Tuesday, August 31, 2004

Like Water for Legs

Last night I saw a man with no legs readjust his wheelchair over and over again to get a better view of the inside of a luxury chocolate shoppe. I imagined that in his head he was thinking One day I'm going to get those prostheses, and I'm going to walk into Chocölad like a man!.

He also had a dirty Subway napkin on one of his knees/stumps.

VH1 v. RNC

For a few days I've been trying to decide if I like this band called The Killers, so I'd just like to thank VH1 this morning for showing a The Killers video and helping me make my decision.

I wish VH1 would stop reorganizing their programming to appeal to a younger audience. I kind of liked it when they were just the one-stop-shop for Phil Collins acoustical jams. Now I'm like "Who knows what the grab bag of VH1 will offer up today?! Will it be Josh Groban, or Modest Mouse? I'm so excited!"

Also, according to Rudolph W. Giuliani, in the middle of the Tragic Events of September 11th, he grabbed the lapel of Commissioner Gordon and said, "Thank God, George Bush is our president." Regardless of his politics, what he should have said is, "Holy shit, I'm scared, and I want to live." What an ass clown. Or...wait a second...could that be...are you lying Mr. Giuliani? You dumb wop?

Monday, August 30, 2004

Hungry Like Wolf


There was one okay part of my weekend which was when we went to the karaoke bar and I was pretty much 100% trashed and I tried to fill out a request slip but I was too drunk to write neatly and I also didn't want to use my real name and so the little piece of paper had very messy writing in pencil and said:

Duran Druan
Hungry Like Wolf

But then, I thought the slip of paper was so funny that I didn't want to turn it in, because I wanted to keep it, or send it in to Found magazine, and OKTiger and Neilgene kept being like, "You can't send that in to Found magazine, you made it yourself," and then they tried to wrestle the paper from my hand and turn it in so I would have to sing, but I am stronger than they are, but I am also stronger than the paper was, and so it got ripped in half, and so I said, "OKTiger and Neilgene, you have ruined my evening. But on the upside, this torn piece of paper will look even more authentic when I send it in to Found magazine."

Later, I went to sleep.

The Other Lives

Do you know why MTV calls their show Cribs? It's because celebrities are a bunch of babies. Jesus Christ. First there was Shaggy, who, I mean, when was Boombastic a hit? In 1902? Wasn't Boombastic a hit back in the day when black musicians only had their music broadcast on the radio and they tried to sound white so that without any images of the band the mainstream would believe the music they were enjoying to be the racially inoffensive product of some wool-sweatered letterman from the local campus? My apartment is bigger than Shaggy's house, incidentally, and he referred to his Ferrari as "moist", which is disgusting, and sick.

Then there was some guy from the New York Football Team, who lived in an apartment building on Long Island. His "dining room" was the size of a breakfast nook, but it had a glass enclosure, and I shit you not in the least when I repeat what he said: "It's really cool, in the wintertime, to have a candle-lit dinner out here. When it's snowing it looks like the snow is going to fall right on your plate." Listen, Kunta Kinte, it's called glass, and just because it's clear doesn't make it magical. No one thinks they're getting snowed on in your breakfast nook. Then he kept talking about these two paintings that he referred to as his "mistress" and "the woman of the house" and I was like, ah, the telltale signs of a fellow chronic masturbator, giving human behavioral characteristics to two-dimensional images of women. But my very favorite part may have been when he took "us" outside to show us his cars, and then wandered around the grounds of his apartment building, and he said that he liked to come out there sometimes and just sit and listen to the waterfalls and think about life. The waterfalls to which he was referring were two really ugly fountains that just sprayed water, they weren't even fountains in the shape of waterfalls. And I'm surprised he has much time to sit and ponder "life" or whatever the fuck that means, when he has two anxiously awaiting oil paintings upstairs just waiting to be spooged upon.

My weekend sucked.

Friday, August 27, 2004

De Tigris ain't just a river in Turkey!

McCullen told me this story about the Russian guy at the store (Marseilles? What the fuck kind of name is this for anyone—other than, like, a Marquise or some shitty noble, who would be too busy penning billets doux to be working at a liquor store anyway—much less a Russian?). Marseilles was coming to the register from the back of the store with this customer who was holding this bottle of beer, and the customer was like, "Yeah, I thought you had it, I'm telling you man, it's really expensive," and Marseilles was like, "No vay," and he rang it up and one bottle of beer was ten dollars and the guy was like, "See, it's from Canada, it's so expensive, a sixty-dollar six-pack but it's really good, I was just surprised you even had it." Marseilles looked at the bottle very carefully because he was so surprised. Then the guy left with his beer and Marseilles shook his head and said loudly to himself, "SUPER CRAZY...SUPER VEIRD!" So I have been saying this to myself about everything ever since I heard that story.


Co-worker: Hey, Worker #3116, how are you coming along on that work that you are doing for your job.
Worker #3116: Fine. Get off my back.

Okay, that's a really bad example, because I couldn't think off the top of my head what a good situation for "SUPER CRAZY...SUPER VEIRD!" would be, I'm not a magician, a-holes. But I do say it to myself, usually just out of context and in my head, unlike Marseilles who says it in context and SUPER LOUD.

Argh! Argh! Republicans Bad! Kill That Guy in Badge More!

I watched FOX News for the first time ever this morning—The Bill O'Reilly Spin Factor Hour Zone excluded—and it wasn't as bad as all of the liberal elite are always trying to force me to believe against my will.

Go Bush!
Go Iraq!

My favorite part was when they interviewed the NY police commissioner about preparations being made for the RNC and the guy asked "So, should delegates be careful to take off their i.d. badges and hats and stuff when they're walking on the street?"

The RNC is in New York, right? They didn't move it, to, like, Mogadishu or something, right?

You're Next, Yang

I have this fantasy involving the Yin Yang Twins, where I beat one of them up while the other just watches.

Peace What!

Girls Only Like Guys Who Have Awesome Skills, Like Sucking Wes Anderson's Dick All the Time!

Going to see Napoleon Dynamite is a lot like going to a taping of TRL, except that the girls are even dumber because they're not trying to look good on TV. Jesus Christ, I was waiting for them to start serving graham crackers and apple juice halfway through. And why do college kids laugh at all of the least funny things on the planet? And why do college girls still say "eww" all the time in 2004? And here's another thing: that movie was so easy. You could have gotten as many laughs by just showing people tripping and falling down in the street and stuff. And why was everyone in the movie high on cold medicine? If nothing else, though, I'm sure that Wes Anderson enjoyed having his cock gently and lovingly caressed for all 98 minutes or whatever the fuck.

