/4/2018

Dear Readers,
As any of you who have read this blog know—which let’s be honest is all you because I am not picking up new readers—I have not written anything in quite a long time. Some of you may also know that I started writing this internet monstrosity 9 years ago, as a 21-year-old frat bro. My life then, and for far too long after, was about drinking, partying, pretending that I had no interest in talking to girls, and covering up my loneliness and lack of confidence with a sea of fart jokes and live tweeting each and every occasion when I’d defecate in public. Obviously, that’s what this blog was about then, and for far too long after as well. And I never questioned that. It was easy. It was predictable. It represented who I was. Or at least who I used to be.

Now it’s 6:33 AM on a Thursday, and I’m sitting down to write. And I can’t take it anymore. I can’t keep putting up the facade. I can’t handle the desperation. I can’t continue on feeling nothing for what I’m putting on the page and yet having an undeniably thick layer of anxiety hovering over me whenever I think about whether or not people will like it. I realized I was going through this when my feyonce, Kristin, asked why I had not posted lately. This all begins with her

Changing My Lifestyle In A Quest To Not Die...

6/23/2017

Dear Readers,
Spoiler alert: contrary to popular belief, I am not going to live forever. I know that this admission may be shocking to many of you. After all, given the advances in modern science and my (parents’) high-level income, there seems to be no reason that I ever have to bite the proverbial bullet. Except there is. There are several reasons in fact, a variety of medically poor choices I have made about the way I live my life, that will undoubtedly lead to my ultimate demise. Despite slurring the words “I’m gonna live forever!” each and every time I down a shot of Rumplemintz just to remind myself that going to the dentist is a terrible waste of time--see the part about medically poor choices above--the sad reality is that one day those words will become erroneous. One day, I am going to die.

5 Reasons Easter Isn't A Real Holiday

4/14/2017

Dear Readers,
The other night I was in Men’s Wearhouse (don’t know why spellcheck doesn’t recognize hilarious fashion/industrial puns) getting fitted for a suit for my buddy’s wedding—turns out the particular suit he wants to buy may or may not be made in my particular size, because I am a rotund freak who is between 6 and 400 White Castle sliders away from being too large to have my entire body covered by a reasonable amount of fabric—when I observed an interesting comment. After taking my sizes and confirming that conventional suits can indeed be made to fit a 275 lbs. man with the biggest biceps at the local tech company where he is employed, the Men’s Wearhouse employee asked my friend when he would be able to get the other groomsmen’s sizes so he can begin ordering the formal wear. “I was aiming for Sunday night,” my friend said. “Oh can we make it Monday?” the salesmen responded. “Sunday is Easter, one of the 4 days a year where we’re actually closed.”

How Do People Become Semi-Functioning Adults?

3/24/2017

Dear Readers,
What is it like to be an adult? I am genuinely curious about this process, the process of growing up and entering full fledged adulthood, because I am a 29.6666-year-old manchild that has no idea how it all works. One day you are an immature youth that is telling your parents that “alcohol is the only thing you care about in your life,” and yet are not sent to AA because they are currently spending $40k/year for you to go to college where this is considered a semi-normal attitude. The next you are wondering if sucking down a third beer on a particular Saturday night is going to cause you to look like a deathly ill former professional wrestler who has “really gotten into bath salts lately” in your engagement photos the next day. What happens in-between? What allows someone to be able to take this step?

Dear Mike Piazza: Why Don't Your Taste Buds Work?

2/24/2017

Dear Mike Piazza,
I know you have a lot going for you, both right now, at this moment, and throughout the grand course of your life. You are in the Baseball Hall of Fame. You are married to a gorgeous woman who once drove audiences wild in the hit melodrama Baywatch Hawaii. Roger Clemens didn’t take enough steroids that one-day to cause him to jam that shard of broken bat into your neck as opposed to just sidearm whipping it in your general direction. According to Fangraphs somebody named Michael Barrett was a worse defensive catcher than you were between the years of 2002 and 2009. You, more than likely, have bench pressed 220 lbs before.

The Rules To Surviving In An Open Office...

2/17/2017

Dear Readers,
As all of you assuredly know—primarily because the only people who read this Internet monstrosity are my co-workers, who are all too aware of my ability to pick my nose publicly and without shame—I work in an open office, meaning that there is nothing separating me from my fellow employees in my workspace. No walls. No cubicles. Nothing to obscure my co-workers view when I decided to do something crazy, like pluck stray eyebrow hairs out of my face using nothing but my own hands or Google “GIFs of fat kids falling from tree branches,” and laugh hysterically at these young people's plight before automatically drop a peg or seven in the esteem with which I am held in their eyes.