It’s time to Make Airports Great Again

When people see airports, they probably see empty, soulless buildings, filled with people who are slowly dying as every Cinnabon and minute passes. Not me. All I see is potential.

As of right now airports stinks. The people who work there are so noticeably depressed that it immediately ruins my day. The seats are perfectly uncomfortable, and angled at the level where it’s impossible to get comfortable. And that outlet you so desperately need is always conveniently placed on a wall right next to the bathroom exit and near nothing else.

They do have bars that serve alcohol and food, but there’s also that little catch where the cost of a Coors Light is comparable to the GDP of a small Central American Country. Something’s not right when a bacon cheeseburger costs more than my Spirit flight across the country. Then again, halfway through any Spirit flight everyone has that same thought, wondering if the suicidal feelings you’ve been having for the last two hours were worth the $60 ticket.

I also hate how the excuse for every inconvenience is the phrase “well ever since 9/11…”. Do I really need to put my laptop in a separate box? “Well ever since 9/11…”. Hey can we have more than one security line open at this major international airport? “Well ever since 9/11….” Can I please have the entire can of Sprite instead of you pouring a shot if it into that small plastic cup full of ice? “Well ever since 9/11….”.

What pisses me off is that it’s a foolproof answer. You can’t argue against 9/11. You can’t be the asshole downplaying it. It’s so genius I have to respect it.

Anyway, here’s my guide to fixing airports:

You’re allowed to punch one airport employee in the face per month 

This seems fair and logical. One punch per month, or every 6 flights if you’re a frequent flyer. No nut shots. No redos. Fist open if the worker’s female. This is a gentleman’s clause. Also if you whiff on the punch the worker can rebuttal, because if you miss from that distance you deserve it. Brass knuckles are discourage, but if you somehow get them through security then that’s a grey area. I don’t want to play God.

Gun Range

Flight delayed? Head over to the gun range and unload a clip. There’s an argument being made that there’s no place in society for assault rifles, but I think a pretty strong case can be made for some airport terminals I’ve spent time in.

Fun Bars

As I said earlier, the only bars in airports are overpriced and boring as heck. All I’m saying is would it kill you to put a Ned Devine’s inside Logan? Coogans?

Hot Tubs

Whenever I’m waiting for a flight, it’s damn near impossible for me to get comfortable. The solution? Hot tubs. Then again, hot tubs could get pretty dangerous. Your flight gets delayed, and all of sudden you’re two hours deep in the hot tub. Sure, you know you should get out, but the jets are on full blast and you just don’t have the will to leave. Next thing you know, you’re blood pressure drops and you pass out right next to a Hudson News.


With gambling being legal now, this is an absolute no brainer. And I’m not talking about sports gambling either. No. I want to look at a couple traveling with their three kids to Disney World for the first time and put money down on their marriage. I want to see a TSA officer and bet on what happened that made him fail out of the police academy. I want to wager money on what went wrong in someone’s life that they work at a Hudson News. Who decides to work in food service at an airport. There are a billion Dunkin Donuts to work at, and you chose the one where you have to pass security clearance every shift? Imagine having to commute to the airport everyday just to make Coolattas? I digress, but with good reason.

Security pat downs come with happy endings

I’ve been by myself on the road for what seems like a year now, and I hit peak loneliness when I was disappointed I didn’t get a security pat down before my last flight. I was just craving some human interaction. I might stick a metal plate in my pants next time I’m in an airport just for the physical touch. “Sir we’re going to have to bring you over for a physical inspection.” “lol and then what? ;)”.


XO Tour Life: LA Stinks

I’ve been in LA for about 18 hours now, and it absolutely stinks.

After 5 hours of flight delays, I finally landed at LAX and thought my journey to LA LA Land had finally concluded. Little did I know LAX is conveniently located an HOUR away from Hollywood. Thankfully, there’s bumper to bumper traffic here at all hours of the day, so I got to start my trip with a 90 minute adventure in an Uber Pool.

I get in the Uber, and the lady driving asks me what I’m doing in town. Normal small talk, sure. I tell her I’m doing some comedy stuff, and she immediately goes “Yea I thought you looked familiar”. Which, unless she spends her downtime going to Boston, Monday night, dive bar stand up shows, I definitely do not look familiar. Unless she’s one of the couple hundred people in the world who read this site, my name probably doesn’t ring a bell. But at this point I’ve been traveling for the better part of a day, and I’m like fuck it, I’m going to go with it.