The one good thing that came out of Napoleon Dynamite was when one of the characters in the movie said "Peace out!" and the two guys behind us had this conversation:

Guy 1: Peace what?
Guy 2: Peace out.
Guy 1: Oh.

Thursday, August 26, 2004

corporate3116: Meet Me on the Ragball Diamond at 3, I'm Going to Kick the Shit Out of You!

This one time, and maybe I told this story before, but everyone in my fourth grade class was teasing me and so I stopped playing ragball or whatever we were playing and started walking back to the school and these two known bullies walked up to me and were like "why you crying?" "what's the matter, crybaby?" and I told them to leave me alone and they didn't so I punched one of them in the mouth and then ran to the teacher and told her that the kids tried to hit me so I had to hit them back, and they both had to sit out for the rest of recess, mostly because they were black so OF COURSE they had tried to hit me, at least that's what I think the teacher thought. One of the bullies, Greg, moved to a different school soon after that, but he was back in my Junior High and he came up to me one day and was like "didn't you go to Elementary School" and I was like "No, I went to Blah Blah School" and he gave me a look and walked away. But the reason that I'm telling you all of this is that had I only had a computer with the internet I could have simply i.m.'ed those guys when I got home and said something like "you are black and no one likes you and it will be a lot easier for me to get a job when we get older and even if you do get a job it won't pay as well as mine, and even if you get rich and famous just the simple act of hailing a cab will prove difficult because NEVER EVER EVER will this country repair its racial divide, a divide of which, my dear bullies, you are on the WRONG SIDE. So who's the bully now motherfuckers?" Beep boop bip. Send!


Ever had one of those mornings where you look at the alarm clock and say to yourself "No, it can't be 9:30 because I'm at work at 9:30."

Ever have one of those this morning at 9:30?

Wednesday, August 25, 2004


corporate3116: what must have happened is a spider got caught under my shirt while i was sleeping or something, but it bit the hell out of me like five times
corporate3116: and then it got out
corporate3116: of my shirt
corporate3116: but now i have all these sores on my chest, spider bites
corporate3116: what kind of amazing powers do you have now?
corporate3116: i can ooze pus from my chest
corporate3116: but not at will
corporate3116: it just kind of happens

"I Kew What They Were Thinking: 'Jenny McCarthy Has Butt Hole Problems?'"

If one imagines that Jenny McCarthy took time off from her awesome career as a whore to have a child, then the trajectory of her career, if it is any indication at all, suggests that she has been pregnant for eight years.

Attention Mothers-to-Be: Please don't listen to anything Jenny McCarthy may have to tell you.

Attention Jenny McCarthy: If you love babies so much, I have some babies you can have.

The Thing I Hate About Celebrities Is When They Aren't Celebrities

Everyone in the whole world knows that I love celebrity gossip, so I was very distressed to see this on Page Six in the New York Post:

"GOOD thing the Violets don't get violent. The punk trio was booked Saturday at 21 Water in Sag Harbor. But the group claims that 30 minutes before the show, after it had driven three hours from the city, owner Nicky Tuosto canceled the show. 'He cited the rain even though we were playing indoors, and refused to pay us or compensate us for time, travel and travails,' said frontman Alexander Nixon. 'When we ultimately worked out a deal for a check for $75 and a meal for the band, we said, "Just write the check and we'll be on our way." At which point he became enraged...We noticed him tearing down our poster on the way out.' Tuosto couldn't immediately be reached for comment."

This is not celebrity gossip. This is just boring no-name-shitty-punk-band gossip. Who the fuck are the Violets? I've tried to look them up on allmusic and on MTV.com, and they are not listed anywhere. Granted, I did not expect a band who demands $75 AND A MEAL to be particularly well known, but they must be giving out free hand-jobs at the NYP offices.

In more important news, did you know that Kate and Andy Spade are in a trial separation? But more importantly, did you know that Andy Spade's brother is David Spade? When you carry your chi-chi Kate Spade bag into the bathroom to throw up lunch, that's pretty much a David Spade bag there. I mean, it's as much his as it is Kate's because it's his last name. She could just as well be Kate Finkelstein had cupid pointed his stupid faggy arrow in another direction and then you'd be like "Check out my new Jew bag!" and the girl next to you would be like "You look fat."


"Okay, MTV, I'm ready for some raps," I said, this morning. But all MTV gave me was that Nelly video again (apparently the cut/scrape on his face has cleared up) and then MTV was like "You know what you need? Made!" And I was like, "I don't really think that's what I need," and MTV was like, "Oh, it is!" And I was like, "I don't think so," and MTV was like, "YOU ARE WATCHING MADE, SO SHUT UP!"

This girl on Made wanted to be an actress, but she suffers from crippling stage fright, so MTV decided to pair her up with this Harvey Fierstein character who was going to get her over this fear and then get himself a date for Fire Island. So, her first task was to go (w/ gay) to the mall and talk to strangers and try to get them to compliment her. First, she cried. This is true. She was worried that people would think she was an ass (she would be right), and so she cried. Then she went up to these old ladies and was like "My friends say this outfit is ugly, that it makes me look fat," and the old ladies were like "No, you don't look fat," and she was like "Is this outfit ugly?" and one of the old ladies said "It's a little immodest." Ha ha. Okay, so it doesn't get any better than that, but it almost gets better, because next the Queen tells her that she has to go get compliments from these three guys and she's like "Oh no, I can't, they go to my school and the one in the middle hates me," and then the Queer was like "That's the one you have to get to compliment you," so she goes over to them and starts with the same tack about how her friends (what friends?) say her outfit is ugly and makes her look fat, and the guy in the middle is like "You don't look fat," and she's like "How do I look?" and he's like "Uh, average." And she's like "I don't look hot in this outfit?" and he's like "No, you're not hot." Ha ha. Who needs acting? This is great. So then the homo is like "Yeah, it sucks to get told you're not hot, but the guy has a needle-nosed dick," and I'm thinking You would know and also Remember your audience because frankly, using "needle-nosed dick" is simultaneously out-dated AND the definition of grandma's "immodest". Finally, she goes up to this other guy (hanging out in the mall by himself?) and blah-de-blah, the same question, and he's like "No, you don't look ugly" and she's like "How do you think I look?" and he's like "Uh...uh...pretty?" And she's like "You think I look pretty, right?" and he's like "Uh, yeah...pretty." And she's like "COMPLIMENTS ARE THE BEST. YOU HEARD HIM SAY IT, I AM SO PRETTY!"

