Blootered

WHY HUNT SQUIRRELS?

2007-09-19T20:09:00.000-05:00

2007-07-30T00:14:00.000-05:00

I am a fat guy in a little suit.

Condiment Confusion

2007-06-09T14:54:00.000-05:00

So. I've got this damn Amy Winehouse song stuck in my head. I can't get it out!

Worse, I bought a sandwich at a deli and brought it back with me to work to feed on. Trouble: I discovered that my sammie had mayo instead of mustard, as I had clearly asked for. Fuck! This keeps happening at the delis around here. Can't Asians understand the damn difference between mustard and mayo? They don't sound the same at all! Mustard. Mayo. Not the same, not the same! Sticking me with mayo instead of mustard is tantamount to a hate crime, I believe. It's certainly actionable. Balls! Part of the Green Card/Citizenship process should be the essential acquisition of the "skill" to distinguish mayo from mustard. (Also, it should be impressed on newbies that it's KETCHUP, not CATSUP, as was used on a sign in the deli that I bought this bastard sammie. Ketchup, not catsup. I can't stress that enough.) So I had to scrape off the mayo and scavenge the office kitchen for a glob of Gulden's. Luckily, I found some. Man, this day is fucking ruined, though.

And now I have to go to Brooklyn to move my damn truckster. Rat farts!

Final Note: Tomorrow is the Puerto Rican Day parade here in NYC. Inevitably, I will get caught in the chaos -- it always happens. If you get a "Lousiana is the Pelican State" text message from me, please send help!

Yes, We Offer Benefits

2007-06-04T18:32:00.000-05:00

Job Posting of the Day....

PORN REVIEWERS WANTED (Midtown)

Reply to: job-344882038@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-06-04, 5:55PM EDT

Are you a connoisseur of porn? Do you have definite opinions about the movies you watch? We literally have hundreds of adult films sitting around our offices waiting for someone to review them. So, we’re looking for a dedicated group of competent folks to help us watch and critique the growing backlog.

What’s the catch? There’s not much in the way of pay – for now. But the DVDs, which retail anywhere from $25 to $50, are yours to keep after you review them. This is a legitimate writing gig that can be added to your freelancer portfolio. And SexHerald, a sex-positive online publication, is a startup operation that is poised for rapid growth.

All reviewers must be 21 or older, live in the New York tri-state area (CT, NJ, NY) and be deadline-oriented and dependable. Previous writing experience is a plus: The reviews run 500 words in length, and a minimum of five (5) films are required to be viewed each month. For a taste of the types of reviews we are seeking, check out:
http://www.sexherald.com/porn-movies/adult-dvds.

If you’re interested, email us a resume and a sample 500-word review of a recent adult film. Put the resume and writing sample into the email itself. WE DO NOT OPEN ATTACHMENTS.

We want to hear from you…

COMMENT: Huh. I don't think I've ever watched an entire porn movie in one sitting. But my portfolio could use some sex-positive clips. Five flicks per month, eh? I'm sure I could do that. Oh, but I went to the Web site to check it out and one of the first words I saw was "analingus." Wow. I don't want any part of that. Thanks to this, I think my pyloric valve is now permanently sealed shut.

Cripple Fight!

2007-05-30T11:06:00.000-05:00

Okay, not really. No cripple fights. But I would be curious to know if a llama could beat a kangaroo in a square-go. I'd root for the llama, I think. Doesn't Fox run some sort of reality series of animal fights? Fox boss Murdoch is Aussie. He could get a 'roo. It might be tougher to get a llama into the ring. But they should try. The winner gets to fight Lindsey Lohan. Cage match.

Fore!

2007-05-15T15:31:00.000-05:00

This is something. I mean, this is fat and phat. Check out the commercials in the Fatty Media section -- choice.

Spock digs naked fat chicks the most, baby!

2007-05-13T15:25:00.000-05:00

An awesome headline, from today's New York Times: Girth and Nudity: a Mission for Nimoy. Awesome! But weird. That's one weird Vulcan. Let me tell you, though, that after having driven across a good part of these United States with ol' Spock (detailed in Angry John Sellers' new book Perfect From Now On, which is reason enough to buy the damn thing. It's like only twenty bucks or something; just buy it, goon.), I'm pretty sure the stoic alien doesn't have a flabby fetish. That's not logical. Or is it so logical that it's blown my mind? More to love, more to love.... Anyhoo, here's the article on ol' Spockie boy. Is Spock a flesh hound? You be the judge....

