Wednesday, March 31, 2004


Who was the first punk rocker or hippy activist who came up with the expression "Words Are Weapons"? Because if you're going to make such a claim you should at least follow it up with the admission that guns and bombs and missiles and crossbows and baseball bats and pool cues and brass knuckles and tazers and knives and swords are way better weapons. And that actually words aren't weapons. At all.

Corpinderot Cassèndel Headinglingel of the Dakken

I would like to thank Sigur Ròs for sponsoring my day pass to Salon Premium.

Blandër offenplinkel, Sigur Ròs, blandër offenplinkel very mucheondel.

Without yû, we wouldn't be able to present the Corpinderot Cassèndel Headinglingel of the Dakken:

"Man Allegedly Tries to Buy Vote With Beer"
(taken from salondingofen.comme)

"March 30, 2004 | LUDLOW, Ky. (AP) -- Police have charged a northern Kentucky man with trying to buy a vote with a 12-pack of beer."

Okay, you are thinking, was this northern Kentucky man running for mayor, or perhaps city council? What did he have to gain?

"Edward Lucas offered the beer to an 18-year-old student at Ludlow High School in exchange for a no vote on a proposed nickel increase in school property taxes, Ludlow police officer James Tucker said in an affidavit."

A nickel increase? I'm pretty sure that a twelve pack of beer in the face of this legislation is worth about 240 votes, at least, if it's domestic. God only knows how many votes a twelve pack of Guinness could buy! Also, the article does not clarify whether the man is being charged with the corruption of the democratic process or offering to buy beer for a minor, but for the record who cares.

Nevertheless, we are offered a glimpse of a man who by normal, mortal standards, could only be considered a genius. Observe his defense:

"'I don't know the boy, and that's not exactly what was said,' Lucas said. 'I said, "I hope it doesn't go through and if it doesn't, I'm going to have a big beer party."'"

What is a big beer party? I mean, I can imagine, but has anyone actually said "I am going to throw a big beer party"? And also, I like how he doesn't know the boy, and obviously he would only use a twelve pack to buy the vote of a boy that he does know, but incidentally he would like to clarify what it was that he said to the boy that he doesn't know.

Finally, just so that we really understand what we are talking about here:

"The tax increase was on the ballot Tuesday. It would generate about $75,000 a year for school construction projects."

I think we can all agree pretty unequivocally that this is a ballot proposition that should be defeated by any means necessary, because fuck school construction and fuck you, and if we can get drunk in the process then God Bless Fucking America.

Corpinderot Cassèndel Headinglingel of the Dakken Runïr Up:

"Starbucks Unveils Aggressive Growth Plan"
(taken from

A Brief Description of the Physiological Effects of Caffeine on the Young American Male

7:00 AM
Subject #3116 awakes. Although all he did the night before was watch an episode of Band of Brothers, warm up some leftovers, drink a Pabst Blue Ribbon award-winning beer, and rub one out before bed, he feels like "shit"**.

7:03 AM
Subject #3116 brushes his teeth with his Braun electric toothbrush, recommended by dentists and orthodontists across the Western Hemisphere. As he attends to his dental hygiene, Subject #3116 envisions the nap he plans to take upon his return from the office, and considers how important it will be for him to get to bed early for once.

7:11 AM
As Subject #3116 towels off after his shower, he smells the Columbian coffee brewing in the kitchen adjacent.

7:15 AM
Subject #3116 finishes his first cup of coffee while enjoying The Howard Stern Show on a local radio station that has chosen to carry the legendary "shock jock"**'s program despite FCC condemnation of what they consider to be inappropriate material. Subject #3116 tries to remember which episode of The Gilmore Girls he will resume reading on Subject #3116 contemplates taking a quick cat nap in the butterfly chair before leaving for work, decides against it.

7:24 AM
Subject #3116 finishes his cereal, makes a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for if he gets hungry in the afternoon as he often does because he is a giant fat cow. He pours his second cup of coffee and puts a warm Pabst Blue Ribbon award-winning beer in the fridge to replace the cold one he drank the night before. He remembers this beer and thinks maybe it wasn't so bad after all. Who needs a cat nap in the butterfly chair when Tim Robbins is going to be on The Howard Stern Show after these advertisements for Nissan and Ephedra-free dietary supplements? Tim Robbins is an Academy Award winner after all!

7:52 AM
Subject #3116 puts on his jacket. He drains the last of his third cup of coffee and wonders where he and McCullen will get "fucking trashed"** tonight, he is up for anything.

**We felt, as researchers, that it was important to use some of the "lingo" that Subject #3116 uses in his daily speech patterns in order to get a better understanding of the cultural framework within which the caffeine was operating.

Tuesday, March 30, 2004

Single Handedly Doing The Work Clear Channel Refuses To Do

This morning on Howard Stern this guy called in and talked about his love for call girls and he was saying that he is very turned on by their pleasure and that he really tries to treat them like human beings. Dude, that's what wives are for. If you are renting a hotel room by the quarter hour, chances are there is very little that is "human" about your relationship. Then Howard asked if he used a dental dam or some saran wrap when he was making sure these "humans" were satisfied and the guy insisted that it was very difficult to get AIDS from oral sex. "But you could get the mouth herps," Howard reminded him. "Howard, you cannot live your life in a bubble," the man replied.

Also, Howard Stern mentioned this morning. Do you remember this awesome comedy website from when we were froshes in college, back in 1962. What wonders is he going to discover next? Google?

In more Howard Stern news, he indicated that the reason Beyonce doesn't have to lipsynch during her shows the way Britney does is because she is black. So then this guy calls in and does a fake black accent asking how Howard could say such a thing and Howard said "okay, well, first of all, you're white," and the guy got real quiet and said "I know."

Radio! What an invention!

Monday, March 29, 2004

A Confession, or an Invitation?

When you walked to your car on Sunday morning did you see seven bottles of Woodchuck Cider and Mike's Hard Fruit Punch on the back seat that you had stolen from a party the night before, or was that me?

Ladies: I have seven bottles of Woodchuck Cider and Mike's Hard Fruit Punch with which to get you drunk and impair your ability to make good decisions.


I know that some of the people who read this diary live in Los Angeles, so I was hoping you could help me pitch my script to some Hollywood Fat Cats.

Okay, we open on an inner city housing project. Some drug dealers are watching their plasma screen tv from their black leather couch, shouting at the screen and pointing their guns at it on occasion. There is a knock at the door. They scramble to hide paraphernalia and keep asking each other who it is and whether one of them invited somebody over. Before they can get the giant mounds of cocaine off the coffee table the door breaks in and police come rushing through. The thugs are overwhelmed, and it looks like the cops have made a clean bust. They start hauling the guys out, but just as one of the cops, Thomas Jackson, is leading his collar out the door a thug bursts out of a closet and shoots him in the back of the head. Thomas Jackson's body falls to the floor in slow motion and the shooter escapes through a window. We start with an overhead shot of Thomas Jackson lying in a pool of his own blood. Then, slowly, his spirit rises from the floor and straightens the badge on his chest and pulls down the sleeves of his uniform. Thomas Jackson is GHOST COP!

Who do I have to blow to get this on their desk?

Discovery! YAY!

One Simple Step For Destroying Your Life:

1. Buy The Sims For Playstation 2 At Best Buy Because It Is On Sale For $15. It Will Be The Worst Thing You Ever Do.

I know that I am two years late in saying this, but what the fuck is up with this game? There are flies circling the toilet, I live with my mother who told me this morning "sleep on the couch, we don't get along well enough right now to sleep in the same bed," I have gray hair and a pony tail, I'm not ready to get a job, and at one point, out of nowhere, I stood in the middle of the living room eating my dinner and then put the plate on the floor. And yet, somehow, this life is more interesting than my real life?

Hold on, I have to go cry in the bathroom.

Friday, March 26, 2004

Media News

Did you know that they released Mad About You on dvd?

You might think that this was going too far, but rest assured they only printed one copy, for Paul Reiser. Even Helen Hunt didn't want that shit.

