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Isn't It Fun? Posts

Mixtape: A Journey Into Us, Time and Space

Oh, hey Sandra. This is a nice surprise. You seemed on the fence about coming to this party earlier today so I wasn’t sure if I’d get to see you. I’m really glad that I did.

I’m sorry if that’s a bit forward. I’ve just been thinking about us a lot lately. It’s been a crazy couple of years in these dorms. I can’t believe it’s already been four whole semesters since we were paired up for the egg toss at the freshman meet up. I still tell my friends back home about that victorious afternoon. We were just two complete strangers, destined for something great.

And it has been great. Like, really great. I don’t know what I would have done without you over these last two years. It’s been such an adjustment being so far from my family and friends and you’ve always made me feel like I have a home here, with you.

I’m sorry, I know that I’m rambling. I just wanted to tell you that you mean a lot to me and that I really love… I dunno, I just love this. And I know that we’re just friends and you might be interested in Cole and that’s fine. But I want you to know that I made you a mixtape.

I spent a lot of time on it. It’s got 12 songs, one for each freckle on your left arm. I’ve select six songs which are exactly three minutes and fourteen seconds long which, as you probably know, is the average time it takes us to walk to the dining hall from your dorm room. The other six songs are of varying lengths, all over 20 minutes and each serves as a symbol of what I hope will be a long and enduring friendship. And, at the risk of dropping a major spoiler here, you’ll notice that the first letter of each first word of each song spells out Philadelphia, your hometown.

But that’s enough of a build up, I think. I’m excited to hear what you think of it. So the next time you’re at a computer, all you need to do is hop online and go to Do you have an account already? You don’t? That’s okay. Just sign up using your Facebook account. It’s free but you will have to listen to ads throughout the day which will interrupt my carefully considered song flow and is not ideal. I can add you to my family plan if you’d like. You’d just have to Venmo me $5 a month but I’m telling you it’s totally worth it. Anyway, once you have an account, go up to the search bar and type in “user:sweetjamzrutgersguy” in the search bar and hit enter. My profile will come up as the fourth one in the list. Look for the picture of us on that hike we took last summer. Yes! The hike where I brought my ukulele and played for you jaunty versions of Tom Waits songs and you pretended to hate it! You remember!

Click on that picture. You’re going to see my recently played artists and playlists but if you scroll down, you’ll see a playlist called Mixtape: A Journey Into Us, Time and Space. Click on that and then hit the follow button. That will save it to your account.

Then all you need to do is get your phone, go to the App Store, download the Spotify app, log in with the account info you just created and your mixtape will be there for you wherever you go. Simple as that. Now you won’t be able to listen to that unless you’ve got WiFi or a good cell signal. Also be careful as the app can really chew through your data plan and it’s in the user agreement that you will not hold Spotify responsible for overages.

I think that about sums it up. Oh, if any of the songs show up as grayed out then that just means that Spotify no longer has the rights to that song. Just give me a call and I will play it for you on the uke!

Rodney Reacts

What’s up! It’s your boy Rodney, formerly of the WORLD FAMOUS Rodney Reacts YouTube channel. As you know, there’s been a bit of a purge when it comes to reaction videos as YouTube has pulled the copyright card on all of our asses. And while a bunch of my fellow YouTubers have decided to just bitch and moan about it, I’m saying “fuck it” and blazing a new trail.

So welcome to the Rodney Reacts blog! It’s the same great reactions you’ve come to love just with less of my beautiful face and calming baritone… haha. Catchphrases? You KNOW they’re still here. OH HELL NOPE! DIDYAWHATNOW? GET ME TO HAPPY TOWN! It’ll be exactly the same, I promise!

So for my inaugural reaction, I thought I’d finally feature your most requested video: The Ultimate Fails Compilation. This this is OLD but it’s got almost 200 MILLION views so it’s got to be great. I’m excited to finally see it. So you know what we about to do, right?