Point of Contention: People who aren't interested in llama trivia are morons.

Who Knew?

2007-05-11T13:28:00.000-05:00

This is the most awesome thing I've ever read....

Llamas have discreet bathroom habits. Their pelleted droppings, similar to those of a deer, are virtually odorless and are generally deposited in the communal dung pile. This neatness minimizes parasite contamination, reduces fly problems and makes cleanup easier for the owner. A llama's effective digestive system also helps to eliminate introduction of noxious weeds into the environment. Breaking camp is simple - shovel or scatter the pile.

· Llamas are inexpensive to maintain. With their efficient, three-chambered stomachs, llamas typically cost less to feed than a dog. They browse on many types of forage, which reduces the need for expensive hay. Depending on the climate, llamas can do well in a 3 sided shelter. A 4' to 5' fence of wire or wood will usually suffice with an acre of land supporting two to four llamas.

Llamas are great working partners and family pets. They have predictable, calm responses to new situations. Llamas are trustworthy. Their intelligent, gentle nature allows even small children to interact with them. The fiber of a llama can be spun and woven into sweaters, blankets, hats and the like. Llamas are used in animal facilitative therapy because of their calming effects. Families can get involved with llamas in 4H, Scouts, and other youth activities.

Llamas don't bite, don't dig, don't bark and don't have fleas. They are dependable companions for packing and jogging. Llamas can be trained to pull carts and carry children. With 6,000 years of working with humans, llamas have shown they offer the service of a horse with the upkeep of a dog!

I WANT A LLAMA!

Nice work

2007-05-08T23:10:00.000-05:00

This appears on ESPN.com at this moment... nice error

BREAKING NEWS Alert

Final Countdown: Bonds Hits No. 745
Barry Bonds moved within 10 home runs of tying Babe Ruth on Tuesday night, bashing No. 745 off Tom Glavine. Bonds, who'd never homered on May 8, leads the NL with 11 home runs this season. Story
• In Progress: Mets-Giants

The not-so-late Abe Vigoda

2007-05-08T09:47:00.000-05:00

Ever wonder if Abe Vigoda is still alive? Who doesn't? This site will keep you posted.

Will blog for midget band info

2007-05-07T17:42:00.000-05:00

So. Blootered is finally starting to pay off. I got a helluva e-mail last night in response to a previous post about searching for midget bands. And here it is....

hey. i'm in a band called midget fan club. i found your blog while i
was googling our name to see what the internet was saying. i thought
i'd throw this out to you, here's a band entirely made of midgets,
though it seems like they may have broken up. the little kingz:

Little Kingz

their official site seems to be gone, sadly. however, if you are
interested, i did manage to hang on to their "hit single" entitled
"what's the big idea?" and if you need a copy, just let me know.

-GFS

The writer, Guy Smiley, vocalist and bassist for punk rock band Midget Fan Club, later followed up with some Little Kingz clips. And here they are...

Vid One
Vid Two

Awesome.

Try it again... for the first time

2007-05-05T13:40:00.000-05:00

So. The whole "why dontcha take a picture? It'll last longer" rebuke doesn't carry much weight anymore, does it? I mean, if I were caught ogling some dude's girlfriend, and he got all tough and said, "Hey, pal. Why dontcha take a picture? It'll last longer," well, I'd probably pull out my cellphone and take a damn picture. It's so easy, a monkey could do it (note: I've not reached monkey level yet when it comes to phone-camera technology. I'm sort of really dumb when it comes to stuff like that. I'm more slothish when it comes to the technological evolutionary scale; but, if you ever want to see photos accidentally taken of the inside of a pants pocket or a blurry shot of the sidewalk snapped while trying to answer an incoming call, I'm the guy to see. I'm the Weegee of crap accidental snapshots. That's a damn fact.). Technology has changed everything, even the way we tell people to piss off. That's weird, wild stuff.

Point of Contention: Baboons are smarter than Capuchins.

At least it wasn't a gerbil...

2007-05-01T19:19:00.000-05:00

I swear I saw a guy walking a leashed Guinea pig earlier today. I mean, it had to have been a Guinea pig. It was unbelievable. It looked like this. I almost stepped on the rodent, actually. Probably would have been putting him out of his misery. All the delis around here have resident mouse- & rat-killing cats, so if that lame-o led his pig into a shop the fuzzy little bastard would've gotten battered. I really should have stepped on him when I had that chance.

Hey, hey, there's plenty of me to go around!