I Demand To Be Elected President of Supergreat Families Forever in America the Greatest Country in the World

On the radio yesterday, I heard this guy from Supergreat Families Forever in America the Greatest Country in the World, or some similarly named political action group, and he was saying that gay marriage was sick and wrong and also, incidentally, illegal and going to destroy the world. Fine. We all know and agree with that. But then he also said "I believe there is some statistical analysis that proves that a child does better when raised by his biological mother and father."

I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that being president of SFFAGCW is not that hard of a job, because basically you are just waking up every day, having two cups of strong coffee, then blowing shit out of your ass and calling it fact. BUT, I also think that one of the most important tasks in your role as president would be finding any kind of statistical evidence, no matter how flawed or felonious or flat-out made up, to back up your argument that as soon as gays legally marry, crack will become legal, everyone will be dead, God will pee on us for sinning so hard, and none of our puppies will get into heaven. All you have to do is find some morally certain doctor to pack black people's skulls with coffee beans and white people's skulls with sand to show that white people are smarter and gays are choosing a life style that is decadent and depraved. So, now, let's go back to what the President of SFFAGCW actually said: "I believe there is some statistical analysis that proves that a child does better when raised by his biological mother and father." In all of his hard work deleting porn from his hard drive before his wife got home from bible study, he has yet to find an actual statistical analysis that proves a point he believes to be true. That is his only job, to find people to back up his beliefs, and he cannot do it. As it so happens, I believe that there is statistical evidence that proves that Christians base much of their daily behavior on the dictates of a celebrity diet plan rather than the teachings of the bible, but because I am not paid to sit around and dig up numbers it doesn't matter what I believe.

This guy should be fired. It is time that we had someone fighting for the rights of families to discriminate against fags with hard data behind us. It is time we found someone who knew how to use the internet to eliminate margins of error and select predetermined "focus groups" to prove our point once and for all that if you are doomed to an eternity in hell then your earthly union cannot be joined in heaven.

Celebrity Rumor Mill

Tom Cruise and Penelope Cruz have ended their three year relationship.

They are on amicable terms, and remain good friends, according to Ms. Cruz' publicist.

Tom Cruise is a giant Mo, according to me.

Nicole Kidman cried herself to sleep once more last night, muttering "who's the fairest of them all?" over and over to the darkness that engulfed her, according to the darkness that engulfed her.


President George W. Bush refers to in utero babies as "life at its most vulnerable."

Which really begs the question, Mr. President: at what other point in life does one LIVE INSIDE A HUMAN SHIELD?

And, honestly, don't we all face the skull-clamps of The Big Abortion In The Sky when all is said and done? What makes these fuckers so special that they cannot be killed?

Thursday, March 25, 2004

A Message to the College Guy With the Jewfro Riding a Razor Scooter Downtown


A Joke About Sigmund Fraud

Freud walks into a bar and orders a Tom Collins and the bartender says "I'm sorry, we're out of that type of dick," and Freud says "Aha, that is a classic slip named after me, it is called a Freudian slip! But I believe you meant to say "drink" my good friend." And the bartender looks at him all funny and is like "No, I meant dick, Tom is the guy who dances in the cage here on Thursdays. You know that, you come every week." And then Freud says "Aha, come, layers upon layers of meaning," and the bartender kicks his cocaine-addled Austrian ass out into the cobble-stoned streets.

Act I

I am like the Jewish Woody Allen, using my neuroses and social insecurity to spin funny gold.

I was listening to Overnight Celebrity this morning, and just as Twista said, "still sexy when you smoke that flame, jerkin' like a chicken when you throw that thang," that's when I noticed my mentally retarded lover had boarded the bus. She was wearing a green watchcap and a white 80s coat with rouched shoulders, and when Twista got to the part where he says, "and I love it when I hit it from tha back and you get on top of me and have a brotha goin 'oh, oh'" that is when I nearly busted a nut on the fat bus. Then I made a joke about a homunculus and decided to leave my therapist.

Did anyone see the photograph in today's New York Times of the Palestinian suicide bomber who was disarmed before he could detonate the explosives strapped to his chest and think the same thing that I thought: he is wearing such nice, form-fitting jeans, where do you think I could get some? Then did you decide that your relationship just wasn't working out, and that Gogol had it all wrong when he said, "It is of no use to blame the looking glass if your face is awry." That, indeed, in your case, it is the looking glass' fault, or at least the fault of the guy at the deli who's trimming your corned beef too fatty?


Wednesday, March 24, 2004

Corporate Casual TO THE MAX!

Today, I am wearing my shirt UNTUCKED FROM MY PANTS.

This place is about to get a whole lot crazier.

My boss'll be all like "You aren't dressed professionally," and I'll be all like "YOU aren't dressed professionally," and she'll be all like "tuck your shirt in," and I'll be all like "tuck YOUR shirt in," and she'll be all like "you're fired," and I'll be all like "YOU'RE fired."

Wicked. Awesome.

If You Think You're Hot, Baby Show Me What You Got

There used to be a time when we weren't all old and fabulously wealthy when we gave each other mix-tapes. This was a very long time ago, when there was no such thing as an 'e-vite' and people thought "I want a drink," rather than "I need a drink."

I was thinking about mix-tapes this morning, and how almost every time someone made Brother Russia a tape they put Portastatic's When You Crashed on it, and how Grace Gone Wild** always got tapes with TM's Psychic Hearts. Both of these songs have sort of strange, rather negative messages. Brother Russia's song basically says that you deserve to crash and burn, so now that you have crashed and burned everyone is rather happy about it because it was your fault just like we told you ha ha. Grace Gone Wild's song says it's not your fault that you are so fucked up and neurotic, but what you really need now is a man like me with a car like mine to set your fucking life right.

I was trying to figure out what was My Song, the song that everyone felt like putting on a tape for me so that I would finally "get it". The closest I could think of was Cat Power's Taking People, which I think people just thought was funny because I took photography classes in college. But really what I spent most of my time wondering was whether other people had a song that kept cropping up, because I have to imagine that they did. What was your song? Probably Toad The Wet Sprocket's Walk on the Ocean or Tori Amos' Cornflake Girl if my opinion of the people who read my diary is correct.

**Sorry, Glitter Star, but I am developing some new nicknames for you, because I never really liked Glitter Star to begin with, and it is also ONE HUNDRED MILLION YEARS OLD. I'm not sold on Grace Gone Wild, but it is at least a minor improvement because it reminds me of boobs.**

Tuesday, March 23, 2004

One Day I Hope to Work in a Place Where There Is At Least One Person Who Isn't Retarded

Facilities people have been doing work in this office for over a month. They are, in fact, doing work right now. And they have a radio that is squawking. So one lady says "Oh, they're doing work over here, it sounded like a bird or something," and then the office manager says "or a robot dog."

A robot dog!

Are YOU Ready for the Quest?

I have been handed a CD-ROM to check out. I've inserted into my computer's tape deck but it can only process up to one simultaneous operation, so it is going to take me awhile.

While we wait, I thought I would read to you from the back so that you have a good understanding of what kind of fantastical computer-age adventures we are about to embark upon:

CYRUS has chosen YOU to help him battle a team of asthma villains who are trying to convince kids that asthma can't be managed.

Throughout the game, CYRUS teaches you when and how to use different medications, how asthma affects the lungs, and how to talk to your friends about asthma.

You'll need this knowledge in order to outsmart the villains...and win back the pieces of the code.

This ain't your daddy's Oregon Trail.


1) "Trying to convince kids that asthma can't be managed"? What? First of all, from the graphic on the back it looks like I can fit inside of your esophagus, so I'm not sure how I'm going to be able to battle anything other than a mis-swallowed tic tac. Nevertheless, I have never even heard of kids considering how to "manage" anything, that's what moms are for. It seems totally conceivable to me that one of these asthma villains would be like Hey, Kid, you're never going to get that asthma under control, and the kid'll be all like I think you meant to talk to my mom, Dude, I'm going over to Roach's house to play X-Box.

