Friday, September 30, 2005

Eat a Fetus to Save a Life (from Criminals)

White House Criticizes Bennett for Remarks on Race

WASHINGTON - The White House on Friday criticized former Education Secretary William Bennett for remarks linking the crime rate and the abortion of black babies.

"The president believes the comments were not appropriate," White House press secretary Scott McClellan said.

Bennett, on his radio show, "Morning in America," was answering a caller's question when he took issue with the hypothesis put forth in a recent book that one reason crime is down is that abortion is up.

"But I do know that it's true that if you wanted to reduce crime, you could, if that were your sole purpose, you could abort every black baby in this country, and your crime rate would go down," said Bennett, author of "The Book of Virtues."

He went on to call that "an impossible, ridiculous and morally reprehensible thing to do, but your crime rate would go down. So these far-out, these far-reaching, extensive extrapolations are, I think, tricky."

Responding later to criticism, Bennett said his comments had been mischaracterized and that his point was that the idea of supporting abortion to reduce crime was "morally reprehensible."

Bennett was education secretary under President Reagan and director of drug control policy when Bush's father was president.
(New York Times)

I'm not trying to be the semantics police or anything, but it seems really hard to mischaracterize the racial-implications inherent in the suggestion that aborting all the black babies in the country would reduce the crime rate. Although, I would have to hand it to Bennett that he was definitely mischaracterized if anyone on either side of the aisle suggested that Bennett wished to eat the aborted fetuses. That's simply not what he said. Besides, he doesn't even like soul food.

Also: I think it's really funny that Bennett (who is a world class fucking asshole, by the way) is upset that his comments are being taken out of context when they were made in a response to a theory he was taking out of context. To point out a corollary relationship between rise in abortion rates and drops in crime rates in no way advocates abortions to reduce crime. It is what one calls "an observation," which is somewhat different (and again, I guess we're getting into semantics here) from the Bennettonian notion of "morally corrupt, reality-detached, ideologically motivated ranting."

What a Fruit!

Clown Coffee: Ugh, are you eating an orange again?
Worker #3116: Yes. What is your problem?
Clown Coffee: They smell.
Worker #3116: Seriously, were you abused by an orange as a child?


There have been a lot of pretty big news stories this week. Tom DeLay was indicted on conspiracy charges. Jack Abramoff was linked to a mobland murder. Senator Majority Leader Bill Frist is being investigated for inappropriate stock sales. John Roberts Jr. was sworn in as America's Next Top Justice. Judith Miller decided she was sick of jail and left. But there is one major news story that none of the mainstream media outlets have chosen to pick up on:

Worker #3116 figured out what he's going to be for Halloween!

Worker #3116 released a press release Wednesday morning confirming that Worker #3116 had decided on a costume for Halloween. He is pleased to report that despite the as-yet-unpurchased items still required before the costume can be implemented, that he does already own the kelly-green sweatpants. Worker #3116 is also pleased to report that his costume will be appeal to children, while remaining intellectually compelling for adults, like a Pixar movie. The costume will also be thoroughly wearable. Worker #3116 does not, the press release indicated, foresee any trouble drinking and/or "totally partying" in his costume. In a final note, Worker #3116 would like women to know that he firmly believes in the expression: what happens in a Halloween costume, stays in a Halloween costume.


Deadbeat Père is in France on le vacation. Then, I got an email this week from Grand-Père #3116 telling me to sign up for Sike! or whatever that free-internet telephone service is. So I wrote him back telling him I would look into it, and then, trying to be a member of the "family," I kindly inquired if he had seen Deadbeat-Pére yet. He sent an email in response that I will now translate, in its entireity, for you:


That is one of the things I love about Grand-Père #3116. Ask le question, get l'answer.

Thursday, September 29, 2005


Did you know that Applebee's's slogan is "Eatin' Good in the Neighborhood!"?

Did you know that "strip-mall next to the highway exit-ramp" is a neighborhood?

So Much Crelling!

There was a lot of yelling last night.

I'll give you the two main examples:

Stevil and I created a neologism: cramazing. It means "crazy amazing." I like to say it in the sing-songy voice that one uses for ca-razy! Stevil likes to say it in the Oprah-Winfrey-Announces-Her-Annual-Giveaway-Show voice, which involves yelling. It sounds something like this: CRAMAZING! We also decide that the "crazy" cr- was our favorite prefix. As in, "you're creautiful!"

Later I asked both Stevil and McCullen what superheroes they would be if they could be any superheroes in the world. McCullen said he wanted to be invisible and fly, which I said could not be done. He googled it and came back with Wonder Woman. Personally, I still don't really think that an invisible jet counts as the power of invisibility. You can't secretly sneak into a party or the girls' locker-room in your invisible jet. (NOR the boys' locker-room, McCullen). Then Stevil comes running out of his room all excited because he's going to be Storm: Mistress of the Elements. So, both my roommates, given the full range of superheroism, pick two ladies. VERY INTERESTING, HOMOS! Anyway, the yelling comes in when McCullen drops into what can only be described as a "sexy-defensive" posture and goes: "Storm, create a diversion. LASSO OF TRUTH!"

When the yelling subsided we talked about how if you were Professor Xavier, with the ability to read and control minds, you could masturbate in your giant mind-room and have the entire world cum at the same time.

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

Hello, Mars, I Am the Giant Squid...from the Ocean!

A long time ago, China Jet and I were at the zoo. We were in the Fish House when we stumbled upon a display about the elusive Giant Squid (or Architeuthis, the Greek name for "ruling" or "chief" squid). Both of us were held completely captive by descriptions of eyes as large as dinner plates, and the murky mystery of an ancient creature that had never been caught or photographed.

Worker #3116: Did you read this, China Jet? It says that the Giant Squid has never been caught or photographed!
China Jet: That's crazy.
Worker #3116: You know what this means.
China Jet: What does it mean?
Worker #3116: That I must dedicate my life to capturing the Giant Squid.
China Jet: What would you do with it if you caught it?
Worker #3116: ...
China Jet: ...
Worker #3116: I would send it to space.

I am very happy to announce that I am one step closer to realizing my destiny!

"But Worker #3116," you say, "doesn't it bother you that Japanese scientists are beating you towards your life goal? And I have a follow-up question: how realistic do you think it is to imagine yourself capturing the Giant Squid when you have almost no interest, and certainly no professional or educational background, in the biological sciences?"

FUCKERS: what did I just finish explaining to you in that overly-long Real World rant? Like with women, the best strategy is to let someone else do all the work, and then wait around to pick up the sobbing, intoxicated pieces. That is how you score, with women, and with the Giant Squid.



Now, maybe it's just the freedom-hating, homo-marrying liberal in me, but I find it despicable that this guy in the cowboy hat is just going to sit calmly by while Laura Bush devours that poor, innocent black child.


People are always asking me, "Why do you still watch the Real World," and "Do you really watch the Real World, why?" or my favorite question: "The Real World SUCKS!"

Here is why: earlier this week McCullen was walking down the street and passed by a sorority girl on her cell-phone who said, "Did you know I missed last week's Real World?! And I heard it was really good!" I do it to keep sluts like her off the streets. Without some way to catch up on missed episodes, she would be in the gutter, with crushed jello-shot cups strewn all around her head like some kind of Dixie-halo.

It's been a few weeks, so we have some work to do:

Three Weeks Ago: Shell Necklace gets drunk and then someone pours a drink on him, and he goes into a violent rage. The world stands by, unimpressed, but still real. While this was a boring episode and made me sad about my priorities in life that they should still accommodate sitting on the couch from 10-10:30 PM on a Tuesday when I could be, say, conducting some kind of experiment on a neighborhood pet, or eating sleeping pills, it had one major benefit to it, which was that it centered on the real world's encroachment on the Real World. As the show's popularity has grown over the past, what, quarter-century that it's been on the air, it's harder and harder for the cast to just go about their "lives." From what I understand, the actual residents of the host cities have gotten ever more aggressive in their persecution of the MTV kids. The guy who poured a drink on Shell Necklace's head did so not because he was black, or because he said the wrong things, as may have happened to Kevin on Real World: Begins (who also, if memory serves, wore a shell necklace). The drink was poured simply because Shell Necklace was having his life taped to find out what happened when people stopped being polite and started being drunkenly antagonistic.

