Monday, October 31, 2005

Happy Halloween, Pumpkin!

Happy Halloween, from Weather Report!

Happy Halloween, from McCullen!

Happy Halloween, from Clown Coffee!

Happy Halloween, from Australia-This-Australia-That!

Happy Halloween, from Worker #3116!

Child's Toy

Caught in a violent shoot-out with police in a department store, serial killer Ray Brady used an ancient voodoo spell to transfer his soul into a popular "Buddy Time" doll before dying. That Christmas, the doll was purchased for young Andy Goode. At first, Andy was thrilled with his new toy, as the "Buddy Time" dolls were the most popular gift of the season. But when, reanimated and blood-thirsty, the possessed doll resumed its killing spree, Andy Goode found himself in grave mortal danger. He watched, with the helplessness of the child he was, as one of his most prized possessions murdered neighbors, loved ones, and workers in the service industry, like the postman. Resolute, Andy made an important decision, choosing to hold on to the doll only until it went out of production, and then selling it (at a 15 dollar profit!) on eBay for 40 dollars plus shipping.

The Phantom Ship

During an attempted robbery of immensely valuable crates of gold bullion, an entire luxury cruise-ship of people was slaughtered. But little did the robbers know they were playing into the hands of a demon, who then murdered the robbers. Then the cruise ship disappeared. Then it came back, and Gabriel Byrne went to fix it, and he died. Basically, it's a Phantom Ship, and this L.L. Bean-clad demon goes around looking for souls? No one knows. Even the demon admits that his plan does not make that much sense.

People Can Lick Hands, Too

For her ninth birthday, Maria had all of her friends over for a slumber party. There was face painting, and pillow fights, and corn chips, and everyone heartily agreed that it was the best party all year. They even stayed up past midnight! Eventually, the girls got very tired and climbed into their sleeping bags in the rec room. A couple girls stayed up telling gossip and ghost stories while the others slept, but eventually they, too, fell asleep. Everyone except Maria. She was too excited to sleep from all the festivities, and she had never been able to fall asleep if she was near other people who had. Their breathing kept her awake, reminding her that they were doing what she should be. So, when she was very tired but unable to sleep, she tiptoed up to her room, where she would be more comfortable. Her dog, Chips, bounded into bed with her and laid at her feet. In the comfort of her own room, it did not take long for Maria to fall asleep, but after only an hour or two, a strange noise woke her. In the dark, she listened for footsteps or doors opening, but there was nothing. Chips, her dog, licked Maria's hand until she fell asleep. In the morning, Maria awoke alone in her room with the door ajar. She moved into the hallway, and was spooked by the utter silence of the house. Passing her parents bedroom, she noticed something amiss, and looked in only to find them both gruesomely murdered in their bed. Scared, Maria ran downstairs and discovered that all of her friends had been butchered in the rec room. And there, by the door, was Chips, with a knife sticking out of him, and a note pinned to his blood-matted fur that read "People can lick hands, too." For years, after the murderer was caught and put on trial, while moving from orphanage to orphanage, as the subject of intense media scrutiny as the tragic victim at the center of the decade's most violent crime, Maria thought often of this note. It seemed like an especially dicky thing to do, after murdering everyone she loved and her dog. So when Cole Wayne Dobbs was finally executed, she really didn't feel bad. She thought about that note and figured he deserved it, if only for being so disgustingly grandiose, although, in general, she felt that capital punishment was morally questionable.

The Old McCreedy Place

A traveling salesman found himself driving in the middle of nowhere one night. Long after dark had fallen, he had still yet to see any sign of life, and he was getting very tired after a long day going door to door, trying to unload some encyclopedia sets. Just when he thought he was going to have an accident, he saw the lights of a lone farmhouse, set deep into a field of corn. As he drove up to the small ramshackle building, he got an eerie feeling, but it was the only place he'd seen in almost a hundred miles, and he did not know the area at all. After knocking a few times, he heard a voice beckon him inside. The door let into a cozy kitchen, and a woman was busy preparing a delicious smelling dinner at the stove. The salesman excused himself for the intrusion, but explained his dire situation. The woman just smiled at him, and invited the salesman to join her for her repast. It had been a long time since she'd had company, she told him, and it was a welcome change from the usual lonely silence. After eating, the woman invited the salesman to sleep on the sofa. He was reluctant to accept, but did not see any other options. He graciously accepted the woman's kindness. After he had fallen asleep, the man was awoken by the woman, come to him in the night, naked and luminescent. At dawn, while all was quiet and still in the house, he awoke, alone, and quietly let himself out of the house. He stopped at the first roadside diner he spotted, and took a stool at the counter. As he was waiting for his food, he told the waitress about his late night jitters, and the kind woman who gave him room and board. The waitress grew very quiet, as did the other man at the counter. Both exchanged glances. The salesman did not understand the mystery, and asked them why they looked so scared. "That was the old McCreedy place," the waitress said. The name registered with the salesman, who remembered seeing it on the mailbox as he drove up the dirt path to the house. "But that house is abandoned, and Ms. McCreedy has been dead for ten years," the waitress said. The air in the roadside diner grew still. Slowly, with a shaking hand, the salesman took a sip of his coffee. "Well," he said, "I'll tell you one thing, that ghost likes to fuck. A lot. I'm chafed raw."

Nightmare on Elm Street

After a pedophile was murdered by an angry mob, he returned in the dreams of his killers' children, driving them to suicide. His nightmarish haunting of their sleeping subconsciousnesses was filled with gruesome imagery, and very real physical sensations of pain. While many thought this was the murdered criminal's attempt at revenge from beyond the grave, it was actually a craven attempt to get them to make a movie about him, which they did. Now he's super famous, and makes a bundle off of subsidiary rights to toy replicas of his knife-gloves, so who really won in the end, the vengeful parents, or the baby-fucker?

The Hook

A guy and a girl were out on a romantic date. After dinner and a movie they drove up to makeout point. Just as things were getting hot and heavy, the love songs on the radio were interrupted by an important bulletin. A dangerous killer had escaped from a local penitentiary. He is very dangerous, and a killer, and he has a hook hand, that's how you know it's him, the report said. The guy and girl laughed because they were nervous, and then they continued kissing with their mouths. A moment later there was a scratching noise at the door. The girl didn't like it, but the guy tried to brush it off, explaining the noise away on an animal trying to come in from the cold. It is July, the girl insisted. The boy drew her into a deep kiss. There were more scratches at the door. After almost a half hour of scratch-laden kissing, the girl was just too creeped out, and asked the boy to take her home. When he pulled up at her house and went to open her door for her, he found a hook attached to the handle. He tried to hide it behind his back, but the girl had seen him hiding something and demanded that he show her what it was. Reluctantly, he revealed the killer's hook hand, which was probably, they both agreed, what was making that scratching noise. The boy was angry. "He fucked up my paint job." The girl just made a face. "I don't care if that hand belonged to the King of England, a hook hand is just gross." The boy threw the hook hand into some bushes of a neighbor's house, and then leaned in for a goodnight kiss. But the girl had already backed into her doorway. "I don't think so," she said. "You were just touching that gross hook hand." Surprisingly, years later, when the guy was making a list of all the girls he'd ever kissed, he almost forgot to add that girl.


It was late one crisp autumn night when all the children gathered in a tent in a backyard to tell stories. One of the children told the legend of Candyman. "If you repeat his name in front of a mirror three times, he will appear and he will eat all of your guts." The children decided that this was the most frightful tale they had heard yet, and that they simply must try out the chant, no matter how frightened they got. All of them crowded into a bathroom, which must have been very large, because none of them were uncomfortable or squeezed in too tight. With the lights off, one child shouted "CANDYMAN!" Three of the children screamed in fright and ran out of the bathroom. The same child shouted "CANDYMAN!" again, and another group of children shuddered and went running. It was down to only four children. For the third time, the child shouted "CANDYMAN!" The noise of footsteps and a dripping faucet startled them. Although the lights were already out, it seemed to get darker in the room. One by one, they felt the air grow cold, and then screamed when a large, frozen hand touched upon their shoulders. It was the Candyman, the legend was real! The door would not budge, and the children cried for their mothers as the Candyman ate all of their guts. He hated this part of the legend, but it was what he did, and he had no choice about it. After he was done, he said a little prayer for the dead kids, and then he went wherever the Candyman goes when he's done terrorizing you. Back in the mirror? No one knows.

Friday, October 28, 2005

Pony Up

If I had a dollar for every person who read this diary, I would have almost ten dollars.

And I could really use ten dollars.

Please send one dollar to Worker #3116, Cubicle D-489, 5th floor, Bldg. 1.

