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Published May 07, 2009 More Info »
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Published May 07, 2009
For those of you not familiar with the East Coast, and to be more specific, New England, massholes are assholes from the state of Massachusetts. And since 87.2% of the people living in Massachusetts are assholes, you're looking at an awful lot of massholes. And for the record, the term "mass wipe" is also an acceptable substitute.

I know a lot about massholes because I was born and raised in Maine, and several of my roommates at Syracuse University were from Massachusetts. And unfortunately, there are many, many, many massholes here in Los Angeles. They've even established their own masshole bar called Sonny McLean's in Santa Monica. But it's nothing like the warm and inviting bar on Cheers where everyone knew your name. Go there wearing a Yankees shirt and you'll see what I'm talking about.

Here are examples of a few massholes I've crossed paths with over the years. First up is Tim Conroy. Despicable masshole. He blackmailed his wife into marrying him.





Next is Dave Guthro. Don't let his charm fool you. He is a textbook masshole.






This is John Fulton. This photo was taken seconds before John sucker-punched the Korean kid behind him.





This jolly looking fellow is John Patrick Pullen. When this masshole isn't taking your lunch money, he can usually be found, well, eating lunch.






At five feet, Joe Morganella may look harmless, but he is a vicious masshole and he will kill you if he gets the chance.






I would like to focus today's blog on another masshole. My friend Anthony Cucinotta, better known as Cooch. He's the guy on the left with the big smile.




Cooch is from the town of Natick, Massachusetts, which I believe to be the masshole center of the universe. Cooch was great. I loved him. We'd get stoned and play Mario Kart, or get stoned and watch Simpsons, or get stoned and make up weird cabinet positions for the President. And he was a very intelligent person, too. He once surmised that if the movie Firestorm had starred Tom Hanks instead of Howie Long, it would have been a respected movie. And he was right. Tom Hanks would have won an Oscar for his portrayal of Jesse Graves, a smoke jumper fighting both a fierce forest fire, and a gang of escaped convicts on the run at the same time.



The only thing that sucked about Cooch was that every couple of months his high school masshole buddies from Natick would take a road trip to Syracuse so they could visit him and wreak havoc on everything else in their path.

Preparing for Natick was like preparing for a tornado. You'd have to board up all the doors and windows and stock enough food, water, and batteries so you'd never have to leave your bedroom the entire weekend. And when Natick left, there'd be missing furniture, holes in the roof, and plates of spaghetti smashed against the walls -- even though no one had eaten any spaghetti whatsoever.

One time the house was in such shambles, Anderson Cooper covered the destruction live from a motor boat in the middle of the street.


Six of them would come to visit at a time, and the roster usually consisted of the following:

Daigan, Cooch's best friend who's high school girlfriend also attended Syracuse.

Brenneman, the biggest asshole of the bunch, which is ironic since he works with retarded kids for a living.

Sullivan, the only likable one in the group, probably because his favorite activities were smoking pot and getting hand jobs at Asian massage parlors.

Q, a gigantic tub of lard with an enormous shit eating grin and enough chins to support it.

Chi, a mute Chinese kid who Natick took under their wings when he came to America in the sixth grade. 

And all of Natick was under the leadership of Eagan, a stocky guy with squinty eyes who told everyone what to do.

The only way to describe them is by calling them sociopaths. They took utter delight in the pain, torturing, and suffering of other people. One poor soul is Arn Albertini, who took the brunt of Natick's abuse the longest, since he was roommates with Cooch since freshman year.



Natick would force Arn to run down two flights of stairs, in order to build enough momentum, to make it easier for them when they threw him into an old mattress set up against the wall. Another time, they locked Arn outside of our house in the dead of winter, in nothing but his underwear, so they could laugh as he ran around the house like a scared animal. Actually, now that I think about it, we did that to Arn, but it's mean enough to be something that Natick did, so I'm adding it to their list.

Natick would also do this little trick called a "flip-moding bed." They'd sneak into your room in the middle of the night and flip your bed so you would go flying up in the air and land on the ground with a thud. The only evidence that they had been in your room was the patter of their feet as they ran away giggling like a bunch of gremlins. I remember laying awake in fear as they ran around the house trying to get into our rooms. Fortunately, I had a lock on my door and I was never a victim of the flip-moding bed. My roommates Tom Marczak and Andy Hirsh weren't as lucky.

I think my favorite Natick moment occurred when I was on my front porch one evening with Sullivan, the nice masshole in the group. Sullivan got into a yelling match with a Syracuse student walking by our house. A second student walked by, overheard the argument, and sided with Sullivan. At that point, Sullivan took a 16 ounce beer can that he just opened, and winged at the second student -- who agreed with him, mind you -- and hit him dead center in the chest, knocking his wind out. God, that was actually really funny.

Seen here are Daigan, Q, Sullivan, Cooch, and Brenneman. New to the group is Ray Ray, a young, hip, black masshole who has the ability to start fires like Drew Barrymore in the Stephen King movie Firestarter.



Chi joins the fun in this photo:



Missing from the photos is Natick's leader, Eagan -- not because he doesn't want the authorities to know what he looks like, but because he is so evil that his image cannot be captured on film, much like how a vampire cannot see its reflection in a mirror.

I don't really talk to Cooch that much anymore. We occasionally chat on facebook, but that's about it. But if you're out there reading this, Cooch, I just want you to know that you're welcome to crash at my place if you ever visit Los Angeles -- you know, just as long as Natick doesn't come with you.
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