Then, H.F. is rehearsing his "play" in New York and she has to go do a monologue but she cries again, and then one of the actresses is like "I've totally been there, it's okay, and I'm totally not lying," and then stands with her while she READS—I mean this literally, with the book two inches from her face—the monologue, with no expression or body movement, and then everyone claps for her, I guess maybe because she's totally unique and gifted, like the way the "athletes" in the Special Olympics are totally unique and gifted.

I didn't see if she ever got to be a famous actress, but I did see this part where Harvey Fierstein was sitting her down (in a dance studio, where he was just "working out the vapors with [his] good friend, Pedro") for this long talk about how she needed to confront her family because her family was holding her back and how she needs to stop thinking of herself as a normal, average girl because she's not, and I'm like "YES SHE IS, SHE'S TOTALLY NORMAL AND AVERAGE, NOT ONLY IN THE WAY SHE LOOKS AND ACTS AND "ACTS", BUT IN HER TOTALLY PEDESTRIAN DREAM OF BECOMING AN ACTRESS AND/OR GETTING ON MTV, SO GO SUCK A VAGINA, HARVEY."

I want to get Made into the guy who gets to tell that girl that she sucks.

Tuesday, August 24, 2004

Lindsey Lowrentwhore

When I read in the New York Post that Lindsey Lohan was spotted buying promise rings with Wilmer Valderrama at Tiffany's this weekend I was like "WHAT! You're dating Paco or Peekachoo or whatever that brown-skinned one's name from That Teenagers Show is called?! WTF LOHAN?!"

Lindsey, just FYI, from now on I will only fuck you, but I will never, EVER, speak to you again!

The Tao of Pussy

I collected a lot of my mail last night that I wasn't getting during the summer and I had received this hand-addressed envelope from my karate school and inside was this photocopied essay from some book on how to teach karate or something and at the top it had a red-markered message from the head of the school that said "Worker #3116—Thought you might like this!" And so I read it and it was this story about a "cocky" young karate student who went to a bar and was having a good time and then got punched in the face and fell back onto a table and then the guy who punched him got kicked out of the bar but then the "cocky" young karate student was all depressed because he got hit in the face and he told his karate teacher "I am depressed and my face is hurt and I suck at karate" and the karate teacher was like "you need to be nicer to people and do zen" and then the "cocky" kid turned into a "pussy."

So I'm holding this piece of paper and I'm like "Um, I guess the head of my karate school thinks I need to get punched in the face and also to 'learn many important, difficult lessons' that involve getting punched in the face and/or falling backward onto a table before I can use my excellent tiger's paw strike to the adam's apple." Which, although it may very well be true, still made me a little sad because I am always very polite and courteous and helpful and kind in my "dojo" (also known as "the basement") and am not "brash" or "cocky", but I guess I'm also not a "pussy", at least not yet! So, if anyone thinks they can teach me an important and difficult lesson, bring it on you fags.

Monday, August 23, 2004

Yummy, Headache!

Your headache just got a whole lot more delicious and refresciente!


Maybe this seems obvious to some people, but I should really probably stay away from narcotics and other super good drugs, because a lot of times I'll be like "Ho hum, my day is so boring, I am so tired, cry cry cry," and then I'll drink a cup of coffee and be like HOLY SHIT THIS IS GREAT I AM GREAT WHERE IS SOME MORE COFFEE TO DRINK ALL OF THE TIME, AND I ENJOY SUGAR A TREMENDOUS DEAL, FUN TIME, FUN TIME, FUN TIME, FUN TIME, WHO LIKES TO HAVE FUN WITH ME FOREVER!? But, it's not like I don't drink coffee every day, it's more like I do drink coffee every day, and usually two times, so imagine if instead of coffee, I was smoking crack!



Thieves stole Edvard Munch's "The Scream" from a museum in Oslo this weekend, and I'm thinking What, your mousepad and coffee mug wasn't good enough? You needed the real, ugly thing?

My (Mom and Herb's) Place

Living at my mom and Herb's house has its perk: cable television. While I was eating breakfast this morning I watched some MTV (that stands for Music Tele Vision). At first, I tried to watch the Today Show, which I used to like to watch while I ate breakfast, but Matt—Someone Love Me, Please—Lauer was like "Olympics this, Olympics that," and I almost fell back asleep, so I was like "I need some rap videos to get this day started right." The new Nelly video came on and there was this one part where Nelly called his girlfriend on her cell phone and I was thinking Wait a second, Nelly! Neilgene had that phone like a year ago! And you call yourself dope?! Which, incidentally, I don't even think anyone calls themselves dope anymore, but you will remember that I just recently had a birthday so it's not like I can keep up with a whole new generation of youth culture, much less black youth culture, and anyhow, I do know that you can "put people in the bush" now, which is like a shout out although shout out always made sense to me and putting someone in the bush does not, unless it's a sex thing. But, so, then I thought about it and I realized that when Nelly called his girlfriend he used some futuristic gameboy looking phone from the year 2007! and his girlfriend was the one who had Neilgene's phone, and then I was like That is very dope of you, Nelly, to not only use a phone that is at least three years more advanced than any phone your fans could possibly use and that looks like it has videophone capabilities even though the person you're calling would also have to have videophone capabilities for it to work and they obviously don't as you have, quite literally, the only futuristic gameboy phone on the market right now because you are the dopest, but also to show us that even your girlfriend, who you are trying to win back, still could never be as dope as you are, because you are the dopest and look at how old her phone is. Your phone, Nelly, could be put in the bush, but not her phone, I mean, what is that, a Sony Ericcsson T-320? Ha ha ha. Don't make me laugh, Nelly's ex-girlfriend. Your phone is busted. I could buy and sell your phone, with money! The South is so Dirty!

I love cable Tele Vision!

