Wednesday, June 30, 2004


Now, time for the "Corporate Casual Daily News Roundup!"

First off, we have a tie for the Corporate Casual Daily News Roundup Headline of the Day, or the aptly acrosticised CCDNRHOTD.

"Court Pours Cold Water on Porn Law"
(taken from the Washington Post)

is neck-and-neck with

"'We Want to Fly!' Cubans Chant"
(taken from the Chicago Sun Times)

These are totally excellent headlines, and the headline writers at the aforementioned estimable publications should be commended for their way with words, and human emotion.

The CCDNRAOTD, or Corporate Casual Daily News Roundup Article of the Day is a clear cut winner:

"Pizza Deliveryman Loses Fight to Stay in U.S."
(taken from Capital News 9)

"A Pakistani man who lived in New York -- and who was detained after taking pictures of a reservoir after 9/11 -- has lost his appeal to stay in the U.S.

Immigration and Customs Enforcement authorities said no terror charges were ever filed, but that the man helped a Pakistani couple who had expired visas. He co-signed a lease and registered a car for the couple.

Supporters of Ansar Mahmood said he was just trying to be a good friend. Immigration officials said he chose to break the same law that allowed him to immigrate.

He was arrested after walking up to a guard at a water treatment plant and asking if the guard would take his picture.

Mahmood said he regularly sent scenic Hudson Valley photos -- and his earnings -- to family overseas.

I'm surprised that the "he was just trying to be a good friend" defense did not work. But more importantly, I really really like the fact that not one mention is even made of this man's work as a pizza deliveryman, much less which pizza company he delivers for. Way to go, Capitol News 9, for piquing my interest and then deflating it slowly, like the way a balloon deflates when you poke a hole in it and then hold your finger over the hole and only let a little bit of air out at a time.

Finally, the Corporate Casual Daily News Roundup Big Tool of the Day goes to the kid in Florida who turned in his teacher for having sex with him. You are an idiot, my man. She wanted your tiny, hairless bod, she gave you hers, and you turned her in. Maybe you should think about working for Al Qaeda, since clearly having sex with a hot, tattoed older woman in the back of an S.U.V. while your cousin drives you around isn't satisfying enough, you American-freedom hater. And just so you know, I know that the press isn't allowed to disclose your name in order to protect your juvenile privacy, but the very real danger is that once all the other fourteen year-old boys in the world find out who you are they are going to kick your fucking ass.

That's it.
No more news.


On the way to work I pass a whirlyball stadium, which, if you don't know what whirlyball is, it's like basketball, except you're in bumper cars, and instead of carrying a basketball you have those little handled scoop throwers and a whiffle ball, and it is played in a small industrial warehouse in an office park. But basically it's a pretty simple variation on basketball.

Anyway, so I'm driving by and the parking lot is full. At nine a.m. on a Wednesday morning. Full. Now, there could be a professional whirlyballers convention in town, but my guess is that these cars belong to the employees, which then leads one to the following ruminations:

a) how many employees could it possibly require to run a successful whirlyball stadium?

b) why does a whirlyball stadium need to open for business at nine a.m.?

c) do people really play whirlyball anymore, because the only time I ever played was at Dave Ecklund's eleventh birthday party in 1900, back when gum cost a nickel and whores were free?

d) how do people who work at a whirlyball stadium afford to own a car?

e) do you think that the employees of the whirlyball stadium have an arrangement with the employees of the local Chi Chi's by which the whirlyball stadium employees can get free chimichangas and fried ice cream in exchange for letting Team Sombrero play after-hours for as long as they want?

Then I got to work and was like "this is a place of business, not philosophy, so put your questions away and also put your yogurt away, in the fridge, before it gets lumpy."

Tuesday, June 29, 2004


Last night I watched this French movie called Irreversible and made the mistake of deciding that ice cream was just what I needed, right before the totally awesome "I guess I do do anal after all" rape scene that is the movie's selling point.

The movie's main conceit is that everything happens backwards, so that you see the inevitable chain of events reravelling, so-to-speak. It starts with some lives destroyed and then you figure out how that happened and what they were before, but this also means that while the movie starts with a nauseating tour of chaotic violence, it ends with two people being in love. So the whole thrust of evil in the film is eventually undone, at least somewhat, by this return to the golden days of that afternoon.

Okay, wait, ha ha ha, I, right after it sort of ends on this false high note there is a minute long sequence in which the screen just flashes white and black really rapidly with some droning noise in the background so that even if you weren't epileptic before the movie you become epileptic at the end. True: my cat started crying during this scene. Not true, but almost true: I chewed off my own tongue and choked on it.

Anyhow, if I were the California Raisins, which I am, I would say "Irreversible, check it out!"


There's a new guy in my office, and I was like "what's up new guy?" and he's like "you've only been here, like, six weeks," and I was like "what's up newer guy? Now go clean the toilets, and you're on fryer duty for the rest of the week."

Le Car

Do you think that during the whole patriotic, freedom fries, "La France C'est L'ennemi Number One" period that a bunch of Le Cars got vandalized?

Monday, June 28, 2004

My Brother Has Sex

Last night at dinner, somehow, democrat James Carville's marriage to Mary Matalin, Republican lobbyist, came up, and while I will admit that it was definitely a strange choice of words on the part of my mother to describe this relationship as "a little incestuous," which she later had to recant because it's really not incestuous at all, but the real fucking mind-blower was when my brother took umbrage with my mother's account and then took it upon himself to come up with an apt description of this unlikely pairing of polar opposites by saying "no, it's like digging a hole to China and having sex with someone there."