2) "Teaches to talk to your friends about asthma"? Huh? Guess what! Asthma isn't a fucking v.d. It's not like people have some kind of asthma shame, or just don't know how to bring it up in mixed company without offending someone. As soon as that inhaler comes out of your jeans pocket I think the conversation is pretty much over.

I shit you not: the following celebrities donated their "talent" to this CD-ROM (those in ALL CAPS are my FAVORITES): Glenn Close, Minnie Driver, FUNKMASTER FLEX, Whoopi Goldberg, Jeff Goldblum, Cuba Gooding Jr., Kelsey Grammer, Shaquille O'Neal, Gwyneth Paltrow, Diane Sawyer, GENERAL H. NORMAN SCHWARZKOPF.

This is going to be the best asthma based video game EVER!

Oh, wait, the scribe who lives inside of my computer just finished inking out a scroll of parchment saying that we are ready to play!

WARNING: On the back there is a disclaimer that reads "FREE COPY FOR CHILDREN WITH ASTHMA. NOT TO BE SOLD." Which, a) I think that we should raise awareness in all children, since apparently asthma is so taboo and difficult to speak of in public, but b) NO ONE WOULD EVER BUY THIS FUCKING GAME YOU FUCKING IDIOTS. I'm so sure, like any child has ever purchased anything that involved fighting asthma villains and General H. Norman Schwartzkopf with the two dollars a month he/she gets for making his/her bed.

I Work (Way Too) Hard For My Money

Earlier today, I was thinking that I'd never worked somewhere that put me in such a bad mood so quickly, until I remembered that every job I ever had did that.

I'm REALLY looking forward to the office potluck today. It's always awesome to spend an hour with people that you hate, listening to them laugh at everything that everyone says because there's no other way to deal with such intense uncomfortability. My hope is that someone will either talk about their pets, or a funny gift they got one time.

Yesterday, Shaft's Cousin called and asked me to come downstairs and help him load stuff into his "van" and then he pulled up in his "car". Is this a black thing I don't know about?

Oh, I've got to go, I just heard someone in the conference room squeal "I brought Onion Dip!!!!" followed by raucous laughter and the sound of me cocking a gun and pressing it firmly to my temple.

Update: Pets AND Funny Gifts?!!

SURPRISE! The main topic of conversation during the potluck was, delightfully, funny times that household pets had either jumped on or eaten part of a birthday cake! YAY!

Travel Mugs and Retards

I was feeling kind of weird this morning when I woke up and I decided that it was because of my dream, but I couldn't remember what my dream was about, and then just as I got off the fat bus I remembered that at some point in the dream I was in the mall with my mom and my brother and we were shopping for gifts and my mom found this travel mug and was all Hey, check this out, it's exactly like the travel mug that Charlie Rose uses and then my brother was all Sweet! They bought, like, a hundred travel mugs. But that couldn't have been what made me feel weird, because that's just stupid.

Also, there was a retarded girl on the fat bus this morning, and she was listening to a discman and wearing aviator sunglasses and every once in awhile she would snap her fingers or do this weird wavy thing with her hand in front of her face. It was the first time I have ever fallen in love with a retarded girl, and, frankly, I hope it will be the last, because that is the most doomed relationship since Hugh Grant picked up that black transvestite on Hollywood Boulevard.

Monday, March 22, 2004

Ringu vs. Ragu

Ringu: An accursed videotape, created in the spirit realm by the tormented soul of a young girl who was murdered by her father, and now circulating in our world, damning those who watch it to die a horrific death exactly seven days later unless they make a copy and perpetuate the evil.
Ragu: Sauce.

Ringu: Terrifying.
Ragu: Terrifyingly Delicious.

Ringu: A pop-culture phenomenon, breaking box-office and attendance records in Japan, as well as gaining underground status in the United States before Dreamworks Studios remade it as "The Ring" in 2002.
Ragu: Used on pasta. Very similar to other well known pasta sauces, such as Prego.

Ringu: No official site listed.

Oh, that's sarcasm. That is awesome.

I don't know very many things, but I do know, now, that Dawn of the Dead is not a good movie to see.

Here are some things that I would like to ask the walking-alive hiding out in Crossroads Mall:

1) When you were first scoping out the mall for zombies, and one of you went into a sporting goods store and traded in a crowbar for a croquet mallet, um, what the fuck was that all about? Was it all, like, Sweet, dude, I'll be like fucking Casy Jones from TMNT or what? Because as far as I can remember from my high school science classes, iron is way stronger than wood. Later, when there was a zombie eating a guy in the breakroom and then he attacked you, the mallet broke right away, which I think in hindsight you will admit would not have been a problem with the crowbar. Lucky for you, you had the wherewithall to shove the broken shaft of wood up through the zombie's chin and through the top of his skull because YOU ARE SO FUCKING STRONG IT IS IMPOSSIBLE!

2) Did you really think that the fat lady who was brought in in a fucking wheelbarrow, bleeding from her mouth, missing half her arm, and moaning was NOT going to turn into a zombie? Because when she turned into a zombie you seemed surprised.

3) Where did Ving Rhames learn how to play chess?

4) How come no one seemed to be bothered when Mekhi Phifer sequestered his pregnant Russian wife in Cuddlebumpers nursery supply store and covered the windows with a sheet and was always really evasive when anyone asked about her and just said "she's fine" with a sullen look on his face? Because then, later, when she does turn into a zombie, and then her baby is born and it's a zombie baby, I, who as-of-yet have no real experience with zombies, saw it coming a mile away, whereas the rest of you seemed taken totally unawares. It just seemed like you guys had encountered a lot of zombies already, so this one should have been at least a blip on your radar. It was sweet, though, when you shot the baby zombie in the head to destroy it.

5) When you went into the parking garage and got attacked by a shitload of fucking zombies and one of you got eaten and then you set them on fire, I could understand. But later, you went back to the same parking garage to work on "reinforcing" a commuter bus and there weren't any zombies to speak of. Do you have any idea where these zombies went? Because if I remember correctly there were "several hundred thousand cannibal zombies" waiting outside, according to Ving Rhames. Is it the innate respect that zombies hold for manual labor?

6) When you "reinforce" a commuter bus with aluminum siding and razor wire and then you throw a propane tank into a crowd of raging zombies and shoot it with a shotgun, causing a 1-megaton explosion that engulfs your "reinforced" commuter bus in flame, normally the windshield would shatter from the heat and also your bus would explode, which makes me think that you were using something besides aluminum siding and razor wire. What was it? And don't say the snow plow that you attached to the front for smashing into zombies, that wouldn't defend against fire.

7) This question is specifically for Sarah Polley: how come every time it was clearly determined that someone had been bitten and would therefore become a zombie within a matter of minutes your first response was always "no, let's just wait"? They always turned into a zombie and attacked you pretty much right away, so you'd think that after this happened a bunch of times you would get it. Does it have something to do with the fact that you were a registered nurse? I still think you're an idiot.

Thanks for taking the time to answer my ques--LOOK OUT BEHIND YOU! Just kidding. LOOK OUT! Ha ha.
Highlights From This Weekend:

Thursday, March 18, 2004

When You Wear Marithé François Girbaud, And The Hoes They Wanna Fuck

I remember very distinctly on more than one occasion watching the artist formerly known as Prince and now also known as Prince, again, because it was presumptuous and obnoxious to try to get everyone to remember a symbol's video for Get Off with one sweaty hand on the remote unless mom or grandma came into the room, at which point I would be watching Reading Rainbow or something. But now, imagine if there was a button on the remote that you could hit and it would switch immediately to a very toned down version of the Get Off video? Because, honestly, just like when I'm looking at porn at work, although Lambchop might not know exactly what horse-fisting site I'm looking at, she definitely knows I'm not working on spreadsheets or grant writing. Your parents are stupid, but they also know that you masturbate all the time and they aren't sure what's up with all that Anime you look at, but they don't think it's good. This way, with the magic button on the remote, there would be no discord between the sitars they heard behind the door and the magic of reading they see when they walk in. "Hey mom, it's just Prince's wholesome new "Get Off the Bus" video!" That's great, son, I love you so much, and appreciate the honest and open relationship that we enjoy.