Friday, August 20, 2004

Mister Manicure, Clown Coffee, and the Blue Bottle of Absinthe

I'm all for drinking. Okay. But there's always something that kind of creeps me out when people make a big deal out of drinking, not the "we're getting trashed tonight, so wear pants you don't mind ruining" kind of big deal, but like the "I just really love to drink, you know, I like the taste and the way it makes me feel, you know?" Like, when I worked in New York, my office had a mini-party in the afternoon this one day for someone's wedding engagement or something and there was champagne and this other assistant got kind of drunk but was trying to reassure everyone that she was fine and our boss's boss's boss was like "how many have you had?" clearly as a joke, and the girl was like "WHAT? WHY? I'M FINE." And the BBB gave her a look of disgust and was like "Just drink your wine."

So today I noticed that Mister Manicure got a package, and then he was showing it off to Clown Coffee, so I went to inquire what it was and it was a fancy bottle of Louisiana Absinthe and I was like, "You ordered that?" And he was like, "Yeah, because I'm a raging alcoholic, heh heh." And then I asked, "Have you ever had absinthe before?" and he was like "Yeah, but not this kind" and then he went into some involved story about how this was supposed to be made from a really old recipe of the original brain-bleeding-from-your-ears-I'm-not-crazy-you're-carrots stuff and how he didn't trust most people who made absinthe but he trusted this guy because he TALKED TO HIM. And my brain was going ding-ding-ding, warning Worker #3116, warning Worker #3116. And I asked if it had wormwood in it and he said he hoped so and I told him to be careful because wormwood is poison and he countered with, "Only if you drink, like, a gallon of it," and I said, "Well, no, I mean, it IS poison, but it doesn't necessarily hurt you in a small dose," and he countered with the totally excellent I-could-be-drunk-right-now response of "So's alcohol," and this whole thing is happening in Clown Coffee's cube, so Clown Coffee interjects and is like "Well, no, I mean, that's different. There's poison, and then there's POISON." And then Mister Manicure is like "Well, it's not like it's got heroin in it. I'm going to drink this at night and come in the next day and you won't even know," and I thought to myself YOU ARE CREEPING ME THE FUCK OUT, GO CLIP YOUR NAILS.

I need a drink.

My Jock (Get Off It)

Does anyone have a really nice, tactful way of telling gay people that you yourself are not gay and that you think it's gross? Besides "Get that out of your mouth, that's not for you!"? Every once in awhile I find myself in yet another situation where there's the distinct sensation of being casually, conversationally poked and prodded to see which way you will fall, with the poker/prodder hoping you will fall onto his dick. Is it my fault that I'm impeccably well-dressed and wear cologne, that I'm extremely sensitive and witty, can cook, speak French, and have a build that has earned me the flattering but embarrassing nickname "The Bod"? No, those things are not my fault.

If I am at fault for anything, it is tolerance.


Things that have not been working at the office this morning:

Corporate Email
Voicemail (intermittent)
World Wide Internet (intermittent)


I know what you're thinking.

Thursday, August 19, 2004

Gateway to the Black World

"SCIENTOLOGY finally has a new famous face. Brandy , who insists she hasn't joined the controversial church, admits she's taking Scientology courses. 'It basically consists of questions that probe really deeply into your life,' Brandy told Africana.com. 'You are confronting all of your experiences, and I knew, "If I could confront every experience in my life and be cool with it, then nothing could stop me." They ask the questions, and you provide the answers. I am not a Scientologist, but I do love what I have experienced.'"
(taken from the New York Post)

Taking pot-shots at celebrity scientologists is probably a little too easy, like, I mean, what kind of experiences is Brandy really confronting? The taping of the 53 episode of Moesha in which Moesha learns an important lesson about tolerance? So I won't make a joke about that, but what really struck me was africana.com. It gets better. If you actually go to the website, the tag-line is "Gateway to the Black World." If I ever lol'ed in my life, I'd lol at this. "Gateway to the Black World" seems a much more appropriate tag-line for, say, Queen of the Damned, starring Aaliyah, or, like, Stargate or some shit.

Remember when Aaliyah died? Do you think she's in black person heaven now?

Another Post! I'm Great!

I was just looking at the villagevoice.com, and there's one of those internet personal ad ads (an ad for personal ads) on the sidebar with this girl (2redcherries) looking over her tatooed shoulder (cherry blossoms?) and her finger between her lips looking like she would just love to fuck whoever it is that reads the villagevoice.com website, but this is the description of her:

More about what I am looking for: "A partner for scouring the Salvation Army for vintage t-shirts."

2redcherries, it is 2004. Do you want a man, or a 13-year old boy in ill-fitting cuordoroys and an ironic Husker Dü tee-shirt, because seriously, if you're waiting for some guy to be like "OH SHIT! I love finding vintage tee-shirts! AND I'm looking to settle down in a serious relationship with a girl from the internet," you're about ten years too late. Maybe you should have gone with the "I like long walks on the beach" tactic, so that at least people would know right away that you were a total tool. Then again, the cherry blossoms and "licking your own fingerbang" are a pretty easy tell.

Like Saturday Night Live, But on B.E.T.!

I don't know if any of you who read this are black, but if you are then I'm sure you've heard the new Ghostface Killah "joint", The Pretty Toney Album. It's really good, and it has the only rap skit I have ever liked, which involves a bunch of black people in a car and two of them start arguing:

B1: "Damn, Toney got fuckin' ants in his car!"
B2: "Nigger, you got ants in your mouth, bitch!"

Now, I hate the N word, but I still laugh at this, because it's different when you call each other that!

Mark Your Calendars, If You Can Even Get Out of Bed

If you are fat, you should get a job at my job. "Weight Watchers at Work" begins September 8.

Get in line, fatty!

I cannot think of anything more embarrassing than this program, not only because of the humiliation anyone would suffer in signing up for it, but I feel bad for all the real fatsos around the office who know that come Sept. 8 people are going to be trying to tactfully inquire how the "Weight Watchers at Work" program—in which they are NOT participating—is going. There are, in my Mémé's words, some real triple-oinkers around here, and some of us have both our eyes on your bigness.

Give a Man a Fish and He'll Eat For a Day. Give a Man a Box of Stroke Mags...

