This is my third installment of facebook status updates. Below is the newest batch, listed from most recent to least. And below those are my very first updates (when I was first requested to do this, facebook was using its old format and I couldn’t go back more than two months or so to find old ones, but recently I found that I can now go all the way back to the very first status update). So this is a monster installment, including both the most recent batch and my very first batch of updates. So enjoy the batches, bitches. I am so sorry I just called you bitches.
NEWEST BATCH:
Matt is posting his third installment of status updates in a blog.
Matt can't figure out his wife's meaning when she uses quotation marks in her email telling him he forgot to take his "grapefruit" to work this morning.
Matt thinks that with all the racist nutjobs out there, Obama should wear a protective plexiglass suit at all times, making him the first American Plexident.
Matt spent $750, gained 56 pounds, lost 4 pairs of pants, and broke 11 toasters writing this status update.
Matt can imagine what a beautiful world it would be if only everyone had something they enjoyed as much as his son enjoys the Lou Reed song "Satellite of Love."
Matt has laser-like focus when it comes to pointless bullshit.
Matt is a triple threat. He has a cold, he threw his back out, and he is in a weakened state of mental health.
Matt is going to refrain from updating about the elderly, for the sake of clarity.
Matt is not reminding you ABOUT Vigoda, he reminds you OF Vigoda. He resembles Abe Vigoda. I'd like to make it clear that Abe is alive and well as far as I know.
Matt reminds you of Abe Vigoda.
Matt is looking forward to singing "Splish Splash" at the talent show now that Potsie is out of the picture. Good ol' laryngitis.
Matt believes the children are our future, but more importantly he believes the muffins are our breakfast.
Matt calls the pillow of fat beneath his chin a villanche, because Bruce Villanche has the biggest one in the world.
Matt will actually kind of miss seeing so much of Sarah Palin. She is a funny and twisted villain. Like The Joker, only with more makeup.
Matt is telling you to wait here and help yourself to a drink from the bar while he goes and slips into something a little more comfortable.
Matt can't decide if Barack Obama is the Derek Jeter of politics or Derek Jeter is the Barack Obama of baseball.
Matt was inspired to write while holding his son late last night... http://mattschwartzer.blogspot.com/.
Matt doesn't know what to read about and obsess over all day now that the election is over.
Matt thanks everyone for their birthday wishes and thanks the country for this sweet night.
Matt can hear Republicans all over the country exclaiming "D'ohbama!"
Matt is gleefully watching election results with a belly full of scotch and ice cream cake.
Matt is voting like a mofo.
Matt wants Obama for his birthday on Tuesday, and please be creative about where you put the candle.
Matt fell asleep on the train and dreamt something funny and when he woke up he realized he had been sleeping with a big creepy grin on his face like some kind of psycho.
Matt wishes that teething made babies feel extremely sleepy.
Matt assumes, based on the fact that Bon Scott's real name was Ronald Scott, that little chocolate covered ice cream balls are really called Ronald-Ronalds.
Matt assumes, based on the fact that Bon Scott's real name was Ronald Scott, that Jon Bon Jovi's real name is Jon Ronald Jovi.
Matt wonders how many eggs it would take to make enough egg salad to take an egg salad bath.
Matt wants to start a new band called Grosstradamus.
Matt is snapping his fingers to the rhythm of the snapping of his sanity.
Matt is burning the 4:45 oil.
Matt thinks that living with a year-and-a-half old boy is probably a little like living with a tiny, demented European who knows only a small amount of English.
Matt is only cheating himself.
Matt has a special purpose.
Matt is going to balance the budget with a scalpel, a cleaver, a meat axe, a fork, nunchuks, a blowtorch, a turkey baster, a hydrogen bomb, and a pooper scooper.
Matt loves the video Brian made for him more than anything else on earth.
Matt bought a broken clock, which officially makes him a clocksucker.
Matt is stapling two pancakes together.
Matt is what every man would like to be, and what every woman would like between her sheets. It's either Matt or James Bond. I forget which.
Matt had PCP with his wife and son last night. PCP of course stands for Popcorn & Cookie Party.
Matt apologizes to his son for not differentiating between pajamas and regular clothes.
Matt craps nickels.
Matt wants to be the guy that installs the little cellophane windows on pasta boxes when he grows up.
Matt is changing his name to Bamack Obaschwartzer.
Matt is sick of Nana and Pop-Pop's bullshit.
Matt is a self-loathing American.