What got me thinking on this subject was that many rap stars have basically achieved this effect through what they call a "radio edit." Now, suburban white children can listen to "gangster rap" in the car with "Becky" and decides it is not at all as bad as the politicians say. Thus, when Becky and Malcolm hear the fuck-music bass coming from Tyler's room they don't think anything of it, they've screened the songs in the Aztek and found no cause for complaint. But, as an example, I have given a few of the song lyrics as Becky heard them on the way to pick up little Trista from her tennis lesson, and the lyrics to which Tyler, in his room, is trying his best to rap along but failing due to his innate lack of rhythm.

Aztek Lyrics:
You can find me in da club, Bottle fulla bub,
Mami I got whatcha need if you need to feel the buzz.
I'm into havin' sex, I ain't into makin love,
So come give me a hug, if ya into getting rubbed.

Tyler's Room's Lyrics:
You can find me in da club, bottle full of bub
Look mami I got the X if you into taking drugs
I'm into having sex, I ain't into making love
So come give me a hug if you into getting rough

Aztek's Lyrics:
When I pull out up front, you see the Benz on dubs,
When I roll 20 deep, there's always drama, it da club.
And now I roll with Dre, everybody show me love,
When you sell like Eminem, you get plenty of groupie love.

Tyler's Room's Lyrics:
When I pull out up front, you see the Benz on dubs
When I roll 20 deep, it's 20 nines in the club
Niggas heard I fuck with Dre, now they wanna show me love
When you sell like Eminem, and the hoes they wanna fuck

Aztek's Lyrics:
And you should love it, way more then you hate it,
Oh, you mad? I thought that you'd be happy I made it.
I'm that cat by the bar toasting to the good life,
Moved out da hood, tryin to pull me back right?

Tyler's Room's Lyrics:
And you should love it, way more then you hate it
Nigga you mad? I thought that you'd be happy I made it
I'm that cat by the bar toasting to the good life
You that faggot ass nigga trying to pull me back right?

As you can see, Tyler is probably a faggot ass nigga, but Becky and Malcolm will never know because they are too busy going to key parties and doing blow with their "friends."

Speaking of Black People...
This guy sitting across from me on the fat bus was sporting the freshest style today with his "Marithé François Girbaud" sweater. I know that it was a "Marithé François Girbaud" sweater because it said so in giant letters on the front. Is "Marithé François Girbaud" even cool anymore? Is this what it takes to "drop it like it's hot"? It seems to me that the only thing less cool would be Skidz. I'm thinking maybe it should have been me giving him the stinkeye, but my work boots had laces, and were actually shoes, and my jeans didn't have any frayed seams running across the knees, because I wasn't wearing jeans, so I guess he had the right idea in "hating on me."

Suck My D**K

This is a post that basically says if u don't like Worker #3116 you can suck his d**k.

I'm Back

This is a post about basically Worker #3116 is back.

Wednesday, March 17, 2004

An Open Letter to Deadbeat Dad

Dear Deadbeat Dad,


And by St. Patrick's Day I mean Birthday.

Consider this your e-card.

Your son,
Worker #3116

An Open Letter to My Other Citizenship

Dear French Passport,

Because your country of origin is a member of the European Union, you allow me to live and work in any of the EU's member countries without a visa.

My question to you, then, is this: why am I working here?

Worker #3116

Tuesday, March 16, 2004

Cross Walk

There is absolutely nothing special about this office. It looks just like pretty much every office in the Western world and a few in New Delhi and Tokyo and Hong Kong. But for some reason, I cannot pass someone in the hallway without them taking a step back, putting their hand to their chest, and saying "woah, excuse me," as if we nearly killed each other and/or had sex. It is very annoying, and it happens not just in my department, but throughout the building. Are these people accustomed to walking down completely empty streets? Have they never encountered another human being within ten feet of them without a marriage proposal? Because honestly, I'm just walking. If I was running down the hallway and clotheslining these bitches and hip checking them into the fake plants, then I would understand the occasional "oops, didn't see you," but if there is no chance of my body touching your body then SHUT THE FUCK UP.

It has gotten to the point where I passed someone in the hall and for no reason she said "oh, excuse me," I started laughing under my breath, and I think the lady thought it was because she is fat.

This has already happened five times today. I was walking next to Phylicia Rashad a.k.a. Ghost Lover and I said, "Hello, Phylicia, how's it going?" and she said, and this is a fucking quote (thus the quotation marks) "It was going fine, until you almost ran me over." At which point I pushed her into the water cooler and her pelvis hit the lever and made it looked like she'd peed her power suit and I laughed and pointed and said "Look everyone, Phylicia Rashad peed her power suit," and then everyone was all "ha ha," and I was all "How's it going now, BITCH?"

My Internet Observation of the Day/My Shaft's Cousin Observation of the Day

There is a banner ad on that reads:

"What's Hot and What's Not? Shop the latest in entertainment on Slate."

And the two images that show the kind of white hot cutting-edge-of-culture that you can only find on super-current and with-it Slate? Ashanti and The Matrix.


Also, Shaft's Cousin called because someone might be using his computer today and he forgot to lock the desk and wanted to make sure I would be in the vicinity to ensure no one stole anything. I took a look to see what it was that he feared losing the most, and I think it was the box of maple and brown sugar instant oatmeal. It could have been the slightly used green highlighter or the box of clear push pins, but I think it was the oatmeal. I will keep a VERY close watch.

Theme of the Day

You: I don't want to hurt you.
Me: Well, you can't, because I'm already dead.

Designer Sketchers? No.

Dear Woman,

Just because Target has started selling beach hats and plastic Sketchers with the Louis Vuitton pattern on them does not mean that you are allowed to wear both at the same time. Even if these were real Louis Vuitton items made out of the finest Italian leather, you would still look like a cheap, cheap whore. As it stands, you are a cheap, cheap whore.

Worker #3116

P.S. Fake fur lining on your coat does not look like real fur lining on your coat.

Monday, March 15, 2004

The Worker #3116 LP

As many of you already know, I'm totally like the white Eminem. So, I was doing some research on the real Slim Shady this weekend, and I found this reader's review on for The Marshall Mathers LP. I know this is not very timely information, but I have put my favorite parts of the review in boldface.

6 of 7 people found the following review helpful:

Reviewer: elkameleon from California

I find Eminems albums hillarious, I think of it as amusing while I can still understand that it is not real and if it is I dont want to know about it. I am not a huge rap fan for the simple fact that I cant relate to most of it but if you are mature enough to listen to this and take it with a grain of salt I would recommend it. ... By the way I wouldn't let my kids listen to this either.ven more spectacular than his major label debut. Every song on the CD was amazing, except for #9 Remember Me and #15 B*tch Please. I never thought he could top his debut but he did.

1. Public Service Announcement 2000 -good intro

2. Kill You -A very funny song saying that if you mess with eminem, he'll kill you. He disses women in the song but later says he's just kidding. 9.5/10

3. Stan -this song is a masterpiece about an obsessive fan who thinks that everything eminem says is true. He writes eminem letters and gets mad when he doesn't getting a reply, kind of tragic too. Listen and see what happens! 10/10

4. Paul -short skit

5. Who Knew -A song about how eminem never thought parents would blame him for their kid's problems. 8/10

6. Steve Berman -very funny skit about how eminems CD is worthless and no one will listen to it.

7. The Way I Am -A song about eminem and the how he is and he can't change. Probably my favourite song on the CD. 10/10

8. The Real Slim Shady -very catchy song, disses a lot of people and is very funny, not the type of song you'll find more of on this CD though. 9/10

9. Remember Me? -my least favourite song on the CD, the guest rapper on the song annoys me! That's all I can Say! 6/10

10.I'm Back -A song about basically eminem is back! 8.5/10

11.Marshall Mathers -A song about how everyone doubted him before and now they care about him that he's big, boy and girl bands are disused in a parody of LFO's
Summer Girls. ICP also gets a huge diss, a verse if devoted to them! 9.6/10

12.Ken Kaniff -A skit where the infamous ken Kaniff get's his d**k su*ked by the ICP!

