Wednesday, August 31, 2005

Post-dated Futureletter

Dearest futurewife,

I think we both are going to say a lot of things futurelast night that we both are going to regret. I know I am going to did. Like when I will have said that futurechild was your futureson/futuredaughter, as if all of the problems we will be having with discipline are all your futurefault. And that "joke" I'm going to make about the weight that you will have been unable to lose after the birth of futurechild, no matter how hard you are going to try, will simply be was cruel and unkind. I am going to apologize, from the bottom of my heart. I am going to love you forever.

Futurelove,
Worker #3116

Tensions Futuremount!

Worker #3116: Go to your room!
Futurechild: NO!
Worker #3116: I said, go to your room!
Futurechild: Make me!
Worker #3116: I have been dreading this for years.
Futurechild: I don't care.
Worker #3116: I only love you because I have to, futurechild.
Futurechild: Shut up, loserdad, I'm watching T.V.

Futureparenting is a Full-Time Job!

Futurechild is getting very lippy, and I'm starting to regret having him/her someday.

Just Like Deadbeat Père's Loveworn Copy of But Seriously

I just heard the new Death Cab for Cutie single, "Soul Meets Body."

I can already hear futurechild snickering and saying, "Dad #3116, you actually used to listen to this shit?" Then I see myself smacking futurechild in the back of the head and retorting, "Mouth!"

You're Not Worth It, Okay? You're Just Totally Not Even Worth It. If You Were Worth It, I'd Be Mad, But You're Not. At All. So I'm Fine. Totally Fine.

I'm just going to get this over with right away, there's nothing to do but get real about it, so:

I have been mistaken all these weeks about Iraqi Jane. She is not a chubby army nurse who did a tour in Iraq. She is Clown Coffee. Iraqi Coffee. Here's the scene: totally real people go to a totally real bar called the Dizzy Rooster, the same bar they go to every night, seemingly undeterred by the fact that it's called THE DIZZY ROOSTER. Iraqi Coffee gets drinks in her body that change her ability to make cogent decisions, and she makes out with a bouncer. (NOTE: This is her second bouncer romance since arriving in TX.) When she gets home, Shell Necklace tells her not to make out with bouncers anymore because it might get uncomfortable for him when he's trying to scam free entry and free drink tickets. A very logical and reasonable point to present to the inebriated, volatile, female militarist. He keeps pushing this issue, then drops the issue and just calls her a slut over and over until Iraqi Coffee seriously pulls a fucking Arkham Asylum on him, screaming and throwing a tantrum, including such classics as "I hope you get shot on the street one day!" (?) and "I'm going to tell my army buddies and they are going to shoot you on the street one day" (?), and she carries on until both Eye-Face and Brick Brain have to pull her away, at which point she collapses to the ground sobbing and shrieking. I'm on her side in the argument, not so much in the crazies. So she gets carried into a bedroom where she begins to say "Please, just let me get up so I can go punch him." This is followed by "I hope he gets run over by a car and dies." Fuck Head covers her mouth and assures her she doesn't mean that, that she doesn't wish death on anyone, which is answered with a muffled "YEPHIDU". Clown Coffee, in the body of an actual woman.

Also: she's a Jew.

Meanwhile, Brick Brain and Pocahontas make out at a bar, and then go to another bar and make out, and then go to another bar and make out, and then go to another bar and make out, and then go home and tell everyone that they made out. When this happens, Shell Necklace and Eye-Face pull Brick Brain into the other room and tell him that he MUST FUCK Pocahontas. "Do it for us! Do it for America!" I have no real comment on this storyline except that it makes me want to die.

Later, Iraqi Coffee pulls out the lamest of lamewad self-rationalizations, which she couldn't even think up herself, her dad told it to her: "Shell Necklace is not worth getting mad about. He's just not even worth it." This is a philosophy I believe in, but you've got to apply it at the root level. Post turbofreakout, it kind of rings hollow. Anyway, she goes around telling everyone that Shell Necklace isn't worth it, that she's fine because he isn't even worth it. They're worth it, but Shell Necklace isn't, and then she gives Shell Necklace a dirty look, which kind of leaves me with the impression that he's still totally worth it.

Next week: the world collapses under the weight of its own reality.

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Unchained Melody

"As we noted the other day, both supporters and opponents of George W. Bush's 'stay the course' plan for Iraq have begun invoking memories of the dead to support their positions. The president says American soldiers have to keep fighting and dying in Iraq in order to honor those who fought and died before them. Cindy Sheehan says her son would want her to be working to bring the troops home now.

There's a lot of guessing going on here. We don't know what Casey Sheehan would have wanted, nor do we know what percentage—if any—of the 1,878 other dead Americans would have thought that the president's course in Iraq was worth the lives of any more American soldiers..."
(salon.com)

UNTIL NOW!

Laffter Cordon Bleu

I was feeling pretty steamed today about some roommate-perpetrated thievery until Clown Coffee told me about a roommate he had whose food was stolen so often that he took to hiding Banquet frozen chicken under his bed, which his roommates subsequently found anyway and ate and then he cried.

I'm still kind of steamed, but laffter is a very effective anti-inflammatory.

Florida 2005

"Warner Brothers Records is running a contest—Vote for Green Day in the VMA's and win a trip to see the band in L.A."
(greenday.com)

ELECTION FRAUD! IN FLORIDA! AGAIN!

Not that it matters now. Even with this incontrovertible proof, the Kid's Court would just overturn the case with canned applause.

Continuity Error

Entry: The Woodsman
Goof: In the park scene, Kevin Bacon is molesting that child from behind in the long-shot but then is clearly in "missionary" in the close-up. WHOOPS!

Monday, August 29, 2005

Where Is Sinbad When You Need a Joke?

Thank God this victim of Hurricane Katerina's violence took the sage precaution of getting A BUNCH OF FUCKING BUG JUICE????

Just Like WMDs!!!!!!!!!! When Will We Ever Learn?????????

With waters continuing to rise in New Orleans and across the state of Louisiana, the American press has—once again!—failed to ask the pertinent question of the day: where is Anne Rice in all of this?

Six-Degrees of Molestation

I was watching The Woodsman last night, the sexy romantic comedy about a child molester produced by Rockafella Records honcho Damon Dash, and it had one of the most beautiful moments of movie magic: Within a few weeks of being released from prison for child molestation, our sex-offender hero gets a hot girlfriend. In the future, if mankind ever survives the Zombie Apocalypse, they will eventually uncover the cinematic record of our culture and decide that the worse you were as a person, either morally, physically, or attitudinally, the better your chances for reproductive survival. The few people left on Earth trying to recreate a viable society will use movies like The Woodsman as the basis of their new religion, quickly putting out the final candle of hope for mankind.

I doubt anyone will survive the Zombie Apocalypse, though.

Co-Ed Naked Asshole

On the way to work this morning I saw a bumper sticker in the back window of the car in front of me that said:

George W. Bush
Like a Rock
Only DUMBER!