Two Weeks Ago: They go to a dude ranch. No one wants to go except Fuck-Head and maybe Iraqi Jane. One of the reasons that no one on any season of the Real World has EVER been interested in doing something different or new or out of their comfort-zone is because they came on the show to really learn about themselves and grow as people, and the only way to do that is to remain sequestered in the RW compound, and to get totally smashed on watermelon shooters and Lemon Drops at the same fucking bar every single night. Eye-Face tells someone at the dude ranch that he has doubts about his relationship with Fuck-Head. Her response: alligator tears, and a warbly "Hearing you say that you have doubts is really hard." The bar for what is "hard" in life is lowered by something big to the power of ten. Perhaps it is just me, but this is where I find myself getting extremely frustrated with the directors/editors/producers of the Real World. I love watching a relationship go down in flames, but they even suck the life out of that. It's got something to do with their interior decorator. Enough with the lime green walls, silver sofas, and kitschy neon signs, buddy.

Last Week: Pocahontas gets arrested, but some idiot bails her out and she's already back on my TV by the end of the show. Oh well.

This Week: Pocahontas makes out with Bartender, which all fits in to Brick Brain's Machiavellian scheme to win her heart. The way he figures it, all she has to do is dismissively sleep with other people and completely ignore him because he is a tool, and she will be HIS FOREVER. Meanwhile, Hot Topic, as I've pointed out in previous posts, is a virgin who dates a guy in a fucking wheel-chair. She refers to bands like Enon as "artsy-fartsy," and the only way she can cum is by spying on her roommates with the secret camera. She spies on Pocahontas while she is doing something in the billiard room with Bartender's candlestick, and gives her boyfriend the play-by-play. This is how he cums, because he is in a wheelchair. He has to mind cum. So they cum together, but I do not, because WHO FUCKING CARES ABOUT THIS SHOW? Oh, right, that sorority girl. Don't worry, baby, I'm still here for you. I am such a gentleman, I recap your favorite show, pick up your RU-486, AND hold your hair out of your face when you throw up that half-fifth of Jaeger.

Next Week: South-by-Southwest arrives in Austin. Regular watchers of the Real World scratch their heads and go "South-by-South-What?"

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Who's Next, Kangaroo Jack?

Mom #3116 has built a career out of helping high-risk teens get back on track towards a college education. These are generally youths with alcoholic and/or incarcerated parents, poor social skills, mild sociopathic tendencies, and a history of physical and mental abuse. This is a wonderful service Mom #3116 provides both her students and the community in which she works, but it also leads to an interesting habit. Every time that we see a movie in which someone has a drink of alcohol, goes to jail, or raises their voice, she will say "Oh, [Character] really reminds me of one of my kids." This was fine, until:

Mom #3116: He really reminded me of some of my kids at school. Especially when he would have those violent arguments with himself.
Worker #3116: Mom...Seriously...Golem did not remind you of your kids at school*.
Mom #3116: Yes, he did!

*I just told this story to Clown Coffee, trying to stress the disbelief in my voice when I revealed that it was Golem who reminded my mom of kids at her school, but Clown Coffee has never seen LOTR. So I sent him that picture and he said, "Oh, he reminds me of my old roommate." Am I missing something? Is Golem just the great cipher into which all our dreams and fears are poured?

If I Were the Silver Surfer Think of All the Tuna I Could Catch!


I love a good tuna fish sandwich. But people, mainly "women," are always trying to tell me about the mercury.

"Don't eat so much tuna fish, it's got mercury in it."
"Oh, no, mercury is a toxic chemical. Pollution is negatively affecting the native fish populations of the world."
"Mercury! Boo!"

You just don't get it, do you? I'm eating the tuna fish for the mercury. If the human body is 80% water, think about what it could accomplish if it were 80% mercury.


I'm made out of magic!

Dog Nap

I like to take little power naps, like five minute naps, right before I get ready for work. Sometimes I like to take them in the afternoon, too, but especially in the last five minutes of freedom in the morning. But sometimes I can't tell if I've actually fallen asleep or not, it's so light and short. This morning, though, I was absolutely certain that I was asleep because when I woke up I had this interior dialogue:

Worker #3116: I wonder if I was asleep?
Worker #3116: Oh, you were definitely asleep!
Worker #3116: How do you know?
Worker #3116: Because, you know that white bull-dog with sensitive pink skin growing in a patch over his right eye that you were just talking to?
Worker #3116: Yeah.
Worker #3116: ...
Worker #3116: ...
Worker #3116: ...
Worker #3116: OH! I was totally asleep!

Shapes and Sizes

Clown Coffee: You should let me borrow your Arrested Development DVDs.
Worker #3116: They're not mine.
Clown Coffee: Whose are they?
Worker #3116: Stevil's.
Clown Coffee: Oh, he'll let me borrow them.
Worker #3116: I'm sure, but you have to ask him.
Clown Coffee: Why don't you just do it for me?
Worker #3116: No, you can do it yourself. You're an adult.
Clown Coffee: ...
Worker #3116: Kind of.
Clown Coffee: ...
Worker #3116: You have the body of an adult.

Monday, September 26, 2005

Either This House of Cards Is Coming Down, or Somewhere There Is a Dead Bee With No Stinger

Yesterday, I found a small, bruised welt on my arm. I've got no idea where it came from. It looks suspiciously like something a syringe filled with top-secret military-industrial-complex bio-chemicals might leave. Basically, what I'm trying to tell you is that the government is trying to suppress the secrets that I have buried in my subconscious, and all of my memories have been implanted. The life I lead is a farce, carefully constructed to lull me into non-threatening, secret-keeping complacency.


Either that or some bitch burned me with a fucking cigarette Saturday night.

How Low Can You Go?

There is a carnival for charity at my work today. It is in a windowless conference room. They have "prizes," and there was a magic show. Clown Coffee and I were very excited about the magic show, but then we saw the magician, who looked like an extra from some movie about Alcoholics Anonymous. It would be called Rock Bottom. Also: there were five chairs in a row facing "the stage," with no one sitting in them, and the magician barking into his neck-rophone "We're going to get started with the magic show, everybody!" at the three people milling uncomfortably by the door. Clown Coffee and I were very hungry so we just went to lunch. I'm still a little worried that we will regret this decision for the rest of our lives.

Anyway, on the way back from lunch we passed by the carnival and the magician (who was wearing a shiny red vest) was DANCING, and another man was DANCING WITH HIM. He was calling out moves into his neck-rophone, like "Two to the right! Now move to the left!" They then went on to do the YMCA, and the macarena. I just heard the magician yelling "Two-man limboooo!"

My boss said that she felt bad for the magician. I explained that you can feel bad for the guy cleaning the toilets...that maybe that guy didn't have a lot of opportunities growing up. But no one runs out of options and becomes this dancing clown in a shiny red vest with a fist full of silk flowers. If anything, you should feel bad for that fucking guy who was dancing WITH the magician. That man had an infinite number of choices and elected abject public humiliation.

That reminds me.

I C.A.R.E.

At the grocery store yesterday, the check-out woman asked me if I'd like to "donate a dollar to breast cancer." I said sure, why not? So look out, ladies, because breast cancer now has one dollar more in resources to continue its fight against you.

Check that out: nothing like a balls-out breast cancer joke to start your fucking week off r.i.g.h.t.