(Quick technical note – it’s probably best if you pull up the video I’m reacting to — — while you read this. Maybe have it in a separate window or something. You’ll probably want to have them side by side so you can quickly go back and forth between the two. I’ll signal the time to start the video with each post by using my other famous catchphrase, “LET’S REACT TO THAT!” in all caps and an exclamation point. The caps and punctuation are important because I might use that phrase in a sentence when telling a story or something, like times when a fan stops me in the street and shouts “let’s react to that” at me or something. In that case, I will not use all caps or the exclamation point so you don’t accidentally hit play early. You’ll get it. It’s not that hard.)

Okay, for real. LET’S REACT TO THAT!


Oh man, that’s wrong!

Oh shit. That’ll take you out for a while. Haha, he’s pissed!



Thought she broke something.

I know a girl who told me she could belly dance… oh, haha!

Ohhhhhhh he skid, too.


Oh, she looks like my ex wife.

Ah, he hit his head on the handlebar?

That was perfect.

What did he pee on her?

He must have hit his ass. He’s lucky.

He sat on the fucking napkin?

Her too – she looks just like Julianne.

And her wig fell off.

HAHAHA he hit him in the nuts?

(I’m clapping at this one)

Oh god.

He hit himself in the nuts with fire.

That dude looks like her new boyfriend.


Seriously, why would you guys request this video? I see her face everywhere in this.

oh god!

The dog does always come to see if you’re okay!

I’m crying here!

No, for real. I’m crying.

It was so unexpected.

Like, I had no idea anything was even wrong. I thought she supported me.

This IS a job and I WILL figure out a business model, you know? It’s new media. NO ONE knows where it’s going but I’m on the forefront. Trailblazing. It takes courage.

And fuck – I don’t care that he can do a handstand. What does that have to do with anything at all? Why does she bring that up every time I call her?

And for the record, Julianne, I do own my car. Don’t you bring my mother into this.

I’m sorry I took that tone.

I get what you’re saying. Sometimes I speak from my heart and not my brain.

But you love that about me, right?

Loved, I mean. That’ll take some getting used to.

I miss you.

Man I really want to learn how to parkour.

And that’s ! I really love these compilations. Thanks for suggesting this one. The funniest one for me was the dude with the skateboard! But let me know what you think in the comments below. And remember to subscribe and give this a like if you’re loving what I do! And if you’ve got any tips on doing handstands, send them my way! GET ME TO HAPPY TOWN! RODNEY OUT.

Teenage Six Flags Employee, Please Join Me for a Reasonable Conversation

Young man, I know that you’re busy but I was hoping I may have a moment of your time.

Let me start by saying that my family and I have had such a lovely day at this Six Flags. Just wonderful. Your co-workers have been so kind and enthusiastic. And thorough! Not once did I ever feel in danger while suspended upside down, screaming through the air on the wings of Superman: Ultimate Flight. And when it came time to eat, your friends at the Yum Yum Palace took pains to ensure my family and I were served exactly what we ordered, despite the finicky requests from my son Robert and my wife’s insistence that our burgers be made fresh and not fished out of a bucket of boil water. Honestly, I would say that, for the most part, we have felt very much taken care of and are already looking forward to another trip some time in the not-so-distant future.

So that’s the good news! As for the rest of it, well, I think you’re aware enough to know that I’m in a bit of a bind here at your Ring Toss booth. Truth be told, my daughter had no idea what a Tweety Bird was until she saw these massive stuffed prizes under which you and I now stand. And just like that, all the love and affection I’ve provided my little angel throughout her precious four and a half years has melted to a distant memory over the relatively short 67 minutes I’ve been here, simply because daddy can’t land a tiny ring on the neck of just one bottle. Her rage is unlike any I’ve seen before, driving our little Jillian to refer to me only as, “an utter fiasco of inadequacy,” which is, on the one hand, a very surprising turn of phrase from such a young child and, on the other, the most hurtful thing I have ever been called.

I don’t know that I can blame myself, if I’m being honest. It would appear the odds are in the favor of Six Flags with this one, for had I even known that such a game existed, how would I have gone about practicing and developing the skill required to ensure my beautiful wife does not make good on her promise to “ride home to Success Town” with the next man, woman or even child who succeeds in this incredibly difficult task? To hear the sweet sound of plastic settling on glass and save myself from the pain of hearing my dear Robert plead with his mother to “unbirth” him for fear of further embarrassment.