2007-05-01T01:29:00.000-05:00

So. I just checked my Bravenet counter stats for the day -- wow. A whopping three unique visitors hit the ol' Blootered page the day. Three. I've pulled the trifecta, the terrible treble... I'm a WWW phenomeon. And you are all just swimming in my wake.

Point of contention: A person could not live on a steady diet of elevated fastballs.

What's the helmet for!?

2007-04-29T12:50:00.000-05:00

I was just flipping through the channels and happened to see Gabe Kaplan wearing a cowboy hat. It was unsettling.

Point of contention: It would be worse to be stuck on an elevator with Rosie O'Donnell than Donald Trump.

**UPDATE**

I caught a dash of local news after the Rangers-Sabres game ended: god, was it worth it. The studio went live to an accident scene being covered by the aptly named Pei-Sze Chang. She was tiny. But lovely.

Stupid, lousy Magic 8 ball of horror

2007-04-20T18:25:00.000-05:00

So. My little Magic 8 ball experiment hasn't worked so well. It's caused some mischief, if ya really want to know about it. And my 8-ball-influenced decisions seem to be as bad as the regular ones. No, I wasn't persuaded to eat a Snausage or something (gotta admit, I'm a little curious about how that would taste). Blech. God, I'm so frustrated I could throw a slice of pizza at a guy for no reason. I'll chuck the 8 ball right out the window instead (duck, New Yorkers!). And that's all I have to say about that. See ya, suckers!

Oh, and a Point of Contention: the guy searching Google for "silversun pickups keyboard gear" was NOT pleased to find my site in his resuls. Yet, he checked Blootered out. He must have been very disappointed.

It's a pizza!

2007-04-17T16:40:00.000-05:00

Why would you do this!?

Better not tell you now

2007-04-16T17:18:00.000-05:00

So. I've made some dumb decisions lately. Not "so I thought, when will I ever get back to Haiti" dumb, but pretty damn stupid. To prevent this going forward, I will henceforth consult one of those black, 8-pin-bowling-sized fortune-telling balls -- yep, the Magic 8 ball -- before doing anything. This is the best decision I've made in ages. You may rely on it.

Point of contention: Bats are not smart simply because they use radar. Discuss amongst yourselves.

Shut It!

2007-04-13T09:46:00.000-05:00

I'm at work, but I may have to leave soon -- too much chatter from the goon box. I'm tellin' ya, I'm getting nothing but an earful of yackity-yack this morning. The last thing I want first thing in the morning, especially after a dreams-killing subway ride up from Brooklyn, is to have to listen to some goon and/or goons blabber. (Yes, yes, it's nearly 11am, so for normal people it's mid-day; for me, it's dawn's early light, at least psychologically -- the horror). The worst part is that there's only a few other jackasses in the office -- next week is an issue closing, so most people will skip today -- so you'd think the office would be calm and mostly quiet [mostly]. But these few jackasses are here and they're chattering like there's no tomorrow -- and let me tell you, they are not using their indoor voices. Or their AM voices -- they're full-on FM Stereo and my head may explode. Worse, these fools are sitting en masse in this makeshift "office" (think of a hockey rink's penalty box and you've got a good idea of what this goon box is like), which somehow causes their racket to be amplified to volume 11. I don't know anything about the science of plexiglass-wall acoustics, but I do know that I may need to get the hell out of here before I hear someone screech "YOU DA MAN!" Oh, it'll happen, it'll happen. And if they, and if they do....

This reminds me of my days working as a "reporter" at Reed Construction Data in Atlanta, GA. My cubemate was a gentle giant called Maynard. This was my first experience with anything called Maynard, except that horrible beatnik Maynard G. Krebs character played by the dude who later played Gilligan, and I'm not sure I'm over it. Anyway, I would almost always stay late, and so would Maynard. We'd be there late after a long day, half of which was generally spent whinging about how much we hated the job, and of course we'd be tired. Well, I'd be tired. Maynard somehow picked up this massive second wind about 6pmish, and it must have gone straight into his lungs -- the guy got loud. I mean, the office would be dead and I'm sitting only a few feet away from the dude, but he would start SPEAKING VERY LOUDLY. Normally he was capable of controlling his voice -- but he just went spastic in the evenings, when I was dead tired. And not particularly welcoming of noise. So I quit. Well, there were other reasons (example: there was also this likely retarded "girl" called Gareth on staff; she held the same position as me, and she was better at it than me. Well, she actually tried, which proves that even a monkey could do that work -- if it applied itself. More on Gareth later.), but Maynard's night bellowing had a lot to do with my taking that job and shoving it. Anyway, that's all I have to say about that.