13.Drug Ballad -catchy dance songs that talks a bit about drug addiction

14.Amityville -a song about Detroit and how bad it is for crime. pretty good 9/10

15 B*tch Please II -another song I disliked, features Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg. I just didn't like it!

16.Kim -a somewhat disturbing (to say the least) song! where eminem kills kim because she was cheating on him. Not for a little kids, worth a listen though. 10/10

17.Under the Influence -A song that basically says if u don't like eminem you can suck his d**k! 9/10

18.Criminal -a catchy song, pokes fun at gays, has a catchy chorus, good intro, and a kool bank robbing skit. 10/10

Well that's all I have to say about this Masterpiece. Buy it now, you will not regret, if you usually don't like rap, like me, you might be surprised how much you like this CD. Give it a try and remember not to talk Eminem seriously! And also the people he disses deserve to be!

Lester Bangs can go suck a d**k. This guy is kool.

Vice President

Late this morning, just before waking, I had a dream that I was on The Apprentice. Somehow, simply by minding my own business, I had made it into the final four. Shit, I thought, I could actually win this fucker. Also in the final four was this kid I went to school with last year. Neither of us had been Project Manager yet, and so Donald Trump called us into his office. We were ready to lead. Shit, I thought, I'd better "step up to the plate" if I want to impress Mr. Trump. Donald told M and I that with our Jewish and Gay backgrounds this next task would be perfect for us. M and I are both Jewish, actually, but I know that Mr. Trump was referring to M as the gay one because last weekend The Beez tried to have anal sex with M and M was giggling like a woman. Anyhow, the task was to cook some books for an accountant under Mr. Trump's employ, and it was made clear very quickly that Gay M was going to be the undisputed leader on this particular task. Mr. Trump started using a whole bunch of terminology that despite my penurious Jewish heritage I just didn't understand. M was nodding, like of course we have to obfuscate the Willis Integer and shit like that. Suddenly, I got really nervous that I was going to lose The Apprentice, just when I finally had a shot at winning. At some point the setting had changed from Mr. Trump's office to sitting under some scaffolding on the street, and the scaffolding started to collapse and I was very nervous about being crushed to death, meanwhile passers-by on the street were wondering if that was really Donald Trump who was sitting "Indian" style on the ground. It was.

Anyhow, despite Gay M's knowledge of arcane tax loopholes, I think that it will be my gumption and winning attitude that will take me to the top of the business world. That, and the fact that there is no fucking way Donald Trump would hire a Gay Jew to run one of his companies.

Friday, March 12, 2004


"SINGING beggars, beware: you'd better be able to carry a tune if you expect any change from Colin Farrell. The lusty leprechaun - who's on crutches after taking a spill down the stairs in his Bangkok hotel room last month - was outside the Roxy in L.A. the other night when a disheveled panhandler approached him jingling change in a hat and warbling a song. "Colin was like, 'Shut the [bleep] up! Get the [bleep] away from me!' " says our tipster."
(taken from the New York Post)

Something Colin Farrel and Worker #3116 Have in Common: They both have disdain for, and yell at, bums.

Something Colin Farrel and Worker #3116 Do Not Have in Common: Unlike the recuperating Colin Farrel, Worker #3116 has never stayed in a hotel room with fucking STAIRS in it.

I Come With Such FORCE!

Because McCullen refuses to post this story, even though he was the one taking notes on a cocktail napkin, I feel it is my duty to preserve a historical moment in a gay online diary.

This event occurred some time ago, at least a year, at The Arena.

We were sitting at the bar, enjoying their cheap drafts. Near us, sat a group of three: one old worn-out hippie, a young black woman, and a young white guy whose eyes were glued to the television (although he appeared to be part of this group, he did not say one word the whole night.) My memory of this evening is very bad, but I do know that at a certain point we stopped talking so we could listen to the shit that was coming out of the stomach-pumpingly-drunk black woman's mouth. Here are some things that she was saying to the worn-out hippie, whose eyes were glued to the woman's breasts.

"I've dated all kinds of guys. I dated a Jewish guy, and an Italian...with wasn't the size...but that he came with such FORCE!" (at this point she punched the air, to show that when this Italian man came it was like a karate chop to the uterus. The ellipses represent intense thought.)

"I like a big man. One guy I was with, this black guy, it was like a aerosol can. One time I measured it, and it was the exact length and width of a aerosol can." (here, again, hands demonstrate the approximate size of an aerosol can.)

These are the two most memorable things that she said, although I also remember that at one point she got up to go to the bathroom and had the bartender put her drink behind the bar. "I trust you," she told the worn-out hippie, "but you never know there's all kinds of crazies in this world." Presumably, the one other guy in the bar was going to spike her unattended drink, and everyone else would just watch and laugh, thinking about the hilarious rape that would ensue.

Later, if I'm not mistaken, the worn-out hippie asked if he could get a ride home, assuring that he had a cigar sized joint that we could share when we got there. At this point burst into the bitterest tears because his gay ass doesn't even have a driver's license.

He was all, "I'll walk you there for a hit."

Get Out of Here With Your Anti-American Baby Production

There was a Christian woman on the radio just now who was saying that the problem with gay marriage is that the broken family structure in America is no longer producing children, whereas in other countries people are producing children with an agenda, an agenda TO HURT AMERICA.


I guess her argument would be that without gay marriage we can begin on the long, hard path of producing children with an agenda to PROTECT AMERICA. I must admit, in the face of this stunning logic, that ass-fucking has not once produced a viable soldier. Moreover, I would like to offer this woman my sperm in order to fight the good fight. If she would like the pleasure that goes along with eliciting my sperm, she may have that as well, but I am more interested in the cause of PRODUCING CHILDREN TO PROTECT AMERICA AGAINST THE FOREIGN CHILDREN BEING PRODUCED TO HURT AMERICA, and would just as well send her my sperm on some dry ice, if I could just find out where to buy this most awesome type of ice.

Dry ice is so sweet.

So, if you are that CRAZY FUCKING WOMAN from the radio, and you are reading this, please e-mail me at Then we can "gather our forces" for the imminent "baby producing battle to the death." Also, if we learn some Spanish, there is a whole new crop of over one hundred billion Mexican babies being born in this country who could spend their adult years leading richer, fuller lives than their parents, taking bullets in honor, rather than washing dishes in shame.

The Sound of One Finger Clap(ping)

This morning, I rode a later Fat Bus than usual, which means more seats but no fewer fat butts.

Anyway, I was going to sit down next to this black lady because I always feel liberal white guilt about sitting in another seat if there's a seat next to a black person. I'm not scared of sitting next to black people, and I want to prove it every chance I get, because I am liberated from the shackles of racism that bound my parents and their parents and their parents' parents. But it was one of those weird public transportation T spots, the conjunction of perpendicularly arranged seating, where you face forward and have some fat ass with a mountaineering backpack on his lap sitting to your right, pushing his propane tank into your mouth (wink). So, in mid-sit, I quickly decided that today the black woman would have to deal with her own race issues, because it would be much more comfortable to sit across from her, between two fatsoes who carried no baggage except their excessive bodies. But as I tried to steady myself on the seat, twisting, the bus lurched forward on its brakes and my finger slipped under one of the ladies' butts.

At first, I felt very awkward. But then I smelled the residue of one hundred thousand Newport Mentholatums, and saw from the corner of my eye what looked like a giant pile of peroxided straw matting, all of this packaged in a beautiful, worried-black-leather jacket circa 1983. So, basically, I figured I pretty much scored with this woman. Which is cool, but now I have to get my finger tested for V.D.