Matt is Columbusing it up.
Matt is trying to think of uses for a handbasket other than traveling to Hell.
Matt had fancy mustache / but can't go out lookin like that (Oh no not like that) / So he shave fancy mustache / Oh yeah naked upper lip where it be at.
Matt would like to buy a vowel. He'll take a Sometimes Y please.
Matt is scraping and smoking the residue of hatred.
Matt refuses to type "sarsgaard".
Matt wants to know, if McCain wins, would you like to go out looting with him? (Matt, not McCain, although if McCain wants to loot too you can't really blame him).
Matt thanks God that toddlers' bones seem to have the same properties as rubber, and is oddly proud of his son for diving out of his crib.
Matt is atoning while his Sabbath Goy updates his status for him.
Matt recommends that buxom women eat a lot of limes, because you can't spell scurvy without curvy.
Matt is pretty sure this internet fad will end any day now, and the new craze will be glow in the dark hockey puck cufflinks.
Matt invented a new hand sign. Give a peace sign backward so knuckles face out, then curl the pointer, leaving only the middle finger up. It is a fuck you for peace.
Matt is winding down from jamming all evening with Brooklyn's best sixteen-month-old harmonica player.
Matt is suspicious of anyone that claims to be selling a "real" lightsaber on ebay.
Matt is sewing big cursive L's onto all your sweaters, Laverne.
Matt hates low expectations. But maybe she'll throw up on the lectern or something.
Matt would rather just see Torre and Piniella thumb-wrestle for it.
Matt attributes his good mood today solely to the maracas that come in halfway through AC/DC's "Problem Child".
Matt is going to make this year the Jewishest of them all. L'shanah tovah!
Matt has that goddamn Elmo song carved permanently into his mind now & estimates that 70% of mental patients sing it while picking imaginary insects off their skin.
Matt is just so darn disappointed in NY baseball. But as TMBG say, "If it weren't for disappointments, I wouldn't have any appointments."
Matt was creeped out by the fat old bearded guy outside the Steve Earle show that touched his arm and asked him, "Are you alone?"
Matt will miss the debate in order to catch the Steve Earle show, but the show is at Judson Church so God will probably tell him who to vote for.
Matt must have tried singing three dozen other songs tonight before the kid finally fell asleep to The Safety Dance.
Matt has a huge lead in the polls.
Matt is planning a surprise party for you, so act surprised.
Matt blames the Cleveland Indians.
Matt is eating the boy's crackers.
Matt hates when he occasionally forgets to swipe his metrocard going into the subway, because he feels embarrassed when he bumps his crotch into the turnstile.
Matt is never sure how warmly to dress this time of year and always gets it wrong. Weather is stupid.
Matt considers Josh Groban the whitest guy ever.
Matt hopes he doesn't come home to Ernie lying in a puddle of blood again. Ok, it was juice, but the way Ernie was sprawled on the floor, it sure looked like blood.
Matt would just fill the old Yankee Stadium with cement and call it The Monolithic Concrete Slab of the South Bronx, if he was in charge.
Matt don't need no education, but actually he could use a little thought control.
Matt thinks all people named Ronald should be called Bon.
Matt ate abstract dogfood for hunan human melting pie.
Matt is grateful to have just been reminded that he still loves the Beatles in an almost religious way.
Matt is transforming himself into the Jewish Alec Baldwin.
Matt believes that any TV show that isn't extremely violent and/or erotic should be cancelled and replaced with a show that is extremely violent and/or erotic.
Matt will scoot over for just about anyone. He might even pat the seat before you sit down.
Matt hates that bad salad bar.
Matt is starting an ad agency where the office will be run exactly like the office on the show Mad Men, and he's currently hiring secretaries.
Matt couldn't find a bathroom so he shit in a shoebox. Would you like to buy a pair of shoes? No looksies...
Matt is going to sleep. See, I'm secure enough that I don't always need to be funny in my status update. Wait, shit... this is turning out to be a little funny.
Matt is doing research for his self-help book entitled "The Lazy Nihilist's Guide to Diet and Exercise."
Matt thinks that "Dumped many boxes of crackers on the carpeting and rubbed them in" might look pretty good on a college resume.
Matt wishes Richard Wright a great gig in the sky.
Matt is a 35 year old white male trapped in the body of a slightly less attractive 35 year old white male.
Matt is psyched to party like it's 2999 when he's 1,027. From heaven or whatever.