"PLEASE TAKE AWAY THIS TERRIBLE AFFLICTION! AND ALSO LET ME FIND A BAG OF MONEY!"

2007-04-09T10:42:00.000-05:00

Holy fuck I'm tired. It's dire. I was trying to get some much needed sleep in this morning, but couldn't because some damn kid down on the street was shouting like a goon. MAAAAA! MAAAAAA! I DON'T WANNNNA GOOOOO! What a little fatboy this bastard was -- although his lungs were clearly fit. I mean, this kid was porky, but he had supersonic lungs (and likely a peanut-sized brain). Anyway. What a bastard. Of course the damn mother kept shouting back at Baby Fatmouth: SHUTUP! JUST SHUTUP! AND START MOVING OR YOU'RE GONNA GET IT! Of course the damn kid did neither -- he just stood there and wailed. I felt like throwing a rock at his head or something. Unfortunately, there aren't many rocks in the sublet I'm staying at. Catalogs, yes (no guff, this person I'm renting from must be on every damn list in the universe; she gets at least 7 catalogs per day, all of which I have to lug from the mailbox every evening -- sucks). But rocks? Not so much. Pity. Although I tried to sleep after this noise FINALLY carried on down the road, it was hopeless. I was ruined. So I started thinking about the idea of yelling. Although I can control the volume of my voice, and usually do -- unlike Baby Fatmouth, who's always at volume 11 (just one louder) -- I occasionally like to yell things at top volume -- the effect can be startling. Here are some of the things I like to shout out randomly....

GET IN THE HOLE!
UF!
HAUW!
LOOK AT THAT BIG ASS!
HEY-O!
I WANT A WHALER! (not just at the Burger King drive-through, either)
IT'S A MEATBALL!

There are things I refuse to bellow, however, even under duress. And they are...

YOU DA MAN!
BOO-YA!
GROOVY!
YAY! YOU'RE ALL WINNERS!

And that's all I have to say about that.

Finally, a point of contention: apple is the greatest of all juices.

UPDATE: Just saw this headline on another blog: "NBC TODAY's Al Roker says time for Imus to go...." Who cares what Al "The Stomach" Roker thinks? The guy isn't capable of looking out a window and accurately telling you if it's raining or not -- so we're meant to listen up when he talks about race relations? Awesome.

Yes, my friend, I've got a feeling they do have little pies

2007-04-07T11:51:00.000-05:00

It occurred to me this morning that I know absolutely nothing about the band Prefab Sprout. I'd kind of like to keep it that way, actually. I know a little about Toad the Wet Sprocket -- and I stress little. That band is only interesting because it has a midget for a drummer. Except for a few all dwarf bands, such as MiniKISS ("the one and only Hottest Littlest KISS tribute band in the world!"), I can't think of any other bands that have a midget in the group. I can think of bands that call themselves something using the word midget [or dwarf], such as Killer Dwarves and Midget Fan Club; but, I don't believe that either of those units have actual littles in the mix. I could be wrong. The rest of my day is pretty much ruined now because I'll just spend it trying to find bands with wee men in the lineup.

Meanwhile, I'm about ready to kick off my Hardcore Battle of the Bands tourney over at Fat, Drunk & Stupid. It'll be a helluva show, I assure you -- prepare to have your asses rocked off by the awesomeness of it all. After that massive attack closes, I'm thinking of doing a Battle of the Horror Movie Characters tourney. Seriously, I've thought a lot about this. I'm not yet sure if I'd pit actual characters against each other, e.g. Jason vs. Chucky, or simply wage archetypes, e.g. Zombie vs. whatever the hell C.H.U.D. was. Hell, I'll probably run both -- why the hell not, right?

And in case you're wondering: yes, this is actually the kind of stuff I think about when I'm left on my own. I always watch a lot of golf. As I've said before, I'm much like a kid or a dog -- I make bad decisions when left to my own devices. In my case, though, this results in inane blog jibba-jabba, not dead cats or crayon scrawlings on the wall. (At least as far as you can prove.)

Who gives a rat's ass?