Worker #3116 v. Jake from Accounts Payable

With the recent withdrawal of Harriet Miers as a candidate for the Supreme Court of the United States, the Greatest Country on Earth, it is now up to President Bush to once more nominate an able-bodied citizen to the highest court in the land.

Throughout the confirmation proceedings of recent months, both in the diastrous Miers nomination, and the much more successful John Roberts nomination to Chief Justice, one issue comes up time and again: the right to privacy. It was under the auspices of a constitutional right to privacy that Roe v. Wade, the landmark "baby killing" case of 1973, was decided.

While baby killing is a volatile issue, there are two separate, much more important right to privacy issues at stake, both of which MUST be addressed by this President if he wants to be reelected for a historic third term. These, of course, are my personal privacy issues with going to the bathroom and talking on the phone. I would like Mr. Bush to nominate an intelligent, insightful, and American justice to the Supreme Court. But whoever that person is, I want them to immediately enact strict federally-enforced laws guarding my right to go to the bathroom without anyone else being in there (and that goes double for you, Jake from Accounts Payable. You know we all call you the Great Evacuator, right?), and ensuring that no one is ever allowed to hear one single word I speak over the phone to another party, unless I specifically decree that they may do so.


I Won't See Saw (II)

I didn't like Saw, and I don't have any intention of liking Saw II.


There are lots of things that scare me, like having a retarded baby, Asian bird flu pandemic of 2005, and running late to catch a flight. Want to know what doesn't scare me? A puppet with creative face paint on that can ride a bike. And if I got locked in some cruddy cellar with another guy and was told that I would die unless I cut off my foot and killed the other guy, I'd be like, "Psst, dude, let's tell some jokes and reminisce about our pre-insane-torture-posse lives, that way we will be in a good mood when we get into heaven, much time we got left, crazy unrelenting and intellectually flawed madman?"

From what I understood, the reason the crazy guy in Saw wanted all those people to suffer so much was to show them how beautiful and precious the life they took for granted was...but, of course, the only way to prove that to them is by killing them? It will be a valuable lesson learned, though, when they are in heaven with me and the guy I just died with in the cruddy bathroom. We are up there playing mini-golf being like, "Man, life sure was beautiful. Too bad I didn't realize it before being forced to die in a gratuitously gross way. And hey, did anyone else notice that grimy, music-video-green tint to everything right before you died? Like you were in a beer commercial?" Have you seen the mini-golf course they have in heaven? It's got awesome waterfalls and a pirate ship theme to it. We're talking like those miniature golf courses that you see sometimes from the highway where even now, as an adult, you're like, That is a fucking SWEET mini-golf course. Only ten times better, because God made it for the angels.

You know what else, Hollywood? I've never, EVER been interested in seeing a movie that was advertised with two severed, rotting fingers propped upright on a white surface, not even The House of Sand and Fog, which I have heard was very moving, but which I will never see for the very same reason!


I have had no fewer than four "life" conversations this week, with four separate people. You know the type: "what are we going to do with our lives?" "how are we going to do it?" "how much TV time does that leave me?"

If I could turn back time, I would tell each of these four the same thing: right now, hoes don't want us. When we're hot, hoes'll be all on us.


As many of you may have done, I quickly checked this morning, looking for what kind of breaking news they might have on the Plamegate case. If you did not know, the grand jury's term ends today (unless Patrick Fitzgerald petitions for an extension, which a source close to the investigation says he may do in order to better prosecute Karl Rove, aka "Blood Worm"), so if indictments are falling, the time is nigh.

But nothing could prepare me for the shock of the headline:

George Takei, 'Trek's' Sulu: I'm Gay

It is just like the Bush administration to try and throw up a smokescreen to shift everyone's attention from trouble in the White House. It's not going to work this time, though, Mr. Bush. There's no "changing the story" here. You know why? BECAUSE OF COURSE SULU IS GAY, DUMBASS. WE HAVE EYES. Smoke this.

Thursday, October 27, 2005

Comic Book Marriage Is Between One Superman and One Wonderwoman

Before he becomes a lame-duck President, if he isn't one already, I urge President Bush to pass a constitutional amendment protecting the sanctity of comic book marriages. Look at what has been happening in comicville!

The Flash's wife, Iris, was killed by Reverse Flash.
Metamorpho's been forcibly divorced from Sapphire Stagg.
Aquaman's wife Mera went insane and tried to kill him.
Adam Strange cheated on Alanna and then she died.
Red Tornado planned to marry Kathy and adopt Traya; then he became an air elemental.
The Phantom Stranger and Black Canary (after years of cheating on Green Arrow) broke up.

I had to learn this from the internet, of course, because the mainstream LIBERAL media won't report on it. How am I supposed to teach my children, when I have some, about the superpower of the institution of comic book marriage when these homosexual comic book writers perpetuate a godless and utterly un-American Communist agenda?

Harriet Miers, Let's Go Steady!

Everyone's waiting to hear what kind of pithy remark I'll make about President Bush's reluctant acceptance of Harriet Miers's withdrawl of her Supreme Court nomination. But there's something far more interesting, and supermore important to talk about: THE BIG DANCE!

It's coming up, and I'm really nervous that I won't have a date this year. There's nothing worse than being alone at such a romantic event!

Then again, now that Harriet Miers is free...I can dust off the old Men's Warehouse suit, pour a couple of shots of Hot Damn 100, and ask DJ Romeo to put on her favorite Chicago record. If my date can't be beautiful, at least she can be stunningly unqualified for the highest judicial post in the country and a subject of intense public ridicule. Yay! Best BIG DANCE Ever!


You Are What You Eat, In This Case Sausage

Chicago celebrates its win as Ugliest City of Dudes in the World!

(New York Times)

Crouching Worker #3116, Hidden Worker #3116

A nine year-old girl told me last night that I was getting much better with the bo staff. She said that some of the other girls had also remarked upon it, in the locker room.

If you have any doubts about her reliability, in terms of either her intellect or her honesty, she then went on to tell me that if Oprah and Bill Gates got married they would...[stretch your arms as wide as you can] like, the richest people!

She knows what the fuck of which she speaks.

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Last Minute Costume Ideas

My Halloween costume is all ready, and it's mind-blowingly awesome, and sexual. But I know a lot of you ladies and manladies out there are still looking for ideas. Here is one that's bound to get you some dick:

Harry Potterberg

You dress like Harry Potter, but instead of his trademark red and yellow scarf you wear a talis, and instead of his trademark lightning bolt scar, you have a Scar of David.

Let the magic of Halloween and Shabbos begin.

Chief Justice Severus Snape

I've been reading this book about the Supreme Court. I'm currently entrenched in a chapter about warring factions of liberal and conservative clerks. The more I read about it, the more I'm convinced that the SCOTUS is actually Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Obviously, former Chief Justice, William H. Rhenquist, R.I.P., was head of the House of Slytherin.

Can You Hear Pastme, Futureme?

Do you ever wonder about the unexpected paths life takes? How sometimes you think back on your past and can't imagine how you got to your present (and also can't imagine it being any other way)? I've been thinking about this kind of stuff a lot lately, the inexorable progress of time. This leads me to try and imagine what things are going to be like for me in the future...if it's been so unpredictable thus far, who knows what the future holds.

Here is a visual depiction of what I'm talking about:

My Morning Cipher

Last night's Red Hot Chili Peppers show was a lot like a Red Hot Chili Peppers album. When we got there I was like "This is the best thing ever. Okay. A little less interested. Less interested. Less interested. Kind of bored. Give It Away!" It got to the point where it just became a test of wills between me and Anthony Kiedis. I was not going to leave until they played Give It Away, and they were not going to play Give It Away until the very end.

Can I say that the Red Hot Chili Peppers smell? You can tell even from the back of the Megadome. LOVE YOU GUYS! HUGS!

Here are the famous people I saw last night:

Bo Bice
Paul Giamatti
Samuel L. Jackson

Samuel L. Jackson, backward Kangol hat and everything, was just there with these two harlots that he wanted to have a three-way with. At first, while the harlots were dancing together the way that harlots always seem to do, I was like "What are these harlots even doing here? Take them home, Samuel L. Jackson." But then they knew all the words to Give It Away and I had to begrudgingly admit that they were true Red Hot Chili Peppers fans, with just as much right to be there as anybody.