Dear Brother #3116, what the fuck?
Love, Worker #3116

Anyhow, that stopped the conversation right in its tracks, if you can imagine, because I don't think anyone in my family had ever heard my brother even say the word "sex", much less use it in a metaphor as if he knew what he was talking about. This, of course, was the sensationalist's view, because much more important than my brother's invocation of sex was his totally incomprehensible use of it in a metaphor that I can only describe as "super duper cuckoo crazy pants."

This Weekend Was Not a Total Loss

This was a pretty good weekend, but I wouldn't go so far as to say that I conceived a child or killed anyone, because I didn't. Conceiving a child and committing murder are totally necessary ingredients to an awesome weekend, because how can you know how super-cool life truly is until you have simultaneously created and taken life in the same forty-eight hour period? You simply can't at all, totally can't.

Meanwhile, George W. Bush sure is a jerk, huh?

One day I went to Home Depot, and that day was Saturday, and Home Depot is cool. There was totally all this stuff, and McCullen and I saw it and were like "man this is so much stuff and you could totally do something with this stuff if you weren't an idiot, but we are an idiot (collectively) and therefore French louvered doors and massive ten-foot high wooden dowels are like so much worn out kleenex to us. Read: useless." Then I saw these plastic face-guards and I suggested to McCullen that we get a couple of those and wear them to a party and yell "No kisses" at people, but he was like "why am I going to spend six dollars NOT to kiss anyone?" and I was like "do you even have six dollars?" and then we stopped talking until we were back in the car.

Also, on Sunday morning I woke up and my lower back was killing me and I was like what the fuck, why is my lower back killing me? And then I remembered that I had gotten into at least three fights at the party the night before, and although they were totally gay sucker-punch fights with a bunch of pussies, I apparently lost.

Ha ha ha ha. Like my friend Garfield, I too love lasagna and absolutely HATE Mondays!

Friday, June 25, 2004

You Have a Plus Three Suck Modifier

People are always coming up to me and saying "Hey CorpCas, you're super cool, what's your secret?"

Well, losers, let's just put it this way: the best way to feel skinny is hanging out in a room of morbidly obese people.

Get it?
You suck.

Thursday, June 24, 2004

An Electronic Message

Taking a cue from Spunk'd, I used my gmail invitations to invite myself to open more gmail accounts. But pretty quickly, the folly of this move was made abundantly clear. It's like wishing for more wishes, except that with more wishes you could get all the hamburgers in the world on one giant plate, or a personalized answering machine message from The Edge, while in my case I can just continue to not get email from anyone on more than one gmail account.


The Real World: Taco Bell

Neilgene: Ouch. This "Fire" sauce burned my lip.
Worker #3116: Did it also burn your vagina?

Eracism, and My Cat, Mec, the Marxist-Leninist

I was all set to update my diary with a thoroughly amusing story about my cat, who spent most of the morning bombarding me with his socialist, anti-bourgeois rhetoric, when I was stopped at a left turn signal on my way to work and a man tried to get in my car.

It seems important to point out that when the turn signal changed, I would be entering an industrial office park in the middle of nowhere, so either this man wanted a ride into the industrial park which, obviously, was right across the street from where he was standing waiting for a white person to pick him up and give him a ride, i.e. totally within walking distance, OR, he wanted a ride somewhere far away, and it's 9 am so clearly I am in the process of going to work, not giving rides to strangers.

That's right, I said "waiting for a white person to pick him up and give him a ride" because this man, who was smoking, because somehow he thought that I would both give him a ride and allow him to casually destroy my no-smoking in Eli (my teal, '94 Toyota Corolla) rule, was black. If he had been white, I might have rolled down my window and said "hey man, what can I do for you?" but because he was different from me, I quickly thought of locking my doors—although liberal white guilt stayed my hand—and then made those annoying pantomimes that one makes when one does not want to roll down one's window to simply say something. These pantomimes always communicate a message to the effect of "No No Must Hurry Late Work You Leave Now Also I Scared. Scared of You."

But seriously, people of all races, don't try to get in my car. I have a green belt in karate.

Meanwhile, who is it that once said "Worker #3116, unite! You have nothing to lose but your chains"?

If you answered "Worker #3116's ungrateful cat, this morning, as Worker #3116 was leaving to get money TO PAY FOR CAT FOOD AND POOPBOX SAND" then you are right.

Wednesday, June 23, 2004

La Femme Niripoff

I'm sure I'm going out on a limb here, but personally, I think that 100 dollars is a bit much for the second season of La Femme Nikita.

Here come the angry emails from all you Nikitaheads.

El Santo Says "!Yo No Diswasher, Yo Es Una Awesomeo Fightero¡"

A lot of people are like "I'm going to go to law school and get a job with a starting salary of $125,000 a year." Others are like "I'm going to major in political science and work my way up through grass roots campaigning to enter public office in which I will wield power through patronage and increase my wealth via important business connections." When I went to grad school everyone was all "I'm going to get a PhD in the marxist-feminist deconstruction of post-WWII animated films so that I can get a job teaching people and making a difference."

But I'm like "FUCK ALL Y'ALL because at my job I just found a set of DVDs about a Mexican wrestler who fights Dracula, Frankenstein, and El Hombre Loco."

Today Rap History

It's pretty well known that I have a favorite rap lyric of all time, because when I get drunk in a group of people I'm wont to exclaim "I have a favorite rap lyric, would you like to hear it," and because the people I'm with are drunk, they usually don't have the energy to say anything other than "sure" and then ignore me when I give a totally soulless and "white" reading of my favorite rap lyric.

You ain't gotta be rich but fuck that, how we gonna get around on your bus pass?