Friday, September 23, 2005

50 Cents Is Cool, or At Least He Used to Be Before He Lost His Number One Fan

Last night I saw 50 Cents on TV. He wored a baseball hat. In the brim of the hat was a medium sized circular hole. I guess that is where the battery-operated fan used to be.

Jaa Rules

Last night's solo viewing of Ong Bak: The Thai Warrior was what we in "the business" call "a mixed blessing." On the one hand: Ong Bak: The Thai Warrior=Sweet! On the other hand, it was seriously hard for me to sleep afterwards because I kept thinking about Tony Jaa's hard-hitting moves. Tony Jaa has proved to me that Muay Thai is a very excellent fighting style, one that I am excited to learn more about, and very excited to start practicing on your face. From what I can gather, Muay Thai boxing involves two basic moves:

1. My knee and/or elbow coming into flying contact with your throat and/or skull.
2. Your death.

If you have not seen Ong Bak: The Thai Warrior, here are some highlights from an user review:

Thai boxing is proper hardcore, they don't mess about.

Tony Jaa will become a legend this is fact.

His flexibility in fighting is so extreme, and this film is basically just crammed up with the biggest, most violent stunts you will ever see. For instance, in a scene where Tony and his newly met friends run away from a group of hoodlums, he gets away in style.

Everybody gets injured...This is how it should be. Hollywood take note.

Double takes are often used for the incredible action so you can really appreciate, for example, taking out three men with a triple, twisting back flip and smashing their heads in with your knees and elbows at the same time with pure accuracy.

Instead of going `god damn thats sick!' at the beginning, you will end up saying `ha ha! Did you see his elbow get torn backwards then snapped! Ha ha! This is genius!'.

Seriously, though, if you see me with my wrists all tied up in thick rope and I'm running towards you while yelling "Elephant Demolishes Tree," you better start praying to whatever God it is you believe in, because that move rulez all the way to the afterlife!

The Mompany I Keep

[At a nearby table, a child screams and throws a plate on the floor.]

Mom #3116: I could never have brought you here when you were that age.
Worker #3116: You can barely bring me here now.
Mom #3116: Oh, you've gotten a lot better.
Worker #3116: It's true.
Mom #3116: Fewer tantrums.
Worker #3116: I can hardly remember the last time I threw a tantrum.
Mom #3116: No...but I can remember some of the big ones very well.
Worker #3116: I'm sure you can.
Mom #3116: Like when you were five—
Worker #3116: —I'm still mad at you about that.
Mom #3116: You were very upset.
Worker #3116: I'm telling you, I'm still upset.
Mom #3116: It was funny.
Worker #3116: No, it was not funny, you were a jerk.
Mom #3116: Ha ha.
Worker #3116: You were being a bad mom.
Mom #3116: ...
Worker #3116: It was very simple: I needed five dollars. You had five dollars. So why wouldn't you give it to me?
Mom #3116: You were very upset.
Worker #3116: If you needed five dollars, I'd give it to you.
Mom #3116: Ha ha.
Worker #3116: It's true. Because I love you.
Mom #3116: Ha ha.
Worker #3116: God, you were such a jerk.

The Company I Keep

Australia-This-Australia-That: Where are you?! I've been waiting here, all ready to go for, like, fifteen minutes.
Worker #3116: Ha ha. Very cute.
Australia-This-Australia-That: Seriously.
Worker #3116: I do not know what you are talking about.
Australia-This-Australia-That: ...
Worker #3116: ...
Australia-This-Australia-That: Let's go out!
Worker #3116: No.
Australia-This-Australia-That: You don't want to go out?
Worker #3116: No. What's going on on Saturday?
Australia-This-Australia-That: Saturday?!
Worker #3116: Yeah, I'm not going out tomorrow either, so what's happening Saturday?
Australia-This-Australia-That: If you're not going out tomorrow, you should really be going out tonight. Besides, I'd feel much safer with you driving in all this rain.
Worker #3116: Right. Me too.
Australia-This-Australia-That: What would the 17-year-old Worker #3116 be saying right now? He'd be saying "let's party!"
Worker #3116: Do NOT throw the 17-year-old Worker #3116 in my face.
Australia-This-Australia-That: Why not? He's my buddy!
Worker #3116: We are not talking. I don't like him.
Australia-This-Australia-That: Oh.
Worker #3116: He's a jerk.
Australia-This-Australia-That: Well I don't know how I feel about Grampy Worker #3116.
Worker #3116: It doesn't matter how you feel about him, Grampy Worker #3116 is not going out tonight. Or tomorrow night.
Australia-This-Australia-That: If I make you a shirt that says "Grampy" on it, will you wear it?
Worker #3116: Yes.
Australia-This-Australia-That: Every day?
Worker #3116: No.
Australia-This-Australia-That: Once a week?
Worker #3116: Once every two weeks.
Australia-This-Australia-That: Oh...once a day?
Worker #3116: Once every two weeks.
Australia-This-Australia-That: Will you keep a calendar.
Worker #3116: No, Australia-This-Australia-That. I've never kept a calendar of when I wear my clothes, and I'm not going to start now.
Australia-This-Australia-That: Oh...
Worker #3116: I'm getting off the phone now.
Australia-This-Australia-That: Why?
Worker #3116: Call me Saturday.
Australia-This-Australia-That: Let's go out!

Thursday, September 22, 2005

Hurricane Katrina Is Responsible for My Car Failure

Shortly after the tragic events of 9/11, when I worked in a big building in Times Square, one of my co-workers, Sh'arquanda, was having trouble with her computer. An IT guy gave her a new one, but when she turned the computer on, it was making a ticking sound. She literally "freaked the fuck out". Literally. The fuck was all freaked out of her by the time she was done. Anyway, she would not sit at her desk, and she refused to use her computer. She called IT and demanded that they bring her another new one. Why? Because obviously, a terrorist had snuck into our company's IT department, installed an explosive device in a dormant computer, and waited for some shitty, obnoxious assistant to turn it on and BOOM! How quickly the infidels would fall!

I always thought this was hilarious, and any remaining shred of respect I still might have had for Sh'arquanda after all of her incessant bitching and whining and nail filing was certainly gone that day. Fools: I do not suffer you gladly. Nuyoricans: double.

But I was thinking that it would be funny to have similar overly dramatic, super exaggerated, embarrassingly self-absorbed freak-outs about the crisis of the day. Like, I want to come into work and turn on my desk lamp and have the lightbulb burn out and start screaming some paranoid shit about avian bird flu.


I was driving in a car yesterday, listening to NPR radio, and this story came on about how a pair of original ruby slippers from Wizards of Oz were stolen. They talked to a man who runs a Wizard of Oz museum, where the shoes were on-loan. First of all, that there is some weird, creepo man running a Wizard of Oz museum is bad enough, but they asked him how people felt about the disappearance:

"People are devastated. That morning, when I came in and got the call that the shoes were missing, I mean, I was just heartbroken."

That was good for a laugh, but this was even better for one:

"Oh, Oztoberfest is going to happen. No one can stop us at this point."

Oztoberfest. It is the festival that this pervert is running. They wouldn't quite detail what would happen at Oztoberfest, but my best guess is that it involves this guy sitting alone in his darkened room, masturbating into a shoe and angrily hissing "Who's the coward now, Cowardly Lion? Take it! Suck it!"

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

It's Just a Phrase I'm Going Through

I've got a new pick-up line:

"Oh my god, come inside. Let's get you out of those not soaking, dry clothes."

Also, I really want to have an opportunity in my life to say:

"Sorry, I don't date actors."

Point Your Browser to Hank Azaria's New Apartment

This morning, I encountered the most undeniably "clickable" hyperlink of all time:

Where is Hank Azaria's new apartment?

I guess it's in Soho.