2007-04-02T20:09:00.000-05:00

Tonight's NCAA final is a steaming pile of dog crap -- Ohio St. vs. Florida? God, let's hope that something -- anything -- forces both squads to forfeit. Florida's best player wears a fucking ponytail. OSU has a fucking nut as a mascot -- a NUT! At least we get a lash of hoops hottie Sam Ryan during the broadcast. She's a little bit of alright, int she? More important, perhaps: if you do a Google Images search for "Sam Ryan CBS," you get some pretty fucking awesome results. So awesome, in fact, that I'll explore that shit instead of watching this stupid basketball game. Fact.

Did I say that?

2007-04-02T11:30:00.000-05:00

The last post was presented by the letter V. No, not that V -- the vodka V. God, vodka will fuck you up.

Whiten Up, Francis

2007-03-31T17:21:00.000-05:00

Fact: It's "honkey," not "honky." The word is aligned with donkey and monkey, not funky -- get it straight. Nonironically, the honkiest honkeys -- yeah, those who play "honky-tonk" music -- misspell the term; duh, these fools are from the Southern U.S. -- they can't spell (or tauten their jowels). What a shock. Hey-o...

Fact: Ever notice that in before/after advertising shots, the "after" dude has always changed his hair part? Of course this makes sense if it's some damn promo for Supercuts. But when some fat bastard loses a whopping six pounds on the Weight Watchers, why does he go out and change the 'do? Or is that where the weight loss was? His fat follicles? Dunno. But I do know that perhaps he could've tried that first? A bad part is a real turn off -- 'em I right, ladies!? And why the hell is After always smiling -- is it really that fun to be just mildly repulsive now? Hey-o...

Fact: I love Rose McGowan.

Fact: Some jackass will try to post a comment on this post starting: "Fact: ..." (or worse, Not a Fact:....). Denied. Don't even waste the effort -- that crap is blocked; this site is now moderated. For my protection. And pleasure.

Fact: My MySpace Blootered blog is rapidly climbing the Google charts. As soon as the MS/B page eclipses this site in the ranks, it's the beast (dae yae shee they beasht? hiv yae goat 'er ain yer shites?); and then, this shite is flushed. Wilde might be on your side, but the Berzerker and Gorgoroth is on mine. So fucks ya. Hey-o...

P.S. It's a fact that the lovely & talented Rose McGowan is only three years younger than me -- she's in her prime (and she is a delicate flower). I think we're a perfect couple, actually: she's a hot megastar; I'm a husky fact-checker. I love her, dude. If I could get ONE small smooch on the cheek from Rose McGowan, I would die a happier man (no, not the ass cheek, you jackasses); CORRECTION... Yes, yes, I had said that getting to be one of those dead guys on a procedural show was my last goal in life -- that was pap (although I would really really like to do that -- call me, Dick Wolf). My one and only goal in life is to get a small kiss from Rose McGowan (consensual, consensual, assholes). Although this will never happen, I'm hoping. And hope is everything.

This Charming Man: Day Four

2007-03-29T21:10:00.000-05:00

Today began with a raging hangover compounded with an utter lack of sleep. The train ride to work was fun: I got to stand face to face with this huge fat guy with raging beard dandruff. I'm not even kidding about that. The guy was Orthodox Jew, so he had this wild beard. And god was it flaky. I mean, there was this huge chunk of dandruff stuck about 7 inches below his lower lip that may or mayn't have been animate. You don't even want to know how the rest of my day went. You don't even want to know.

This Charming Man: Day Three

2007-03-28T19:48:00.000-05:00

So. Spring has arrived in NYC. That's a very good thing. The first few nice, warm days are so choice -- the girls go a little bit crazy and start wearing a lot less. It's awesome. I spent the entire afternoon at a joint where I could ogle the hotties as they passed by on the street. I was charming, though. I mean, I didn't whistle or point or anything.

For anybody who cares, and I know you don't, I've finished stocking my Hardcore Battle of the Bands tourney over at Fat, Drunk & Stupid. This really has been the most fun I've had in a long time. Plus, I've been able to interact with bands like Skullhog and Goatwhore. Sweet. Check the site tomorrow for a post with the entire tourney seedings. Then, be prepared to get your ass rocked off. Girlie men should stay away; you have been warned.

Oh, and as a final thought, here are three people that would totally suck to be stuck on an elevator with: Cat Stevens, Jeb Bush, Alan Thicke. You'd have to gnaw your arm off or something to distract yourself.

Oh and oh, one final word: my only goal in life -- now -- is to become one of those dead guys on the procedural shows like Law & Order. That would be awesome. I used to want to do a stand-up comedy set at Dangerfield's, but that'll never happen. Funny I can't do. Dead, yeah, I got that in me. Who can help me make this so? Hmm? There's a pie & punch reward in it for ya.