As Ma always said, "you can take the trash out of the trailer park, but you can only take the V.D. out of the trash with medicines they cannot afford."

Thursday, March 11, 2004

Trash Lady

At lunch, this woman, totally regular woman, in a regular woman's regularly ugly sweater, came up and dug something out of the trash in front of me. This is in a building, she was not one of those "that's a street person but she looks like a house person" kind of person. Because of this she was naturally in one of those this-is-embarrassing-because-of-the-bourgeois-code-of-conduct-but-it-must-be-done-so-I-will-be-brave-besides-it's-just-rummaging-through-a-garbage-can-like-the-way-a-homeless-person-would-do-and-the-homeless-are-people-too attitudes. But she looked at me and I made eye contact with her, we shared a VERY tense moment, and then she got whatever it was she needed, and was gone. But what do you do in a situation like that? I'm going to stick with my first instinct which was to hold back the cry of "WHY ARE YOU HOMELESS?" and just stare at her. A similar thing happens when I see people trip on the street and they look around at the same time they are acting cool. I SEE YOU, FUCKERS. I try to convey to them by my averted glance that although I saw them, I am above laughing at what is a totally normal mishap that happens to everyone, but that I also have a good sense of humor, which is why I am laughing with them.

In totally unrelated Urban News: In that 50 Cent/G-Unit song, "Stunt 101," Lloyd Banks raps this line about "breezing to the beaches," because famous rappers go to the beach a lot. But every time I hear it, it sounds like "breezing to The Peaches," and I imagine him with his Benz on dubs listening to Fuck The Pain Away. Crazy gangster rapping Negroes, smashing stereotypes right and left.

I would just like to thank the on-line diary spell-checker for catching my stupid error of not capitalizing "Negroes" in the first draft of this entry.

When You're a Weasel You're a Weasel All the Way From Your First Marijuana Cigarette to Your Last Dy

I was thinking about how there's this mini-controversy over the bill banning assault weapons that did not get passed in congress last week, whether or not it even does any good, and how there are, obviously, lots of lawmakers who are against it on pro-gun lobby grounds, all of whom are white and make one hundred times what I make. And I was thinking about how the gun laws in this country are a very touchy subject, lots of back and forth, Constitution-this, Constitution-that, but, seems to me...and maybe I'm just a bleeding-heart liberal, but if there is a type of weapon, i.e. gun, that is referred to by opponents and defenders alike as an ASSAULT WEAPON, that maybe there's not a lot of good constitutionality-based defenses for these type of weapons. Nowhere does it say "You Have The Right To Spray 150 Bullets Per Minute Into An Unsuspecting Crowd From Beneath Your Trenchcoat." Certainly I am not the first to talk about this, I'm sure Dana Carvey used to have some Assault Weapon bit in his stand-up routine, but it does seem to me that the past ten years have produced an overwhelming number of high-profile instances where maybe the prevalence of ASSAULT WEAPONS could be brought into question (Columbine, D.C. Sniper, 9/11). Also, for those of you who stand by The Right To Bear Arms, I would like to point out that the closest the founding fathers ever came to the term ASSAULT WEAPONS was "Weapon Used to Defend Against the King's Regiments." These were often known by their nicknames, like Musket, and Sextant, and carried ammunition clips holding sometimes as many as one bullets at a time.

Anyhow, so then I was thinking about how in karate class they taught us that if you hit someone with a pair of nunchucks as hard as you can it will powder the bone, rather than breaking it, and how that's why nunchucks are illegal. My first thought was, SO FUCKING SWEET, but upon further consideration this thought transformed into a rumination on how awesome it would be if crackhead gangs used nunchucks instead of AR-15s to "ice" each other. They would all be very well coordinated and choreographed. This would hark back to the knife-fighting days when gangs were populated by white people in black leather jackets, before, much like basketball, black people were allowed to integrate the gangs, at which point the gangs were black people in white leather jackets.

Can you imagine, though, a nunchuck gang war?

Are you listening Cougarz? We are going to powder your bones.

Wednesday, March 10, 2004

Most Fucked Up Internet Thing of the Day and Maybe of Ever

Sometimes you see something on the internet that makes you say to yourself hey, that thing is fucked up, what i seen on the internet. Maybe it's baby fucking. Maybe it's a crazy headline about a dog riding in a garbage truck. I DO NOT KNOW. But today I have seen a fucked up thing on the internet and I would like to say that to the world.

There is a website. It is called Many people who spend their lives writing blogs and reading televisionwithoutpity for a living, will spend a few hours a day looking at It used to be that was free. But then they were like hey, wait a second, pay us. So now it's not free. But basically it's still free, all you have to do is watch an advertisement from their daily sponsor and get a "daily pass".

So we come now, bored and exhausted, to our Most Fucked Up Internet Thing of the Day and Maybe of Ever. Today's sponsor of the day is...wait for it...wait for it...Schindler's List. ??? Thank you, Schindler's List, for letting me read Arianna Huffington's editorial column and the gossip roundup of "The Fix". Thank you for reminding me, as well, that I can purchase you. I hope that the money I spend on you goes to put more jewels on S. Spielberg's shiksa wife. I hope that it helps his children pay for their legacy admissions to one of America's best colleges. But most importantly, I hope it helps the Jews, wherever they are.

Seriously, should Schindler's List SPONSOR anything? What's next? Ozzfest?



Every time I try to think of something to say, all that comes into my head is "Spalding Gray is dead. It is a loss to you and I, to us all."

Ha ha ha.

Ah'm Rich, Ah'm Buyin' Some Lawn Furniture

"COVINGTON, Ga. (AP) - A woman was caught trying to use a fake $1 million bill to buy $1,675 worth of merchandise at a Wal-Mart, and was later found with two more of the bills in her purse, police said. The United States Treasury does not make $1 million bills, but people can buy souvenirs of such a bill at some stores, police said."
(taken from

Okay...I'm not sure where to begin with this news item...but...first of all...okay...Wal-Mart? And how long did the lady wait for her $998,325 in change? Do you think the cashier at the Wal-Mart register called his/her manager over? Like Ah don't know...Ah'm gonna have to call mah manager over...Ah ain't got the change in the drahr, and, well, Ah ain't even sure if we accept 1 million dollar bills. Wish Ah had one, though. Ah could buy me a shitload a cigarettes with a million dollars, man. 'N a bunch a pussy too. Fuckin'-A.

Also, if the treasury doesn't make 1 million dollar bills, how can you buy "souvenirs" of these bills? Wouldn't they just be "fake" bills at that point?

Never mind.

Mon Deadbeat Père

Some of you may recall that Deadbeat Dad likes to call at 2 a.m. when he is good and drunk, and leave creepy drunk voicemail messages for Worker #3116. The last one was received the morning of January 3, 2004. A transcript can be found below:

Oh, good, you're not answering. That way you won't hang up. There are two words. Dignity and Respect. Dignity, you're losing yours, and respect, you've lost mine. (click).

Aw, Happy New Year!

This was the point where Worker #3116 decided that he would not be talking to Deadbeat Dad for awhile, with the possibility of extending "awhile" to "for the rest of his natural life."

But last night, Deadbeat Dad struck again! 2:52 a.m., which implies at least one extra glass of Martini and Rossi vermouth for COURAGE!

Below, I have transcribed the message as best I can understand it. Even if you don't speak French, you can probably decipher it, and something should stick out to you as simply WRONG.

Dans la vie...(unintelligible)...tragique, qui efface ces banalités quotidiennes, le trivial remplace l'essence. Spalding Gray est mort, c'est une perte pour toi et moi, et pour nous tous. J'espére que ta vie va bien.
Je t'aime.


In life...(unintelligible drunk muttering)...tragic, which erases these daily banalities, the trivial replaces the essence/essential. Spalding Gray is dead, a loss for you and I, and for us all. I hope your life is going well. I love you. Papa.