The problem, of course, beyond the general stupidity of this bumper sticker, is that it was in their back window, in a bumper sticker holder. That's like wearing a "Co-Ed Naked Lacrosse" shirt underneath your button-down Oxford. If you're going to subscribe to the moronic sloganeering of bumpstick culture, you've got to commit, dude. The only thing worse than bumpsticks is bumpsticks that people tape on or, as with this jackass, buy a special frame for so that they can maximize their car's resell value without minimizing their inability to cogently express an original idea.

Double negs!

Oh, I Totally Ordered a Pizza from Him/Her=We Done It

This post is funnier if you read this first.

Worker #3116: Oh, you're home.
McCullen: Yeah, what?
Worker #3116: It's just that I thought maybe you would be on a date.
McCullen: Whatever.
Worker #3116: I thought maybe you would have ordered a pizza.
McCullen: Shut up.
Worker #3116: Hi, I'd like a large blow-job with pepperoni.
McCullen: Shut up.
Worker #3116: Hi, I'd like a medium blow-job with pepperoni.
McCullen: SHUT UP!
Worker #3116: Hi, I'd like a medium cheese-stuffed-crust blow-job with pepperoni.
McCullen: ...
Worker #3116: ...
McCullen: Are you finished?
Worker #3116: I can't think of any other good ones...

Friday, August 26, 2005

New New Temporary Gym/Fitness Club

I tried yet another alternate gym yesterday, in another strip mall. It's owned by the same company, but the first one is called "Gym" and this new one is called "Fitness Club" so I'm totally moving up in the world. Classy. Classy #3116. The new one is nicer than the other one. The color scheme is black floors, white walls, and all the detailing and machine-pads are teal. There are more windows, so you get less of a prison-basement work-out vibe. Both gyms have one wrought-iron yard-furniture table w/ chairs. I like to imagine people coming in for coffee, maybe with a good book. But check this: my new new gym has two tanning booths! If I order a twenty-pack of tanning sessions the price comes down to three bucks a tan. Value, yes, but STYLE too.

The fitness club was mostly empty yesterday, but there was one ex-con/deadbeat-dad there in a black tanktop* (all the better to show off his Hiawatha tattoo) who lifted a few weights before stepping into the tanning booth. I'm just saying, ladies...I'm pretty sure he's available. And even if he "isn't," I'm sure he is, if you see what I'm saying.

*The spell-checker tried to replace "tanktop" with "TANSTAAFL." WHAT THE FUCK IS TANSTAAFL?

Also: Mary-Kate and Ashley Were in There Somewhere but I Can't Remember the Details

Last night I dreamt that I was in Russia with Brother #3116 and we were in this kitchen that was filled with vipers and he had to fight them. Using his awesome capoeira skills, he managed to defeat them, but when he started talking tough I put him back in his place. Capoeira is the only way to defeat the deadly viper, but talking tough to Worker #3116 is only one of many ways to get him to defeat you.

Capoeira DETONATE!

Girls, We've All Got One/A Night That's Special Everywhere/From New York to Hollywood/It's Movie Night and Girl/The Feeling's Good

I'm sure this list will be revised at a later date, but watching Race with the Devil last night reminded me of that old J.H. Lit Class work with the classic narrative conflicts. You remember:

1. Man vs. Nature
2. Man vs. Man
3. Man vs. Himself
4. Winnebago vs. Marauding Cult of Satanists

There are a few I'm omitting, obviously, like, Man vs. Terminator, Man vs. Undead Man and the—in my opinion, overused—classic, Man vs. Clown.

Anyhow, that's it. That's what I was thinking about. And I had plenty of time to think during Ride with the Devil's 88 minutes. After the initial question of "why don't they just cut their vacation short and go home?" went gratuitously unanswered, there was nothing left to do besides ponder, and watch as that rattlesnake bit that ugly guy's pants! Hey! Stop biting my pants! You're really going to have to see it yourself if you want to know more, but let's just say that it had us all breaking up, and the ending inspired a very emotional rendition of Johnny Cash's classic:

I parked in to a burning ring of fire
I just parked, parked, parked
and the flames went higher.
And it burns,burns,burns
the ring of fire
the ring of fire.


Then we watched Philadelphia Sunshine! I resisted this show last week, but I've had to give it to The Miz, it's got some real laughs in it. I think my favorite thing about this show is that the production quality, combined with the fact that it's on the FX channel, and the zero-factor of unword-of-mouth, makes me feel like I'm the only person watching it in the world. Of course, that's all about to change now that I've used the E-MEGAPHONE of my e-diary. Now I'll know that threes, literally threes of people are watching it with me.

Thursday, August 25, 2005

It's Hard Work

Believe me, I think about lunch every single day.

EVERY

SINGLE

DAY!

Compaq Coffee

Guess who's got a big picture of HIMSELF as his desktop.

WHAT A CRAP!

Posted Without Commentary

Too young to be grown and sexy, not tough enough to be young and thuggin', Omarion and Bow Wow have found themselves occupying a lucrative middle ground. While many grown-up rappers and crooners are obsessing over the meaning of manliness, these two seem happy to explore the possibilities of boyishness. Omarion whipped off his sweat-soaked tank top without a trace of sheepishness. And Bow Wow cheerfully introduced his back-up rapper by saying, "Y'all probably seen him in that hot movie, Holes."
(New York Times)

Monica Ali vs. Pink

I've been telling The Miz for some time now that we can't keep watching these title bouts on HBO. They're too technical, it's all precision. We're talking best-of-the-best pro boxers. What we need is some down and dirty county fair level fights. Probably shot on a Hi-8 camera. No sound.

Last night I got my first taste with some semi-pro women's boxing match. It was Laila Ali (which I accidentally typed in as Monica Ali, author of Brick Lane, whom I would still LOVE to see in the ring) versus some blonde-with-cornrows bruiser. The ring was set up in the middle of, like, a high school football field. The fight lasted five out of ten scheduled rounds, and the bruiser was knocked to the mat four times before the ref finally called the fight for Ali. It was sloppy and kind of annoying to watch, mainly because I kept shouting "break her fucking nose" at the TV and Ali kept ignoring me. It was, in other words, almost perfect. Note to boxing: more blood, please.

Speaking of bruisers...

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

I Love You So Much, Get the Fuck Away from Me

This week's RWR is going to be very short.

Basically, Eye-Face is back, but he has trouble getting through the day without crying. The way Eye-Face sees it, Fuck Head, who really, really likes him, is so great that she deserves someone who can "make her laugh all the time," and he doesn't want to burden her with the grief over Mom-Face's death. He doesn't want someone so beautiful and wonderful to have to worry about him! That's how much he loves her! It's very thoughtful, and he goes about expressing this love and concern by completely ignoring her.

Then Fuck Head drinks tequila and throws up.

Next week gets very real when a whole bunch more nothing happens.

Oh, but also: MTV.com has this feature where you can watch deleted scenes and it's actually kind of interesting. If you think how boring the actual show is, you can only imagine what the stuff that hit the cutting room floor is like: the realest of the real. Maybe I just like it because it doesn't have the Kaiser Chiefs playing in the background and all of the clips are, like, about email and hamburgers.

Fall Has Fallen!