I went to the show with an old guy from my karate class. I hesitate to even write this because he's nice, but it was like DUDE! SHUT UP! for most of the night. He lives in a Dude Duplex with some other Dudes. He gave me a tour of the place, which started out badly enough when I walked in and there was a bag of Coor's Lite BIG MOUTH bottle caps by the door and that poster of Raymond from Everybody Loves Raymond that looks like a magic eye painting hanging on the wall. When we were in the car there was a silence and then he said "My jaw still hurts from that gum I chewed last night." SILENCE. At the show, during a rousing rendition of Higher Ground he turned to me and was like "This is on the Must Love Dogs soundtrack!" And then, later, during a quiet, soulful exploration of Breaking the Girl he turned to me and said "THIS IS A PRETTY QUIET SONG." Most of the time he was just trying to impress me with his "jokes." I feel bad, mostly for myself at having had to live through this, but also for people like this guy, because I know he is trying. And I want to warn him before he gets into my car: look, I am the toughest crowd on Earth, this is probably not going to go well for you.

On the way home he told me he was really into Moby's Play because "I really dig the old school samples with the modern beats." Perrr Worker #3116. Perrr, perrr Worker #3116.

Red Hot Chili Peppers = My Morning Jacket
Give It Away = Mahgeetah
Anthony Kiedis = Jim James
Megadome = smaller venue
Bo Bice = guy who looked like Bo Bice
Paul Giamatti = guy who looked like Paul Giamatti
Samuel L. Jackson = guy who looked like Samuel L. Jackson
an old guy = a 23 year-old guy
karate class = my work
Raymond = Kramer
Everybody Loves Raymond = Seinfeld
magic eye painting = classically trained portraiture
Higher Ground = Where to Begin
Must Love Dogs = Elizabethtown
Breaking the Girl = Dondante

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

Haaaay Laaaaadyyyyy

Jerry Lewis is interviewed on Fresh Air today. I haven't listened to it yet, but I'm going to, because I would like to know more about Jerry Lewis. It would be kind of amazing, in an awful way, to be a nationally recognized walking punchline. He went from comedic pioneer to the sign of a country's impotence. I'm thinking, of course, of the classic anti-France criticism: "How can you [blank (believe, trust, buy)] anything from a country that likes Jerry Lewis?" This, of course, FROM THE COUNTRY THAT INVENTED JERRY LEWIS.

Other things that America invented: stonewashed jeans, Carrot Top, obesity.

Not as any great defense of France, but seriously, how do we get to criticize them? And how do we know there's anything to really criticize? Did the people of France get their own blog, dedicated to Lewis's hilarity, or something? I'm sure the criticism is based on Jerry Lewis receiving some kind of National L'Award Des L'Arts, but they love to give crappy awards. They also knighted Bruce Willis as a great Warrior Des L'Arts or something this year, so clearly they've got some kind of Arts Committee Des Les Monkeys or whatver. Not la citizenry's fault, per se. And The United States of America, the Greatest Country on Earth, gave Stephen King the Nobel Prize for Horror. Let he who is without the badly decided publicity stunt cast the first criticism of an aging comedian's fans.

Oh, and we also invented dykes, which is gross.

My Dinner with Andre the Giant

"I can't fucking believe you. You ate ALL THE FOOD."

Sieg Clown!

Guess who just gave himself a high-five while he was pretending to be both Hitler and a crowd of cheering Nazis.

Guess who just defended himself by saying "Would a Nazi give ice cream to Rosa Parks? I served her when I worked at Häagen-Dazs. So, you see, I can't be a Nazi!"

R.I.P. Rosa Parks, T-M.I.P. Classic Crazy, P.I.M.P. 50 Cent

Stevil: Rosa Parks just died!
Worker #3116: That is too bad.
Stevil: And I want to know what Classic Crazy text-messaged you.
Worker #3116: It was just [redacted].
Stevil: Oh.
Worker #3116: That's what was missing? After months of not answering her calls, that's what she thinks I was waiting for?
Stevil: She figured it was time to see her feelings in text. Although, I guess she was emailing you, too?
Worker #3116: No, she hasn't emailed me in a long time.
Stevil: Oh.
Worker #3116: She realized that her words weren't playing well on the big screen. She needed the intimacy of the small screen. And it's so impersonal to read these things at work, but this, this was a message I carried around in my pocket!
Stevil: Close to your heart.
Worker #3116: Close to my thigh.
Stevil: Close to your pennies, your chapstick, and your thigh.
Worker #3116: Exactly.
Stevil: Well, I think you should wear a black arm-band to work.
Worker #3116: Don't you mean an African-American arm-band?

Monday, October 24, 2005

How Gay Are You?: Take the Monday Quiz

Q: Are you attracted to people of the same sex?

Scoring: Give yourself one point if you answered "yes," and two points if you answered "no."

Results: Check the comments!

From the Vault

[October 21, 2005]

Worker #3116: Look, this is an interesting typo: "artistocrat."
Clown Coffee: That's good. You could use that to describe me.
Worker #3116: No.
Clown Coffee: ...
Worker #3116: You're an aristocrap.

Emoticon Roller-Coaster

I don't think I've ever sent a text-message in my life. Who has the time? Or the coordination? But maybe the problem is more subtle than that, maybe I've never sent a text-message because I've simply never had anything important to say.

During a particularly rough patch with Deadbeat Père he started sending me all these hard-core text-messages. I'm pretty sure he learned how to use the technology just so that he wouldn't have to call me...but...what? Have you ever been supermad and then been all, "Oh my god, I got your text-message. I love you, too. I'm so sorry I ever got upset!" At what point have you ever thought "I've got some things to say, but it's just so hard to do it out-loud. I'm going to sit here with my phone for awhile, and translate it into pidgen." It's not that kind of technology...or is it?

This weekend I got a text-message from Classic Crazy. It is not nearly as earnest and provocative as those from Deadbeat Pére, but still...why do people think they can text their way back into my heart? Am I really that big of a fat fucking nerd? "Wrkr #3116, Ive got sum prtty rare Star Wars figurines. U should prbly come over. L8r. ;)" I'm seriously confused by this strategy. It's like proposing marriage in a Valentine's Day e-card that can only be opened on Web TV.*

* In the spirit of full-disclosure, there isn't really any form of communication on Earth that would make me take what Deadbeat Pére or Classic Crazy had to say very seriously, except, I suppose, cash. Money talks, bitches.

Fuck the Beat, I Go A Capella/Fuck a Papa Doc/Fuck a Clock/Fuck a Trailer/Fuck Everybody/Fuck Y'all if You Doubt Me

Friday night was frighteningly indicative of what life has become. Lots of sitting around waiting to see if the three people still left around here were willing to put down the pipe and come out to the bar. Someone's dog ate some weed. Someone else wanted to drink wine and watch The Notebook or something. I don't know. I just remember it being about midnight when McCullen and I left to meet one? Two people at a new bar that basically had a wedding band playing Cheap Trick and Stevie Wonder covers. The bouncer tried to talk to me about his pursuit of the fine arts. Miller Lite cost me about five bucks, and lots of people looked like they were recapturing the best night of their lives: prom.

Then, later, when we went to Smoke Bomb, we lost at all of the picture finders, even the nudies with hot babes, and McCullen wanted to play "Sexy Phrazemaster" or something, and we lost at that, and then he wanted to play "Erotic Trivia King" or something, and we lost at that. How am I supposed to know what the first erotic film ever to star Emilio Von Cleese was called?

What happened, though, was that we snuck upstairs to 8 Mile where there was a black person's concert going on. Well, stage was black. Floor was mostly white. They only got to play, like, two more songs because it was 2 AM, but it was very exciting. It made me regret all the time I have wasted at shitty indie rock concerts. If you're having trouble really getting the gist of what I'm saying, I've got two words for you: Stephen Malkmus. Although the crowd was small, they were VERY jazzed for what was happening to them. It was all:

Matter fact, dawg, here's a pencil
Go home, write some shit, make it suspenseful,
And don't come back until something dope hits you
F**k it! You can take the mic home with you!
Blahbity bloo blah blah blahbity bloo blah!

Friday, October 21, 2005

The Friday Quiz

Q: If you could know for sure that it would not be fatal, and would leave no permanent damage, would you want to be shot?

Click on "comments" for the answer!

A Racist Rivers Runs Through It

CAUSTIC comic Joan Rivers exploded at a British pundit who accused her of being a racist on live BBC radio. Trinidad-born social commentator Darcus Howe opined that "black offends Joan" after Rivers declared she was "bored with race" during a heated discussion on the Radio 4 program Wednesday. "Don't you dare call me a racist!" Rivers cried. "Son of a bitch!" Howe later retracted his remark, but Rivers' feathers remain ruffled. "I don't know what the hell this wacko was talking about," she told PAGE SIX. "In my youth I slept with everybody. It's a miracle that [my daughter] Melissa is white."
(New York Post)

Note to Joan Rivers: When defending yourself against being labeled a racist, do not refer to whiteness (daughter's or otherwise) as "a miracle."