So here’s the score, my friend: I am out $346. Fine. That’s just fine. But now, if you draw your eyes to my shirt pocket, you will see my very last $20 bill, just waiting for some grubby teenage fingers to lay claim to it. You and I both know how many Twizzlers or candy corns or whateverthehell you can buy with that kind of cash, don’t we young man? So I think we are in agreement that you will very casually take the money and you will very convincingly activate the prize alarm and you will retrieve the nicest Tweety you can find and present it to my daughter who will then kiss me on the cheek and my wife will put away the divorce papers she has begun to draft on the back of a park map and my son will unlatch himself from the leg of that man he’s begged to be his “real daddy” and return to my side.

It is essentially foolproof, my friend. But with all plans, of course, there is some room for error and in this case it resides with you and your willingness to help a desperate man to reassemble the pieces of his embarrassingly frail life. So should you begin to think you remotely understand what integrity is and choose to reject me on principle, let me stand as proof that integrity is indeed a fickle, fickle asshole. And I will not be above following you home for I now cling to the bond you and I have formed in my most desperate hour. We are family now, young man. I will shower you with all the love once reserved for those three people walking away from this booth and I will provide for you as only an H&R Block assistant manager can. I will build a ring toss in the backyard and practice, I promise! And I will fill that sweet mouth with so much ice cream that you will forget how this strange arrangement came to pass and you will just call me brother. Big brother! Oh, I’ve surprised myself! This is sounding lovely to me!

No, please! Turn off the alarm! Get this Tweety out of my face, young brother! We are family!

The All Day Breakfast Menu is Ruining Me

Yes, hi Jennilee, it’s Carl Harrison, your favorite customer. It’s nice to hear you over this drive-thru speaker once again. Look, before we get to my order, I just wanted to ask you about this new sign I’m seeing. It is advertising McDonald’s new All Day Breakfast menu. It’s my first time seeing it and, well, I guess my first question is are you fucking kidding me with this?

You’re going to have to give it to me straight, Jennilee, because if you’re serving breakfast all day long, we’ve got a legit problem on our hands. Used to be I was the only one on my co-ed volleyball team, Spikalogical Warfare, who could drag his ass out of bed early enough to secure a Sausage Biscuit with Egg. I’d roll in, casually eating my breakfast while I watched my idiot teammates cram Peanut Butter Crunch Clif Bars down their throats in between plays. They’d say, “hey, Carl, I think I’m going to get me one of those when we’re done!” And the knot of excitement would begin to twist inside my stomach as I’d get the chance to remind him, “oh, sorry man, they stop serving breakfast at 10:30am.” And I’d just watch as all hope drains from their pitiful little bodies. And they knew: this guy must have woken up at a reasonable time like a damn hero.

Or what about my dream interpretation group, Jennilee? Full of hungry looking losers who would just salivate at the sight of my Hotcakes and Sausage, wishing that they could be me. Wishing they could have the power to be grownups for once in their lives and set an alarm for a time that only has three digits in it – to make it to the drive thru window before you give them the news that they’re going to have to settle for a Quarter Pounder with Cheese. Who wants that at 10:31am? No one, that’s who. But losers take what losers can get. And toting around a Fruit ‘N Yogurt Parfait lets those jerks at the Arthurian Lore Enthusiasts of Lower Bucks County know that I’m no loser.

Sure, I GUESS I COULD just get a McGriddle. I see that’s not on your All Day Breakfast menu and therefore still subject to the 10:30am cutoff. But do you think the assholes in the Bleeding Thumb Whittling Club know the difference between a McGriddle and a McMuffin? I know the answer to that and it is no. They sure as shit do not.

I don’t know, Jennilee. Like everyone else, I’m just trying to find myself here. I don’t even know what an herbalism club is let alone why I’m in one. But to those freaks, I’m not Carl Harrison, recent divorcee and full time Lyft driver. I’m Carl Harrison, cool guy who always gets his McDonald’s breakfast and brings it places. But, you know, cool. And now that’s gone.