I tell her I’m from Boston, so she asks if I know Bill Burr. Because of course I would know Bill Burr, the guy who moved from Boston to LA about 10 years ago (when I was 12), who also just so happens to be probably one of the top 5 most famous comics right now. Yea our paths haven’t exactly crossed yet.

Then she keeps dropping lines about how she wants to get into improv, so I ask her if she’s ever taken classes at UCB, which is the big improv place out here where you take classes if you want to get good. She’s somehow never heard of it, so clearly she’s on the right track.

Finally I get to the place that I’m staying right on Hollywood Blvd, which is the absolute center of hell. It’s the tourist capital of the world, and I’m not sure why. The street is line with the walk of fame stars, so no one can walk straight without stopping ever two feet because they see the name of that guy from that movie. The street is also filled with these people dressed up as Spiderman and Batman and shit, and the tourists cannot get enough of them. Like you know that isn’t actually Christian Bale, right? Toby Maguire isn’t actually behind that mask.

Everyone is also carrying “star maps” in hopes of finding someone famous, as if anyone celebrity in their right mind would show face in that area. Like Leo or Clooney is going to be doing some casual shopping at the novelty gift shop.

I then go to hit an open mic to work out some stuff before the gig I had, and despite it being on Sunset which is like a street down from me, it takes me 40 minutes to walk there. “Oh Tim why didn’t you just take an Uber?” Read above. Then I meet up with another comic who’s on the same show as me, and he gives me a ride to the bar where the show is, which is in Downtown LA, which ends up being another hour drive.

I end up being the only white person in the entire building (which I was completely comfortable with btw), and for some reason my humor didn’t really connect with the good people of South Central LA. Despite that, I get asked if I want to do a late night spot in Compton, but I graciously turned down the offer. Although looking back that would have been a great opportunity for content.

I then get to sit through another hour drive back to Hollywood, because despite it being 9pm at this point, there’s still rush hour traffic. I get back, shower, and decide to check out the Comedy Store, once again, a 40 minute walk, but this actually ends up being worth it, because the experience ends up being wild.

The Store lets comics just go and hang out there and skip the cover, so I just walk in and start looking around. I meet a guy I met at the show earlier, and he brings me to the comic room. This is the first time in my life I’ve ever been star struck, because I walk in, and within 20 feet of me is Joe Rogan, Anthony Jeselnik, and Chris D’Elia. I look out to see who’s on stage and it’s fucking Adam Devine. I then go check out the other stage and Bobby Lee is there. Apparently this is a typical weekday lineup there, and all of a sudden I forget every shitty LA experience I had in the last six hours. Until of course I leave and it takes me another 40 minutes to get home.

So besides the endless traffic, the people who will only talk to you if they think they can do something for them, the tourists, and the shocking amount of homeless people, this place is quite the Tinseltown. It’s definitely a cool place to be if you’re famous, but if you’re a normal person it’s just a place with nice weather.

XO Tour Life: Portland Recap

After spending two nights in the Pathicccic West Coast, I can only summarize Portland as one thing: the weirdest fucking place I’ve ever been.

First let’s start with the people. Whatever happened to being born with a hair color and sticking to it? What happened to just looking in the mirror and being like “that’ll do”? Apparently that line of thinking is quite foreign in Portland, because absolutely everyone had their hair dyed. And it wasn’t even just the usual art students. Grown men and women were sporting color wheels on their heads. Imagine growing up with a dad with purple hair? I’d rather grow up with two dads with normal hair. It’d be less gay.

Also, the line between hipsters and homeless is about as skinny as their leather pants in Portland. I didn’t think it was possible to have such a high fashion IQ while also shitting in public. Every time I saw a pair of ripped jeans I wondered to myself, “did he buy those ripped, or is it just the wear and tear that comes from blowing dudes for crack?”. I still don’t have answers, and I’m not sure I want any.

The homeless were also the most well put together hobos I’ve ever seen. I swear I saw one moisturizing at one point. They also all had their own dogs, who were all well fed and taken care of. It was a tough blow to the ego when I would walk past a homeless dog and immediately know that it had a better diet than I did.