Please take a look at the following work experiences:

1964-1969: Computer Center Helper, Southern Methodist University, Computer Center, 3300 University Blvd., Carr Collins Building, Room 130, Dallas, TX 75205.

Sometime between 1963 - 1972: Computer Center Helper, Southwestern Medical School, 5323 Harry Hines Blvd., Dallas, TX 75390.

To the best of your ability, please try to identify on whose resume these experiences appeared, and for what purpose.

Was it that girl in your high school who didn't have any friends, wore sweatshirts with kittens on them, and appeared to talk to trees? On her application to the post of "General Reference Facilitator" at the Owl Tree branch of the local public library?

Or is it a woman named Harriet Miers? On the questionnaire delivered to the United States Senate in application for a position on the Supreme Court of the United States?

"In deciding this case, I faced a great personal challenge: balancing my superiorly inferior knowledge of constitutional law with my own professional work as a computer center helper at a Christian college. Ultimately, I had to go with the computer center helper experience as my guiding force. Guilty!"

Is Life a Highway? Apparently, I Used to Think So, but I Don't Think So Anymore

"Life Is a Highway" came on the radio on the way to work. There's always a little something special about a day that begins with a song for which you used to own the cassingle. I was trying to think back on the time in my life when "Life Is a Highway" felt so right. Was it the trite platitude of the chorus? The honky-tonk harmonica? Or the music video that resembled a commercial for a Dodge truck? What was the cassingle's b-side?

Also: does anyone have a comparative literature degree? When Cochran says "Life is a highway, I'm gonna ride it all night long," is this actually one man's premonition of his own death? Is he looking down the road of life and realizing that it ends in the morning? Are we listening to a ghost?


The Three Things I Hate About You

Here are three things that are not working:

1. Pomegranate Juice: Dudes, it's like, 100 dollars an ounce, and guess what: SURPRISE! It tastes like shit. It's like, if you drank some cranberry juice and your body absorbed all the nutrients out of it, reducing it to just the baseline tart syrupy residue, and then you pissed that out into a cute little hourglass bottle, that would be pomegranate juice. Hey, pomegranate juice, you suck. And your mom sucks.

2. Your face.

3. Seriously, I had three things when I came in here, but I could only remember pomegranate juice when I started writing about them. I must really hate pomegranate juice. But if you think I'm just going to sit here all day like a FUCKING JACKASS trying to remember what the other ones were, you've got another thing coming. CORRECTION: if you think I'm just going to sit here all day like a FUCKING JACKASS trying to remember what the other ones were, you've got nothing else coming, because I'm not going to try.

Thursday, October 20, 2005


aperture, Maureen Dowd, Dick Cheney, New York, grand jury

Worker #3116: Look, I got Christmas dinner for lunch!
Clown Coffee: Except no one eats beef for Christmas.
Worker #3116: Roast beef? Sure they do.
Clown Coffee: No they don't, JEW!
Worker #3116: Ha ha.
Clown Coffee: You Jews don't know anything.
Worker #3116: Ha ha.
Clown Coffee: You were wrong about Hitler, and now you're wrong about this.

Lost (Dignity)

Hurricane Wilma, J.J. Abrams, apple, ipod, Harriet Miers

McCullen: If you were trapped on the island, who would you masturbate to?
Stevil: If I were trapped on the island I would masturbate to [redacted].
McCullen: I would masturbate to Locke.
Stevil: What?!
Worker #3116: Gross.
McCullen: Yeah...Locke!
Stevil: Gross.
Worker #3116: That is gross.
McCullen: What? He can walk!
Stevil: He's so old!
McCullen: He's not that old.
Worker #3116: You've really lowered the bar for yourself. Now all you require is that someone be ambulatory.

Sorry, You're Just Over-Qualified

Howard Stern, I. Lewis "Scooter" Libby, Patrick Fitzgerald, Iraq

Veteran senators and aides said they could not recall another occasion when the committee had sent back a nominee's answers to a questionnaire because they were incomplete. Former Senator Daniel R. Coats of Indiana, the administration's appointed guide for Ms. Miers on Capitol Hill, defended her answers in the Senate questionnaire as a work in progress.

"From the very first, Harriet Miers told Senator Specter that she had years of files to go through and that there would likely have to be a follow-up on some of the questions," Mr. Coats said. "She's more than willing to diligently provide the information as soon as possible. As you know, it's mountains of information."
(New York Times)

This is very cute. Two hundred or whatever years into our country, and the only nominee to the supreme court whose answers are deemed insufficient and "insulting" are those of Harriet Miers. Even the ones who were deemed unsuitable for the court at least got the questionnaire right. Is it because she is a bird-faced hack in a purple suit from Filene's Basement circa 1988? NO! If anything, she is TOO experienced. She has so much experience that she doesn't even know where to begin. If her nomination doesn't go through it will be because she is too smart, too qualified, and too intelligent for the post. And too good a bowler.

This blatantly sexist need for "answers" is why the LIBERALS will NEVER ALLOW a woman to sit on the Supreme Court.

Superworker #3116

George Bush, Vladimir Putin, Howard Stern, SCOTUS

I think I may be the only person who still thinks it's "cool" when I can see my breath. When I was little I used to pretend that seeing my breath was actually my superpowered freezing-breath. I also used to tell my stepmom to watch how fast I could run, and then I would run to the corner and back. When I got back I would say "You probably couldn't see me, I was running so fast. If you could see me at all it would have just been a blur." She would nod, and eventually divorce my dad.

Seriously, though: my breath writ visible is sweet.

It is a wonder I am not attracted to boys.

Now Available for Download: The Facts of Life

plamegate, Jon Stewart, Bill O'Reilly, Korea, Syria, Karl Rove

ipod, ipod nano, apple, video ipod, steve jobs

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

I Would Like a Venti Frappalattecino, Skim, and a Slice of That Lemon-Iced Body of Christ Wafer

Harriet Miers. Valerie Plame. Karl Rove. Patrick Fitzgerald. Scott McClellan.

There is an article in today's USA about an upcoming quote in Starbucks' new line of quote-cups that will feature God in it. (Incidentally, did anyone else notice when these cups first came out this summer that there was one with a quote from David Cross? I was like "WHA?" and then I was like "David Cross should stick to stand-up, edgy sitcoms, and writing pithy articles for Vice because his coffee cup work is just not that funny.")

So, then there is this:

The cups carry a disclaimer that the opinions "do not necessarily reflect the views of Starbucks."

What views? Starbucks has views? It is our belief that you should buy our coffee. As far as I understand, that's the only view they are promoting. That, and the view that anything that's worth doing is worth doing on every corner, with caramel in it.

Blogging Is for Assholes

Harriet Miers. Valerie Plame. Karl Rove. Patrick Fitzgerald. Scott McClellan.

I'm going to start all my posts like that now so that I get the most Technorati hits ever. Hi, Technorati, you just got WORK'D. This post ain't about shit.

I Don't Know Who I Hate More, Me or You

And now, a very special episode of the Corporate Casual Real World Re-Cap.

I'm going to get the less salient points out of the way:

1. A dog poops on the flokati rug in the bathroom.
2. They have a flokati rug in the bathroom.
3. Eye-Face enlists a detective to track down his Eye-Killer.

Now let's get to the reason we are here: this week marks this season's mandatory pre-taping relationship fiasco. If you have ever watched the show, you will know that Fuck Head was supposedly dating some guy when she arrived in Austin, but they broke up when she got to the airport. She was like "I need a boyfriend who looks like Eye-Face," and her actual boyfriend was like, "I need a girlfriend who doesn't suck and isn't fucking her roommate on the Real World." So, they grew apart. Oh, and I guess there's the whole "My name is Hot Topic and I'm a virgin and I date Wheelchair so that things can stay that way." But she's so Tuesday Addams it's not even funny, and not in the hot Christina Ricci way, or the earnest goth way, but just the "I look like I grew up 'off the grid' with parents who never quite fit in with the rest of the world," home-schooled, crappy kind of way. I guess I'm just trying to acknowledge that this season has been chock-full of paraplegic and disinterested nuts, but this week, when G.I. Fat Joe arrives to visit Iraqi Jane, we're getting into better understood, classic Real World territory in which a relationship that existed before the show goes up in fucking smoke. More than that, we are getting into matters of the heart that Worker #3116 understands all too well, which is what makes this a special episode, because usually he has no idea what the fuck he is talking about.