Medicine Man


I've got an apothecary going on in my bag right now. I'm a mess. I'm a total mess. In my bag right now:

-1 lg btl ibuprofen
-1 btl heartburn medication
-1 btl eye drops
-1 btl nose spray
-2 btls Zicam cold remedy

What a JERK! When you come back to my diary and find that I am dead, know that it was not for lack of over-the-counter medications. Those I got.

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Brain Celebriteaser

Clown Coffee: Would you rather meet Bill Clinton or Martha Stewart?
Worker #3116: What kind of meeting is it?
Clown Coffee: Sexual encounter.
Worker #3116: ...
Clown Coffee: What other kind is there?

From the Vault

Late Summer, 2005

[Law and Order, starring Sam Waterston, plays in background.]

Worker #3116: When you graduate, are you going to be a lawyer like Bill Watterson?
Stevil: ...
Worker #3116: Well?
Stevil: Bill Watterson? The creator of Calvin and Hobbes?
Worker #3116: ...
Stevil: ...
Worker #3116: Yes.
Stevil: ...
Worker #3116: He seems like a good lawyer. You should be like him.

Ryan Cabrera Would Never Have Allowed This

I saw the new Ashlee Simpson video this morning, and I think I can sum up the plot easiest by putting it into bullet-point format:

· Ashlee is on the run from the cops because she loves to rock.
· Just in time, Ashlee manages to hide from the cops by pulling her Corvair into an abandoned lot where her friends were waiting with Wyle E. Coyote-style decoys that make the entrance to the lot look like a dead end with dumpsters. Think Hook meets Mad, dirty litle funtime mischief makers.
· Ashlee realizes that now that the cops are gone, it's the perfect time to have a warehouse rock concert.
· While there are a few fans already waiting to rock, word quickly gets out and soon restaurants and laundromats and classrooms are emptying out. People are literally RUNNING to get to the "underground" Ashlee Simpson concert that is happening in the middle of the day.
· Fully-formed, well-dressed, apparently sane adults are RUNNING to get to the Ashlee Simpson concert. One of them is at a restaurant when he hears the news, and makes sure to grab his egg sandwich for the road.
· The cops are angry at having been eluded by Wyle E. Simpson, and begin to arrest the fans who are RUNNING to her show. They would rather arrest Ashlee, one must assume, but they cannot follow them to the concert and arrest Ashlee herself. It is too underground. So they arrest the fans. In this unnamed town, RUNNING to a shitty warehouse concert is ILLEGAL. This makes me feel like FUCK THE COPS!
· A total rebel who also feels like FUCK THE COPS jumps over a cop car with his BMX bike to get to the Ashlee Simpson concert. This flusters the cops. Eventually he will leave his BMX bike on the ground, unlocked and unattended. Such is the power of this seriously horrible song.
· When the rock concert ends, there is, mysteriously, no one left in the warehouse except for this weird fat dude who looks like the guy on the website. You know, the fat one with glasses that makes you think, "that shirt design is okay, but it better not make me look like that." Ashlee jumps into this beast's arms, and he carries safety?

Isn't it perfect? Do you love it?


Objective: To Receive a Position as Worker #3116's Friend

Brady: I kind of panic a lot.
Worker #3116: That's fine, as long as you don't interrupt my show. People who panic when I'm watching my show, I'm like, HEY! a) Get out of here, b) Go to the hospital and get cured, and c) Don't come back from the hospital until my show is over, because I don't want to risk you ruining it again. It will make me resent you, and I don't want to resent you.
Brady: You wouldn't even drive me to the hospital?
Worker #3116: MY SHOW IS ON!
Brady: You wouldn't pick me up from the hospital?
Worker #3116: Take a cab. It's five bucks. If you need to borrow five bucks, I'll give it to you, but I will expect you to pay me back in a timely manner.

Status: Pending


Objective: To Receive a Position as Brady's Friend

Brady: You don't even know where I live.
Worker #3116: No.
Brady: What would you do if I was in trouble and needed help?
Worker #3116: ...
Brady: You're the only one who can help me.
Worker #3116: I would call the police. They can contact your cell-phone company and have your phone GPS'ed.
Brady: There's no police. The power is out at the police station. But your phone still works.
Worker #3116: Okay, so it's Armageddon, but my cell-phone works. I guess I would call Cold War on Wheels. Oh wait, I don't have his number. I would friendster message Cold War on Wheels.
Brady: You would friendster-message him?
Worker #3116: Yes. He would then help you.
Brady: He friendster-messages you back and says that he doesn't know where I live either and his house is on fire and he can't help me.
Worker #3116: I would friendster-message him back and tell him that that is unacceptable.
Brady: You could call Erica or Saturday Looks Good to Me.
Worker #3116: I could call Saturday Looks Good to Me but he'd be on tour, he would not be able to help you.
Brady: Erica is the best person to call.
Worker #3116: Why can't Cold War on Wheels call her? I DON'T HAVE HER NUMBER.
Brady: You should have asked him that in your friendster-message.
Worker #3116: To be honest, he really should offer that information. You are in trouble, here, so if he cannot help he should at least direct me to someone who can.
Brady: This is concerning me, your inability to help me.
Worker #3116: Well, I guess, ultimately, I will just have to make peace with the fact that I did everything in my power to help you, even if I failed. I will know that you are in a better place. Heaven.

Status: Pending

["Livin' on His Prayers," sung to the tune of "Livin' on a Prayer"]

Country used to be on the top
Then came the Bush
We’re down on our’s tough, so tough.
He took us on a war in Iraq
Said a bunch of stuff, but it’s all a crock
Oh fuck, oh fuck

He says we’ve got to hold on to what we’ve got
Cause it doesn’t make a difference
If he lied then or not
We’ve got this war now and that’s a lot
Oh fuck, he’s so full of shit

Woah, we’re half way there
(Woah!) Livin’ on his prayers
I don’t know if we’ll make it I swear
(Woah!) Livin’ on his prayers

Katrina was a huge tragedy
The Bush he knows this
He saw it all on’s tough, so tough.
Bush he dreams of running away
When he cries in the night
Cheney whispers baby it’s okay, someday

We’ve got to hold on to what we’ve got
Cause it doesn’t make a difference
If we earned it or not
We’ve got a lot of power and that’s a lot
To abuse it—we’ll give it a shot

Woah, we’re half way there
(Woah!) Livin’ on his prayers
I don’t know if we’ll make it I swear
(Woah!) Livin on his prayers

Monday, September 19, 2005


Knock, knock.
Who's There?
John who?
John from work.
Come on in. Everyone's upstairs.
I hope I'm not too late.
You're right on time.
Good. I brought you this.
Thank you. That was very thoughful.

Bill Maher-di-har-har

There is a profile in this week's New York's Times Sunday's Magazine of Bill Maher and his 2.5 acre, 6,000 square foot house. I think I'm the only person that I know who really likes Bill Maher, which is totally acceptable. His face is gross, and if you've seen him as a young man with long hair and stonewashed jeans then you are more than likely never going to be able to look at Maher again. It's just that whenever I've heard him interviewed I think he's funny and he says a lot of things that I agree with. This allows me to accept the overwrought, self-indulgent blowhardism that makes up the majority of his personality. Bill Maher's self-image appears to have been forged under a "Laugh and the Whole World Laughs with You, No Matter How Much of a Prick You Look Like Laughing, So Prick It Up!" ethos.

Anyway, here are the two highlights of his profile:

"Workout routine: I run up a hill in the back of my house. I jump on a trampoline, which is good for the lymph nodes. I hit baseballs, play basketball and use the gym. The whole thing takes less than an hour."

COME ON GUYS! Even if you hate Bill Maher, or especially if you hate Bill Maher, the image of him jumping on a trampoline all alone in his backyard, and not for fun but seriously trying to do some "good" for his lymph nodes, that shit is fucking hilarious. That is real time with Bill Maher.