I've been oversleeping a lot lately. I think it might be because of the changing weather, but it's starting to become a problem. There's shit that needs getting-doneing. I would feel a little better about things if I was having cool dreams, but here's what I'm wasting my time dreaming about:

Brother #3116 was actually a fish trapped in human form. Some very ancient gods had trapped him in an underground river and forced his soul into a human body. His true fish self had spent hundreds of years locked in this dank tunnel, unable to swim free! When I finally got his soul back into his fish body, we went to the bookstore and looked at some of Daniel Clowes's graphic novels. Brother/Fish #3116 was able to swim in mid-air, and he was a big fan of Ice Haven.

BEEFCAKE!

My temporary gym is in a strip mall. It's one big room. The color scheme is white walls, black floors, and all of the detailing and machine-pads are a bright fuchsia. There are fart-scented air-freshener plug-ins, and I'm pretty sure the spray bottles for disinfecting the machines are filled with reconstituted sweat. A quick glance at the thermostat showed me that they keep it a very comfortable 78 degrees.

There were plenty of indomitable dudes with biceps bigger than my entire body who are perect for my vicious street-fighting task force, but my favorite guy was your proto-typical under-developed over-enthusiast. He buzzed around the room, hopping on his toes, and banging his head to music none of us could hear. He would select some weights, put them on the floor, and then do a ritualistic dance around the weight-bench followed by a couple of grunted "Come on!"s and "Let's Go!"s. Then he would literally JUMP into his seat and start thrusting the weights around maniacally. After a set he would throw the weights down, jump off the bench, and dance around the room. I'm not sure how much damage he would be able to do, but he's the front-runner for my gang's mascot.

We're called the Champions.
Make an appointment if you want to get beaten in.

God Bless This Mess

Does anyone out there have Adobe Cubicle SignMaker? I want someone to make me this sign for my cubicle:

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

This Post Is the Hot Whip

I just need to make a quick note of two common expressions for the everyday lexicon.

1. Apparently, back when McCullen, Neilgene, and Spaceham all lived in the Murray compound, Spaceham was confused by the urban slang "hot whip." He thought it was a general term meaning "something good". McCullen has been reintroducing this misnomer into the 1307 parlance, as in "those ice cream sandwiches I bought are the hot whip," or "have you listened to the new Lady Sovereign song I downloaded illegally? It is the hot whip."

2. VH1 has a new "Celebreality" series starring Tara Reid called Taradise. I have no idea what this show is about, I don't care what this show is about, and Tara Reid is a cunt, but what a name! Now, whenever you and I go on a date, or when you come up to my room to "listen to some music," I will say "Welcome to Workadise!" but with my real name. If it's not the first time I've invited you up, you will hear me sing either "I've got/two tickets to Workadise," "Just another day for you and me in Workadise," or "Take me down to the Workadise City..."

Champion

My gym is closed for two weeks for "maintenance and upgrading." They did this to me last year and all I noticed when they reopened was one new elliptical trainer. What do you think they're going to offer this time? Probably one 12-pound dumbbell.

Anyway, the only affordable alternative I have found is the dingiest ex-con weight room in town. One of two things will certainly happen in the next two weeks:

1. I will organize and lead a totally unfuckable-with crew of thick-necked muscle-heads, and we will cause a lot of trouble and upset the authorities.

2. I will be found beaten to death with my own ipod.

Air-Traffic Mind-Control

Brother #3116 leaves on a 16+ hour trip to the Land of Milk and Honey today. Here are a few films I suggested he see before embarkation:

Alive
Fearless
Flight of the Phoenix
Con-Air
Air-Force One
Die Hard 2

Here are some other words of wisdom I imparted to him:

Worker #3116: Oh, you should see Red-Eye before you go. That's got a scary plane ride in it.
Brother #3116: But that's terrorism isn't it?
Worker #3116: Yeah.
Brother #3116: See, terrorism doesn't really scare me.
Worker #3116: You're more scared of total mechanical failure.
Brother #3116: Yes.
Worker #3116: And turbulence.
Brother #3116: Yes.
Worker #3116: You know what scares me? The thought of the top part of the plane tearing off and people getting sucked out through the hole. That's totally scary.
Brother #3116: ...
Worker #3116: So now you've got that to think about on your trip.
Brother #3116: ...
Worker #3116: You could watch Lord of the Flies, that's got a plane crash in it.
Brother #3116: What were those kids doing on that plane anyway?
Worker #3116: What do you mean?
Brother #3116: That book was written in the '50s or '60s, right?
Worker #3116: Yeah.
Brother #3116: Air travel was really expensive back then, so what were those kids doing on a plane?
Worker #3116: Traveling to the Land of Milk and Honey.
Brother #3116: I hate you.
Worker #3116: Zing!

Monday, August 22, 2005

e-Firing an e-Warning Shot Across the e-Bow

Just a heads-up:

The second season of FOX's hit drama The O.C. comes out on DVD tomorrow. So, if you remember what happened last fall, you can expect this diary to get real boring and shitty in the coming days. Or I should say, expect this diary to get real boringer and shittier in the coming days.

Also: since I don't know anyone to borrow the second season from, it means I'm going to have to netflix it, which means watching it is going to take forever.

On the upside,

It Was the Fake Tan That Gave Him Away

Last night, the police came to our door.

Policewoman: Is one of you McCullen?
McCullen: Yeah, is that Weather Report's wallet?
Policewoman: Yes. I've been trying to find her all day. Do you know if her wallet was stolen, or did she lose it?
McCullen: I don't know.
Worker #3116: She definitely said it was missing.
Policewoman: She's a hard person to track down. I only found [McCullen] because you used to go to Tanfastic together.
McCullen: ...
Policewoman: ...
McCullen: ...
Worker #3116: ...

Afterwards, when McCullen and I were debriefing each other on what happened I pointed out that it's weird when the cops come to your door late at night, like a movie or something. McCullen said that "Is one of you McCullen?" is the last thing he would ever want to hear from the cops when they came to his door late at night. "No," I reminded him, "the last thing you want to hear is ' Is one of you McCullen? We tracked you down at Tanfastic.'"

Ghost Ship DETONATE!