Holy Crap

2007-03-27T13:15:00.000-05:00

Someone searching Google for "larson, Oh, great! Now there goes my hat" found my site. What the? Whatever, right? Crap like that is keeping me the #3 "Blootered" page. Sweet.

Blow it out yer... what?

2007-03-27T04:27:00.000-05:00

So. If anyone cares, I'm doing a mock Hardcore Battle of the Bands tourney over at Fat, Drunk & Stupid. It mimics the NCAA tourney, but with hardcore bands; I just posted the top bracket, with the next to follow later today. Any input would be welcome. (See, I am charming).

This Charming Man: Day One

2007-03-26T22:33:00.000-05:00

So. My first day of being charming -- cuz I wanted to -- has come to an end. I'd say it's been a mild success. I mean, I actually did have to leave the house, so I was forced to interact with you jackasses and be all pleasant and shit. Well, I scored an apartment, so that was pretty good. I laid it on pretty thick, if ya really want to know about it. And I was nice to this fat old geezer who accidentally smashed a carton of eggs right in front of me at the grocery store. Normally I would have laughed and pointed -- but not this week. Anyway, I will ask this: are you people always this annoying? I mean, I was bothered all the time before, but now that I have to act charming (because I want to), it's doubly painful. It's like everybody I meet is suddenly fat, wearing sweatpants & sandals, gumsnapping, and reeking of soup whiff. God, I won't last this week. Now, I wouldn't have made the previous statement if I thought anyone were reading this; but, I just checked my stats, and it's clear that no one is (10 uniques, 10 firstees -- most of these hits were me tapping in using different ISPs). Anyway, I intend to keep wanting to be charming. Color me pleasant and attractive. And don't hate me because I'm beautiful. See ya, suckers...

This Charming Man?

2007-03-26T11:15:00.000-05:00

My father told me once that I can be charming -- when I want to be. Of course he was lying and/or gooned on the Guinness at the time; still, the remark has stuck with me. So. For sport, I want to be charming all week. Yes, this is not at all unlike the episode of Seinfeld in which George does the exact opposite of his natural impulses, leading him to score a hot chick and a front office job with the Yankees. I don't expect similar results, nor do I see this being easy or even accomplishable. I mean, I pretty much always call a jackass a jackass; if I see a damn, dirty hippie, I give him the stink-eye. These are my natural tendencies. Consider that I've posted lists to this site containing 350 things that make me want to barf, things like guys who say "yelloo!" when they answer the phone and that uppity Mr. Peanut; I get peeved pretty easily. But, I will enter Bizarro world and try not to be a damn bastard this week -- I will be this charming man (though I don't have a stitch to wear). I'll let ya know how it goes. (I don't plan on leaving the house today, so Day One should be a total -- if unprovable -- victory.)

Urge Underkill

2007-03-22T22:55:00.001-05:00

So. At the risk of being sassed by Angry John Sellers, I present here a mere Top 50 things that make me want to barf. Mind you, I could easily crunch out another 100 chunder-provoking items if I wanted to -- but I don't wanna. And that's all I have to say about that.

The Top 50 Things that Make Me Want to Barf (listed in no particular order)

1. Fanny packs
2. Raw bananas (it's the smell, it's the texture; I can eat cooked banana without blowing chunks, however -- banana pudding, banana/nut muffins, etc. What? Don't judge me, fatso.)
3. The term "dungarees"
4. Wolverine doing fruity Broadway shows
5. Hearing a chick whistle
6. When your stuff gets bogarted by a damn, dirty hippie
7. Dingbat fonts (yeah, I'm talking to you, Wingdings)
8. Special sauce
9. My chronically swollen adenoids
10. Having a doctor tell me that I have an irritated "duodenal bulb"
11. The smell of paste
12. Paste taste (worse than crayon, no doubt about it)
13. Having a dolphin as your junior high's mascot
14. Accidentally stepping in fresh dog crap -- with bare feet (once, this happened once -- sucked)
15. Seeing a dog eat another dog's crap
16. America's Funniest Home Videos (not funny, not funny)
17. Watching in horror as a guy goes feral during a NYC blackout and starts eating tuna straight out of the can -- while bartending
18. The idea of "discharge"
19. Having your grandfather show you his surgery scar
20. The thought of a penile catheter (yeah, I just puked all over my keyboard)
21. Drambuie (it, like Scottish cuisine, seems to be based on a dare
22. Sitar music
23. Peach Schnapps (too fruity)
24. An inevitable future as worm food
25. The thought of being buried alive