But today, here on the world wide internet, I would like to declare that I now have both a second and third most favorite rap lyric of all time. This will make my drunken tirades even longer and more boring, especially because, like a joke, I will probably get the words mixed up and have to start over a few times. In any case, in descending order, here are my second and third favorite rap lyrics of all time.

Will Smith don't gotta cuss on his raps to sell records. Well, I do, so fuck him, and fuck you, too.

I'm Kan, the Louis Vuitton Don, bought my mom a purse, now she Louis Vuitton Mom.

This is rap history in the making. I'm like the white Nas, except that instead of making landmark raps, I make landmark decisions about raps.

Tuesday, June 22, 2004 Review of the Day

Reviewer: Paul David Cooper (see more about me) from Hilo, hi United States
If you enjoyed saving pvt Ryan and Band of brothers you will enjoy these.
No overt blood shed or foul language,great stories,and morals.

WWll for the whole family. Great acting and guest stars. Vic Morrow (Sgt Saunders)with his thompson was the coolest cat on the front!
(...)A must have!!


So Ti-1000 just got a job as a web designer for Comedy Central and he said "the hardest part is switching my browser to Chapelle Show clips when my boss walks by."

I think this job is making him funnier.

Suit Yourself, Queer

Last night I was in such a bad mood that even the fact that it was "Chicken Pot-Pie Night" couldn't cheer me up.

But today is already going better because I found a DVD at work called Stray Cat Rock: Sex Hunter about a group of Japanese schoolgirls who "get their kicks from gang fights, street muggings, and rock and roll." I'm pretty sure this will be the best movie I've ever seen, because as the box exclaims, "[it is] filmed in dazzling color!"

Color! What will the Japs think up next?

Monday, June 21, 2004

You Are As Useless As A Poop-Flavored Lollipop

The funniest part of Dodgeball: a true underdog story was when Spunk'd got date-raped by seven of the frat boys in the audience. Seriously, there was more Abercrombie and Fitch in that movie theater than in an Abercrombie and Fitch outlet store. They all really loved the gay jokes in the movie, because being a fag is totally sick and hilarious. One of the continuing jokes in the movie is that the "hot girl" is a lesbian, and then at the end it turns out she is a lesbian, much to Vince Vaughn's chagrin, but then she kisses him and says that she is bisexual. As we were leaving the movie theater many of the guys were remarking that it was very very cool that she was bisexual, because Vince Vaughn would get to fuck two ladies in one night, and the whole time I'm thinking I bet the audience at Garfield is more intelligent than these circlejerkers.

It's all about Meeow. Ha ha ha.

Friday, June 18, 2004

A Joke About Terrorism

"'People from all over the country join me in saying, "Thank you for what you are doing,"' the president told hundreds of camouflage-garbed soldiers gathered in a hanger. 'There is no cave or hole deep enough to hide from American justice.'"
(taken from the New York Times)

What about the one Osama Bin-Laden is hiding in?


Cubicle of Fools

This guy is talking to some ladies in the cubicle next to mine and he just said "in Amsterdam, they eat their French fries with mayonnaise," and I'm like "the way that people in Europe eat French fries is still interesting and surprising to people in 2004?!!"

And now he just said "but she drinks everything warm, right? See, that's crazy."

Giving the Queer Eye to the Queer Guy

My important work in cataloging and naming bathroom etiquette is well-known, but I feel that I am experienced enough in bizarre, unclassifiable bathroom behavior that it is not unrealistic to consider myself a professor of toilet psychology, or at least a highly knowledgable research assistant. For example, there was the meathead in college who used to brush his teeth while pissing at the urinals, and who one time came in and stared deeply into his own reflection as he kissed his flexed bicep. Or the often found printouts of sports news that someone took the time to download off the internet in order to make their morning D more enjoyable, and then left tucked into the toilet seat covers so that other people's days would also be made better.

Well, this morning I encountered yet another very rare specimen of what I like to call "what the fuck?" behavior. I'm standing at the sink in the bathroom and there is one open sink to my right. A man comes up and stands behind me, presumably waiting for my sink...? I finish washing up, dry my hands, move away, and he uses...the other sink?

Ha ha ha. I'm going to kick that guy's ass if I ever see him again.

Not Everyone Dreams All The Time, Okay, Not Everyone Has Subconsciousnesses

I have finally put up the first of my "personal" touches in my new cube, and it's a fucking Peanuts cartoon. If there were bullies in an office who waited in the parking lot at five o'clock to kick the shit out of the new guys, I'd be first on their list. I can feel the searing pain of a wedgie as a write this.

The punchline of the comic is: "Why don't you wish for some wings?", "wings" is bolded in the original.

Also, I just saw this internet ad for a new Nokia camera phone with which you can send someone a picture along with some text, and it has two examples. One is a message from one black man to another black man with a picture of someone slam dunking a basketball and it says "We have a game", and the other one is from one white businessman to another white businessman that has a picture of a taxicab rushing through the streets and it says "I'm on my way". Just to reinforce the fact that these were racially specific messages, they featured a black and white man, respectively, behind the phone. But who is this ad targeted to? If I was supposed to play basketball with some friends—obviously this is ridiculous as only black people play basketball anymore, but I'm just speculating here so use your imagination—and this friend sent me a picture of a basketball game with a message that said "we have a basketball game", I would stop being friends with that person immediately, and I might try to kill them with a gun. Same scenario with the taxi cab, except that I would definitely try to kill them. So what's up, Nokia? Is this your new Retardo-6000 model or something?

Insert image: Dude sitting at a computer.
Insert text: Back to work!