Secondly, I’ve never seen a place with more coffee shops. With Portland being so progressive with LGBTXOG2GTTYL rights, you’d think they’d spend less time crushing beans and more time flicking them.

Also apparently Portland is the craft beer capital of the world, and I took advantage of that, by exclusively drinking Coors Light and PBR’s the entire time. Gotta stay true to myself. Not going to change my preferred choice of alcoholism just because I’m in a different location. It’s called integrity.

Anyway, now I’m in LA, so time to turn my narcissism into overdrive.


I went to the Church of Scientology today and it’s definitely not a cult

Last night on my walk home from my dinner at Buffalo Wild Wings, I passed the Portland Church of Scientology, and immediately knew what I was going to do with my day. So I woke up this morning and found my way back to this intriguing place. I always knew Scientology was a crazy religion, but I was not prepared for what I experienced today.

First, I walk into the building, and am greeted at the front desk by a man and a woman. The fact that a church has a receptionist is red flag number one. The receptionist was around my age, and you have to wonder what went wrong in her life for her to be in that position. Like is that her full time job? Or did she get into Scientology, and then get stuck being the receptionist? Both are equally sad.

Also everyone there was dressed very Mormonish in white shirts and black ties, but some of the guys were also wearing these weird vests like the one’s you wear to prom. I call it “Amish Flare”.

Anyway, I’m greeted by this woman, and she asks if I’m interested in a free tour that’s followed by a personality test. Obviously I am. “Tour” ends up being a generous term for this experience, because it basically consisted of me walking around this weird showroom made up of different stations that talk about the different aspects of Scientology.

After walking through the stations, I still have no clue what Scientology is, and I don’t think the Scientologists do either.


“Scientology is the study of knowledge” is such a bullshit phrase I have no choice but to respect it. It makes zero sense. Knowledge is something someone already knows, so how do you study that? Knowledge of what? My head hurts just trying to figure this out, and I love it. Fake it til you make it, I guess.

A big part of Scientology is about purification of the body, AKA, their sales pitch to recovering drug addicts. This was one of my favorite signs. I loved how they say there are 116 toxins, and then go on to list 6.


This is all backed up by absolutely zero science. I like how it’s just “drugs”. Just toss them all under one umbrella. From Advil to crack cocaine. Drugs. But then they feel the need to specify nicotine, which is also a drug.

Then of course you gotta watch out for “chemicals”. Which chemicals? All of them, I guess. Just keep away from objects with chemical makeups, which I think is….Everything?

This was the only explanation of this purification process:


Also not sure what the waterfall has to do with all of this, but sure.

Then they broke the different parts of a man:


Then there are the dynamics of existence, each it’s own level that needs to be unlocked (with easy one time payments). Eventually, if you pay enough, I guess you reach your supreme being.


But basically, these are all sale pitches for this guy’s books:


Which can all once again be purchased at the front desk. The place was basically a Barnes and Noble’s for cults.

So pretty run of the mill bullshit money making scheme, right? Wrong, because it got much, much weirder.

I finish looking around, then I’m asked if I want to take part in an evaluation, and of course I do.

They bring me over to a desk, and I’m greeted by this machine. Apparently, it’s supposed to measure my current mental state and level of stress.


I put a hand on each cylinder, and then the scale lands on an arbitrary number. It’s literally the same machine from Always Sunny when Dee gets into the pyramid scheme:

Like the exact same thing. I get my “stress level” measured, and it was 70. I’m not making this up. It is literally the exact same as an episode of It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia. No units. No reference chart. Just “70”. Which was apparently bad, because I was then asked to take a follow up personality test.

I agree to take the personality test, which is conveniently a 200 question multiple choice test. At this point I’ve been here for like an hour, and I’m starting to get some kidnapping vibes. This is where things started to get creepy.

The test was basically the same five questions being asked over and over again in different ways. The questions are all written in a way that makes you answer them in a certain way. Things like “on a scale of 9-10, how much do you hate yourself?” Not that exactly, but those types of questions where you’re forced to answer negatively.

I finally finish the test, and hand it in to be graded. I’m called over to this cubicle where I meet with another guy to go over the results.


Once again, everything is measured in arbitrary numbers.

So I sit down with this guy to go over the results, and this is when shit gets really, really, culty. He starts going through my results category by category, and won’t move on from each until I agree with the results. He also keeps on saying “these results are based on what you think about yourself”.