Matt is tempting fate with a bag of doughnuts and a bottle of vodka. Fate loves doughnuts and vodka.
Matt wonders if Tina Turner is especially scared of Hurricane Ike. That joke must have been used a thousand times already by others, but Matt just thought of it.
Matt is relieved that the words "a kiss" were at the end of the sentence that his wife started with "Today our son blew this big biker dude..."
Matt is psyched that one of his son's favorite new games is "Stuff Cookies into Daddy's Mouth."
Matt thinks Obama should have said, "You can put lipstick on a Republican, but it's still a fucking idiot."
Matt can't understand why Republicans are outraged. Obama was obviously talking about Miss Piggy, and everyone knows that all muppets are Democrats.
Matt likes pizza better than he likes you. Wait, you're not a bagel with cream cheese, are you?
Matt knocked out his George Foreman grill with one punch.
OLDEST BATCH:
Matt matt bo-bat banana-fana fo-fat me my mo matt matt. Matt.
Matt thanks the good lord for coffee. And band-aids.
Matt wants Windmill Willie back coaching third base in the Bronx now.
Matt is the Edvard Munch of whitewater rafting.
Matt is back from Newport, where he butchered the guitar solo on The Commodores' "Easy." Did Thomas McClary have to deal with sticky hands in humidity? Easy my ass.
Matt would be happy to give you a free haircut, but cannot be held responsible for the results.
Matt is doing the mashed potato, but he ain't talking about the dance.
Matt is only human. The only human that is infallible.
Matt is Barack in the saddle again. Obamalamadingdong.
Matt will become "functionally extinct" within decades at the current rate of global warming.
Matt will see you in hell. Or court. Whichever comes first.
Matt thinks it should have been called Indiana Jones and the Sharp Decline of Steven Spielberg.
Matt is going to move his car every Wednesday and Thursday night, even though alternate side parking has been suspended in his neighborhood, just to spite the man.
Matt fears that he has offended a slightly dim Lord Almighty with his last irreverent status update. And it wasn't even funny enough to risk his dumb-ass wrath.
Matt is convinced that there is indeed a God, but that He is not very bright.
Matt highly recommends hating people that highly recommend the Jalapeno Poppers from Arby's.
Matt hates people that hate wet jeans.
Matt hates people that hate couscous.
Matt will bring the bean dip to Brian's retirement party.
Matt is addicted to pony rides.
Matt is eating the 7,984,267th bagel of his life.
Matt is concerned that his status updates are getting too broad.
Matt is: "punctuating," (wildly?!?)
Matt is channeling all his energy into the tip of his finger and flicking a cotton ball through a plate glass window.
Matt counts his chickens before they hatch, puts the cart before the horse, and fills Stalin's socks with duck sauce. Wait, that last one may not be a real saying.
Matt dedicates this status update to his cyber-stalker, and you know who you are.
Matt knows you better than you know yourself.
Matt ironed man.
Matt smells like peanut butter, and rightly so.
Matt can't remember names and always forgets a face.
Matt knows that everyone knows nothing about anything and knows it.
Matt is shaking hands with Abraham Lincoln, if you know what he means.
Matt thinks that Paul Simon is looking more and more like Mel Brooks as Yogurt.
Matt is a little nauseous from the realization that he has gone 17 years between Paul Simon concerts.
Matt is creating junk for future extra-terrestrials to find, just like everyone else.
Matt will absolve your sins for the low low price of $79.95. Act now!
Matt is doing some things on purpose, and other things by accident.
Matt forgot to bring his comfy pants.
Matt is inventing tongs. Tongs haven't been invented yet, right?
Matt is tasting the sad, Michael.
Matt is starting with the man in the mirror. And by starting, I mean picking a fight.
Matt is arguing about his status update.
Matt is shaving his head for Spring.
Matt is bringing back the headband.
Matt is trying not to curse around his son, but it's not working out very well.
Matt got here the same way the coin did.
Matt won't do anything you wouldn't do.
Matt is making love out of nothing at all.
Matt is updating his status.
Matt is melting down his fillings and sculpting a teeny tiny bust of Henry Miller.
Matt puts out.
Matt is taking in his mumu.
Matt is ruling the universe from his armchair in hell.
Matt is drowning in a sea of delicious rice pudding.
Matt has got two eyes, one, two. They're both the same size, one, two. He's got two eyes, and they're both the same size.
Matt is overjoyed that he managed to stay off the Mitchell Report.
Matt is rubbing blueberry pie on his chest.
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