Thursday, June 17, 2004

Worker #3116 + Pokerz = BFF Forever

I've been kind of bored at work today, so I was looking at my livediary user info page and reviewing my interests to make sure I'm still interested in those things and have not become a LIAR because of laziness. One of my interests is "conference", and I am still interested in "conference" so it gets to stay, but it's underlined which means other people on livediary have also listed "conference" as an interest and I wanted to see if maybe me and these people could become fast friends because we both share a common interest: conference. The first one I open up has this entry:

Friday, January 23rd, 2004
2:03 pm Happy New Year!

Another friggin year gone by and no word from anyone about the skiing downhill or anything. If this makes no sense to you, then you might have your mind still in tact. If anyone has taken pics of girls in bikini's while they are actually on skis and moving downhill, it would be cool for you to post them and let me know you have posted and where I can go to see the pictures of the girls. If you want to send them to me directly, that would be better. I am working on building a bikini website to go along with the nice legs contest page. So far there are about 80 sets of real women's legs on the contest page and there are about 30-40 more sets of legs that have been submitted and in the que to be entered into the sexy legs contests.
As usual...
Peace be with you all....
Live, Love Ride....
PS: Hi Nancy! Happy Birthday Sweetie!

Current Mood: relaxed
Current Music: Areosmith "Rocks"

I believe that me and Pokerz may have more than the simple love of "conference" in common.

I Am The 1,230,448,016 Most Popular Male Model

For those to whom this might mean something, at lunch I was flipping through the new issue of Fader magazine and stumbled across yet another picture of Kurt Fucking Mangum. I'm like "Goddamnit, I'm trying to eat lunch, Kurt." And so then I'm like "I am going to write a diary post about how Kurt was in my magazine at lunch" but I couldn't remember Kurt's last name so I google search for "Kurt, model" and find a webpage called, amazingly,, with Kurt listed as one of the Top 50 male models in the universe (#44).

Then I had to go throw up my lunch and wipe my mouth with a hundred dollar bill that Kurt decided to lend me because he "[has] enough toilet paper".

Fader also featured a picture of Little D.

Why are all of smokey's old and current flames conspiring to ruin my one break of the day?

The Simple Death

Before I went to lunch, I just wanted to ask why Nichole Richie was kept on for the second season of The Simple Life? I kind of understand how she made it on the first time, because no one knew that the show would be a hit, and she seemed to be an appropriately third-rate celebrity who would be willing to shove her arm up a cow's ass for a little screen-time. But now? I mean, you could get anybody on that show with no residuals. Granted, Paris stays, because she was in a homemade porn, and she dresses like a whore. But Richie—about whom the argument could be made that she also dresses like a whore, but only because she borrows Paris's clothes—is such a disgusting example of a human being that were a puss-filled Orc to explode from beneath the plastic "humanoid" Richie shell that it was using to gain access to the world's media machine, brandishing a war axe and exclaiming "bleargh, ooorikanaa, hthssssssst", I would go "ah, okay." Then the Orc, with a few bloody pieces of Nicole Richie flesh still stuck to its hairy shoulders would be forced to travel across country without any credit cards or fetid goblin meat to eat and it would be hilarious.

I've clearly gotten off topic, but my main point is that the President, and the nation at large, is so focused on international concerns that it is ignoring the problems at home: namely the economy, and the existence of Nicole Richie.

Ass Rape Is Funnier Before Lunch

As many have already remarked, Yahoo! email has been updated to compete with gmail by giving its users 100MB of storage space, etc. But have you seen the new design? I feel like I'm entering a site for post-menopausal hormone replacement therapy.

Way to go, Yahoo! As long as Google continues to only interest the elderly and the infirm, you are on the cutting edge of design and are beating them in whatever competition you could actually seriously face as a provider of free email.

Also, I am totally exhausted this morning, and I think it has something to do with hottubbin' it last night and having Neilgene yell "Gay Beach!" over and over and try to rub his chest hair and pepperoni nipples on me. Avoiding the come–ons of Neilgene is extremely tiring, as is the constantly repeated joke about how his bed is glazed like a donut (this is "funnier" if you think of the glaze being semen and the glazing process being jerking off). Will you guys leave him alone about that already? At least his bed is glazed with pleasure potion, rather than anal leakage, like you homos.

Ha ha. I just realized how grossly inappropriate it is to be writing about anal leakage before ten in the morning, and on company time no less. Then again, MAYBE IF MY FRIENDS WEREN'T SO QUEER I WOULDN'T BE FORCED TO!

Wednesday, June 16, 2004

Presidents Elections

The #1 Most Popular Campaign Promise That George W. Bush Supporters Wish George W. Bush Would Just Say Out Loud: No more black people doing anything, ever, except polishing shoes. Same for Hispanics and washing dishes.

The #1 Most Popular Campaign Promise That John Kerry Could Afford to Make Using His Own Money: A 40–foot yacht in every garage.

The #1 Most Popular Campaign Promise That Has Yet to Be Made By a Presidential Candidate: Pizza all the time. ALL THE TIME! And no more homework, ever!

This Diary Should Be Called Who Would Vin Deisel Do?

I read in the gossip pages yesterday that Vin Diesel went to a recent premiere party with eight dates, and had two assistants scouring the crowd for good looking girls to get their phone numbers.

Personally, I think that Vin Diesel is almost as ugly as he is untalented (almost). If you are an action star and the only thing that you have going for you is a ripped body, this is like being a fashion model whose strong suit is the clothes. With a personal trainer and a dietitian, anyone could look like this. It happened to Tobey McBoner, and he was the scrawniest, nerdiest dweeb of the whole scrawny, nerdy dweeb world. Now he is Spider–Man. He's like "all you kids who would have beat me up in high school if I wasn't home schooled, look at me now, I'm Spider–Man. Go go gadget webs! That was a little Gadget shout-out to all my hommmies in the chess club."