26. Getting stuck with a piece of b'day cake that's all globbed up with melted candle wax (happened at work on Monday -- sucked)
27. The term "schmear"
28. People with "moxie"
29. David Arquette
30. Seeing some old broad wearing hair curlers in public
31. Guys called Sherman who want to "do it to ya"
32. Pants that are too tight in the seat
33. Not being able to "touch this"
34. Guys who don't care that Jimmy crack corn
35. Not having TP for my bunghole
36. Having to live in a van down by the river
37. Feng shui
38. Side effects
39. a bubo
40. Guys who don't play within themselves
41. Hanging chads
42. Forgetting to rinse the top of a beer can before popping the top and taking a huge swig (seriously. check out the gunk on your cans, especially if you bought them at a ghetto deli)
43. Discovering that the heavy metal record you just bought has a slow song
44. Hearing Dick Vitate say "they're cupcakes, baby!"
45. Forgetting to mind the gap
46. Sweet tea
47. Pea whiff
48. "Professional" writers who use AOL
49. The word "piddle"
50. The word "squat"

He Came; He Stank; He Was Asked to Leave

2007-03-22T20:35:00.000-05:00

Well, today was another defeat. Not only did I bust a shoelace on the only pair of shoes that I've got with me at my current sublet as I scrambled to get my sorry ass to work this morning, but I also threw on a shirt that I only later discovered was soiled. God, I was really the stinky kid at the office today; people were gesturing at me. I'm a wreck.

In better news, I'm working on a script for the pilot of a new series: Law & Order: Goon Squad. Let me tell you, it will be awesome. I've also pitched Are You Smarter than a Retard? to Fox; I like my chances. There's a buzz; people are talking. No guff.

Check His Papers

2007-03-21T21:17:00.000-05:00

Okay, for those keeping score at home, add File Clerk to the absurdly long list of jobs I've held since graduating from college in 1992 that I started here and recently added to here. While living in Dublin, Ireland, I registered with a temp agency, and the fools placed me with a law firm to file stuff. I lasted one day. Perhaps I should have stayed and simplified the outfit's filing system by chucking documents, etc. right into the trash bin (à la Ignatius J. Reilly with Levy Pants)? Perhaps. But I didn't. They might have sued me.

Blootered... fuck yeah!

2007-03-20T19:20:00.000-05:00

So, this is sort of exciting: my blog is now the 3rd result in a Google search for the word "blootered" (among about 16,900 total matches currently). Somehow I moved up a spot overnight -- um, awesome. Yes, I've finally sneaked past the terribly boring Rampant Scotland site, which nobody should give a damn about. Suck it, RampantScotland.com! Now I just have to get past the miserable Urban Dictionary site and the absurd Wiktionary page to be the Grand Poo-Bah; well, the Blootered Poo-Bah. Of course to get to this point, it's taken a lot of hits to my page by guys searching for things like "matt larson spunk" (as I've previously mentioned) and "mcdonald's mcnugget bucket" (yes, it works). I don't think I want to know what sort of stray surfers I'll have to pull in to become top dog -- this could get ugly.

Speaking of ugly, here is today's list of the three worst people to be stuck on an elevator with: Liza Minnelli, that freaky gay guy that Minnelli was married to for a while, and Roseanne. That elevator is where dreams go to die.

Outside of these elevator situations, I think the worst place you could ever be is at the type of party where someone sticks his dick in the mashed potatoes. It would also be horrible beyond description to be stuck anywhere with this, which no doubt is guilty of having humped mushed-up spuds at some point in his wee little life. That's not fun for anybody.

News of the Weird

2007-03-19T17:51:00.000-05:00

Okay, so I've learned that someone found this site by doing a "Matt Larson spunk" Google search. What the hell is that!? And that's all I have to say about this.

So. Yesterday was another defeat. Never got to Brooklyn's St. Patrick's Day parade. I did land in an Irish pub, though. Knocked back several jars of Guinness before calling it a day. That was my big Sunday. Jealous?

That's it for me. I'm outta here.