Vin Diesel is gay. We know this. But you know who else is gay? Diesel Pants. Listen, I'm in great shape. I wear a 32-inch waist pant, which I think is the ideal size. It's not girl skinny (are you listening, Blink 182?), but it's not fat, either (are you listening guy in Blues Traveler who wears a hunting vest with harmonicas on it because he has still never ever seen a woman naked?). But when I ordered some Diesel pants with 32-inch waists they were gigantic. So let's break it down. There is a segment of our population that prefers to wear pants that claim to have a smaller waist than they know in their heart of hearts that they wear. This segment is called "girls". J. Crew, for example, is notorious for down-sizing their feminine line of clothing so that if you wear an 8 you can buy a size 6 in J. Crew pants so that you think "I am so skinny, I'll never go to the gym ever again forever" at which point you balloon into a size 10 and kill yourself. So, if there is a type of "boys" pants that is down-sized like a "girls" pants, what type of boys is this appealing to? Boys who are like girls...gay boys. Diesel loves cock. I hate Diesel. If Diesel would like to meet me after school, I will kick the shit out of Diesel on the softball field and no one will ever love Diesel again because of Diesel's hideously deformed gay face.

People keep leaving town, and when they move they decide to leave me their porn collections. The great windfall came yesterday with 's huge box of stroke mags. "Wow," I said, "this is a lot of stroke mags. And I like the picture on the side of the box of a little girl holding a puppy. I am so hard!" and I thought it would be funny if I left with the box and no one ever saw me again, until one day Neilgene spotted me on the street with just my last remaining mag, my favorite edition of Swank, after I'd sold all the rest for a cheeseburger, and my hands are all callused and my penis has fallen off, and only Swank keeps me company at night. Anyway, so I'm looking through this box of porn and I find this metal box at the bottom and suddenly I feel like Indiana Jones because I'm like "what is this ancient artifact, buried under these unassuming stroke mags?" and I lifted it out of the box gingerly and called Neilgene over as I opened it, half waiting for my face to melt off, and I was all like, "Oh my god, is this his masturbation kit?" and I imagined it to be filled with some kind of crazy oils and stuff, but it was a cd case filled with dvd porn. This, combined with Sabuda's dvd porn (Wet Campus Co-Eds, #18—which, incidentally, I started "watching" the other night and it had a girl catch her step-brother masturbating and then went down on him, and I was like "this would be even hotter if I was into incest!" And then in my head I heard Sabuda say "Wait, you're not into incest?") that he gave me, makes me the richest porn owner in town. If porn was money, I could buy and sell you. If porn was food, I would never go hungry. If porn was happiness, I'd have a box and cd case full of happiness.

I'll be in my room.

Wednesday, August 18, 2004

A Very Special This American Life

When is Ira Glass, and his minions of effete pedants, going to come up with a radio program on a topic of interest to ME? Namely, when is Ira Glass, and his minions of effete pedants, going to produce an hour long radio program about pizza and pizza-related sexual encounters. I know he talks about sexy time on his show, I've heard him say "if you have a kid, it's sexy time" plenty of times. The only thing I'm unclear on is what the NPR legalese would be for pizza related stories. Here are some things I never, ever hear on his stupid show, but that I would totally want to hear on his stupid show:

"I'm Ira Glass. Every week on our show, we choose a theme, and invite writers and artists to talk about that theme. This week: pizza, and pizza-related sexual encounters."

"Hugh and I were walking along the Seine one evening when we saw an accordion player on the Pont Neuf. There were tourists all around us, whispering to each other isn't it just perfect. Isn't it so French!" Oh how I loathed these people, with the kind of loathing I usually reserved for colored bath salts, dubbed episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and sex without pizza."

"David Sedaris with his story about France, where pizza is called le pizza, and sex is called le sex. Back in a moment, with more NPR, I'm Ira Glass."

"I realized, standing in my mud-caked tennis shoes and blue jeans at the epicenter of American history that, despite what we're always told by teachers and politicians and, yes, Ken Burns, I realized that the Civil War wasn't about black or white, North or South. It was about pepperoni or sausage. It was about cheese-stuffed or un-stuffed crust. People, the Civil War was about pizza. Pizza and pizza-related sexual encounters."

"That was Sarah Vowell, with a story about the Civil War, and the time she had pizza twice in one night and also sex. I'm Ira Glass, and you're listening to NPR."


Obviously, the summer is over. But at least it ended well. got her nose broken by a homosexual last night, just as young women had their noses broken by homosexuals in Greece thousands of years ago to mark the ending of summer and the ascension of the autumnal equinox.

Goodnight, sweet Summer of Pussy 2004. You were okay.

Tuesday, August 17, 2004


Last week, there was this article in the Sunday New York Times magazine about Michael Phelps, who is the youngest member of the U.S. Olympic Men's Swim Team (19) and considered by many to be the best swimmer in the world. It was a pretty good article, as are most in the SNYTM, and it outlined Phelps's planned attempt to beat Marc Spitz's 1972 record of 7 gold medals in Olympic swimming competitions by competing in 8 different races. Since reading that article and the commencement of the Games, I have been following Phelps's success. Yesterday, of course, was "The Race of the Century" in which the three best swimmers in the world, Phelps, an Australian named Ian Thorpe, and the Niederlander Pieter van den Hoogenband in the 200-meter freestyle. Phelps won the bronze, thereby eliminating his chances of setting the 8-medal record. Prior to this upset he had won the gold in the 400 individual medley and set a new world record in that event. Today, he won two more gold medals, in the 200-meter butterfly and as the leader of the team event, 4-200-meter relay. As I was reading about these victories this afternoon I was forced to pause, because it dawned on me, I DON'T FUCKING CARE ABOUT SWIMMING!

Get a Job

Last night Jamie Sabuda was talking about this head shop that never opened but was going to be called Weed Unicorn, which is a very great name. I wish that Weed Unicorn existed and that me and Roy, the owner, could become fast friends. I know what it takes to be a hippy (answer: a baja), and could do it, totally.

Roy: Hey man, I like your baja.
Worker #3116: Thanks man. It's made out of hemp. Hemp is a really great fabric.
Roy: Yeah. Oh, hey man, check out these new hand-made tobacco bongs I just got in, they're from Guatemala.
Worker #3116: Those look great, man, I could sure go for some tobacco if you know what I mean.
Roy: Totally. Tobacco and a black light poster of the Cat in the Hat getting hiiiiiiiiighhhhh.

At this point we devolve into unstoppable fits of laughter.