So, I was like, who would fuck Vin Diesel? He's so gross and his head is filled with the rough but spongy material they use to make panties at the dollar store. Then I'm like, well, he is rich and famous, and he can see in the dark and fight aliens as long as the aliens are slightly dumber than he is and have only peripheral vision. Who do I think is ugly and untalented but would fuck only because they were rich, famous, and good at fighting visually impaired aliens?

So then I was like "I will write a livediary entry about this, and make a list of all the ugly talentless chicks I would bang according to the previously enumerated criteria" and then I started to do just that but I realized "Hold the phone! I would fuck anybody."

And thus, this diary entry ends.

I Am Pretty Much The Number One Fan

I am happy to say that first the Pistons ate Shaq's ass, and then they fucked Kobe. They only tickled Malone's balls, because he was injured.

Everyone is feeling very self-congratulatory now, because WEdid it! But to all you fakers out there, I have been totally into the Pistons since Game 2, so fuck all y'all. Most of you couldn't have cared less until Game 3 or Game 4, some fools only showed up for Game 5 because they wanted to get drunk, while I was there from nearly the beginning! So you better come up and thank me for OUR victory today because it couldn't have happened without MY close to undying support since almost the beginning of the playoffs.

Is Detroit going to be Basketballworld now, or is it still Hockeytown? Or Hockeyballtown? Basketockyworld?

In more interesting news, I just spent about twenty minutes looking in the dictionary for a word I couldn't remember because I wanted to use it in my response to an e-vite. That word: empirically.

I've got to go tip over a car and set it on fire now, because I was too tired to do it last night.

Tuesday, June 15, 2004

Baby's Mama's Favorite Rapper's Drama

Do you ever get the feeling that life is happening elsewhere?

"50 CENT re-ignited a bevy of hip-hop beefs during Hot 97's Summer Jam at Giants Stadium on Saturday. First, the bullet-riddled rapper enraged Hot 97 program director Tracy Cloherty by airing a video on stage that ridiculed the likes of Lil' Kim, Ja Rule, Ashanti and Joe Budden. After Cloherty yanked the video before it ended, 50 spotted former friend Bang 'Em Smurf, who was seated in the front row, and threw a wad of cash in his face in response to Smurf's claim that 50 owes him $150,000. Police in riot gear broke up the resulting scrum between 50 Cent's posse, G-Unit and Smurf's crew, the Silverback Guerrillaz. When he finally performed, 50 dissed headliner R. Kelly by changing the words to Kelly's song, "I don't see nothing wrong with a little bump and grind" to, "I don't see nothing wrong with urinating on little girls" — a reference to the R&B lothario's current legal woes. 50 then purposely performed well over his time to cut into Kelly's set. Then Kelly delayed things another 45 minutes when he refused to come out and perform until 50 Cent and his posse had left the arena."
(taken from the New York Post)

And here I am, working like an asshole to pay my bills.

You've Got No Mail

Every time that I go to the gym, this guy from the mail room is there. We always look at each other and he thinks "you work somewhere in the building" and I think "you work in the mail room." Whenever I go to the gym I always want to look at how much weight other people are setting the machines to. This does not hold true for all the senior citizens who come for their afternoon outing, between their post-lunch and pre-dinner naps, because they are really old and no longer present any kind of reasonable threat/competition to me, unless we are competing for best pair of tan pleather velcro shoes, in which case they would all win. The guy from the mail room is a lot bigger than I am, but not necessarily good bigger, more like fat bigger, and so I always want to sneak a peek at where he puts the pin, but he's like "careful, man, don't get in my way, your mail might get lost in the"

Uh-huh, Uh-huh

I'm not sure whose performance at last night's karaoke session I enjoyed more, the guy in the wheelchair who sang Radiohead's "Creep" or the weird nerd who sang K.C. and the Sunshine Band's "That's the Way (I Like It)".

I think the reason that I am having so much trouble deciding is because I wished the guy in the wheelchair had sung both because he was in a wheelchair. But the nerd's performance was so compelling, even if he sang the exact same song last week, even if he isn't classically trained, even if the thought of him coming into intimate contact with another human being (while humming this song to himself) is physically repulsive, I feel like art was being made.

Then again, when some boogerheaded kid traces his hand on construction paper, glues a feather to it, tosses on some glitter and calls it a Thanksgiving turkey, I suppose you could argue that there, too, art was being made.

Wheelchair guy it is!

Monday, June 14, 2004

Peg-Leg Herschel Simmovitz

"First, a few facts: After years of bloody guerrilla warfare that cost Israel dearly in lives and treasure, on May 22, 2000, Israel unilaterally withdrew from south Lebanon to the internationally recognized border. On July 27, 2000, the U.N. passed Resolution 1310, confirming that Israel had 'withdrawn its forces from Lebanon in accordance with Resolution 425.'"
(taken from the New York Times)

A few of the treasures that Israel lost in its withdrawal from Lebanon:

30,000 Spanish doubloons
17,000 bricks of gold bullion
10 silver chalices
3 golden rings with diamond inset
1 sapphire pendant in the shape of a seahorse
1 emerald tiara
1 satchel of uncut rubies
1 solid gold scepter with a solid gold cobra-head handle with onyx eyes

Yay! Lunch!