Now, I think that this message is a big step for Deadbeat Dad. Not as big a step as, say, placing a phone call during normal human hours of consciousness, but he is trying to apologize for losing all respect for me, in his own way, which resembles the way that drunk homeless paranoid schizophrenics apologize for things. BUT SPALDING FUCKING GRAY?! I have so much to say about this, and yet I think that this is one of those rare instances where silence speaks fucking volumes.

Tuesday, March 09, 2004

School Ties? More Like School LIES!

"Once, in a silent study hall of 100 students, several of them pitched pennies around his desk to taunt him, Mr. Spielberg said quietly. 'I have vivid memories of that,' he said. The hallways, too, could be an ordeal: 'A lot of kids coughed the word "Jew" in their hands as they walked by me between classes.'"
(taken from the New York Times)

Notice that they do not mention the part where Steven Spielberg greedily collected all the pennies the other students threw and shoved them into the gold lined pockets of his rich pants.

Also, this is actually a scene from a script for an Afternoon Special called "Jews Are People Too, It Would Seem."

There is another scene that did not get mentioned in the article where Steven Spielberg stands shirtless in the rain outside of his dorm at an elite private boys' school, yelling up at his roommate, played by Matt Damon, and his roommate's friends, who have just put up a sign over his bed with a swastika on it that says "Go Home Jew." He holds his fist tight as he demands "Come out here you cowards!" But no one dares to face him, such is the shame and cowardice of their hatred. Eventually Matt Damon gets expelled and Steven Spielberg goes to Harvard.

Later, he kills Jesus.

When I Die, Invite Avril to the Funeral

I am not dead yet, but when I die, I ask that one of you give me a nice little write up in ljers4eternity. And I want it to be good, deserving of comment, so if I die in an automobile accident or something then say I had cystic fibrosis and needed a heart transplant, and that right before I died I got to meet Michael Jordan as part of the Make A Wish Foundation, even though that seems like something I would have written about in my livejournal...but you can cover up for that by saying that I never did like to dwell on my illness because I was a fighter.

Also, I'm taking nominations for an on-line-diary-buddy, who, like a porn buddy, can log-in to my on-line diary after I die and remove all the racist boner jokes before my mom and girlfriend see them. i.e. I'm taking nominations for someone to delete my livejournal when I die.

In other news, the first ten people to make nice-nice will receive something special in the mail that they can put on their homosexual man purses for when they go to see Avril Lavigne at the Meadowlands.

Monday, March 08, 2004


Clearly, my day would be going much better if I had filled my spray tube of nasal decongestant with liquid cocaine.


Have you heard of the new Vagmobile? It is a car "for women by women". There's a tampon dispenser, and a heating element in the drink holder to keep your travel-mug of Constant Comment tea HOTTT!

I would also like to thank Chicago for making me sick.

Friday, March 05, 2004

Where I Continue To Make The Word Blonde Be The Word Retard.

Q: Why did God create retards?
A: Because sheep can't bring beer from the fridge.

Q: Why did the retard try and steal a police car?
A: She saw "911" on the back and thought it was a Porsche.

Q: What do a moped and a retard have in common?
A: They're both fun to ride until a friend sees you on one.

Q: How many retards does it take to play tag?
A: One.

Q: Why don't they let retards swim in the ocean?
A: Because they can't get the smell out of the tuna.

Q: What's a retard's favourite rock group?
A: Air Supply.

Q: To a retard, what is long and hard?
A: Grade 4.

Q: What's five miles long and has an IQ of forty?
A: A retard parade.

Where I Make The Word Blonde Be The Word Retard.

Q: How can you tell if a retard has been using the computer?
A: The joystick is wet.

Q: What does a retard put behind her ears to make her more attractive?
A: Her ankles.

Q: What do you say to a retard that won't give in?
A: "Have another beer."

Q: How do you make a retard's eyes twinkle?
A: Shine a flashlight in their ear.

Q: What does a screen door and a retard have in common?
A: The more you bang it the looser it gets.

Q: What does a retard and a beer bottle have in common?
A: They're both empty from the neck up.

Q: What do retards and spaghetti have in common?
A: They both wriggle when you eat them.

Q: Why was the retard's belly button sore ?
A: Because her boyfriend was retarded too.

Q: How do you get a retard out of a tree?
A: Wave

Q: What do peroxide retards and black men have in common?
A: They both have black roots.

They Have Gone Too Far. They Must Be Stopped.

"March 5, 2004 | REDMOND, Wash. (AP) -- SenseCam, touted as a visual diary of sorts by Microsoft Corp., is designed to be worn around the neck and take up to 2,000 images a 12-hour day automatically."
(taken from

Dear Microsoft,

A 12-hour day?

The Rest of the World.

I'm Your Friend, Your Father and Confidante. Bitch!

I was rejected from the graduate program to which I applied. Now I, unlike Chekov, Tolstoy, Hugo, Balzac, Twain, and Faulkner will have to go it alone. Just because every published writer since the dawn of time has attended a highly-ranked MFA program in creative writing doesn't make it impossible that someday someone will be published who has not.

Um, does anyone know when the "pimp" will stop being such a prevalent pop-culture figure? His peacock feathers have molted and left him with simple, tacky, polyester bell-bottoms. I'm sure that the first step is to convince college undergraduates that throwing a "pimps and ho'z" party is not a good idea. The second step is a public humiliation of Snoop Doggy Dogg so that he, as "pimp of the pimps", will look as ridiculous to his fans as he does to me. Sadly, I do not think this can be achieved before the release of Soul Plane.

Fucking Soul Plane?!?!

A Consumer Reports

When I was in high school, I wrote to the M&Ms company and complained that their candy had melted in my hand, not in my mouth. They sent me a bunch of coupons for free shit.

Too bad you can't do that for a plasma screen t.v. or a blowjob.

Incidentally, this does work for beer. I wrote a letter to Sam Adam's and told them that their beer was giving me the poops and the president wrote me back telling me that it was scientifically impossible since the alcoholic nature of beer renders it sterile to bacteria. But whatever, he also sent me a check for thirty dollars, so I'm like science-schmience, beer me, BITCH!

Thursday, March 04, 2004

Funtimes Game

Fill in what was said before and after this line for a superfun game you can play by yourself:

corporate3116: my dad has a boner for the woman i have a boner for. and she's dead.

You Are Behind the Times. After Reading This You Will Be Ahead of the Times.

Everyone likes news first thing, that's why papers are delivered in the morning, the major networks broadcast broad-based family-style coverage, and I give you the Corporate Casual Headline of the Day:

"UPN Show Is Called Insensitive to Amish"
(taken from the New York Times)

This headline reminds me of those braille signs you see in weird places sometimes, like a bathroom door, a crosswalk button, or in a subway car...It's not like blind people can just sense when there is braille to be read, but sometimes it seems like these signs are simply placed wherever sighted people feel. "They'll find it, otherwise they're fucked. The human being is a very adaptable animal." How does this remind me of that? How the fuck do the Amish know about this show? Clearly, they didn't watch it, so someone who enjoys the benefits of engaging with the modern world ratted out the rest of us. Also, here is a complaint made by the two senators of Pennsylvania: "'We know of no other reality series that singles out the beliefs and practices of a specific group of people as a subject for humor,' the letter said." Really? Really? Apparently the reality tv craze has swept right by Senators Specter and Santorum, because by my last count almost all reality series singled out the beliefs and practices of a specific group of people as a subject of humor: Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, Boy Meets Boy, The Bachelor, The Bachelorette, Shipmates**, My Big Fat Obnoxious cetra, et cetra. So FUCK THE AMISH is what I'm saying in a medium they cannot access due to their antiquated religious beliefs.

Corporate Casual Headline of the Day (Honorable Mention):
"The Peruvians Surrender to Surfing, Body and Soul"
(taken from the New York Times)

What I'm wondering is where were the embedded journalists?

Also, I heard Michael Eisner speaking on the radio about the recent division of his title as Chairman and Chief Executive, and the guy seriously sounds like he just got done fucking some Laotian children after an all-night crystal meth freak out. I am scared of the Chief Executive of Walt Disney Corp. because he sounds like he kills people with guns.