"Religious practice: I despise religion and make no secret of that. What I have is a sense that the journey of life should proceed toward selflessness. I hope that by the time I pass on I have renounced all the trappings of materialism and ego."


Television is the Dumb

The Emmys were on last night. I did not watch them, but I did see the announcement of a nomination for Best Guy on TV, with the music and the clapping and the fancy dissolves. This is funny and makes me laugh. My favorite was the guy in the wheelchair yelling at someone in an office. What kind of garbage is this? It is hard to imagine, but it must have happened, that someone in a tuxedo leaned over to their date and said "Oh, that was such a powerful performance," and their date was like, "I know, totally. I saw it on TV!"

Good job, actor! You have come a long way since that car insurance commercial. Now you are the guy right before the car insurance commercial!

McCullen and I decided that it might be fun to go to an Awards ceremony once, like the Academy Awards, but that the Emmys would be lame. "There aren't even really any celebrities," McCullen said. "I know," I said, "there's just Ray Romano, Ellen Degeneres, and Oprah." "Maybe," McCullen said, "Oprah might have had something better to do." That was when we saw William Shatner get nominated for Best Actor in a Drama, with a clip of him alongside Freddie Prinze Jr. HA HA HA. Television is the dumb.

Friday, September 16, 2005


One Thing I Liked from Last Night:

When my President gave his creepy speech from an abandoned militarized evacuation zone. Why can't my President ever say anything, no matter how serious, without cracking a little grin? Anyhow, the highlight of the speech was when he said that the tragedy brought attention to the grave problem of poverty, a problem we can no longer ignore. He insisted that when New Orleans was rebuilt, more people who were renting should be able to own their own homes, and the businesses in low-income areas should be owned by people from those areas. See, poor people, why don't you just buy your house and start a business? Then you won't be poor anymore. PROBLEM SOLVED.

One Thing I Did Not Like from Last Night:

The dream where this ugly lady tried to give me a bj in a handicapped bathroom stall at the Louvre while her boyfriend looked on excitedly and Deadbeat Père and Mami #3116 waited out in the marbled hallway. I was just going to let her go ahead and do it, but her boyfriend looked really manic, like maybe he was on meth, and he did NOT seem content just to watch, he wanted in on some action. Oh, and for some reason the Louvre was in a shopping mall. Expect to see some interpretation of this scene in As Bad as It Gets.

One Thing I Liked from Last Night:

We started watching Driller Killer and it was just unbearable. But I did like the part right at the beginning when a young Abel Ferrara sits next to this old man in a church and the old man grabbed his hand and weird Vincent-Gallo-freak-out jazz was playing and Ferrara loses his shit and runs out of the church, grabbing his girlfriend on the way. They get into a cab and she's like "What happened in there? Why did you get so upset?" and he irritably responds, "That old guy grabbed my fucking hand, that's what happened." Then, in a very soft, almost sad voice, he says, "He touched my hand." A few minutes later he gets mad about a bunch of long-distance phone-calls and throws his phone out the window. I think that's what ends up turning him Killer, the extortionary prices of long-distance calling.

One Thing I Did Not Like from Last Night:

Another dream in which Deadbeat Père sent me a jovial text message about his heroin addiction. If you know anything about Deadbeat Père, you know that if he ever does decide to throw it all away on the Horse, I will eventually find out through some late-night SMS sent from a shooting gallery.

The Boy Who Cried Wolf but Was Ignored by You Faggots

There once was a shepherd boy who was bored as he sat on the hillside watching the village sheep. To amuse himself he took a great breath and sang out, "Wolf! Wolf! The Wolf is chasing the sheep!"

The villagers came running up the hill to help the boy drive the wolf away. But when they arrived at the top of the hill, they found no wolf. The boy laughed at the sight of their angry faces.

"Don't cry 'wolf', shepherd boy," said the villagers, "when there's no wolf!" They went grumbling back down the hill.

Later, the boy sang out again, "Wolf! Wolf! The wolf is chasing the sheep!" To his naughty delight, he watched the villagers run up the hill to help him drive the wolf away.

When the villagers saw no wolf they sternly said, "Save your frightened song for when there is really something wrong! Don't cry 'wolf' when there is NO wolf!"

But the boy just grinned and watched them go grumbling down the hill once more.

Later, he saw a REAL wolf prowling about his flock. Alarmed, he leaped to his feet and sang out as loudly as he could, "Wolf! Wolf!"

But the villagers thought he was trying to fool them again, and so they didn't come.

At sunset, everyone wondered why the shepherd boy hadn't returned to the village with their sheep. They went up the hill to find the boy. They found him weeping.

"There really was a wolf here! The flock has scattered! I cried out, "Wolf!" Why didn't you come?"

An old man tried to comfort the boy as they walked back to the village.

"We'll help you look for the lost sheep in the morning," he said, putting his arm around the youth, "Nobody believes a liar...even when he is telling the truth!"

The shepherd boy brushed the old man's wrinkled hand from his shoulder. "Find them your fucking self," he spat. "They're your sheep."

The old man was taken aback by the fire in the shepherd boy's eyes, and the rancor in his tone. "But you are the one who is responsible for their disappearance. You must help me find them."

At this, the shepherd boy had to laugh. "If it weren't for me, the sheep would be dead, you old cocksucker. When I cried "Wolf!", it scared the wolf and he ran away. Granted, not before scaring the sheep, but you're lucky they're just scared and not all chewed up and turned into wolf shit. They scattered because you pussies were all churning butter and blowing glass vases and shit. What's with all the vases, anyway? Fucking vases. Always vases. You know, this whole fucking town owes me a motherfucking debt of gratitude."

"But you lied," the old man sputtered, growing angry.


At this, the old man fell silent, and they walked in silence, a few paces apart, all of the rest of the way back to the village.

Thursday, September 15, 2005

By Hova, I Think I've Got It

Black Edit:

They say if you love it, you should let it out its cage
And fuck it, if it comes back you know it's there to stay


White Edit:

If you love something, fuck it free.
(Worker #3116)

On Loan from the George W. Bush Presidential Library

Jack Nicholson: No. Greg Kinnear: Yes.

I'm making a movie.

It's called As Bad as It Gets.

It gets VERY bad.

Futureteens Beware, I've Got Your Futurenumber

It would be incorrect to overly compare Caleb Nichol, from FOX's hit drama, The O.C., to Deadbeat-Pére. For one, Deadbeat Père's hair is not white, his girlfriend/wife is black and more of a recluse than a total bitch à la Julie Cooper-Nichol, and he does not own half of Newport Beach.

What they do have in common is an overwhelming desire to rudely and inappropriately put the youth in their place. I've been noticing on FOX's hit drama The O.C. that Caleb cannot be in the same room with an adolescent without proving to them that he is better than they are. Here is an actual conversation I have had with Deadbeat-Pére:

Worker #3116: Are you seriously picking a fight with a 24-year-old woman? You're 53.
Deadbeat Père: She started it.

When this has happened in the past with Deadbeat Père I have been very angry, but now, watching Caleb, I am starting to realize that it's totally what I'm going to be like. Besides, teens are too sassy. They need to be taken down a few notches, say to 12-year-olds. So look out, futureteens, an aged and curmudegeonly Worker #3116 is not scared of scarring you for life.

The Scorpion and the Fucking Retarded Ass Frog

One day a scorpion arrived at the bank of a river he wanted to cross, but there was no bridge. He asked a frog that was sitting nearby if he would take him across the river on his back. The frog refused and said, "I will not, because you will sting me."

The scorpion replied, "It would be foolish for me to sting you because then we would both drown."

The frog saw the logic in the scorpion's words, and agreed to carry the the scorpion across. But when they were halfway across the river the scorpion stung the frog. The stunned frog asked, "Why did you sting me? Now we will both die!"