I got in a fight with this girl at lunch. Everyone was saying that she doesn't eat fruit, but she was all like "I eat fruit, I eat unsweetened applesauce" and I was like "that's called eating applesauce, it's not the same thing" and she was all "yes it is" and I was like "you don't drink a glass of 100% fruit juice and say you're drinking fruit do you?" and she was like "yeah, I do" and the fight just kept going on and on and the whole time I'm thinking it is the bane of my existence to need to be right all the time because this is totally the most boring fight ever and I don't even know this girl.

Then she told this endless story about poop and I'm like "this story is endless, and it's about poop, and we are at lunch." And she was all like "poop this, poop that."

Yay! Lunch!

15 Letter Term For Deluded Failure (2 wds)

Last night, at dinner, my brother tried to argue that Will Shortz, editor of the New York Times crossword puzzle, is probably pretty well off.

See, that's the problem with college. Kids get these kinds of cracker-brained ideas in their heads. Guess what, pal, in the grand scheme of pay-scale "crossword puzzle editor" is right up there with "bathroom attendant". My brother suggested that, at the very least, Mr. Shortz could probably retire comfortably. To this I agreed, if by comfortably he meant "in a cardboard box by the Chelsea Piers."

I implore colleges to stop teaching people this kind of thing. As soon as a child begins to think that Derrida is more important in the intellectual life of the country than, say, Paris Hilton, it is time to set that child down and explain how things work. Lohan, not Lukács. Dispirito, not Deleuze. Beyoncé, not Baudrillard.

Then, when they graduate, make them get soul-crushing jobs that have nothing to do with the stuff you told them they were so good at. That is funny.

Friday, June 11, 2004

And Then Slowly I Am Fuck You, Both On and Off the Court

I've always sort of known that sports fanatacism was overtly tinged with homoeroticism, but listening to the radio yesterday before the big playoff game I was surprised by the blatant queerness of it all. Callers were supposed to "smash the Lakers", i.e. psych them out with taunts, but they might as well have been asked to "fuck the Lakers in the butts with penises".

Here are a couple of my favorite taunts:

"If the Lakers come to Detroit, Kobe is going to get his ass eaten and Shaq is going to get fucked."

"Lakers are a bunch of pansies. We are going to fuck them."

Well, after last night's upset, I bet the Lakers were more than a little surprised to find their hotel rooms filled with naked, sweaty Pistons just waiting to relieve some of the tension from the court.

Go Pistons!
Gay Pride!

Thursday, June 10, 2004

Margin of Naderror

Can someone who knows something about politics and large-scale statistical analysis please explain to me why Ralph Nader is pulling 4% in recent polls? He only won 2% in the last election, and he's getting no real support this time around, so where are these opinions coming from? I'm sure that this most recent poll generates the standard 3 point margin of error, so theoretically Nader could only have a 1% stake, but that seems unlikely. And I recently read that some state, like Pennsylvania or something, was showing a 6% Nader following.

I'm not worried about this because they are all republican voters anyway, I'm just curious.

A Funny Story About Prostate Cancer

When we last left our hero, Deadbeat Père was trying to text message his way back into Worker #3116's heart. Well, on May 30th he finally picked up the phone and called. Mind you, it was still two in the morning, but being a Saturday/Sunday I actually answered the phone. We will ignore the fact that he first blocked my caller i.d. from registering his number. That was not to trick me into answering the phone but just to deliver a bigger, more wonderful surprise when I answered. Anyhow, long story short, Deadbeat Père took a couple too many hits of the old "Courage Juice" and after the first five minutes of the conversation were over they were immediately repeated twice, word for word.

The main reason that I am writing about this is because of the following segment of our conversation:

Deadbeat Père: Have you spoken with your grandparents recently?
Worker #3116: Not really. I sent them an email and Grand-père #3116 sent a really short email back but it didn't say much. I assume they are doing well.
Deadbeat Père: Not quite. But I will let them tell you.

Creepy? Ominous? You bet. But I am thinking, They're probably just upset, as usual, that me and Deadbeat Père aren't talking, even though they should understand since they themselves are not talking to my uncle. Now that we are talking maybe they will be happier. Then again, I suppose it is very difficult to be retired, living between your house in Paris and your condo in Southern Spain, and still find time for contentment. If it was really serious, Deadbeat Père would tell me.

Two days later I get an email from Grand-père #3116 telling me that he was recently diagnosed with prostate cancer and had undergone surgery to have the tumor removed. Ha ha. Yay! Thank goodness Deadbeat Père didn't call to tell me the news when he found out. It is so much more powerful and filled with meaning to have it emailed to me two months after the fact. At the very least, I can rest easy in my knowledge that my family did not inform me of this recent, terrible development because they wanted to teach me a lesson. Well, family, lesson learned: Do not stop talking to your father when he is being a totally huge asshole because then your grandpa will get cancer and won't even tell you. I am such a shithead!

Ha ha.

Wednesday, June 09, 2004

Favorite Typos From a Story I Just Read, in Chronological Order of Appearance

"Blasts from annoyed driver's convinced him to proceed faster, across the street in route to the school of acting that lay ahead."

"Juan watched with facial surprise."

"'It's is an easy grade,' Dirk blurted."

"Jack walked with the pizza box, placing the box was a static filled police scanner."

"Nearby was the Timberland insignia embedded in the ground."

"The beam touched motionless face of all on stage."

"But he did know that a man was stalking her, and that it was that same man who bought the flashlight for Heather earlier the day she died."

"'I knew what we were doing was wrong. Dead wrong. And I wanted to end it. That's why I came by that night. I wanted the flashlight back, was all. She refused to give it to me. She said, she hated being married, living in this town. And the flashlight was her only hope of ever leaving this town with her sanity.'"