Enjoy Your Being Famous

This is something that I know that you do: go into a store and buy something and then the cashier is like, "Enjoy your condoms," and you're like, "You, too!" For some reason, this is always an embarrassing conversation, but not quite as bad as this very real interaction from last night:

Andrew W.K.: Hey, Worker #3116, I haven't seen you in a long time!
Worker #3116: Hey, Andrew, how's it going?
Andrew W.K.: It's going really well.

Yeah, no shit.

Anyhow, that was great. Other things that are great are pizza and fucking.

Monday, August 16, 2004

Water Sports

I'm all for sports, and I'm all for sports reporting, but this guy needs his "creative license" revoked:

"This was one of the most exciting races in the Olympics four years ago as well, when van den Hoogenband surprised everyone by knocking off Thorpe for the gold medal. Thorpe, then 17, had been the darling of the Games, swimming in his swimming-mad country and in his hometown."
(taken from the New York Times)

...knocking off Thorpe...
So, he killed Thorpe? No. Clarity? No.

...swimming in his swimming-mad country and in his hometown...
I read this a bunch of times and was like "whaaa?!" After my thirtieth reading of this, I finally get it. Maybe I'm an idiot, but I think that is unlikely. I think the writer is an idiot. That's why I've written this whole entry, duh. Obviously I wouldn't have written this if I thought I was an idiot, or, at least, I would have written it all very differently.


Worker #3116 Goes Digital!

This diary is about to get a whole lot sexier.


E #3116! Entertainment Diary!

Why do you always love to read my diary? For my up to date analysis of your favorite celebrity gossip all the time!!

This weekend, Lindsey Lohan was at a party in Las Vegas and when a fan asked to take a picture with her she screamed "Get the fuck away from me or I'll kick your ass." Okay, well, as we all know, Lindsey Lohan's dad is a Tae Kwon Do brown belt (you may remember that earlier this year he got into a scuffle with his brother-in-law and took his shoe off in the driveway and threatened to hit his brother-in-law with the shoe, but indicated that he never planned to use any of his brown belt Tae Kwon Do techniques) so maybe daddy has passed on some particular choice tidbits on 'most effective kill points', but more importantly, she has gigantic breasts!

Also this weekend, Kate Moss and longtime rival, Jade Jagger, threw a party in Ibiza to celebrate their reunion as friends. Cool. Ibiza is very cool. Apparently, the trouble between them started when Moss slept with Jagger's boyfriend behind her back. Jagger, who is a jewelry maker, sent Moss a diamond necklace that spelled out the word "slag". This is some kind of crazy punishment in which you send someone you hate something very very expensive that uses slang no one in
America would understand. Kate Moss is hot for thirty!

Vin Diesel is gay.

Great job everyone, let's keep watching E! Entertainment Television!

Daddy #3116

I think I would have enjoyed this weekend a lot more if I were the father of a small baby, because then any time out of the house and away from my adult responsibilities would be a welcome reprieve. As it stood, I just got too drunk and felt mildly bored, AS USUAL.

I did enjoy seeing some people that I haven't seen in a long time, like , and I didn't enjoy seeing a bunch of people from my high school who were like "Hey, remember me, we went to high school together?" This happened literally five million times. "I'm a chef in Portland. It's weird coming back, you know, because, like, the girls here are all wearing the same frilly skirts and tank tops that the girls in Portland wear. It's like everywhere I go is the same." Are you fucking kidding me? Did your mom drop you on your exposed brain when you were a baby?

Then again, if I were the father of a small baby, this conversation might have reminded me of the preciousness of life and the fragility of human relationships, and I might have rushed home to my small baby and whispered in his ear, "Don't ever move to Portland. Don't ever wear a black, Western-style shirt with white piping that looks brand new like you just bought it at Wilson's Leather. Don't ever grow that kind of facial hair. Shhhhhh, small baby, shhhhhh."

Friday, August 13, 2004

A Scene From Heaven, 8/13/2004

God: Bitch, make me a sandwich.

Julia Child: With crusts or without crusts, m'lord?

Alan Keyes: Genius or Mad Genius?

Barack Obama's republican challenger, Alan Keyes, was interviewed on Fresh Air yesterday by whoever the guy is who "sit[s] in for Terry Gross", and in outlining his position on abortion he very passionately explained why he would ban abortion in cases of incest and rape. His claim was that the child (fetus, since there's another child in cases of incest, which he was not referring to) should not be punished for the sins of its parents. He actually asked "would you like to be punished, to be KILLED, for mistakes your parents made?"

Well, Mr. Keyes, you make a great point, because no, I would not like to be killed for the mistakes of my parents. Then again, I wouldn't want my dad to also be my grandpa. And while we're really thinking about it, I'm not sure I would want my dad to be a rapist and my mom to raise me as the unfortunate product of the greatest tragedy of her life. Just personally speaking, that doesn't seem like a superfun childhood and kind of hints at a terrible adulthood as well, what with all the lingering guilt over being a rape baby.

In trying to give Mr. Keyes the benefit of the doubt, I would totally accept his argument if he made the admission that he was the product of an incestuous rape. "I am a gross rape baby" could go on all his bumper stickers and I'd fucking move to Illinois and vote for him. Just kidding. You know he's black, right?


Dear womens of the music and film (read: entertainment) industry,

Why do you all date Fred Durst all the time?

America is confused. Even Fred Durst is amazed by his bizarre and unexplainable luck with a gender that should, by all logical accounts, shun him like they would shun drinking bottled bum juice.


P.S. Ms. Berry, Catwoman? What's up? The black half of you lost to the white half in that fight, huh?

Now Just Go Inside and Have Yourself a Nice Big Forty

I woke up in the middle of the night and thought "That dream I was just having was so crazy, it will make a great livediary entry." Of course, upon awaking for real I had completely forgotten what the dream was. What saddens me is not the loss of the dream, but the fact that my first thought was that it would be a good livediary entry. How depressing. The only more depressing thought I could have possibly had would have been "That dream was crazy, it will really help me build a new strategy for Final Fantasy X-2."

Tonight there is going to be Big Party 2004, and I'm hoping that McCullen achieves his dream of having an earnest and sincere reason for saying "That guy asked us for help, and we set him on fire."

And guess what, clowns! Chicken butt!

Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha.

Thursday, August 12, 2004

Meet Mister Manicure

Clown Coffee finally sent an email to Newer Guy on Monday, basically addressing the whole superfoul issue of NG's clipping his nails in his cubicle. All in all, the email was actually quite diplomatic and polite, saying something to the effect of "I don't know if you know this, but I can hear you using your nail clippers in your cubicle, and it's distracting. I thought I would let you know, just as I hope you would let me know if I ever did something that distracted you."