There. Now you are all caught up with the world. Go back to masturbating.

**Okay, not Shipmates, which is clearly a show that takes joy in making fun of us all, because we all fall in love with an unpredictably irrational, crazy stranger on a chartered cruise ship at some point in our lives, only to cheat on them one night later in the Captain's Lounge. Unless we are fat, which makes us cry at everything on tv because it represents what we will never have. But I wanted to include this show because there are not enough references made to Shipmates, inarguably one of the greatest television events of all time.

Wednesday, March 03, 2004

Happy Valentine's Day, 2005

I Will Be Relegated to the Dustbin of Lame Powers

Many years ago I saw the movie Spiderman in the movie theater. I enjoyed Spiderman and thought that it was a fun time to see it. But as we were riding the subway home afterwards, I got really really nervous. I started thinking about all of the superhero films that were being made, with the X-Men and Spiderman and Batman and the soon to be released The Hulk and Punisher, Superman already in a wheelchair, etc, and I started to wrack my brain for what characters were left. It quickly became apparent to me that by the time I was discovered, the only superhero I would be able to play would be Plasticman, which seemed like the lamest of all. Ooooh, I can stretch out my body really long and bend it like I have jellybones.

This was an honest-to-god fear. It has since been replaced, as time passes, by the fear that I won't even get to play Plasticman.


People used to always tell me: "I bet you have fun even when you're just hanging out by yourself," but my thought was I'm not even having fun right now, hanging out with you.

I Am Sorry, Really Really Really Really Sorry.

A lot of the time (okay, all the time) I think that I, and a select few of my friends, should be in films. We would be great in films, I think, if fucking Owen Wilson can be in films we can be in films, and we won't even spend any of our money on pot! (Hear that, friends of mine who smoke a lot of pot?! I'm not thinking of you when I'm thinking of who should be in films. Shape up. I'm not a chicken you're a turkey.) We are intelligent, funny, and very good looking. We could be stars.

Not anymore.

I've seen what it looks like when you scrape together a budget and make a movie with people who cannot act taking on roles that are far too much for their abilities. Now I am ashamed of myself and my friends, even though we didn't even make a film, but just for thinking about it, just for contemplating the torture that I experienced in watching a film like that. The movie I am talking about is Party Monster, and it should be destroyed like so much long-forgotten evil unleashed by unsuspecting archaeologists, banished back to the netherworld from which it was spawned. Not only was the movie really bad, and boring, and very very poorly acted, but it was offensive to me and I'm fucking straight. I've never seen so much stereotyped prancing in one ninety minute block. It's like the director called the actors over and was like "you're not doing it right, girlfriends, pretend like you constantly have a cock in your ass and you LOOOOOVE it. And if you can't do that, then at least flip your wrists and dance on your toes more, and where's the lisp? I barely hear any lisping out there, queenies."

I would have less trouble believing Macaulay Culkin was a fag if he just acted like himself. That is gay enough.

Tuesday, March 02, 2004

Thanks For The Laughs, Beers and Shot

After two pints and a shot, I slept better last night than I have in a long time. Who knew that heavy drinking—It's not that heavy, but it was fucking Monday night, so give me a break, bitch—on a Monday night could be such a wonderful cure-all? No one knew.

But you know what they say: teach a man to fish and he can eat for a lifetime, but give the man two pints and a shot and he'll forget his problems for hours.

In related news, heavy drinking is the new black.

Nominee For Worst Year of the Year: 2004

It has come to my startled attention lately that it is very possible that 2004 is a cursed year. I know that it has been, thus far, the worst year of my life, but so many other people seem to have it bad, too. Here are people who have probably contemplated suicide and or "self-mutilation" in the past two months:

Worker #3116
T. Rex
Brother Russia
Neilgene Meredith Jr.
Chinese Jenny
The Double B
E-opold Brother
The Beez
La Suissesse

If you would like to be added to this list, or know of someone I have missed, please leave me a comment and I will feel your/their pain for you/them. Also, if you feel you have been inappropriately added to this list because your life is awesome and totally going supergreat please leave me a comment so that I can come to your house and plunger rape you NYPD style.

NOTE: This list reflects "badness" within a western framework. Please do not ask to be listed if you live and/or work in the third world.

Monday, March 01, 2004

It's Adam and Eve, Homos, Not Adam and Stephen.

If I was a very wealthy religious nut who anonymously put up billboards all over America that were messages from God, I would think strongly about issuing the following billboard in reference to gay weddings:

"Loved the Wedding, Invite Me To The Marriage--Satan"

Right now, at this moment, I have no greater wish than to be a very wealthy religious nut who anonymously puts up billboards all over America that are messages from God. What's next, fags, a gay Joe Millionaire defiling the sanctity of reality-tv marriage?

Bad Is What I Wear On The Outside Because Bad Is How I Feel On The Inside

Picture this:

You are sitting in the waiting room at a tax attorney's office. The tax attorney's secretary is is very fat and ugly, smells bad, and is talking about tax law in German. On the end table next to the uncomfortable sofa sits a pile of dog-eared magazines, mostly old issues of Cat Fancy and Parenting, but to make matters worse, you have read all of these issues at least three times and even wrote some of the articles. A television in the corner is playing static, and every few minutes you get a call from your mother who just wants to ask you when you are going to get a real job. The power button on your cell phone does not work, so you cannot avoid her calls. You also cannot change the ring tone, which is a very loud, very bad rendition of the William Tell Overture. Thirty seconds after every call from your mother, a man sitting next to you reaches over with an ice pick and drives it into your eye, and then says something that you can't quite make out and when you ask him to repeat what he said he drives the ice pick into the other eye.

Now you feel a little bit like I feel.

I Want to Be the Lachay to Your Simpson

I dreamt again of Jessica Simpson, so apparently I, like, totally love her. In the dream, I was at a sports bar, and I was flirting with the bartender, and Jessica, from whom I was separated at the time, came up and was very upset. It was her belief that the bartender was a cheap whore, and that I, despite our current separation, should be true to my relationship with her, Jessica Simpson. Then she blew me in a doorless stall of the men's bathroom. Just kidding. The stall had a door.

What was most upsetting this weekend, besides the fact that I don't remember any of it because it was too boring for my mind to form any tangible conceptions of the passage of time, was a realization I had about how easy things are. I will give you an example. Here is an example: I was thinking that I could totally be a cutter. A cutter, if you are not familiar with the types of emotional disturbances that usually afflict teenagers, is someone who cuts themselves in order to feel something, anything. It is a pattern of behavior usually developed in response to chronic depression. Many people think that The Cutter is crazy, that The Cutter is doing something that they would never do, i.e. take a blade to their flesh for no reason other than to cut said flesh. Not me. I could totally be a cutter if I wanted. Easy. So fucking easy. This being realized, there are a lot of other things that are totally easy. For example, I could totally sire a child out of wedlock and then abandon him/her and his/her mother without a word. Why not? What's stopping me? Bourgeois Judeo-Christian morality? NO! Anyway, so that realization made this weekend kind of fucked up because now I finally understand the meaning behind McCullen's t-shirt:

Also, McCullen and I started a gang this weekend. Our charter and mission statement are not yet complete, but the one thing that I do know is that it is our policy that when we take a human life, we make a mixed cd to honor the life that we have taken. Some of you may be wondering the same thing my mother was wondering when I told her about the gang: is it a mixed cd of the gang's favorite songs, or the favorite songs of the person whose life has been taken by force? Well, obviously, it is a mixed cd of the gang's favorite songs, because we wouldn't listen to a cd of a bunch of somebody else's favorite songs, and then it's just a waste of a cd-r. Also, we love to engage in gang warfare with rival gangs. So far we have a turf-war going with the Cougarz gang, which is just Spaceham. He is going to make a great mix cd. Please send me an AIM instant message if you would like to get beaten in to the gang. You may want to plan to take some time off of work to recover.