Ultimately, in the great wash of history, I think that I will be proven, if not right, at least more correct in my concerns over some of the narrative flaws in Ghost Ship. McCullen, despite having watched the movie, what, four times now?? still seems to lack a fundamental inquisitiveness towards plot holes big enough to drive a Ghost Ship through. I've listed below some of my concerns with some of McCullen's lack of concerns:

If the Ghost Ship guy is, like, this ultimate demon, why does he waste so much time scaring people? Why doesn't he just kill them and get it over with?
The Ghost Ship is caught in that circular current that runs it into those rocks, that's how it got a hole in its hull. He needs the salvagers to fix the Ghost Ship.
But if that's the case, then why does he scare them? Why doesn't he just wait patiently until they fix the ship and then scare them? It doesn't seem efficient to make them want to get off the Ghost Ship if he needs them there.
That's just what it's like on a Ghost Ship. People get scared.
Okay, but if he can use telekinesis..and, like, fill a swimming pool with blood without even being in the same room as the swimming pool, why can't he just fix the hole himself?
It took four of the salvagers to do it, it's a big job. Even in his corporeal form, the Ghost Ship guy can't do it by himself. And he doesn't know how.
He NEEDS to get himself a corporeal wetsuit and a fucking manual. Remember at the end when he claims that killing people on his Ghost Ship is just a job like any other, that he, too, is a salvager, just trying to get souls for the devil or something? And that if the Ghost Ship sinks then "management", i.e. the devil, will not be happy?
Yeah.
Well, if I thought the devil was going to be pissed off at me unless I patched a hole in the Ghost Ship, I'd learn how to do it.
He doesn't have time.
And how does he get on land from the Ghost Ship? What, he called a WaterTaxi? And how did he get those aerial photographs of the Ghost Ship that he had in that bar at the beginning, the ones he used to entice the salvagers to go out there with him?
He's a helicopter pilot. I remember now.
He has time to learn how to fly a helicopter but he can't learn how to spot-weld?
...
And they keep talking about quotas, like how he's got to fill his quota of souls to take to the devil. But after killing everyone aboard the ship in the 1960s, he has to wait every forty years to get five salvagers to come out and scare them? Seems like pretty slow going.
He needed them to fix the Ghost Ship.
We are going in circles.
Just like the Ghost Ship was going in circles. That's how it got the hole. That's why he needed...

Friday, August 19, 2005

Fart Off

Clown Coffee: Hey, fart you!
Worker #3116: No, fart you!
Clown Coffee: I invented "fart you," you can't use it.
Worker #3116: Go fart yourself!
Clown Coffee: ...
Worker #3116: You're a farting asshole.
Clown Coffee: Ha ha.
Worker #3116: Ha ha.
Clown Coffee: That's the best one yet.
Worker #3116: ...

Transitions

[Somehow, Worker #3116's optometrist talked him into getting Transitions lenses in his new glasses.]

Worker #3116: I'm kind of worried about my Transitions. I think they're going to make me look like a jack-ass.
Stevil: ...
Worker #3116: ...
Stevil: It might be okay. Like in those commercials when they walk in from the future, they seem to work pretty well.
Worker #3116: That's the thing, though. I'm more worried about the transition from indoors to outdoors. I'm not going to be doing a lot of travel between the future and the present.
Stevil: Actually, I think they're always in the future.
Worker #3116: ...
Stevil: ...

UPDATE: Worker #3116 has cancelled his Transition lenses.

I Want to Open Myself Up to Your Ignorant Listeners

This morning's ZOO was trying to find 40-year-old virgins to talk to.

They succeeded.

I suppose it was not dissimilar to the moment on last night's Fear Factor rerun where girls in bikinis had to get into body bags filled with worms, superworms (that's what they said, I still do not believe in superworms), stink beetles, and hissing cockroaches. THEN they had to get shoved into one of those morgue lockers and find their way out. As one girl was screeching and writhing in terror as Joe Rogan slid her into the cramped and completely dark locker, he said "Well, you wanted to be on TV. Here you go!"

Like, imagine that you were 40 years old and you had never had sex. My guess is it's something that you have spent a fair amount of time thinking about, but much less time talking about with other people. What on Earth would compel you to call in to a morning talk show that is known for prank calls, vicious insults that border on the sadistic, and hanging up on people mid-sentence to explain what is one of the most personal, and less explainable aspect of your life? In their defense, the DJ's were actually quite respectful this morning. They gave the people compliments for being "proud of [them]sel[ves]" and thanked them for calling in. They also screened out all of the fakers, except for one who said he was a 45-year-old virgin. "What year were you born?" one of the DJs asked. "Uh, 1967." Ha ha ha.

I'm just waiting for my chance to call in when they want to talk to "Jews Who Think the Holocaust Actually Happened!"

Thursday, August 18, 2005

Track Listing for the Debut Album from "Incredibly Hard and Totally Metal," a Nu-Metal Outfit Led By Wunderkind Novelist Jonathan Safran-Foer

1. The Devil Is in the Details, So Many Details, And He Is in Them
2. Hard, Harder, Harderest (Hard Hard Hard!)
3. I Awoke to the Sounds of Odin's Chariot. I Ate Eggs for Breakfast
4. Take the N/R to Valhalla. I'm in Apartment 4R. The Buzzer Doesn't Work
5. Blood Will Flow, Slippery, Hot, Wet, Sad
6. Ibid
7. Death Bears No Footnotes* (*I'm Not Sure About This. It Sounded Good at First, But I Am Having Second Thoughts)
8. Third Hell from the Sun
9. "Jonathan, Stop Making That Noise." "NEVER, BUBBEH!"

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

Fuck Another to Get the One You Want: Lessons in Love from Brick Brain

Update: Real World: Boring, Texas

Players: Brick Brain, Pocahontas, Shell Necklace, a Whore
Non-players: Fuck Head, Eye-Face, Hot Topic, Iraqi Jane

Eye-Face is completely absent this week. Is he going to come back to the Realest Compound, or will he remain in Bahstan to mourn Mom-Face? Actually, they don't even raise the specter of this dilemma. Silence. Does this raise or increase the dramatic tension of Eye-Face's so-personal-so-real decision? All tension disappears during the "Next Week on: Bored!" teaser trailer in which Fuck Head sees someone in a houndstooth cap approaching the front door and exclaims "Oh my God!" as she runs to the door arms akimbo and a-huggo. So, yeah, Eye-Face will be back next week. Wet blanket of unanticipation heavily draped.

How do you see someone approaching the front door from a warehouse without any discernible windows? On a video monitor. This week it became quite clear that the roommates have a closed circuit camera system that they can access on their plasma screen television. So the people we are watching on TV are watching themselves on TV. We are watching them watching themselves. Then we all cum! Seriously, though, a closed circuit spyware camera system? Totally unnecessary, and vaguely inappropriate. As if their living situation isn't uncomfortable enough without Hot Topic sitting on the phone to her castrated wheelchair lover going "Oh, now Pocahontas is on the couch with Bartender. But they're on opposite sides of the couch.............Aw! He tried to scoot closer to her, but--"

Which leads us into this week's immensely uniteresting and vaguely revolting chapter in the saga of seven cunts. Even the guys on this show are cunts! So, Brick Brain likes Pocahontas. Pocahontas has a bit of a drinking problem, and she has major trust issues and likes to keep people at a distance, but what she doesn't have is any interest in Brick Brain. A big theme this week is "game playing,":

Brick Brain: I really like you.
Pocahontas: That's nice, but I'm not interested in you.
Brick Brain: You want to play games? Fine, I'm better at them.
Pocahontas: I don't want to play games with you. I don't want to do anything with you.
Brick Brain: I just fucked a whore. Jealous?