Basically it was 20 minutes of this guy trying to get me to hate myself enough to sign up for this religion. Which is sort of fucked. But then also he would once in a while compliment me in a weird way. He said how I was really intelligent, but I’ll probably fail at everything I do without his help. Which, once again, a wild statement to make towards someone you just met.

He asked me if I was interested in taking the next step, but I said I had to get going, even though ten minutes earlier I definitely told him I had nothing to do all day. I expected him to make a last effort pitch, but to my surprise, he pulled a used car salesman move and let me walk. Maybe he’s smarter than I originally thought. I put down all fake info so that sucks for him.

Overall, despite Scientology being an obvious money making cult/pyramid scheme, I can see how people can get pulled in. The people there are salesmen, and they know what they’re doing. They profit off of vulnerable people, and convince people that they suck at life and this is the only way to help.

So yea, Scientology is pretty fucked, and if you take part in recruiting people into it you should kill yourself.

Also it’s a massive tax shelter.

Also I still might sign up.

My complete guide to air travel

After a 6am flight to Minnesota, a two hour layover in St. Paul, and then a flight across the rest of the country, I’ve finally arrived in Portland, Oregon. Throughout that never ending experience, I’m somewhat certain I’ve mastered everything one needs to know about air travel. I’m basically Amelia Earheart, except with GPS. Charles Lindbergh, but better with kids.

Anyway here are some (just the) tips for flying:


Security at airports is always a bitch, but so was 9/11, so I’d much rather get a half chub while getting patted down than have to deal with Mohammed’s box cutter. You really think I can disarm a terrorist on a plane? Not with that legroom. If I’m in the exit row, maybe, but I’m not at the point financially yet where I can be shelling out that $9 seat upgrade. Regardless, when it comes to getting through security, I have a foolproof system.

Everyone knows my dancer legs are disproportional to my salsa hips, so that means I can’t wear pants without a belt. Naturally, the part where I have to take my belt off for security always proves problematic. Thankfully, I’ve found a shortcut around that issue, and in lieu of a belt, I just duck tape the waist of my pants to my body. The beauty of it is that it also kills two birds with one stone, as I also get a bikini wax every time I get undressed. Talk about a summer body.

My next step is to somehow get a pacemaker installed, so I can avoid having to go through the x-ray machine. The issue is I’m at peak physical fitness, so I doubt I could find an excuse to get a pacemaker. Because of that, I think the move is to just insert a FitBit up my ass. Call it a ThicccBit. Same thing. (By now you probably realize I have no clue what a pacemaker is)

Waiting in the terminal 

I’m #TeamCarryOn, so naturally, one of my biggest issues is having to lug around my bags whenever I want to go to a Hudson News. It’s frowned upon to leave your bags unattended, but when I already have the weight of the world on my shoulders, sometimes my backpack becomes too much.

As a result, sometimes I have no choice but to leave my bag alone for a couple minutes. The key to doing this, is to leave your luggage unattended for as little time as possible. In order to do this, what I do, is throw my backpack on the ground, run away from it as fast as a I can, and cover my ears due to the air pressure inside the airport. Sometimes I recite a prayer out loud while doing this, just to let people around me know that I’m a man of God and that they have nothing to worry about.

Dealing with anxiety while flying

On a scale of “1 to Talking to a hot girl” my flight anxiety clocks in at about a 5. I really don’t get that nervous, but everyone has their “this is it” moment time to time while flying. One the most common times I find myself getting anxious while flying is during times of turbulence. Whenever I experience turbulence, I just pretend that I’m inside a massive vibrator. It’s soothing and erotic at the same time, much like the ball pit at a McDonald’s Playplace.

Picking up your luggage at the baggage claim

As I said earlier, I exclusively bring carry-on bags, but I still don’t like to feel left out at the baggage claim. I learned from a young age never to say to to a carousal. That’s why I like to check in an empty dog cage, so when the luggage starts coming out at the baggage claim, I grab the empty cage, and start freaking out, asking people if they’ve seen my kid because I swear he was in the cage when I first dropped it off.

So that’s all you really need to know to have a great flight next time you travel. Anyway, I’m in Portland for the next two days, and I’m working a collective 20 minutes during that, so if anyone has any ideas on what I should do with my time let me know.






I brought my “Legalize Original Four Loko” campaign to the streets of Washington


“Here’s to the crazy ones.