People between the ages of 17 and 24 are very interested in "learning about themselves," and no more so than the statistically meaningful "random" selection of "strangers" picked to live in this house. They are all very excited about "learning about themselves." I've got to say, having been all of the ages between 17 and 24, I have found no evidence that you can learn about yourself just by saying "I came here to learn about myself," or "I'm doing this to learn about myself." One of the biggest problems facing the Real World roommates is that to learn about one's self one must have the capacity for self-analysis, reflection, patience, and the ability to parse out the meanings and influences behind one's behavior. Uh-oh! Last time I checked, the presence of cameramen, and a nightly visit to the Dizzy Rooster make this kind of introspection very difficult. Moreover, one of the biggest discoveries in learning a lot about one's self is often that you don't like yourself very much, now that you're thinking about it. Well, Real Worlds, let me save you the trouble: I don't like you, and that's all you need to know.

Which brings us to Iraqi Jane, and G.I. Fat Joe, who, upon arrival in Austin, thought that he was Iraqi Jane's fiancé. Just kidding, G.I. Fat Joe! How is Iraqi Jane supposed to learn anything about herself when she's got a fiancé DRAGGING her fat, Jew butt down. No, as she tries to explain to G.I. Fat Joe, she needs to party in order to learn about herself. She is not going to have sex with him because. Does he hate her because she won't have sex with him? Don't hate her. It is hard. Doesn't he see how hard this is for her? She thinks of him more like a brother or a best friend then as someone she could be intimate with. The spark is gone. Is the spark gone? She is so sad. But she doesn't want to lose him! She can't bear the thought of losing him, or him being with another girl. The thing is, see, she just needs to do what she needs to do, and he just needs to wait around until she is done. She doesn't want to hurt him. Does it hurt less when she says they are just on a break? Or does it hurt less when they are officially broken up, but with the idea that once she realizes no one likes her because she is far less attractive than she actually thinks she is, then she'll take him back? Which hurts less? She asks this to his face.

In 1962, Neil Sedaka scored a Top 10 hit with his song "Breaking Up Is Hard to Do." People liked this song because they felt it said something they all knew to be true about relationships. In 1962, Neil Sedaka DIDN'T score a Top 10 hit with the song that doesn't exist, "Stringing Dudes Along Forever Because You Are Manipulative but Also too Cowardly to Break Up with Them Is Not as Hard to Do as Breaking Up, which Is Hard to Do." It might not have been a hit, had it existed, which it didn't, but it says something equally true about relationships.

Anyway, at the end of the episode G.I. Fat Joe gets into his cab. They hug and he tells her he loves her. It is, if one is operating under the assumption that upon returning home G.I. Fat Joe will pull his head out of his romantic dick, the last time she will hear those words from a man. Into the house goes Iraqi Jane, where she cooks some kind of...perogi stew? What is that? It looks like she's making falafel balls, but then all of a sudden it's some kind of watery soup with a very "Please, sir, may I have some more?" look to it. Brick Brain comes up and asks her what she is eating and she says that now that G.I. Fat Joe left she needs comfort food to cheer her up. SHE NEEDS COMFORTING BECAUSE IT IS LONELY AT THE TOP OF THE FUCKING BITCH PILE OF BITCHES.

Next Week: Iraqi Jane receives a mysterious package in the mail from G.I. Fat Joe. It contains an unlabeled videotape, which she mistakenly watches with the rest of her roommates. The tape is an amateur porno starring G.I. Fat Joe and some harlot, who he then proceeds to give a golden shower while saying, in a gratingly mocking voice, "Oh, I love you Iraqi Jane, you are the best." Also, we return to the boredom of their SXSW documentary.

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

And I Never Could Believe It/And I Never Could Be True/For the Things That Mean So Much to Me/Don't Mean That Much to You

To McCullen: you never did give me that 400+ page book of mother-daughter-authored Quantum Leap fan fiction.

To Beardo: you never did give me that 400+ page book of mother-daughter-authored Quantum Leap fan fiction.

Oh, I'd tear you out of heaven
And I'd tear you out of hell
And I'd see your life in ruins
Because mine lies there as well
And I'd cry out in my loneliness
While you sleep in your peace
But you'll never see my face again
While I need words like these

So Solly!

I have some very, very sad news to share with you. According to today's New York Post, Weezer frontman Rivers Cuomo has been celibate for 2 and 1/2 years. This, of course, means that all of the adolescent Asian girls in the world are dead.

Evidence of Swimming Dinosaur Found

CHEYENNE, Wyo. - Researchers have found tracks of a previously unknown, two-legged swimming dinosaur with birdlike characteristics in northern Wyoming and are looking for bones and other remains in order further identify and name it.

"It was about the size of an ostrich, and it was a meat-eater," said Debra Mickelson, a University of Colorado graduate student in geological sciences. "The tracks suggest it waded along the shoreline and swam offshore, perhaps to feed on fish or carrion."
(Associated Press)

Initial research, namely a Google Images search for "dinosaur swimming" suggests that the ancient creature probably looked like this:

The research was conducted by Worker #3116, who holds a Masters degree from Advanced College

Prince of Right Guardes

Somehow on some trip to the grocery store I allowed McCullen to talk me into getting a different kind of deodorant than my usual deodorant. Now every time I move my arms and smell this foreign scent I get seriously creeped out. I feel gross, like the way I feel when I hear a Bahstan accent, or that time I got raped.

It's Like a Regular Fucking Comic Relief Over Here, Except I'm the One Who's Dying, and FUCK ROBIN WILLIAMS

Date: October 17, 2005
Setting: Karate Dojo Locker Room
Comedian: Tall, bald man, late 30s, socially awkward mien.
Joke: You know, the toothbrush was invented in West Virginia. Yeah, you know it has to have been invented in West Virginia because if it had been invented anywhere else they would have named it the "teethbrush."
Results: Absolute silence. The exchange of uncomfortable glances. Murder.


Date: October 18, 2005
Setting: Computer Training Lab
Comedian: Woman, early 40s, interest in musical theater and Asiatic silk garments.
Joke: You'll have to wait a few moments for the page to load...Time for a joke...A baby seal walks into a club.
Results: The exchange of light-hearted laughter. Long pause. Suicide.

Encyclopedia Brown and the Case of the Empty Movie Theater

There is an article in today's New York Times about the long history of failed attempts at making an Encyclopedia Brown movie.

I only remember one Encyclopedia Brown mystery. It involved an egg spinning contest. What the fuck is an egg spinning contest? Is that how you nerds spent your free time? Anyway, one kid's egg was basically unbeatable when it came to spinning, and Encyclopedia Brown decided to "crack" the case. Turns out, the kid was a cheat: he hardboiled his egg!

I can not wait to see how that plays on the big screen. The CGI egg will blow your fucking mind.

Anyway, in the article, the creator of Encyclopedia Brown, Donald J. Sobel, has this to say about Howard Deutsch, the man who bought the rights to the franchise in 1979:

"I will not identify with the name you used. Don't talk to me about that name. He's no hero."
(New York Times)

I like this quote, because it makes me imagine the journalist's preceding line of questioning:

"Mr. Sobel, I would like to talk to you about Mr. Deutsch, the hero who owns the rights to your creation."

The "People" Under the Stairs

I have been paying very close attention to our new downstairs neighbors (bye bye, babies), and this is what I have learned:

1. They create almost no garbage.
2. They read the local newspaper.

It should be pretty obvious where I am going with this, because I'm not that smart and even I saw it right away: our new downstairs neighbors are an alien race, sent to gather as much information on our species, at least as far as it concerns the local community, as possible. CORRECTION: Our new downstairs neighbors are a mixed-alien-race. Because one of them is a black alien.

Monday, October 17, 2005

0% Fruit Juice

I guess today is "Hug Your Boss" day or whatever. Someone put a sign on the communal table that says "Boss Day!" and someone brought in apples with caramel dipping sauce. Also, someone brought in a Lemon-Lime Creme Cake. It looks like one of those large, rounded coffee cakes, with icing. It has this sticker on the box: "Made With Real 7-Up".

Loved the Wedding. Invite Me to the Marriage.

Most mornings I try and get up early and get some "me" work done before going to do my "work" work. This morning I did not get any "me" work done because I was too busy illegally downloading:

Don't Stop Believing - Journey
Unskinny Bop - Poison
You're the Inspiration - Chicago
Living on a Prayer - Bon Jovi
Cryin' - Aerosmith

Look for me at your next wedding reception. I will be the one with the cumberbund around my head, walking like an Egyptian whether you like it or not.

NOTE: If you play Cryin' at your wedding reception I give you six months before the thing goes up in fucking flames.

Account #3116

The companies are running roughshod over my ass with spiked metal dildos today jesus.