See, okay, let me try and make this REAL for you guys: if you like someone, and they don't like you, and they hang out with other guys/girls in your presence, they are not trying to manipulate your emotions or play games with your head, and they are definitely not trying to make you jealous. They are trying to get some action with the person that they are actually interested in. Stay with me here: even if they are unclear on what they feel for this other person, or if they are pushing that person away as well, it's for different reasons, and it doesn't mean that secretly a candle is burning for you and that this is their way of punishing you for being so hot and awesome. Now: maybe you feel sad about this, but I will tell you something right now, and this goes quadruple-to-infinity for you, Brick Brain, bringing a fat chick home from the bar that you just met and fucking her with the lights on while all of your roommates are in the next room snickering is not going to win a lot of hearts. If this is your proof that you "are better at [games]" then you need a fucking copy of Hoyle's or Klutz Guide to Wacky Games or something because you're way off base. (Get it? Off base. Total gaming metaphor.)

Brick Brain cannot believe that anyone in the world would not like his thick, blocky head, his lack of a viable vocabulary, or any thoughts or ideas to express with one, and therefore assumes that Pocahontas's rebuffs are games meant to torture him into frothing jealousy. He's jealous all right, and retarded. After he fucks the whore he walks around the house naked, flashing his detumescing genitals at everybody he can, flexing his biceps, and acting all tired and worn out the way you act all tired and worn out when you call in to work sick to go to Cedar Point. My favorite part happens during what has to be the most unappealing sex I've ever been forced to get teasing glimpses of, when Shell Necklace is talking to the girls in the room next to sexroom. Hot Topic, who you will remember is a precious virgin, exclaims that she just can't believe what is happening, that Brick Brain just met the whore a half-hour earlier, and it seems gross that they are "having intercourse with their bodies." This is when Shell Necklace gets real thoughtful and he says "Brick Brain...is not attractive." YES! FINALLY! REAL! Then he goes "that girl was cute for Brick Brain."

Are you bored yet?

So, then later Brick Brain is still jealous and cannot understand why the whore did not make Poc want to jump into his arms and love him long time. So he calls her a bitch. I must say that his plan for winning her over is very solid. Poc, because she's a game-player, doesn't like being called a bitch (what a bitch!) and also doesn't seem to like getting yelled at by someone with a jealous ax to jealous grind. So she tells Brick Brain that she will not talk to him for two weeks. HERE is where I get very angry at Brick Brain. He tries once more to talk to Poc, but she doesn't respond, and he says "You know, Pocahontas, the fact that you put a time-limit on when you're going to talk to me, that's the game playing I was talking about earlier. I hope you graduate from elementary school soon. Real mature." As he's leaving the room he gives Poc the finger (to her back, though, because he is a man).

We're going to have to ignore the fact that "I'm not talking to you for two weeks" is not a game. We don't have time. Moving on:

The ridiculousness of giving someone the finger after you've complained about their immaturity (in a high-handed way, no less) is not lost on me. But it's not my major issue, because it falls in with Brick Brain's normative standard of stellar behavior. What does bother me is whenever ANYONE calls someone else out on their maturity. I hate this more than anything. Looking beyond the fact that it's not very mature to throw someone's maturity into question in order to win an argument, I also think it's an extremely cheap shot. It's not like maturity is a generalized governance of thought/emotion/behavior. You can be very mature about some things and very immature about others. So to call someone immature is usually a generalized criticism for a specialized point. Usually because you're not getting them to do what you want. But even beyond that, it's not like pointing out someone's immature behavior is going to make them "grow up". It's not useful or even particularly intelligent. It also is an attempt to make the critic seem more mature, because of course it is a sign of maturity to recognize everyone else's flaws and point them out.

It is also a sign of maturity to be a total dick, apparently.

Good Charlotte, Bad Idea

Sorry to break it to you, but athletic wristbands as fashion statement are now officially out. You might be surprised to learn why...

I remember in sophomore year of college when we were playing all that raquetball and you could buy wristbands at the equipment desk. I started wearing one every day and people were like "What's the deal, Worker #3116, you got a big game today?" They were teasing, but my response was always the same: "The biggest!"

Anyhow, it was only a couple years later that you started seeing the resurgence of the athletic wristband as fashion statement. I'm sure I saw a couple in the basement of the Pirate House or something, and soon enough Avril was wearing them, and Good Charlotte, Green Day, and all my other favorite bands. They sold them at Urban Outfitters and Hot Topic and people on VH1 sported them. Bad sign for the athletic wristband as fashion statement.

Guess what, though: that isn't why they're out!

This morning I went to the grocery store and bought an orange and it cost me fucking $1.41 because it's from Madagascar or something. More like Ripoffagascar! Ha ha. Anyway, on the way in to get fleeced for my orange, I passed by those novelty machines that give you toys in eggs, and one of them sold ATHLETIC WRISTBANDS. See what I mean? They're fucking out*, dudes.

I reserve the right to wear an athletic wristband, both at the gym and as a fashion accessory. Just because I monitor what is and what is no longer cool does not mean I am obliged to live by the same sage advice I expect you to follow. What I'm saying is if you see me in an athletic wristband don't throw this diary back in my face. Things will end badly for you. Change "badly" to "bloody" for mental image.

I've Got Boots Disease

B-b-b-Boots is b-b-b-back!

I can tell because every time I turn on the TV it's either on the Cartoon Network or the Style Channel.

Worker #3116: My throat has been bothering me all day. I hope it's because I slept with my fan on last night, and not because I'm getting sick.
Stevil [aka Boots]: I was sneezing a lot in Chapacabra's car last night.
Worker #3116: So basically you're trying to tell me you got me sick.
Stevil: Yes. Last night I snuck into your room while you were sleeping and sneezed all over everything.
Worker #3116: Last night you snuck into my room while I was sleeping and made me share a glass of water with you.
Stevil: Ha ha. Right. I snuck into your room and shook your hand.
Worker #3116: You snuck into my room while I was sleeping and shook my hand and then made me touch my nose and eyes.

Set It Off on Yo Right Dawg

This morning I was listening to my "Let the Bad Times Roll" mix in the car. A black dude pulled up next to me at the red light and gave me an appreciative nod when he heard me bumping 50 Cent (feat. Mobb Deep) "Outta Control (Remix)".

It was a long light, though.

Annie's "Heartbeat" came on next and the black dude yelled "Fuck you, faggot!" and peeled out.

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

Momentary Diversion into the "Serious"

Well, serious about my MTV!

Are there any up-and-coming music video directors? If you look at all the recognizable "big name" music video directors (the most obvious being represented by their own Palm Pictures DVD collection)—people like Spike Jonze, Michel Gondry, Mark Romanek, Stephane Sednoui, and the ultimate hack, Roman Coppola—they all got their start in the mid-'90s (or earlier). For the blacks: think Hype Williams. Who's the current hot thing? Is there one? I'm not sure, anyway, how they would get out from the Jonze-Gondry crusher-hold that seems to have totally destroyed/subsumed any and all images appearing on television in the past ten years. Jump cuts! Non-sequitur techno-psychedelic images! Cheap laughs that cost a lot to make look cheap!

Another thing that I have noticed is that MTV has been running a lot of videos for mainstream pop acts without the director listed. They haven't done that since the '80s, have they? Is this, in its own weird way, part of the Nu New Wave shit? I kind of like to think that it's just because everyone has too much self-respect to attach their name to these fucking lame-ass words.