The misfits. The bad boi’s. The jackhammers.


The thiccc pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently (I don’t see color)


They’re not fond of haterz. And they have no respect for the status quo (or mice).


You can DM them, sexualize them, glorify or threaten to sue them because he interviewed your son who goes by the name of “Weymouth John”. About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them (because I’ll text you 8 times in a row at 2am).


Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do.”

XO Tour Life: DC Day 1

After two nights in the city of brotherly incest, I now find myself concluding my first day in our country’s capital of Washington DC.

I traveled here via MegaBus, and I think that’s the only way I’ll ever travel for now on. First off, the name alone had my heart before I even stepped foot on that love boat with wheels. And let me tell you, MegaBus is the perfect name. It is thiccc as shit. Two floors. Twice the fun. I also had my own row to myself, so my dancer legs were out to play.

I got off Megabus around noon and it was at least 95 degrees in DC (it was maybe 72 with a strong sun). I couldn’t check in to my babe cave until 3, so I had some time to kill. I first went to the Capitol building, which if we’re being real, I thought was the same thing as the White House. I’m already learning so much. Regardless, I had to snap one my glowing selfies


Bad bitch alert.

Moments after I snapped this I got stuck working a photo shoot for some tourists who were from south of the border. I hate taking pictures, but I respect them coming to the front door of the dude who is actively trying to build a massive wall in front of them like a game of Fortnite. I still have yet to play Fortnite, too busy texting bitches (JK it’s because I still have an Xbox 360).

Then I stopped by the Supreme Court to pay homage to Supreme Court Justice Judge Judy. She’s done so much for this country.


Then I walked around aimlessly for another twenty minutes because I was reading google maps backwards, but in that time I made some observations.

First, there are so many black SUVs in this city. And I swear all of them are driven by the exact same hardass white guy with that haircut that I can’t explain but I feel like we’re on the same page. It’s always the same old white guy getting into the SUV too. That 60 year old dude who I’m convinced came out of his mother’s womb with that same thinning comb over.

I’m also finding myself doing that thing where I just assume every old white guy I see holds some type of political position. It’s like when you pass a tall black guy on the street, and immediately start guessing which NBA team he plays for. I’m actually even more ignorant with the old white guy generalization. Like even when an old white dude took my order at 5 Guys, I was like “I bet he has some pull in the senate”. 

Also there are more police officers here than I’ve ever seen anywhere else. Even as a white kid it put me on edge. And I should know better, they’re on my side. But regardless, there were a lot.

Lastly, I’m not exaggerating when I say that the demographics here are 99.9999% eighth graders on their end of year field trip, and then whatever’s left is me. Most people visit DC for the first time when they’re 12 or 13, I’m doing it at 22. And you know what? Guess who’s having more fun? Honestly, probably them.

I still had some time to kill before my check in, so I decided to hit the Smithsonian. And full disclosure, I thought the Smithsonian was just the Smithsonian. Like I was under the impression that it was one museum. I didn’t know there were 30 of them. So I’m going to try to hit off all them tomorrow, and dedicate a separate post recapping all of them.

By the time I checked in, it was time to head to my show tonight which was in Chevy Chase, Maryland.

I suffered another mental lapse when I got to the venue, and mentioned to the bouncer how cool it was that a town was named after the actor Chevy Chase. Apparently that happened to be false, since the town “Chevy Chase” was incorporated in 1733, and Caddyshack came out in 1980. My math was a bit off.

Spot the difference:

Chevy Chase (the location) is also randomly a ridiculously nice neighborhood. I’m talking “white girls running outside at night” nice. I wish I had a car just so I could park it and leave it unlocked. That’s how nice it was.

I had to take the Subway out there, and it was a completely different experience than the MBTA. I hopped on the train at 5:30pm, mid commute time, so I naturally assumed it would be a suicide mission. That’s just how the T has conditioned me to think. I got on their red line right downtown heading outbound, and to my amazement, there was enough room so I wan’t grinding on guys. Bittersweet, I guess.

The craziest difference was that the trains down here have cushioned seats. My first thought was “Oh I wonder how they get the homeless people to not pee on them?” Once again, always assuming the worst.

Anyway, I’m closing in on 1000 words, so I’m going to call it a night here. I have some museums to visit and some eighth graders to terrorize tomorrow.