We'd had a couple quiet days around here, but lo and behold, clip clip clip came this morning's drums of doom (where drums here are nail clippers). Seriously, though, NG, I mean, you GOT AN EMAIL, which is basically a glaring bright red warning sign that EVERYONE HAS BEEN TALKING ABOUT YOU BEHIND YOUR BACK, so CUT IT THE FUCK OUT.

Well, Newer Guy, guess what, you just earned yourself a new emasculating nickname. Mister Manicure. I hope you like it, fuckwad.

I Arm Wrestled the Sheriff, But I Did Not Arm Wrestle No Deputy, But I Did Reference Bob Marley

Brother #3116's girlfriend's father is a sheriff, and Brother #3116 is going to go up north to visit his girlfriend this weekend and thereby meet the sheriff for the first time. This, I believe, is the origin of my dream last night, in which Brother #3116 was being harassed by his girlfriend's father, who was a sheriff. The guy was just being a total dick to Brother #3116, teasing him about stuff and threatening him with violence. At one point, right when I arrived on the scene, I was like "who the fuck do you think you are?" to the sheriff, and then I threatened to arm wrestle him. My pluck and vigor gained me instant access to the warmer climes of the sheriff's affection, for he truly appreciates men who stick up for themselves and their kin, that being, I guess, part of the unspoken sheriff creed. He didn't like my brother any more than before I showed up, but he lessened his aggression, at least in my presence. Also, he was, in my dream, the gym teacher from Freaks and Geeks.

Meanwhile, in real life, I saw a great headline in the New York Times today: "Toys 'R' Us Says It May Leave the Toy Business." For what? What else could they possibly sell? Come to Toys 'R' Us for all your pet care needs? I don't know.

Moreover, I really hope that we can put to rest, once and for all, the philosophical inquiry into how we know whether our conscious reality is a true reality, or if maybe the dream world is the real one and blah blah blah. Philosophy is dead, okay, it died because people got sick of this argument, which is boring, and childish, and they beat up all the great philosophers until they died and then spit on their blood-caked faces and were like "ptooey on you and your unanswerable, but in reality totally answerable, questions."

Wednesday, August 11, 2004

Ching Chong Chang, Smartstar, Ching Chong Chang!

Ha ha ha, Manga, you SLAY me!

Daisuke Niwa is an ordinary middle school student who has an inherited an interesting family tradition. Upon seeing Risa, the girl he adores, he transforms into a daring phantom thief. When the phantom thief sees his own object of desire, he turns back into Daisuke. The only way to cure this craziness is if Daisuke can get Risa to fall in love with him, but how can she love someone she can't see?

Medal of Shame

Last night I was watching the final episode of Band of Brothers and every time I watch that show it just makes me feel more and more guilty for owning Medal of Honor, which, if I was a WWII vet like my Pépé, I would take that game and shove it up my grandchild's ass until he could taste silicon. There is honestly no more fucked up use of hard-won freedom than to create a useless, time-wasting video game that allows spoiled teenagers to simulate heroic sacrifice without having to give up funyuns. Granted, it's even more fucked up how in Japan and the Middle East they play war simulation games in which they are literally killing themselves. But they are a primitive people, and are probably just attracted to the flashing lights of the "magic box".

O' honorable band of brothers, I, too, have served my country, so to speak, although I had to serve it over and over on level three because I kept getting killed by that Luftwaffe Stuka. Getting killd is a bitch, huh, dudes? Brothers?

Tuesday, August 10, 2004


Naomi Campbell has been accused of abusing the help, AGAIN! Apparently she already admitted to previous charges of hitting an assistant with a telephone. It just goes to show that once you give black people a taste of power they turn into white people with black skin.

What's up with that, though, Naomi? Honestly, I imagine your life to be one of the simplest on Earth, and I'm surprised you even have the brain power to think "I no like, I hit." Did your assistant put soy instead of skim in your latteccino? (Ugh, sorry, that was terrible. The only thing more tired than Naomi Cambell's Mozambican maid is a joke about fancy coffee drink names!)

If I was Naomi Campbell's boyfriend I would be psychologically abusive to her all the time and call her fat and stuff and then I would tell her that I'd fallen out of love with her and the only way she could regain my love would be to get one of those African ceremonial plates in her mouth and I'd be like that plate is crazy, that plate is so huge! You are a goddess with a plate in her crazy big mouth! I love you so much again Naomi Campbell, happy fiftieth birthday! STOP CRYING!


Do you ever get that feeling where you're like "God damn it, where the fuck is Spaceham?" I did, just now, when I read the following movie description:

Hard Rock Zombies
Jesse and his band are just a nice little heavy-metal band playing clubs until they break into the big time. After rehearsing for the gig, though, they are all brutally killed by a sadistic family of freaks, lead by none other than Adolf Hitler. When Hitler comes out of hiding and his minions start sacrificing local townspeople to satisfy their lustful desires, the band rises from the dead at the request of their biggest fan, Cassie, to stop the murder, and put the living dead to rest by rocking one final time.

Spaceham, if you move home, you can watch this with me and wear your headphones and I won't even say "Stop wearing those headphones, it's so rude."

Boards! Look Out!

This lady is talking to the girl in the cubicle next to mine and telling her about some sort of connection they have, like "My sister met your mom, she's a dentist, right?" and the girl is going "That is soooo crazy! Oh my god! That is soooo weird! My mom is a dentist!" Now, there's nothing to fault this girl for because people do this all the time, but collectively there is something to fault these people for. I mean, how weird is it? Like, let's say that one morning you woke up and all of your fingers had turned into miniature arms and had little hands sprouting from their tips with fingers of their own. That would be weird. Some lady at your work meeting someone in your family through a chance encounter? Not so weird. More of a mildly annoying coincidence because now you have to talk to someone you don't know almost at all as if they've been in your family for years and you have so much in common your face is going to explode. I just don't get it. In reality, of course, I envy the girl who is still laughing throatily and saying "I can't believe it," because she has mastered this subtle social art that I have not, so that when someone comes up to me and says they have something crazy to tell me I always look irritated and non-plussed and they get sort of sad and then they take all those sleeping pills, and I'm really sorry about how you killed yourself, Terry, just because I didn't think it was so wild that you ran into my cousin on the BART.