Overheard in Ha Ha

Worker #3116: Terrorism, like rape, is hard to make hilarious. It can be done, but it takes a lot of thought.

Planes, No Trains, and Automobiles

Clown Coffee: See, there was a plane crash in Venezuela. That makes three plane crashes this week, which debunks your whole "flying is so much safer" theory.
Worker #3116: Well how many car accidents are there in a week?
Clown Coffee: Who cares?

[Worker #3116 performs some basic internet research.]

Worker #3116: Clown, look here. 115 people die in car accidents every day, in the United States alone.
Clown Coffee: Baloney.
Worker #3116: There were 6,328,000 car accidents in 2003. Just in the U.S. There are cars all over the world!
Clown Coffee: Yeah, but how many millions of plane crashes were there?
Worker #3116: Millions?
Clown Coffee: Yeah.
Worker #3116: ...
Clown Coffee: ...
Worker #3116: Ha ha.
Clown Coffee: Ha ha.

Joke (LIVE!)

this is an audio post - click to play

Monday, August 15, 2005

Joke

Knock, knock.
Who's there?
(Fart noise)
(Fart noise)-who?
(Insistent fart noise)

STEP IT UP!

Clown Coffee: I am so bored of my job, I don't think I can make it through the week.
Worker #3116: Well, step it up!
Clown Coffee: Step it up?
Worker #3116: Step up your attitude!
Clown Coffee: Step up my attitude?
Worker #3116: Yeah!
Clown Coffee: Do you know what 'step it up' means?
Worker #3116: Yeah.
Clown Coffee: ...
Worker #3116: ...
Clown Coffee: Well, what does it mean?
Worker #3116: ...
Clown Coffee: ...
Worker #3116: ...
Clown Coffee: It means to increase.
Worker #3116: Right.
Clown Coffee: So you want me to step up my attitude?
Worker #3116: Yeah. Stop stepping up your butt, and start stepping up your attitude!

Throw Your Hands in the Air and Do the 'Eyes Wide Shut' Like You Just Don't Care!

Guess who McCullen spotted dancing "hip hop style" at the Eminems concert this weekend?

Real vs. Edible

Worker #3116: I had that steak salad you were always talking about.
Neilgene: It's good, right?
Worker #3116: It's totally good, and it's HUGE!
Neilgene: I know. It's a lot of food.
Worker #3116: It's definitely a better value than the burrito.
Neilgene: I've been really into food that comes on plates lately, like that falafel plate at Jew Garden.
Worker #3116: Food that comes on a real plate is always a better value than food that's served in an edible plate.

Prankers: Call Deborah #3116! Talk About Snipes!

Last week, Deborah #3116 called Mom and Herb #3116's house looking for me. Deborah #3116, of course, is ex-step-mom #3116 who, after she and Deadbeat Père separated, became a born-again Christian and eventually remarried to an ex-Marine.

One time, after our relationship had pretty much fallen apart, i.e. after her baptism to which I was a spectator and at which the reverend gave a sermon that said I would go to hell if I didn't accept Jesus into my heart, she wanted to take me out to dinner and a movie. I really wanted to see Pulp Fiction, but she said it was too violent. So we went to see:



Jailbreak... at 38,000 feet! U.S. Marshal Pete Nessip's prisoner parachutes out of a 747 and floats safely into the night with his daring, deadly cohorts. Nessip does his best to stop the bold escape. What does he get in return? Suspended. But being off the force doesn't mean Nessip is out of action. When it comes to stopping killers, he's taking the plunge.

Even if you set aside the fact that this was an action movie starring Wesley Snipes, and therefore would undoubtedly have some kind of egregious fight scene that ended when the bad guy had a splintered keyboard shoved into their eye and then the computer would be turned on and electrocute the bad guy, it had fucking GARY BUSEY in it, which is unforgivable violence against the senses.

Needless to say, that was the last time we went to a movie.

Point being, she called last weekend trying to find me, but we were in Palm Springs, so the jackass who was watching Mom and Herb #3116's house got the number wrong. So, yesterday, I finally decided to try calling Deborah #3116 back, and when a non-descript answering machine picked up I went into this whole "Hey, Deborah, it's Worker #3116, my mom said you called last week. Anyway, things are going pretty well..." and then someone picked up all flustered and told me it was a wrong number.

YOU GUYS SHOULD LEAVE YOUR OWN HEARTFELT MESSAGES FOR DEBORAH #3116!

Just call 301.681.8886. Remember: you haven't seen her in over ten years. Also: tell the Wesley Snipes anecdote.

Seriously, do this. Let's drive Stranger #3016818886 so crazy!

Friday, August 12, 2005

Don't Shame Your Family, Don't Get Killed by a Previously-Scary-but-no-Longer-Scary Clown

Announcement: Clowns have gone from children's amusement to creepy horror trope to super overused cliche horror crutch. If you want to make a horror movie, but you've got no ideas, get a clown, and then get a real job. So scary. NOT!

Boo, clowns!

Clown outfits would get so in the way of a successful killer. Those big floppy shoes and Mickey Mouse gloves? Not to mention the heat of full-facial grease paint. Anyhow, scary clowns are out.

If some killer dressed up as a clown and broke into your house, I think that you would be scared, I'm not an idiot. But I don't think the clown part would be scary. In fact, I think there would be a moment before your entrails were tied to the back of a wooden dining room chair where you'd be like, "Um, nice clown outfit. Is it a rental, or do you actually own that fucking thing? You look like a retard." Getting killed by a clown would be very embarrassing, too. You would bring shame on your entire family if you got killed like that.


NOT SCARY!


FOUND ON A WEBSITE FOR UNICEF. ALSO: NOT SCARY!


DIAGNOSIS: NOT SCARY


JOHN LEGUIZAMO: SCARY

The Sprout and the Bean Live in Their Van

Am I wrong in thinking that Feist is basically indie-rock's Norah Jones?

Which makes Joanna Newsom indie-rock's Jewel.

President of the United States of What an Asshole

As you know, my President is on a five-week vacation. It is a difficult job. He thinks about the Iraq war every day.

Every




Single





Day!

Motherfucker, I don't get five weeks of vacation. Not even when you add in my sick days. How many sick days does the President get? It's probably never come up before with any other President, but I'm pretty sure this one was like, "[groan] Hey, [cough cough] sorry Cheney, I can't be President today. You can try calling me in the Residence, but I think I'm going to unplug the phone in case you can't get through..." And then he was like, "What's up, Six Flags!"

Seriously, I know it's really tired and everyone already knows it and whatever, but Bush is a real jerk.

Thursday, August 11, 2005

Valentine's Day Is Coming a Little Early and a Little Dirty This Year

Someone just tried to enter the stall I was using in the bathroom. Instead of just using one of the other stalls, this person left the bathroom completely.

Looks like I've got a really nasty secret admirer!

Push Button for Jets



Wednesday, August 10, 2005

It's Okay. Mom-Face Is Up in Heaven Now. With The Realest Angels Ever.

I've been avoiding giving any updates on MTV's So Real World because it sucks and I hate it. But then I'm like maybe someone needs me to save them the boredom of watching the show themselves, and I'm like I'll tell you about stuff.