So what do I do now? Switch it up and get some French Toast Sticks from Burger King? Their hash browns are fucking nugget shaped. Hash brown nuggets. No one is going to respect me for those.

I don’t know. I think I’m going to have to take a break from you for a little bit, Jennilee. Figure some things out. I guess I’ll just take an Apple Pie this morning.

What do you mean I can’t get that until lunch?

Closing Arguments in the People v. Michael Wiltern

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. This one is very simple. As I believe you’ve seen over the past four weeks we’ve spent in this courtroom, this case is not about a murder. It’s not about a drug deal gone wrong or the consequences of life on the street for a man who, by his own admission, has lived on the wrong side of the law most of his life. No, as I believe you’ve seen over the past four weeks of this trial, this case is simply about one thing: a prosecution who did not do its homework. It’s about a prosecution hellbent on closing a case and rushed its investigation to point its finger at my client. It’s about a prosecution so oblivious to its own mistakes that it would drag you all into a courtroom for four whole weeks to argue a case it has no chance of winning.

Now, we’ve all made mistakes in our lives. My client, Mr. Wiltern, has already admitted to his. I’m sure Judge Caltrant has made his share, haven’t you your honor? Friends and family gathered in the viewing area, they’ve all made some mistakes. Every single one of you in the jury box has also made mistakes. And, then, of course, there are the mistakes I’ve made, which we won’t get into.

Anyway, to recap what you already know: there was no evidence that was brought up in this trial that proved beyond a reasonable doubt that it was my client who committed this crime. The prosecution relied on the sole testimony of Alex Weaver, a man with no alibi on the night of the crime and with a demonstrated grudge against the very man he would accuse on the stand. And then, of course, the prosecution shifted tactics and focused on me and my actions here in this courtroom for which I’ve already apologized and, as I said, I will not get into.

Of course, you know that the prosecution and even the judge himself then suggested I remove myself from this case as a cheap distraction from this sham of a trial. They insisted, as recently as just yesterday that I cannot possibly be sorry for what I’ve done because, in their words, it’s become clear that I have no idea that what I did was wrong.

And it is around this, the only fact provided in this case by the prosecution, that I agree. Over the past four weeks I would say that I’ve superb job in opening my heart to this jury and the fact that all 12 of you remain un-phased by my advances is just, if I’m being honest, totally fucking insane.

Did you feel nothing when you walked in two days ago and saw your juror box surrounded by candles? I bought those at Terrain. Do you know how far that is from here? It’s 43 minutes. And check it: each one of those candles costs $32. It smells like goddamn sex in here and not one of you gave me so much as a wink on your way to lunch.

And what about yesterday when not a single one of you acknowledged the little collages I created and left for you underneath each of your seats. Newsflash for those of you too selfish to understand when a man is bleeding himself out for you: each one was individualized, using the letters in your own name to spell out why I think we’d get along. Tony. T. Tremendous attention to detail, very lawyer-like! O. Obviously loving and warm. And so on. Imagine how long that took! Imagine the investigation required to find your names because the court does not make that shit easy. This is time I could have been doing other things! Like working on these closing arguments! You think I’m going to be able to look at Mr. Wiltern in the eyes after this?

And did none of you even try on the outfits I bought you, having carefully considered your body types and what I imagined what you’d want to wear on our first date? I consider myself a very good guesser when it comes to pants sizing and yet not a one of you cared to let me know how I did in that regard.

Now, I’m willing to consider that maybe you’re just confused. How could a man as handsome and successful as myself fall in love with 12 people, male, female, gay, straight and more all at the same time. 12 people who have not said a single word to him but instead just sit there, blank faced and judging. And to that I say, I have no idea! But there you all are, just seeming so goddamn interesting in your silence and I can’t stop thinking about you. Every single one of you. I want to take you all to Dorney Park show you around my rock climbing gym and read you passages from the novel I’m working on about a misunderstood lawyer who fears dying alone. I feel like you’d all love that!

And so in closing, I would like you to consider not sending a man to an emotional prison for the rest of his life. To consider the evidence and realize that yeah, maybe he’s brash and misguided but he means well and just maybe he makes a mean ziti. Because I fucking do. Thank you.