The last two entries aren't actually typos (except for "earlier the day she died" and "she said, she hated being married), mostly I just wanted to point out that one of the major plot points involved someone giving someone a flashlight as a present, and then wanting that flashlight back, and not being allowed to have the flashlight back because it "was her only hope of ever leaving this town with her sanity". That—and use of the phrase "dead wrong"—is why this is the best story I have ever read.

No Taxation Without Reprezentation

It was pointed out last night that the recent hike in the cigarette tax primarily punishes poor people. Under discussion was whether or not it would be better to tax fast food and other unhealthy items, but it was quickly decided that this would also unfairly punish only the poor. Ultimately, taxes in general only hurt poor people because rich people can afford to pay them. But I would like to suggest a few possible "vice tax" programs that could shift the burden to other segments of the population.

Taxation of Elderly Lonesome Women:
—Flower Flats
—Bulk Cat Food

Taxation of Gangster Rappers:
—Cadillac Escalades
—Krystal Champagne
—Diamond Jewelry in the Shape of People or Words

Taxation of Nerds
—Pewter Orc Figurines
—1,000 Sided Dice

By implementing these programs, we will not only substantially increase the revenues flowing into our state coffers, but can begin punishing the poor in much more fulfilling ways, not through taxation but through rape and psychological torture.

Loved the Wedding, Invite Me to the Marriage

I've noticed that this blog often devolves into some kind of "Dream Journal", but then I realized that can't be true, because only queers and hippies keep "Dream Journals". So then, what is it? I asked myself. A "Dream Diary" came the reply.

Last night I dreamt that two people from college were getting married. We shall name them Blandy and Cariana. Neilgene was giving what appeared to be a celebratory eulogy and then he said that he was going to throw a bunch of names in a hat and whomever's name he picked would have to come up and give a surprise speech. Guess whose name he picked it was mine. I went up and gave some speech and I was like "the only people who are more unhappy about my giving this speech than myself are Blandy and Cariana because why the fuck would they want me to speak at their wedding?" and a couple of people were like "oh, that's not a very nice sentiment to espouse on their wedding day" and I was like "LOOK!" and pointed at where Blandy and Cariana had been sitting and Blandy had left in disgust and Cariana was wearing this cardboard hat and totally ignoring me. Then everyone was like "We're going to David Cross's house for a barbecue" and I showed up and they were all eating homosexual non-meats and David Cross wasn't even there so I left.

Back in reality:

My orientation is finally over, but this morning it became quickly apparent that certain important details about my new employer were not made clear when they should have been. For example, take a D at home before coming in, because try as you might, you will not find an empty stall between 9 and 10 in the morning. That is "Company Poop Hour".

Tuesday, June 08, 2004


I try to keep my misanthropy out of the workplace, but two days of ice-breaker games and orientation sessions has really pushed me to my limit. Also, even if you work in a place that has a casual dress code, I would recommend not wearing a tie-dyed t-shirt and open-toed sandals with platform soles. It's up to you, though, Wendy in Payroll.

Still, one cannot give criticism without being able to take criticism, and so it was more than appropriate when Lowell, our orientation coordinator, chastised me for snorting when Daniel from I.T. defined what diversity meant to him by saying "when I think of diversity, I think of another word: 'awesome'." Instead, I should have simply excused myself from the room and done my derisive laughing in the privacy of the men's bathroom.

This afternoon I really really hope we get to do a trustfall.

Friday, June 04, 2004

Being unemployed for a month makes getting a steady paycheck feel like winning the lottery. The main problem with this delusion is that when you win the lottery you get a lot of money for free, but when you get a paycheck you only get a little money for work. This proves particularly disastrous when one spends one's paycheck as if it were one's lottery winnings, i.e. quickly, and on crap.

To help curb this dangerous trend, I would like to ask all of the e-retailers I have visited in the past week to close down my accounts and refuse to open them no matter how much I beg. Thank you very much,,,, and a host of pornographic websites too numerous to name here.

I, and the landlord who eagerly awaits my rent check, thank you.


Has anyone ever actually purchased a Mazda because of their "Zoom Zoom" campaign?

Excluding Billy Joel fans?


Last weekend we were at this party and I was talking to this French girl and would whisper loudly "when are you going to fuck her?" every time the girl moved away. Soon after, started yelling "VOILA!" and "TRES BIEN!", at which point the French girl left the party in disgust.

In any case, I think that these events were behind my dream last night in which I made out with a French girl in some diner who then turned into a cat and then I tried to stop my cd tower from spilling over by propping it against the beverage cooler but was having a lot of trouble because the floor was tilted and I was drunk and kept thinking what is my cd tower doing in this diner anyway? which may have been a pertinent question but was diverting my attentions from the task at hand: stopping the cd tower from falling over.

Needless to say, when I woke up with a cat in my bed I was a little freaked out, but a quick look at my cd tower assured me that everything was fine.

Thursday, June 03, 2004

Oh, Very Scary, Jew

AND JUST SO YOU KNOW: in addition to being gay, vegetarians are lying to you when they say eating three chili dogs for dinner with some warm, flat Dr. Pepper to drink is a gross dinner.

Afterwards, if you go to karate class and see all of these people who are of lower or equal rank to you participating in a class that didn't used to exist with the head teacher in the dojo and they are learning sweet moves and you ask them later what they were doing and why they are being trained for an elite fighting force and they say that they are being groomed for a new demo team of lower-ranked adults in a marketing effort to get more adults signing up for classes, DO NOT spend too much time wondering why you weren't invited because the answer is clear: NO JEWS ON THE ELITE FIGHTING FORCE, EVER.