Last night we finally got to break boards in karate class with ball-of-the-foot round kicks and I did it on my first try and it was awesome. If you are a board, you better look out, because I will break you with a ball-of-the-foot round kick. I wanted to try to break boards in other ways, but they did not let us, instead they made us run laps and then they made us fight each other, which is fine, I love fighting, but I have not learned how to break Ron with a ball-of-the-foot round kick, so it was not quite as fulfilling if the scale upon which we are measuring fulfillment is a scale of things broken.

Want to be best friends?

Monday, August 09, 2004

To 3 Guys Who Are Dicks

Hey, you 3 guys, I wanted to say that I'm really glad that you decided that the open table in the sun wasn't appealing and that it was therefore necessary and right to ask me if you could sit at my lunch table in the shade, because obviously the only thing that I enjoy more than reading by myself is reading with three old fags whose wives won't touch them anymore, blathering away about how ineffective the cooling fans in their new PCs are and the one time they saw a race car up close parked in the mall. What was particularly sweet was how you said "do you mind if we sit with you?" making me the huge asshole if I said no, because why should I have a table all to myself except for the fact that there was another perfectly good table open, you just didn't want it, and if there were no other tables I probably wouldn't even have thought anything of it because I'm not like that—well, I am, and I totally would have thought something, but I would have tempered it with a well-reasoned consideration of the complexity of the seating situation—but as it stands the very bestest best best part was when a table opened and I clearly moved over to take it indicating that you guys were a bunch of fuckwads whose souls—were it up to me—would burn in a fiery hell for however long it would take to make you suffer for whatever relative pain I was caused by having my precious hour outside of a neon-lit cubby ruined by you with nary a thought to my interest/desire/privacy/rights, and you didn't even apologize or anything, nor did you guys move to the other table and acknowledge the fact that clearly my space had been invaded by a bunch of people for whom the A.A.R.P. had suddenly taken on a golden and gratifying halo of understanding and welcoming.

Suck my dick, you old whores.

You Throw a Dart at Me, I Throw a Harpoon at You

Wow, Florida is great. What a great place. Their estimation of the public's desire for strip-malls and horrid hotel complexes is right on the mark. You are right, Florida, we cannot get enough of them. I say MORE!

It has been very difficult to return home, because I do not have a restaurant in my house that will allow me to charge stuff to my room and make Herb pay for it. Also, there is no massive, 1500 person swimming pool, with a lazy river for tubin'. No, that's Florida, not my efficiency apartment. That's Florida, a land of wonderful fantasy and never-ending pleasure.

But, um, Florida? Aren't you the sunshine state? So where was the sunshine? Big ups to my man G-O-D for all that fucking rain, because that was totally sweet and not blowing me all the time. And hotel? How can you boast a lazy river for tubin' but only have thirty channels on t.v.? And of all the possible channels to pick from an endless roster of cable options, were the History channel and Cartoon Network really the two best you could find? I'm confused, hotel, confused and in love, in love with you.

This is Worker #3116, checking in!

(Get it? Checking in? LOL ;))

Tuesday, August 03, 2004

Thank You for the Fuck You

I just got back from my Birthday King coronation lunch, which was excellent, and there was a card on my chair, and I was like, "Oh, that's nice, a birthday card. Someone actually remembered" and then my boss was like "Oh, good, you got it, that's for [insert boss's boss's name here], sign it and take it over to Clown Coffee." And I was like, "Signing someone else's card on my birthday, priceless!"

I guess it kind of reminds me of the time we called TI-1000 to come over to Brother Russia's birthday party and he was like, "Okay, but I'm having my birthday dinner with my parents," and we were like "When's your birthday?" and he was like, "Today," and we were like, "That's cool, just come over to Brother Russia's birthday party whenever you have a chance," and he did and he brought Brother Russia a present.

Monday, August 02, 2004

DJ Snow, You Will Melt Under the Heat of DLWBT, FTWS's Killer Raps

Dirty Little White Boy T, from the West Side, I would like to thank you for livening up my weekend. I'm not sure if it was your exemplary use of the words "nigger" and "bitch" in all of your so-called freestyles, or the fact that you kept pulling up your shirt to show us the waistband of your underwear as if there was a gun tucked in it, or the part where you tried to pull your penis out and pee on everyone. I think, probably, though, the reason you made me so happy was when you got right up in my face and said "you don't mean shit to me bitch," so close that your eminem haircut almost touched my forehead, and then when you saw that I was giving you what is known in the rap community as "the gas face", you laughed like you were drowning in the gallon of vodka you had in your bloodstream, and stuck your hand out and said "I'm just playin' dog." All of this, of course, is even funnier in the context that it was later revealed you have been in and out of prison for your entrepreneurial career as a drug dealer and gun-runner. Bravo, Dirty Little White Boy T, from the West Side, bravo indeed. Also, in the event that you just need a little positive reinforcement, I'd like you to feel confident that—without discussing its actual merit as an intellectual concept—"you don't me shit to me, bitch, nigga what," rhymes perfectly with "i said, you don't mean shit to me bitch, nigga what, unh."


President Bush and the Terror Clown: A Skit in One Line

"'Today I am asking Congress to create the position of a national intelligence director,' [President Bush] said. 'The person in that office would be appointed by the president, with the advice and consent of the Senate, and will serve at the pleasure of the president.'"
(taken from the New York Times)

"Bring forth the terror clown, he amuses me!"
(taken from my imagination of what President Bush's pleasure sounds like)

Throw Your Stumps in the Air, and Wave 'Em Like You Just Don't Care

I maintain my contention that if I had an arm made out of solid gold I would be cooler, and, just to reiterate, Giusseppe would design it with the necessary, intricate Old World-style gears and levers inside so that all the fingers would be functional, and the gold would be blended with a titanium alloy to increase its strength without reducing its solid gold shine.

Similarly, I think we've all agreed that if you lost one of your forearms and replaced it with a Jai Alai attachment it would actually be both stupid looking AND—more importantly—a detriment to your game because most of the power behind a successful Jai Alai shot is in the flicking action of the wrist, which flicking action would be eliminated without any so-to-speak wrist other than the point where the masculine multi-toothed shaft of the Jai Alai attachment meets the feminine socket embedded in the heavily scarred flesh of your stump.

Set and match.