1. I go to pay my credit card and they say that it is due today, so I can't mail a check because they won't get it in time, and even if I try and pay online it doesn't post until tomorrow. I call them using a telephone and they tell me that I can pay over the phone. Oh, that is nice. FIVE DOLLARS FEES. For what? Letting them stick it in? It is better than 39 dollars late but it is not better than no fees because fucking leave me alone. Cash is about to rule everything around me.

2. I go to pay my mobile phone bill (a mobile phone is a phone you can take ANYWHERE YOU WANT. check them out.) and there is roaming charges from Toronts? (Remember Toronots?) This is the part where my face looks like that "Today I Am Feeling Confused" t-shirt because I specifically didn't use my phone because we were in a foreign country, even if by foreign I mean Canada. I call Mobile Phone Co. and am like "I did not use my phone. Stop robbing me." They are like "Did someone leave you a voicemail?" I am like "Sure. I am very popular." They are like "That is the charges." I am like "I get charged for not using my phone?" They are like "Yes." I am like "This sucks." They are like "Pay us the money you owe us." I am like "This is making me sad/mad. I shoulda turned my phone off all the way." They are like "Shoulda/Coulda/Woulda."

Get out of my butt with your fists, company(s).

The Petrol Anniversary

[Mémé and Pépé #3116 arrive for the celebration of their 60th anniversary]

Mémé #3116: Gas is so cost 35 dollars to come here.
Mom #3116: Well, I hope it was worth it.
Mémé #3116: Sure.
Mom #3116: ...
Mémé #3116: ...
Mom #3116: ...
Mémé #3116: And anyway, that money's already spent. There's no getting it back now.

Friday, October 14, 2005

"Can We Pull Over? I've Got to Die Real Bad" or "I'll Give You Something to LOL About"

I can't figure out which transcription of "laughter" I hate more:




God. They all make me want to die so bad.

Wire Your Jaw Shut or I'll Wire It for You

It smells like popcorn in this office. Why do offices always smell like popcorn? Wrong question. Why do fat crappy people eat so much popcorn? Do you remember the gourmet popcorn craze of the late '80s? That was when the fat craps broke through to the mainstream. People waited in line...for popcorn...with cheese on it. And it's not like the people who are eating all this popcorn aren't still superfat. I mean, isn't that the point? "Mmm...time for a lite, lo-cal snack to get me through the afternoon. TGIF!" Instead of a delicious bag of burnt popcorn why don't you treat yourself to a delicious bag of burnt bariatric surgery?

I'm seriously ready to blast some faces with secret death moves.

It's the '90s, Brah!

It was realized at lunch that '90s references, particularly '90s SNL references, are very "in." Here are some things that you can say to your friends and colleagues to appear "with it."

Wayne's World! Wayne's World! Party time! Excellent!

Do I make you horny, baby? Do I?

We are here to pump---you up!

Well isn't that conveeeeenient.

Roger, the rogernator, rogertronix. Now presenting the musical comedy of Rogers and Rogerstein. Mr. Roger's neighborhood. Makin' copies!

I love hats. I love'emIlove'emIlove'emIlove'em.

And now, for the first time in your life, people think you are cool.

"+/-," or "You Are Just Another Statistic Because of Your Parents' Political Leanings"

"A new NBC/Wall Street Journal poll contains the stunning information that President Bush's approval rating among African-Americans has fallen to 2 percent in the wake of Hurricane Katrina."

That's within the margin of error. It is possible that Bush's approval rating among African-American's is -1 %, meaning the next 3.64 million African-American babies will be genetically predisposed to disapprove of his handling of the war in Iraq.

The Today Sucks

This morning I woke up later than usual and ate my breakfast not to my regular diet of hip hop music videos (which, have you seen the new Missy? It is the Timbaland-produced response to Terry Schiavo) but to the Today show.

I used to watch the Today show every morning, and it is always interesting for me to return to the oligarchy of mediocrity. All I saw this morning was the couple that had been wed by the show, all expenses paid. They were talking about their honeymoon in the Maldives. Katie "The Age of Androids Is Upon Us" Couric and Matt "I, Too, Once Had Dreams" Lauer were asking them questions like "I bet it was beautiful." At the end of the segment Al "I'm What Self-Loathing And a Lack of Interest in Culture and Education Reduces You To" Roker said something to the effect of "stay cool, you crazy cats," before doing a segment on the weather.

Then there was also the panning shot of the people outside with their dayglo signs and their screaming, uncommonly punchable faces. Looking at them is like looking at a schoolbus full of retarded kids. You're not sure whether to hug them as hard as you can, or put them out of their misery. "Yes, you're on TV! I know! Shhhh, it's okay. Here, play with my keys."

I'm just going to say it: watching the Today show causes dumb-cancer.

Thursday, October 13, 2005


One of the prayers in the Kol Nidre service lists all of the sins for which you should apologize to God. I counted all of the ones I had commited in the past year. 27. I'm not sure whether this is good or bad, but there were only about 30 on the whole list. Many of them were a direct result of this diary. I also think that it's a sin to be at work right now, and to have driven my car this morning, so, you know, 29.

You are supposed to wear canvas shoes to the synagogue on Yom Kippur. Something about simplicity, or the decidedly vegan nature of the holiday...fasting plus no harm to animals ever. But I saw a bunch of Jews last night wearing their leather running shoes. See, they almost looked like they weren't made of leather, because they clashed with your suit. But they were. It is what one calls a half-gesture. But there was nothing about half-gestures in the list of sins.

Do you even know anything about me? I eat, like, all day long. Don't expect too much fun from me today, fun-seekers. I'm making my atones.

Wednesday, October 12, 2005


Worker #3116: Why do you even have that? You're never going to read it.
Clown Coffee: What do you care?
Worker #3116: I want to know the answers to things.
Worker #3116: ...
Clown Coffee: Like Jack Nicholson in that movie.
Worker #3116: I got the reference. But I think what he says is YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE ANSWERS TO YOUR QUESTIONS!
Worker #3116: Ha ha.
Clown Coffee: Ha ha.
Worker #3116: ...
Clown Coffee: ...
Worker #3116: ...

Will You Get The Phone? And Talk Some Shit About Me to Wheelchair?!

You didn't ask for it, and you don't deserve it. But like an STD, your weekly-ish Real Worlds recap is upon you, sexually.

Last Week: It is time for South by Southwest, which, if you watch a lot of MTV, I will explain by saying there is this thing called "music," played by "bands," at events called "concerts." I know, nevermind. What is important to know is that your friends in Austin have been asked to make a documentary about some of these "bands." This week: Halifax. Who are Halifax? Who cares. Certainly the RW cast does not. Eye-Face wants to be "boyfriends" with Fuck Head, and Fuck Head almost cries. Or maybe she does cry. Have you noticed how little her eyes are? And I think they are made of glass. So they are in love. But here come Halifax! Oh no! Eye-Face and Fuck Head decide that instead of going to Halifax they want to go to Eat at Joe's Crabshack. They drink beer, and I swear to God I saw a wooden cutting board with different kinds of cheeses on it. Who the fuck ordered that? Eye-Face? "Yes, cheese board, please." Then they show up and suddenly it's all Fuck Head and Halifax until the end. She wants them to kiss. Then Eye-Face is like "I cannot believe this. I told you that I loved you, which means never speaking to another man again for the rest of your life. THIS WAS OUR AGREEMENT." Later, Fuck Head cries again, Eye-Face pulls his houndstooth cap down over his eyes, and they decide that love is not always easy.

This Week: Did you hope that this SXSW (that's an abbreviation for "who cares?") would be ended? NO GOOD! Here come Hellogoodbye. Hello Goodbye. HelloGoodbye. I do not know, the goodbye is the important part. Most of the show centers around sitting in a van and complaining about Hot Topic, who sits at home and complains about RW to Wheelchair. Iraqi Jane climbs inside of a basketball game? Seriously, this is one of the most haphazard episodes ever. She breaks basketball, everyone yells, then she locks herself in the bathroom and cries. Meanwhile, HelloGoodbye are camping and one of them plays a song on a banjo. They are all gay. Even the banjo is gay. Want to know a secret? When someone on the RW says "this is just a little band trying to make it, camping together for 8 dollars a night so that they can afford to play at SXSW" it means "this is just a crappy pop band being featured prominently on one of MTV's most popular shows, with an album due out on Sony Records." I.E. They are basically poorer than Hurricane Katrinas! Then Eye-Face and Fuck Head jump of a cliff into water. Unfortunately, it is water. Not cement. They live. Meanwhile, someone is like "Hot Topic talks so much shit," and then Hot Topic is like "Shit, shit, shit." Then all of a sudden, did you remember that they are having their lives Taped! to find out what happens? Iraqi Jane confronts Hot Topic about some very inflammatory footage of Hot Topic going "Shit about Iraqi Jane," and then Hot Topic is like "It's no big deal." Iraqi Jane wishes she went to college, because this is a very persuasive argument, and she replies "I do not know how to prove or disprove you," (NOTE: This is actually a quote. I do not know what proving or disproving someone means. As far as I know, Hot Topic is neither a theorem nor a postulation.)