The scorpion replied, "Fuck that, I can jump from here, sucker. Byeeeeee!" As the frog was subsumed by the roiling waters, the scorpion lept to the other bank, and continued on his merry way to a pizza dinner being held in his honor. That frog was a retarded bitch, and he paid the ultimate price. "Ha ha," the scorpion thought to himself. "Ha ha ha."

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Cognitive Dissonance or Cognitive Dissodance?

I don't want this to become a regular subject of conversation in this diary, but in Gwen Stefano's "Cool," the lyrics talk about how great it is that she is still friends with an old flame, even now that they have both found new lovers...but the My Life as a Dog/Cinema Paradiso-esque video would indicate the exact opposite. In fact, from the video, I'm starting to wonder if we've ever been "Cool"!


Rolling...or Actually, Waddling Thunder

Two Jokes Aimed Squarely Between the Thighs of the Fat Lady in a Stiff Canvas Safari Skirt Who Preceded Me in the Hallway This Morning Like Thunder Before the LIGHTNING!:

1. You and your fat butt would make a great foley artist.
2. You give new definition to "thunder thighs."

Happy Shut-Upiversary

Clown Coffee: Cupcake just called to wish me a happy 20-week anniversary.
Worker #3116: Aw....that's crazy.
Clown Coffee: Why? You would prefer I say five month anniversary?
Worker #3116: No. One year.
Clown Coffee: Shut up.
Worker #3116: ...
Clown Coffee: It's your shut-upiversary.

Thesis Statement: You Suck.

Obviously, it's usually very hard for me to find fault in anyone for anything. Humanity is such a glorious, colorful rainbow of ideas and personalities, and I truly cherish people just for being alive! But here's something I fucking hate: people who don't do stuff and then make a big deal out of it. Ex: vegetarians. Ex: non-drinkers. I don't care if you don't want to do something. I don't want to do all kinds of things. But I do care when you make a point of telling me that you don't want to do it because I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOU AND YOUR SHIT.

Here's another: people who are all like, "I don't watch T.V." as if people who do watch T.V. are somehow less intelligent or less interesting. These people are generally thought of as "total assholes." Dudes, I fucking hate you. I'm going to make a T.V. show about you, and it's going to be the best fucking T.V. show that they're going to teach it in college, and then you're going to have to somehow work it into your fucking thesis because your chair is going to be all, "Maybe you could do with a little less Spivak and Deleuze, and a little more about that awesome T.V. show that rips on people who say they don't watch T.V. to indicate moral, cultural, and aesthetic superiority. Those guys are assholes, huh?"

Then you will have to change the title of your thesis to Why I Suck: Framing the Cultural Significance of My Suckage in the Social Dynamics of 21st Century Suckitude.

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

Is the Problem That he Doesn't Have Time to Consult a Rhyming Dictionary Before He Gives Public Remarks?

We all love Kanye, and I don't think that there's any real problem with his "outrageous" comments from last week except that they were overly circumscribed. Dude, Bush doesn't care about black people, but it's not a racist thing. That guy doesn't care about any people. I mean, the man wants to electrocute the tards.

But my point is, we all love Kanye, but someone tell that guy to shut up.

"'I just feel like America's always been pushing the [impoverished] under the counter, trying to act like it's not really there,' he said. 'And what happens if you're cleaning the kitchen and you're always dusting something under the counter? If you spill something, it's going come up and be in your f---ing face.'"


I, for one, have never found that dusting something that had spilled under the kitchen counter ever caused anything to come up and be in my f---ing face. What does Kanye have in his kitchen? Lemurs? Admittedly, if I spilled a lemur in the kitchen, I would not be surprised to find that dusting provoked it to come up and be in my f---ing face.

'Next time, listen to Kanye!'

Bolivian Crazy

Stevil: You cannot talk to her.
Worker #3116: I know.
Stevil: She will stun you with her spitting-venom.
Worker #3116: I know.
Stevil: Just long enough to ruin the rest of your life.
Worker #3116: I know.
Stevil: I want to say that she is pure crazy...
Worker #3116: I know.
Stevil: But she's crazy cut with manipulative.
Worker #3116: I know. She is not crazy like the pure driven snow. She is not pure, Bolivian crazy.
Stevil: She is street-level hood crazy.

Mind Foreplay

I did a pretty good job all through last year avoiding spoilers for the second season of FOX's hit drama, The O.C., but it was basically impossible not to find out that this was going to be the most lesbionic season yet. I've still managed to remain blessedly innocent of the details of this moral outrage—where are my fellow Christian Coalitionites to place blame for Hurricane Katrina firmly where it belongs: on the willowy shoulders of Mischa #3116?—and even now I have not seen the famed episode. I'm nine balls deep into season two, and I think "the kiss" happens ten balls deep.

What NO ONE told me was that season two would contain the most unbelievable facial expression on any show ever. It was performed by Mischa #3116, and anyone who has seen this season knows the face I am talking about, and brava to you for not letting out the secret. If I had to put this face into words, it would sound like this: "Dude, I'm totally about to become a gay lesbian." Actually, this episode had a whole facial dialogue going on:

Alex's Mouth: Are you cold?
Marissa's Mouth: Yes.
Alex's Face: Do you like when I put this blanket over your supple teenage body?
Marissa's Face: I don't know. This is weird.
Alex's Face: Feel the piercing stare of my gay lesbian eyes. Gay eyes DETONATE!
Marissa's Face: Dude, I'm totally about to become a gay lesbian!
Alex's Face: Tonight? No, forget it, you're not ready.
Marissa's Face: I am not ready. Maybe next episode.
Alex's Face: I'm not looking at you, but I know you are looking at me. You are about to be so lesbian.
Marissa's Face: I hope you don't know that I am looking at you. I am so confused by my new, totally unrealistic gay lesbian attraction to you. I am nervous.

Monday, September 12, 2005

One Degrees of Rude Jude

Also: this weekend I met someone who told a story that started with their old job at KFC, then went on to the blind date they had with Rude Jude (from Jenny Jones), and ended with the time Rude Jude got a girl pregnant IN A MCDONALD'S where he was working at the time.

Just saying: Best Story Ever.

Please Join Me in a Moment of "Pon de Replay" for the Victims of the Tragic Events of 9/11

Has you heard the "Katrina Mix" of Green Day's "Wake Me Up Before You September-September"? I've heard it three times now, and I am horrified each and every time. If you have not been cursed with a listen, it's basically the song, but anytime Billy Joe Green Day isn't singing there are audio clips of refugees crying and newscasters talking about dead bodies and stuff. It's grim, macabre, and exceedingly manipulative. Here was my favorite part, though, from last night:

Radio DJ: That was the "Katrina Mix" of Green Day's "September Song." You can really feel that one. It's been getting amazing response ever since we started playing it. And you know, today is also September 11th, so we should take a moment to remember the lives lost on that tragic day. Here is Rihanna's "Pon de Replay."

The Tragic Pants of 9/11

In remembrance of the tragic events of 9/11, I would like to take a moment and reminisce about the very last thought that I had in a free, peaceful America, riding the 7 train into Times Square, moments before the eerie movie-like moment of standing in a crowd watching the planes hit on the jumbotron:

"Dude, maybe I'll buy some new pants this weekend. Like, at Banana Republic or something. Maybe they will have good pants on sale. I don't know."

"Hit the Road, Jerk, and Don't You Look Berk!" or "Weekend #3116"

Ladies, what did you drink on Friday? You were so out of control. It was very exciting, and made me very nervous. I woke up on Saturday afternoon and was like, "I may have drunk five beers and half a pitcher, but WHAT WAS GOING ON WITH THE LADIES?" All weekend long, that was what guys talked about. So, congratulations, you did it. Just when I thought you could not surprise me anymore, you surprise me anymore.