Last week: So Eye-Face's mom dies. Wait, first he spends fifteen minutes of my life trying to buy a shirt for his Valentine's Day date with Fuck Head, who spends five minutes of my life talking about how she really wants to show that she's serious about this date. Then Eye-Face comes home, ready to go celebrate calendrically-imposed love, but stops to return Dad-Face's call, and finds out that Mom-Face died of a heart attack. He's like "Don't play me, Dad-Face," and Dad-Face is like, "I'm not playing you, Eye-Face." Brick Brain offers his patented sagacity when he remarks, "I totally understand where Eye-Face is coming from, my friend died in a car accident." Because everyone knows that mom=friend. The next ten minutes are very R.E.M.'s "Everybody Hurts," except that instead of people getting out of their cars on a traffic-jammed interchange, it's just Abercrombie and Eye-Face, crying on some steps, and saying that he never should have come on the Realest World in the first place. Amen. Eye-Face, remember when God was like "get out of Austin, I just smashed your skull with that redneck"? Next time you listen to what God says to you through obscene violence.

This week: lots of sadness. Boy, real life is so hard. When Eye-Face goes back to Bahstan and sends Fuck Head emails, I totally understand why she's crying because she "can't find the words that will help him." Totally. Wait, how about turn off the fucking computer and call him? Do that payphone trick that previous Real Worlders have taught you. It would take too much work for the editors to piece together the simultaneous video feeds of the dual-single-sided un-tapped payphone conversation, not to mention televisually impractical. Or how about e-cards? Nothing says "I'm here for you if you need me" like an animated gif of a dog surfing. (Dude, way bummed about your loss. Just remember, brah, after every bogue trough comes a bodacious crest!)

The big gross-out came when Eye-Face's Eye-Friends tried to show him sympathy. The only way I can really explain it to you is imagine you are as sad as you have ever been and you hug your friend, crying into his shoulder, and he sort of curls the tips of his fingers back and rubs you awkwardly with his knuckles and then sucker punches you in the throat. It was something like that. An emotional pantsing for Eye-Friends. A bigger gang of tools could not be found. Wicked tools.

Meanwhile, um, everyone in Texas is drunk because it's not like sobriety will bring Eye-Face's mom back to life. Oh, and then Hot Topic's boyfriend comes to visit. "Ryan is one of those people who enters a room and you can see he's disabled--" really jackass? I think it was the wheelchair that gave him away. Want to know what's grosser-than-gross? A wheelchaired dude popping spastic wheelies on the dancefloor at an embarrassingly shitty bar to the amusement of drunken meatheads. If you can't have working legs, at least have working self-respect. Anyhow, I think that Hot Topic only dates him because then they don't ever have sex. Between the crippled boyfriend and the brown lipstick she has almost all her sex-avoidance bases covered.

Oh, and Shell Necklace is sad because his mom does drugs and since Eye-Face didn't get to say goodbye to his mom and tell her he loved her before she died, Shell Necklace is worried he won't either. Selfish! Also: I guess Shell Necklace is the only one who didn't get the Excel spreadsheet with the Loved Ones' Approaching Deaths Itinerary on it. That makes saying goodbye a lot easier!

At the end everyone cries, and so do I, because it is so real and because I so wish I could stop watching this show.

Next week: mindgames!

Cakefire

Clown Coffee: You try to bad-mouth cake.
Worker #3116: ...
Clown Coffee: Cake will conquer you.
Worker #3116: ...
Clown Coffee: Cake will not only survive, it will prevail.
Worker #3116: ...

So Gross. So White.

NICOLE Kidman jumping out of her front-row seat at the Garden, grabbing her crotch and dancing "hip-hop style" to Eminem...
(New York Post)

Not only is this totally gross, but "hip-hop style"?

NICOLE Kidman jumping out of her front-row seat at the Garden, grabbing her crotch and doing funky, urban, "hip-hop style" dances, popular with a segment of the youth culture who frequent "night clubs" and "discotheques," including the "cabbage patch" and the "Kid n' Play," to Eminem, a performer of the musical genre known as "rap music", generally the provenance of black artists, although Eminem (who is white) has achieved surprising popularity with youths of all races. Rap involves complex rhyming schemes and electronically produced "beats" filled with "samples," which are...
(corporate-casual.blogspot.com)

CALL EVERYONE IMMEDIATELY! ELECTRONIC CORRESPONDENCE SUPERTRUBS!

The fire/emergency alarm just went off, but instead of the droning voice coming on to tell us to leave our personal belongings and make for the exits, happy enough to live another day, the droning voice came on to tell us that email was down.

HELP! EMAIL IS DOWN! I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO! EMERGENCY SYSTEMS GO! ALERT! ALERT! ALERT!

ALERT!

What's with email today. How did McCullen fuck with the workplace mainframe? What a crap? McCullen, you are a crap.

McCullen and Graceless

Worker #3116: Hey, I know it's really important to download Myst V and Final Fantasy XV, or whatever, but it's taking up the whole internet. I can't check my email or do anything. Shithead.
***

McCullen: I got your message, and for your information I'm not downloading Myst IX: Ultimate Fantasy Adventure--
Worker #3116: Well, it's--
McCullen: I'm downloading Straight Guy Butt Fest Seven.
Worker #3116: Ha ha. Well stop it.
McCullen: Just kidding. I downloaded that last week. I'm downloading season six of Will and Grace.
Worker #3116: YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, I CAN'T CHECK MY EMAIL.

UPDATE: Email remains unchecked. The ha-ha-larious shenanigans of Will and Jack are r-r-ruining my life.

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

Mr. Ali G Sr. aka Boring Baron-Cohen

And You Know White Castle's Got Some Tits!

I tried to watch this last week.

BORING.

I remember Spaceham talking one time about how he masturbated to C-Span just to see if he could do it (he could!). Well, this would be just as much of a challenge. You get to see some stuff, but mostly it's just modestly unintelligent (and modestly dressed! wtf?) girls talking about themselves. If I wanted to hear/see that, I'd spend more time with people.

Maybe this is better, but I doubt it. Have you seen the clothes they sell at Wal-Mart? Those are emergency body-coverings, for when what's underneath must never see the light of day.

All of this, of course, leading to the time China Jet and I were at Budget Grocery and a high-peroxided-hair-ed cashier was over talking to our cashier, who was missing several teeth, about her night.

Peroxide: On Wednesday me and Rick went out and I got so trashed I threw up, then I passed out and fell on my face!
Gummy Mouth: Aw, I wanna have fun!

Then there was the time I was working at Booze Corner and my colleagues and I were perusing an issue of Hawk that featured a picture of a nudie sitting spread-eagle eating beans out of can with a plastic spoon.

Put these stories together alchemy style and you see where I'm going with this: Hawk's The Women of Budget Grocery.

Argh, Another Auto-scrolling Water Level with Jelectros (7-4), or, TUESDAY!