Do you so care about this?

Care it.

Garlic Bun

Setting: Hot Caff
Time: Lunchtime

For lunch I ordered the greek caesar salad. It came with a single-serving "loaf" of "garlic bread." Apparently, a single-serving "loaf" of "garlic bread" is half of a "hot dog bun" with "garlic powder."

As we were leaving the hot caff I noticed the lunch of this one hockey-dyke at a nearby table: 1. one supergulp of ice water 2. two single-serving "loaves" of "garlic bread".

Lost. Gorgeous.

I watched the first episode of Lost season one last night, and can I just say, one year too late:


Where are all the fat illiterates and shitty whiskey-blossom-nosed businessmen?

I did not see a single burned up copy of The Da Vinci Code.

I would also like to point out that it is the white people who do everything. The blacks and asians just sit around. I guess that one Mexican built a fire.

Also: since when does Greg Grunberg know how to fly a commercial airliner? Did J.J. Abrams teach him?

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Put Some Minge Around It

Subject: article on the subject of Real Doll owners.

Query: is it creepier to refer to a Real Doll as "she" or "it"? Example: "I bought a second Real Doll so she wouldn't get lonely." Example: "I fuck it twice a week. It is about as tight as you could hope for."


Strange Story=Story About How I Am Fat, Lazy, and Stupid

I always try and give reviewers the benefit of the doubt. They're not professional writers, just everyday people like you and me, trying to share their opinions with people who want to get beyond the HYPE.

But seriously...

A great show for anyone, July 6, 2005

Reviewer: Kevin W "pacers721" (Oak Park, IL USA)

How I started watching 24 is a strange story.


In its first 3 seasons, I always knew of it, but never watched it. After watching a few (probably 3) minutes of the first season, I wasn't impressed and for no reason decided never to watch the show. It's pretty obvious that I never gave it a chance (and somehow people do this all the time). So years later when Season 4 premiered, I happened to be in my room on my computer with the TV on fox (only because Seinfeld just went off). I can honestly say the only reason I didn't change the channel, or simply turn the TV off was because I couldn't bear the 10 ft walk without my remote. As the show progressed, I found my self more and more engrossed till the point where I couldn't walk away for the next two hours. As the show ended, I was shocked to find how entertaining it was. Like most people, the most thrilling show I had seen till then was Law & Order (no offense). I soon went to Amazon to find that the first season was available for 25$ and I quickly purchased it. Thinking back, that was most definitely the best investment I've ever made in a DVD. 25$ for 18+ hrs of sheer entertainment, there's no doubt. I was able to buy and watch the first 3 seasons in less than two weeks, sad to some but fun for me.


Frodo Fossilins of the Deadshire

It's like life imitating nerd-based internet chat-rooms imitating life imitating nerd-based internet chat-rooms.

Q: Is there any other kind of chat-room?
A: Yes, sex-based internet chat-rooms. Filled with nerds.

My favorite part:

"The bones have enchanted many anthropologists who have come to accept the interpretation of these diminutive skeletons marooned on Flores with dwarf elephants and other miniaturized animals, giving the discovery a kind of fairy tale quality.

But a vocal scientific minority insists the specimens are nothing more than the bones of modern humans that suffered from microencephaly, a broadly defined genetic disorder that results in small brain size.

Nevertheless, the researchers prized with the landmark discovery beg to disagree. 'If that were the case,' argued Dr. Harold D. Kendrik of Oxford University, 'how then to explain the location of the bones, which were found atop a bed of faerie wings and orc bones?'"

Have You Ever Heard Someone Say a Word and Somehow Just Known It Was Being Used Incorrectly?

"You are the best governor ever - deserving of great respect," Harriet E. Miers wrote to George W. Bush days after his 51st birthday in July 1997. She also found him "cool," said he and his wife, Laura, were "the greatest!" and told him: "Keep up the great work. Texas is blessed."


The notes to Mr. Bush date from at least March 1995, around the time he named her to the lottery commission, the files show. On March 25, on the letterhead of her Dallas law firm, Locke Purnell Rain Harrell, Ms. Miers wrote to thank him "for taking the time to visit in the office and on the plane back - cool!"


In October 1997, Ms. Miers sent Mr. Bush a flowery greeting card in thanks for a letter that he had written on her behalf. In it, she said of his daughters: "Hopefully Jenna and Barbara recognize that their parents are 'cool' - as do the rest of us."
(New York Times)

Monday, October 10, 2005

Worker #3116 Vs. Alien Vs. Predator

Here's what I wanted to ask you:

In AVP: Alien Vs. Predator, after the Predator falls in love with the black lady, he scars her face with an Alien's-blood-tipped predatornail. He gives her the exact same scar on her cheek that he has on his forehead (received during a fight with Alien) as a sign of true love, like commitment rings or something. But how does the Predator know what the scar on his forehead looks like? As far as I could tell, there were no mirrors in the ancient Antarctic Aztec pyramid that is a training ground for teenage Predators.

And I have a follow-up:

When the teenage Predator wants to scar his middle-aged human girlfriend's face with acid, all he does is hold his finger up and she nods. How does she understand what he wants to do? Is she a linguistic anthropologist? There was no indication prior to this moment that she was a linguistic anthropologist.

And I have a follow-up:

Even if she were a linguistic anthropologist? And are they that blindly trusting of horifically violent alien races of rastafarians?

And I have a follow-up:

When the Predators' Council of Elders comes to retrieve the dead body of the black lady's teenage Predator boyfriend, and they leave her all alone in the middle of Antarctica with nothing on except a burnt-orange summer-weight J. Crew sweater, how long before she dies? 27 seconds?

And I have a follow-up:

24 seconds?

And I have a follow-up:

Is the teenage Predator a virgin? Or has he totally done it with a bunch of different Predators, a bunch of different times?

Today in Hitstory

Isaac Brock was a British major-general and administrator, who served in various parts of the Empire for nearly thirty years, serving in the Caribbean, Denmark, and elsewhere. He also formed Modest Mouse. During that time he challenged duelists, nearly died from fever, was injured in battle, faced both desertions and near mutinies, penned "Talkin' Shit About a Pretty Sunset," and also had the privilege of serving alongside Lord Nelson. However, he is best remembered for his actions while assigned to the Canadian colonies, and his riveting live performances. Brock was assigned to Canada in 1802, eventually reaching the rank of Major-General Indie-Darling. In this capacity, he was responsible for defending Canada from the United States during the War of 1812, and soundtracking the make-out sessions of awkward adolescents with the almost physically painful desire to flee their hometowns. While many in Canada and in England believed war could be averted, Brock began preparing the army, the militia, The Moon and Antarctica, and the populace for what was to come. Thus, when war broke out, Canada was prepared, and quick victories at Fort Mackinac, and in the Battle of Detroit, which crippled American invasion efforts, secured Brock's reputation as a brilliant leader and strategist. His death in the Battle of Queenston Heights was a crushing blow to British leadership. Brock's efforts earned him accolades, a knighthood, an appearance on FOX's hit drama, The O.C.,and the moniker 'The Hero of Upper Canada'.


Worker #3116: But isn't the bird flu just a really bad case of the flu?
Herb #3116: Basically. It's a strain of influenza.
Worker #3116: So, then, won't it just kill old people and babies?
Herb #3116: Well, that's the strange thing. Historically, pandemic flus kill primarily healthy young people who are in their 20s and 30s.
Worker #3116: So what you're telling me is that I'm going to die.
Herb #3116: Yes.
Worker #3116: Oh well. Ha ha.
Herb #3116: Ha ha.
Mom #3116: That's not funny.
Worker #3116: Yes it is.
Mom #3116: ...
Worker #3116: For now.
Mom #3116: ...
Worker #3116: It won't be come springtime.
Mom #3116: ...
Worker #3116: When I have passed on.

Friday, October 07, 2005

Movie News!

Jim Brewer, Guillermo Díaz, Angela Bassett, and Taye Diggs have signed on to my hilarious new multi-racial marijuana cigarette-themed romantic dramedy: Waiting to Inhale.

Dumbest Blog Post

At some point, we're really going to need to redefine the cultural value of a "world record."