Before we saw you go crazy, though, was the part on Friday that McCullen reminded me of last night, when we were sitting at an outside table at a gay bar, listening to Gwen Stefano's "Cool". This was the part where McCullen said "I heard this song was written by New Order, but it's not," and Worker #3116 said, "It's actually a pretty good song," and Krameron said "I like it, too." AT A GAY BAR. BECAUSE APPARENTLY WE ARE OFFICIALLY GAY.

Saturday goes without comments.

But also did you know this: McCullen and Worker #3116 are the most beloved of the Country Joe's checkout line? No matter what cashier rings us up, if we do the shopping together we always get some new fan. Our banter is so scintillating, so fresh, that it makes the Country Joe's want to rip off their Hawaii and go out with us wherever we are going. We take the party when we go.

Friday, September 09, 2005

From the Vault

[Late Summer, 2005]

OK Tiger: Actionchrist and I were talking about your physical arrogance last night.
Worker #3116: Physical arrogance? I've been accused of regular arrogance before, but never physical arrogance.
OK Tiger: Well, you have it.
Worker #3116: What do I do?
OK Tiger: It's a combination of things. You're kind of intimidating.
Worker #3116: Not all the time.
OK Tiger: You have good posture.
Worker #3116: ...
OK Tiger: And you don't break eye-contact, so it always feels like you are judging me.
Worker #3116: I do not need to make eye-contact to judge you.
OK Tiger: I know.
Worker #3116: I don't even need to be in the same room. I can judge you when I'm by myself.
OK Tiger: Right. So, you've got it.
Worker #3116: I guess.

One More Thing I Learned from Single White Female 2: Full Throttle

Beast fronds share a fur thing.

Worker #3116 Makes Clown Coffee Look Like a Blowhard

Clown Coffee: Look at what the New York Times said: "President Bush's response to Hurricane Katrina has been, to put it kindly, faltering. He has fallen short both rhetorically and substantively. The rhetorical failure is less important but perhaps more surprising for a politician with his strong communications skills."
Worker #3116: Strong communication skills?
Clown Coffee: I know.
Worker #3116: That doesn't make any sense. Even his supporters don't think he has strong communication skills.
Clown Coffee: I know. He makes Jimmy Carter look like John F. Kennedy.
Worker #3116: Yeah.
Clown Coffee: He makes Spartan brand peanut butter look like Jiffy brand peanut butter.
Worker #3116: He makes the girl who played Wiener Dog look like Catherine Deneuve.
Clown Coffee: He makes coal look like diamonds.
Worker #3116: He makes Mexicans look like white people.
Clown Coffee: He makes the National Enquirer look like Le Monde. He makes popcorn look like onion rings. He makes Marshall's look like Nieman Marcus. He makes Satan's Little Helper look like Citizen Kane. He makes rap look like classical. He makes cat vomit look like a delicious meal cooked by world's finest chefs. He makes a dead baby look like supermodels. He makes tea look like coffee. He makes dumb jokes look like funny jokes.
Worker #3116: Okay, you killed it. It's not funny anymore.
Clown Coffee: He makes--
Worker #3116: I SAID YOU KILLED IT.
Clown Coffee: Milwaukee? New York?
Worker #3116: No.

Single White Worker #3116

I'm not really sure that I understood what happened in Single White Female 2: The Two Towers. Here's what I did understand:

1. Lesbian doing it is hot.
2. Red hair looks very red in hospitals, but not as red in apartments.
3. "Hold on a second, I just have to put on a super-wack top and then we can go."
4. "Do you like my super-wack top?"
5. If your friend's roommate invites you over to dinner, don't go, she just wants to stab/poison you.

That's not very much to understand after one and one-half painful hours. But I'm still looking forward to Single White Female 3: Rise of the Machines.

Thursday, September 08, 2005

Knock Knock of the Punditry

Knock Knock
Who's there?
Hurricane Katrina.
Hello? I said, this is Hurricane Katrina.
Hello? Mr. President?

National Payroll Week

In celebration of National Payroll Week, here are a few Payroll facts you may not know:

-National Payroll Week was founded by the American Payroll Association in 1996.
-National Payroll Week coincides with the celebration of Labor Day.
-It is increasingly important for America’s workers to save for future expenses, and their paychecks are vehicles that can help them do so.
-Federal income tax is the amount of money you have to pay to the federal government.


Next week we will celebrate National Chair Week by learning all the things you can do with a chair, including sitting and leaning precariously backwards on just two legs (if the chair has legs, some have casters).

Pandora Box

Classic Crazy, whose calls go unanswered, called again this morning at 8:30. She called last night. She called yesterday morning at 8:15. She called four times on Labour Day. WOMEN: Do not love me, it will drive you mad.

Keeping with the theme of adolescent diary: FOX's hit drama, The O.C. finally had a satisfying twist last night. It also had two of the kinds of details that drive me crazy on this show. Dear writers of FOX's hit drama The O.C., I appreciate what you are doing, but sometimes a modest gesture towards reality would be very welcome, if not in the plotlines then at least in the minutiae of pop culture references. Here is what I mean:

1. Never in the history of high school dances, particularly high school dances at prestigious private schools for rich kids, has a song by The Faint been heard.

2. Ryan Atwood would NOT leave a dance early to go catch up on his reading of Shirley Hazzard's The Great Fire, mainly because Ryan Atwood would NOT be reading The Great Fire in the first place.

Ending on the theme of adolescent diary: do you think the new girl thinks I'm cute?

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

Katrina Update

It is only a matter of time before the Bush administration declares a Global War on Hurricanes. To be followed by the diminutive Global Struggle Against Hurricanes.

Also, what's up with the $2,000 Debit Cards? "Oh, you lost everything? Here is a gift card to American Apparel and three parking validation stickers. Byeee!"

Judge Marmaduke

Clown Coffee: Who do you think Bush will nominate to the Supreme Court?
Worker #3116: Marmaduke.
Clown Coffee: The conservatives love him.
Worker #3116: And the left is willing to accept him.
Clown Coffee: He's strict pro-life, though, even in cases of rape or incest.
Worker #3116: I know, that kind of bugs me.
Clown Coffee: ...
Worker #3116: Marmaduke, get off of my judicial bench!

No One Would Have Ever Dared Say That About Brainiac

It finally happened: last night's Real World was so boring that I cannot even recap it. To do so would insult both your humanity, and the English language. I will simply point out that this season's token "indie-rock" girl said that Enon were really cool because they were "artsy-fartsy."

The Supreme Court Short-List

With another vacancy on the court, and the media filled with reports on the government's failed response to Hurricane Katrina, it will be one of Bush's top priorities to nominate someone to the bench and put something besides his own shortcomings on the front page. To that effect, he has released the short-list of judicial nominees, all of whom are highly qualified and have a televised record of their positions on the issues of the day:

Judge Hatchett
Judge Mathis
Judge Joe Brown
Judge Judy

Personally, I'm a bit wary of Judge Joe Brown's staunch position against keeping your boyfriend's car after a difficult break-up, but I definitely like his take on the whole my-grandma-owes-me-money-from-her-surgery debate.

Shitty Van, Shitty Car, Shitty People. And a Bum in a Hat.

It has been a very eventful morning, and I cannot wait to tell you about it!

First, a woman decided to GET OUT OF HER VAN and come berate me for not making a full two-second stop. I apologized, but she decided to keep talking. So I thanked her for doing that, but in kind of a snippy way, as if I WASN'T REALLY THANKING HER AT ALL! Her basic reason for giving me a lecture was that there were many children in the neighborhood on their way to school, and my failure to carefully and completely stop put their lives in danger. I did think about this later, and about how it would suck to kill a child with my 1994 teal Corolla, unless it was that woman's child, in which case it would feel okay. BECAUSE WHAT A BITCH. Stay in your van, lady, or your child may face the consequences of my eagerness to turn right. Anyway, I can't wait to have kids so that I can feel justified in getting out of my car at red lights and yelling at people. But it won't be kid related, I'll just tag that on at the end. Like, "Your car is a piece of shit and I don't agree with the statement your ironic bumpersticker is making! I mean, Jesus Christ, I got kids in there!" (I'll be pointing back to my idling car at this point.) "Be more fucking careful about not being so shitty! I got kids!"