Stand up
You've got to manage
I won't sympathize
Anymore

And if you complain once more
You'll meet an army of Mario

You're alright
There's nothing wrong
Self-sufficience please!
And get to work

And if you complain once more
You'll meet an army of Mario

You're on your own now
We won't save you
Your rescue-squad
Is too exhausted

And if you complain once more
You'll meet an army of Mario

Monday, August 08, 2005

Today's Wisdoms

People always say, "Nobody's perfect," to which I reply, "Nobody's trying hard enough."

Parkinson's Item

Can someone explain this blind item to me?

WHICH '80s heartthrob actor had a jarring sexual experience while on a recent overseas jaunt? He awoke to find the woman he'd brought back to his hotel room urinating on him...
(New York Post)

I don't care who it was, what I want to know is where did the Post get this information? How would anyone know this or be able to verify it? The only way I can possibly believe any of this would be for it to be worded as such:

WHICH '80s heartthrob actor had a jarring sexual experience while on a recent overseas jaunt when he awoke to find the woman he'd brought back to his hotel room urinating on him and then immediately called to tell us all about it in the hopes of becoming a '00s heartthrob à la Diane Keaton in Something's Gotta Give? You know what they say, there's no such thing as bad publicity. The young lady in question verified his story, along withphotographss featuring the actor holding two forms of i.d.

Anyhow, it was probably Michael J. Fox.

HA HA HA HA.
Peeing on Michael J. Fox. while he's sleeping. AWESOME.

I Never Really Understood the Red Hot Chili Peppers' Album Title Californication Until Now

I thought Palm Springs was going to be all:

Turns out, it's all:


Things were going fine until Saturday afternoon when the swimming pool was straight up Frat Party 1983, complete with UB40 cover band. I've never seen so many drunk, half-naked fat people with questionable facial hair wearing sinfully ugly hats in my life. After sundown, when they all went upstairs to change into button down silk shirts and black stretch pants for a night at Costa's (the premier resort night club), we went back to the pool, and I almost threw up thinking about how many gross genitals had been soaking in that water just a few hours before.

Back in the room, I turned on the television, which always defaults to the hotel's unique programming. It was so good, I wish I got that channel at home. It starts with a woman walking through the glam '80s lobby (which featured a putt-putt-blue colored lake with ferries to take you to the neuvo-Italian restaurant approximately three and a half feet away). As we track with this lovely lady we can hear her brain:

There is so much to do and so much to see, I just don't know where to begin.

Then she passes by a man and, like brain fleas, we decide to follow this jerk-off:

It's true, but you know, help is never far away. So don't worry. Relax.

It was highly unfortunate that I didn't see this until the second day, because it would have saved me all that ulcer-inducing worrying. Anyhow, then you see this:

-A bunch of assholes dancing next to the pool while King Asshole plays some bongos
-A couple running hand in hand down the shopping colonnade that runs the length of the hotel's south-western border
-Two old ladies haphazardly driving a golfing cart down a hill (one of them is crying)
-More dancing
-Some dude painting a picture of the golf course

I think that montage perfectly encapsulates Palm Springs, or at least Palm Springs Hotel. It's a lot like AIDS. You might have fun getting there, but then it will kill you because it sucks.

Anyhow: Brother #3116 is mortally afraid of flying, so that was fun.

Worker #3116: How is that pizza?
Brother #3116: It's pretty good.
Worker #3116: Well, enjoy it, it's probably the last meal you'll ever eat.
Brother #3116: I hate you.
Worker #3116: Not for much longer.

8/4-8/7/2005: Palm Springs, CA



Wednesday, August 03, 2005

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, WORKER #3116

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

My President of United States

Want to be able to do a killer George W. Bush impersonation at your next party? Here's how:

1. Pretend like you're masturbating (boy-style).
2. Make farting noises with your mouth.

Donny Deutsch and the Search for the Great Middle

When I sat down at my desk this morning, the stupid temp next to me was endlessly blathering about his weekend to Donny Deutsch. He did not want to leave one single detail out. I came in media res, but here's a taste of the fascination that is his story:

Dumb Temp: ...so sleeping was a little bit hard, but I'm really glad I went. I had more fun than I thought I was going to have. One nice thing was, like, the namebook, someone got everyone's name and email and phone number and gathered them all and put them in the namebook so that you didn't have to go up to everyone and get their phone number and email, it was already in one place. So that was really nice, and well done. I saw a lot of people I wanted to see. Well, some people I was disappointed that they didn't make it, but a lot of people made it. Two of my classmates, actually, are in Iraq now. Well, one of them...I mean, I guess I wasn't really surprised that he was there, but the other one...he used to always get high in school and stuff. He always acted really sleepy. I hope they didn't put him anywhere...

SHUT THE FUCK UP!

Of course, leave it to Donny Deutsch to feed the flames.

Donny Deutsch: How many kids were in your class?
Dumb Temp: About 190.
Donny Deutsch: That's a big class!
Dumb Temp: Y'know, a lot of people I know had, like, 200 and something in their classes, so when I tell them I had 190 they're like, "That's a small class," and I'm like, "I don't know, I thought it was an okay size."

Seriously, my brain is hemorrhaging. To put things in perspective, though, this is the same Donny Deutsch who can instill mediocrity in everything she touches. Example:

[A Monday Morning]

Donny Deutsch: Glad to be back?
Worker #3116: You know what, Donny Deutsch, you ask that question every single Monday, and my answer is always the same: Yeah, I'm really glad to be back.
Donny Deutsch: I'm sorry, I didn't realize I repeated myself so much.
Worker #3116: No, it's fine, because it's a really great question, and I love answering it.

Two Major Failures

McCullen came home last night to make the big announcement that gnomes really do exist. I tried to reason with him that they did not, but he cited this as rock-hard proof. How do you counter that? With this. Legalizer explains it all very succinctly, I believe.

Probably unrelated, but I subsequently dreamed that my mom was trying to make her own podcast, and that she gave me 28 cents for my birthday.

Monday, August 01, 2005

What a Cunt!

Yesterday I had to stop by Fancy Foods to pick up a couple of things and I saw this lumbering ogre of a woman snap at these kids "Well, kids shouldn't run in stores. OKAY?!" Now, it's probably the case that disciplining someone else's children in public is never okay, with the single exception of if the kids are beating, torturing, or killing a homeless person while the parents stand around watching and laughing. In that situation a little, "Hey, would you put your feet up on your mother's coffee table?" type scold would be in order. (What would it sound like, though? Hey, would you soak your mother's prone army-surplus-coat-covered body in gasoline and throw lit matches at it, cackling as the wind put them out?) But, if you ARE going to discipline someone else's kids in public, you must adhere to a few simple rules:

1. You must be better looking than the children's parents.
2. You must clearly be wealthier than the children's parents.
3. You must be a celebrity.
4. You should be a little bit drunk.

This is the only thing that children respond to, inebriated glamour. You want to know what happens to you if you're a giant drowned-rat-haired schlub with a pinched face, gigantic ass, and shapeless dress that looks like it was cut from a moldy sack of peat? Rather than disciplining those children that are making you so frustrated you wish you had stayed at home with your fifteen cats and your Lifetime network reruns of Mad About You, you are simply encouraging them to practice their public use of the word "cunt."