Most People Wearing Groucho Marx Glasses
The most people simultaneously wearing Groucho Marx-style glasses, nose and moustache at one location is 1,437 by members of the Toukley Junior Rugby League Club, at the Darren Kennedy Oval, NSW, Australia and filmed for Guinness World Records (Seven Network) on 4 June 2005.


The Collected Letters of Worker #3116

From: Worker #3116
To: spaceham
Date: Oct 7, 2005 9:49 AM
Subject: do you have something to do with this?


From: spaceham
To: Worker #3116
Date: Oct 7, 2005 10:12 AM
Subject: Re: do you have something to do with this?

We love war here! And especially those ribbon magnets that you can put on your car. We all have three or four.


From: Worker #3116
Reply-To: Worker #3116
To: spaceham
Date: Oct 7, 2005 10:14 AM
Subject: Re: do you have something to do with this?

This seems sarcastic. You are the worst kind of America-hating liberal.


From: spaceham
To: Worker #3116
Date: Oct 7, 2005 10:41 AM
Subject: Re: do you have something to do with this?

You're right. San Antonio is also full of queers and communists. They must be getting to me.


From: Worker #3116
To: spaceham
Date: Oct 7, 2005 10:43 AM
Subject: Re: do you have something to do with this?

Thanks a lot, for September 11th!

You Hear It First, If You Can Hear

In other music news:

I am very excited for the release of Brandy's new album, Brandycapped. So soulful! So danceable! So wheelchair accessible!

Devendra Pornhart

More fun with illegal crimes!

I was downloading Devendra Barnhart's new album, Cripple Crow, without paying a cent! But when I searched for "Hey Mama Wolf" I once more fell upon someone's porn collection, which included the following title:

mom sucks pizza boy off because she has no money

You're probably thinking this is not worth mentioning, since it is a cliché storyline as old as porn itself. But then you see how I initially read it:

mom sucks pizza off boy because she has no money

And now you are tumescent!

The Future

I've got a bad feeling about this.

Thursday, October 06, 2005

Some Questions for the Rights

There are two major arguments going on right now that I'm really confused by:

1. Chief Justice John Roberts Jr. is already off to a horrifically asinine start. The case in question is about whether or not people should be allowed to end their lives peacefully. I'm having a really hard time seeing the moral grounds for denying the right to die, especially when it has been approved by voters. It doesn't have the comforting "who killed all the innocent children" angle of the anti-abortion screed. It is in line with the states' rights of federalism. So, what's the deal? It's not your life they're trying to take. Now, if Oregon decided to legislate the Right to Die By Causing a Cataclysmic Accident in Which Thousands Die in the Process, I would stand up and say "Oregon, you are out of line!"

2. I'm baffled by the rampant anti-intellectualism when it concerns positions of power. The idea that "latte drinking, gay-loving" New Yorkers are out of touch with the Midwest, and that that is a bad thing, is acceptable to me. They are out of touch with the Midwest because FUCK THE MIDWEST. Personally I don't really care what they think of the Midwest, but okay, Johnny Tard-seed, you don't like it. It offends your sense of worth. Yer feelin's. Okay. But when it comes to, say, the President or the Supreme Court, I want someone better than me doing those jobs. If someone asked me to be President or Supreme Court Justice I would refuse BECAUSE I'M A FUCKING IDIOT. Seriously, I just don't get it. Parents, would you send your children to a school filled with teachers who had no higher education and no particular skill sets for dealing with shortened attention spans and a developing intellect, based solely on the fact that you were pretty sure the teachers had good intentions? Would you want to go into surgery with the simple reassurance that while your surgeon did not have any medical training, he firmly believed that good health was a positive thing? You assholes. Let them crack a book so you don't have to.

Le Zing

Clown Coffee: Ech, look at her!
Worker #3116: You know, I'm willing to believe that you are better than most people, but you have to act like it.
Clown Coffee: Noblesse Oblige?
Worker #3116: Yes.
Clown Coffee: Noblesse O-this.

Stump the Court Guys

Tom: I'm going to go out on a limb, here.
Ray: Oh boy.
Tom: Let me finish. I'm going to take a wild guess and say that you have a dead squirrel trapped in the bill of rights.
Ray: They go inside for the warmth.
Tom: He got stuck in there, and that's where that tricky clause about gay marriage is coming from.
Ray: What did the dead squirrel say to the bill of rights?
Tom: What?
Ray: You're nuts.
Tom: Get it, Judd Geeyudy?

Court Talk

There is a lot of concern on either side of the political spectrum over the nomination of Harriet Miers to the Supreme Court. Is she an ideologically-motivated neo-con? Is she too liberal? Is she not a retard in too much Mary-Kay with absolutely no qualifying experience? Prove it!

All of this would be solved if President Bush would just do the obvious thing: withdraw Ms. Miers nomination, and put the Car Guys on the bench.

Tom: Whatever you do, don't judge like my brother.
Ray: And I'm Justice Ray, reminding you don't judge like my brother.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

That's Thomas Cruise Jr. to You!

These Cakes Don't Run

Heart-Smart Laughs

Try this on one of your co-workers, it seriously works!

Worker #3116: Hey, Clown Coffee, I'm sure you got the email that's going around, and I just want you to know that I totally don't think that you have the biggest butt in the building.
Clown Coffee: What email?
Worker #3116: You know, that email. The one where you can rank who in the building you think has the biggest butt. You got number one, but I totally think that's bullshit.
Clown Coffee: I didn't get it. Send it to me.
Worker #3116: I deleted it. I said "I'm not going to be a party to this. This is unprofessional, and Clown Coffee is my friend." I didn't even vote.


Clown Coffee: Were you making that thing up earlier about the email?
Worker #3116: Yes.
Clown Coffee: Good, because I don't have the biggest butt in the building. I've been looking around, and I've seen some pretty big ones.
Worker #3116: I'm putting that joke on my diary, and telling other people to use it. It works.
Clown Coffee: It totally works. It might even motivate me to lose some weight in my butt...which I've been working on.


Wait, that shit was for real?

New Features!

I can't figure out which is worse: back when I would point my browser to and wonder "who are all these people looking at my profile?", or now when I point my browser to and wonder "who are all these people looking at my profile who don't want me to know they are looking at my profile?"


Dear Diary

I'm sorry that you suck a butt this week.

Worker #3116

Hot 97,000 Pornos

In the age of the iPod, it can be difficult keeping up with the day's monsterest jamz. My solution has been to check out the Hot 97 website, where they have a "playlist" that updates once a week, and then proceed to illegally download the songs with no monetary remuneration going to the artists for their work. Since most Top 40 hip hop stations have about three songs on heavy rotation, it is easy to keep up with, at the very least the hottest, tracks. This morning, I was illegally downloading the new ones, and did a search for Twista feat. Trey Songz "Girl Tonight." Someone's entire porn collection became available for download, including:

Office Girl Gets Severe Massive Facials
Severe Mistress Tormenting a Poor Blonde Girl
The Guy Fucks the Little Girl
We Call This Perfect Watersports for a Girl
Hidden Cam Recording Redhead Pissing Girl on Yard
White Girl Pays Dude the Clams She Owes for Her Car
Very Flexible Girl Stuffing Her Pussy by Spray Can

And my favorite:

Pretty Girl in Jeans Peeing in Snow

The best thing about these titles is that they raise many more questions than they answer.

Monday, October 03, 2005

Is It Just Me, or Does Harriet Miers Look Like an Evil Bird Bent on World-Domination, Disguising Herself as a Human?

Worker #3116: He should have nominated that lady, the one who's the first female head chef at the White House, or whatever.
Clown Coffee: What's her name? Like Consuela Vargas Llosa, or something.
Worker #3116: She's blazed trails in the kitchen, and now she'll blaze a trail on the bench.
Clown Coffee: She respects recipes...and the constitution.
Worker #3116: Ha ha.
Clown Coffee: Meester Boosh--
Worker #3116: Oh no.
Clown Coffee: Sank you for de nohmination.
Worker #3116: No.
Clown Coffee: ...
Worker #3116: ...
Clown Coffee: I make you e special cake.


Yesterday I watched the third to last episode of season two of FOX's hit drama, The O.C. My rabid spoiler-avoiding fervor has really been paying off in the last few days. But since you are not me, I will tell you that this was the Kiersten car-crash episode. OH MY GOD! My favorite part of this was how the semi-truck that rammed her, honked...but then actually sped up as it neared her car. The driver was like "Oh no! Honk-honk-honk. Get out of the way! Oh well, FUCK IT!"

Anyway, as I went to the gym yesterday I said "this one's for Kiersten," before pumping the shit out of that iron.