Eggs and Pitch Black Toast or The Chronicles of Riddick's Breakfast

If I went out to breakfast with Vin Diesel, I would get the eggs benedict, and he would get the thrilling roller-coaster ride of blazing action and adventure. But we would both get coffee and separate checks.

This Was On a Website For a Band That Has Been Described As "Sludge Metal"

I have highlighted in red the points that I would like you to take special notice of, especially if you are into hardcore, because these guys are definately hardcore—their name comes from a flying dragon in The Neverending Story for heaven's sake!—and if you are into hardcore then you will hear your language being spoken to you.

we are shooting a video this THURSDAY the 22nd in LA... if you want to be in the video email me at
send your name, age, height and weight and a few pics (no huge files), including a full body shot if available. bascailly we need to know what you look like or else we cant use you once you are confirmed i will send you the addy (note: totally hardcore slang) for the videoshoot.
here are the details.

we really need you to come.please dont flake as this will fuck us over really badly.... thanks again it will be a fun LONG day. so yeah... here goes

-call time for YOU!!!!-
9am sharp, not 9:45 or maybe 10:15...9am on the fucking money (note: totally hardcore expression). the first shots of the day will be of you guys so you need to be there.

-what to wear-
dress up. dark colors only.
dudes NO T-shirts. (note: t-shirts are not hardcore.) no visable brand names (hurley, fox, quicksilver, jimmy X, gotcha, etc...)and no band shirts (godsmak, creed, korn, whatever you kids like these days) girls.. look sexy not slutty.(well maybe a little) once again darker colors no visable brand names or logos. Dress kinda like you are going our to get your groove on...... (note: ha ha ha ha ha ha)
ALSO you will be getting dirty a little bit. (we will be using a dust type effect to make your clothes look dirty, so maybe leave the DG/armani/etc... at home.) (note: please leave your hardcore Italian couture at home with your Godsmack t-shirts.)
GIRLS..we will be doing you up a little bit... be prepared for possibly some crazy makeup.

IN LA off broadway.

PERKS- besides being on tv, and helping your hommies out... there will be pizza and drinks a provided. HOPEFULLY.

Now imagine this whole casting call email written exactly the same except the band's name is not "Atreyu" but rather "Belle and Sebastian".

A Paid Advertisement For Ingrown Toenail

I highly recommend getting an ingrown toenail. The thing that is coolest about getting an ingrown toenail isn't the irresistible pheromones exuded by the swelling puss-filled pouch of skin around your inflamed toe. It is NOT the excruciating pain that shoots through your leg and buckles you at the knee when your toe inadvertently rubs against, say, a baby blanket. And the biggest liberal-media lie they tell you concerning an ingrown toenail is that the pleasure lies in being home-bound and incapacitated, shuffling only from your butterfly chair to the bathroom to refill your epsom salt footbath.

The truth revealed: for all of its other "perks", the awesomest thing about getting an ingrown toenail is getting an ingrown toenail surgically excised by a medical professional. Now, if you happen to know a medical professional who runs an occupational medicine (i.e. disability claims) clinic in a very rough part of a very large but deserted and unpopulated metropolitan area whose golden age passed with a series of racially motivated riots in the late 60s, all the better, because you will show up and everyone in the waiting room will be black, but the doctor will be white and you will be white, and he will usher you right in without any paperwork and all the black people will say "I knew it, I knew that was how it worked." They will not call you honky to your face, because your ties to the medical profession indicate potential ties to law enforcement, but they will think honky behind your back, and you won't care, because you are getting free medical treatment and when you leave this clinic you will still be white and they will still be black, and you will drive your car out of the blighted area while they might not even have a car, and if they do it will be something that Xzibit would pimp, read: shitty, but he works out of California, and so the point is they are screwed and must wait in the waiting room reading issues of Time magazine that are so old Russell Crowe is on the cover as Captain Jack Aubrey. But the pleasures of racial privilege are well documented, whereas the joys of excising ingrown toenails is not. And so, what will amaze you most is how after the doctor has numbed your toe with anesthetic and cut out the toenail and showed it to you--displaying this hook like a tooth that is the part of the nail that was GROWING INSIDE OF YOUR SKIN like some kind of super lame 80s horror movie starring Jennifer Aniston before she was "Jennifer Aniston" and then wraps your foot up in all this gauze—you will be worried about it, but by the next morning when you take off the dressing—after a night in a hot-tub where you had to stick your foot up into the air lest you infect the bubbling waters—you will find that there is NO PAIN. Upon this realization you will think to yourself I love getting an ingrown toenail, because at least this is something that a doctor can do something about, I SEE (and FEEL) results, and for this reason alone it has been very pleasurable to have gotten an ingrown toenail and I think I will recommend it to others.

Ingrown Toenail: Ride The Wave!

Tuesday, June 01, 2004

Friendly Advice

If you were planning on buying Crocodile Dundee on dvd from, I highly recommend you do so now. They only have four copies left, and sure they can order more if they run out, but that would take weeks!

P.S. For any collectors out there, a similar warning goes out to you: only 5 copies left of Crocodile Dundee II and only TWO!! copies left of Crocodile Dundee in Los Angeles, which amateur film critic "moodindigo2" hopes is "not Paul Hogan's swan song for the Dundee series" as "[it seems] Hollywood is merely attempting to cash in on the Dundee character and not use Hogan as the charming, affible actor that he is." Consider yourself duly warned, thanks "moodindigo2".

In other news there is a fly in my cubicle, but no windows in the building. Riddle me that.