Then, I noticed that another car behind me had one of those dudes in a crumpled baseball cap sporting a natty moustache and blu-blockers who was smoking—what we must assume was a mentholated—cigarette. His car was small and shitty and brown like shit. I bring this up because he represents a very distinct dude-archetype and I want to know how you get to be that dude? Like, okay, shitty car is fine. We all walk (drive?) a fine line between okay car and shitty car every day of our lives. It only takes one divorce to get there. But to embrace the style he was rocking...I mean, he has mirrors in his house, or subsidized apartment or whatever. He can see the clothes he puts on in the morning...and the moustache he carefully trims at night. He's like "You look okay, Ron. At the very least you look employable in the construction or transportation industries. And no one could possibly think you were gay. I did notice a homeless guy wearing that hat, though. Get a new hat this weekend, Ron." Anyway, something to work towards, I guess.

On the topic of homeless guys in hats, there is a bum in a hat who comes every week and takes our bottles from the recycling bin, but he didn't come this week. Either he knows the alternate holiday recycling schedule (which no one on our block knows, as trash still sits curbside waiting to be picked up), or he took the week off for Labor Day (or as the Candians call it, Labour Day). Either way, what a crazy bum in a hat.

Those are the events that my morning was full of.

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

Donate Now to the Elimination of Future Generations

I donated 50 dollars to the American Red Cross, but I earmarked my donation to specifically go towards the reconstruction of the five abortion clinics that were destroyed in the storm. Either Columbia Christians for Life were wrong, and the hurricane didn't look like a six-week-old fetus as it came barreling in to kill thousands of people who have nothing to do with abortion and destroy the lives of tens of thousands more, primarily disenfranchised minorities who could give a shit about the "culture war," in which case my payment will successfully say "Go fuck yourselves, Columbia Christians for Life." OR: Columbia Christians for Life were right, and God wanted the streets to run with the blood of the condemned in repayment for the blood of the innocent, which they would drink if only they could get the courts packed with the type of Jew-loving, liberal activist judges they so admire, in which case my payment will successfully say "Go fuck yourself, misguided, vengeful God." Either way, the real winners are the future teenage pregnancies with nowhere else to turn. I did it for you, babies with babies.

You, too, can help!

UPDATE: My confirmation email informed me that I have 30 days to demand a refund of my donation. Hear that, proselytizers? You have 30 days to convince me that your corrupt moral system is in fact whole and that you are not a bunch of self-involved, self-righteous, ignorant fucking assholes. You know where I live.

Byeeeeeee Brother #3116. Hieeeeeeee Mischa #3116

Brother #3116 moves to the Big Snapple today.

Byeeeee. Okay...okay byeee. Yeah, b--byee. Byeee.

Meanwhile: I am four balls deep into the second season of FOX's hit drama The O.C. Four balls deep is not so deep, and I've been managing my emotions pretty well so far. I will admit, though, that on Thursday, when I was getting ready to watch the first episode, a stentorian, Gandalfian voice kept repeating a pre-battle pronouncement in my head: So it begins. I will also say that it took all of four seconds to remember that Mischa Barton is the worst actress in the history of actresses. I've never seen a hotter woman give a less convincing line delivery in my life outside of the pornography industry. Luckily for her, I don't care, so the wedding is still on...she's 18 this year, right?

Toronto Burning


Toronts was an unmitigated success. You should know that my only mitigation for failure is death, so it is rare that a trip does not pass my test, but still: we live another day! Rolling up with two Asians and Jew was very Toronto Burning, though. It does not help that Ti-1000 has a bit of a mouth problem when under questioning, as in:

Border Patrol: Where are you staying in Canada?
Ti-1000: Actually, I don't remember. A hotel.
Border Patrol: Why are you going?
Ti-1000: We're going to see a concert.
Border Patrol: Where?
Ti-1000: I don't know.
Border Patrol: What kind of music is it?
Ti-1000: I guess it's indie rock. I mean, there's some pretty heavy influence from New Wave and even just some straight-up sunshine '60s pop, but mostly it's modern...contemporary. I don't know, "modern" and "contemporary" are both such weighted terms at this point, you know? Like you've got modern rock, and it's not that, and there's adult contemporary, which it's not either...


This happened on both legs of the trip, and it happened privately, without the suspecting oversight of the Border Patrol, on the arms, torso, and head of the trip. I'm pretty sure Canada hates us, because Canada did not want to make out at all.

Also: I bought sunglasses.

Friday, September 02, 2005

Out-of-Office Reply

I will be out of the office until Tuesday, 9/6. If you need immediate assistance please contact your mom.

I wasn't going to write anything today, babies, but I stumbled upon this:

"In a letter to me this week from the Collins Correctional Facility, Lindsay Lohan's estranged dad wrote out lyrics to his new tune - which he calls "a song in response" to Linsday's still-unreleased number titled "Confessions of a Broken Heart" or "Daughter to Father."

I've given my all and done the time/Then only been slighted, that's the crime!
My dear my dear what will it take/For you to tell the truth, for goodness sake!

I loved and protected you, I was THERE through it all./I do admit, I did at times fall.
But these things you know were due to "THEM"/The ones that want to have a piece of my gem!

My love, my life, my family to me/May be nothing to them, but surely you'll see.
That the time will come when the truth comes out./All on its own, I have no doubt.

I may have been wrong for 'running away'/From problems with Mom, I didn't say.
It could have been different, I know that now/I wish I could change it, just tell me how.

To all of you now, I tell you this/A message I spoke, that you seemed to miss!
A family comes first, forever a day!/You don't run or hide, or push them away.

A final thought before I sleep./ It's one I pray, you'll remember and keep
I loved you then and I love you now/No matter what is done, we'll get through this somehow!!"

The author scrawled in an aside: "I'm still working on a chorus!!!"
(New York Daily News)

What is it about deadbeat dads and poetry? Seriously, only the deadest beats write this crap. Like the time Deadbeat Père handed me a fluorescent green sheet of pharmaceutical-promoting stationery with the somber explanation of "This is how I really feel, which I could never say to you," and it had some poem on it. What was that? And, McCullen, you're going to have to help me out, but what was that birthday poem that McCullen Sr. sent you? Wasn't it about the moon or something? That was your birthday present, a poem about the moon.

It's only a matter of time before one of our dads ends up in jail and decides to try putting this shit to music.

Thursday, September 01, 2005

Blue Special

Conversation overheard by Clown Coffee in the hallway*:

Worker #4291 Are we still doing that?
Worker #1816 What?
Worker #4291 Camel-Toe Appreciation Day?**

*This is a lie.
**Camel-Toe Appreciation Day: Come in with your camel-toe and receive 25% off one item.

Thanks for the News, Jews

It's weeks like this that sort of boggle my mind, media-wise. On the one hand, there is only so much you can report on the hurricane crisis. In fact, there's a little less you can report on it than is actually being reported. I'm saturated with stories about the hurricane crisis (GET IT?!) At the same time, the articles in today's New York Times about Hilary Duff's Anti-Authoritarianism, Dorm Life, USA, and My Old Haircut (I was the one in the blue plaid t-shirt, but with a little more hair in the back and a little less Mexican in the front) come off as more than a little bit..can I use the word gauche?

"Thousands Feared Dead"
"Worst National Disaster in American History"
"President Declares State of Emergency"
"This Is Not Your Father's Bundt Cake (Recipe Inside)"

This Would Be a Bridge Too Far, If All the Bridges Hadn't Washed Out