Food for thought, Guinness for strength, Part Deux

2007-03-18T10:41:00.000-05:00

So. St. Patrick's Day. I must say that yesterday was NOT another defeat. It was really quite good, if ya really want to know about it (at least the parts I remember). Let's start with some of the lowlights: Having some ugly girl steal my Kiss Me I'm Irish button; Drinking a shot of Jagermeister -- I'm still not sure who bought that round, but it was bought. So you gotta drink it, right? Mistake; Stepping in the omnipresent slush puddles, drenching my feet and ruining my shoes; Bloodying my right hand (it's pretty bloody, don't ya know) and not knowing how I hurt the paw; Drinking a Bud Light at Jimmy's Corner (I like the bar, I hate that pish).

But there were mostly highlights. Mostly. And they are... Having a very cute girl give me a kiss (because I was wearing my Kiss Me I'm Irish button); walking the entire parade route -- 40 or so blocks -- and not dying; Being given an awesome green foam stovepipe hat, which I wore all day (sadly, the lid was destroyed en route back to Brooklyn. It's probably for the best.); Having a cute girl give me some green beads to wear; Getting a free pint of Guinness at the Kinsale because the bartender "knew" me (yes, I had tipped generously on previous occasions); Sassing what may or mayn't have been the French Embassy (it had a big-ass French flag flying); Somehow having the good sense to stop and buy the pair of pants that I needed (sucked carrying the bag, though; luckily, no one used it as a vomit bag); Hearing a pipe & drum band play "Celebration." That was wicked crazy; Having a firefighter give me a high-five. Normally I'm not a big high-fiver, but this was cool; Having a pint with a group of actual Irish pipers, although they sassed my green foam hat; Seeing a black dude with a shamrock painted on his cheek.

Anyway. St. Patrick's Day is my favorite day to be in NYC. It's just great. Everybody is out for a good time, and you can get away with stuff that would ordinarily get you pantsed (like wearing a big-ass green foam stovepipe hat). And, at least for one day, you can pretend that this isn't Puerto Rico North. Here's the best news, though: Brooklyn's parade starts at 1pm! Yep, we get the two-fer here. That sound you hear is my liver wheezing. The other sound is probably some topless fat guy screaming "WHOOOOO! AH'M IRISHHHHH!," which is really one of the lowlights of the holiday. Still.

Okay, so this was a pretty lame report. I blame the hangover. And society. But stay tuned for my Brooklyn report; I'll try to do better...

Food for thought, Guinness for strength

2007-03-17T10:41:00.000-05:00

Before I head out for what will surely end in awesome trouble, here's a trio of people that would SUCK to be stuck on an elevator with: Gilbert Gottfried, Boy George, Tori Spelling.

Okay, that's me well away. Check back tonight if you want to know how my St. Paddy's Day session goes. Seriously, stay tuned. C'mon! You know you want to.

P.S. The odds of my drinking whiskey today? Even. The odds of my drinking something fucking disgusting, such as Jagermeister? Dunno. It's a pk'em. We'll see how the Guinness settles. And who's buying the shots. The odds my "Kiss Me I'm Irish" button works and I get smooched by a hot Irish lassie? 20:1 against. The odds that some drunken local tough steals my "Irish" button: 1:2. Can't we all just get along!? The odds that that same local tough would kick my ass if I actually said that? It's a lock. The odds that I would kick my own ass if I said that? It's a lock.

Hit me with the digits

2007-03-16T23:57:00.001-05:00

My readership stats for the day (3/16/07)...

3 Unique Visitors
2 First-time Visitors
1 Returning Visitor (Macek, that's you, that is)

Sweet. I'm the King of the World [Wide Web]! Suck it, Gawker!

It's all a profit game

2007-03-16T08:21:00.000-05:00

I live in Brooklyn, NY (well, sort of), but I have no idea where Canarsie is. Where the hell is Canarsie? What the hell is Canarsie? Sounds like some sort of skin condition. Oh, great. Now I feel itchy. I've got the Canarsie. It's kind of like being stuck on an elevator with Harvey Fierstein, Barney Frank, and Yanni. There's no treatment for that.

Anyway, during a brief moment of clarity this morning, I remembered a few more jobs to add to my original list of positions I've held since graduating from college in 1992. Yes, this is an absurdly long list (and I'm still forgetting -- or repressing the memory of -- some). Now, mind you, I was never fired from any of these gigs. Actually, I did well in [almost] all of them; so well in fact that I was meant to take on real responsibility at nearly every stop. But who needed that? So I'd quit and move on. I mean, I always tried to do well, but really I was holding out for my big Hollywood break. Nah, that's bunk. I just couldn't commit to being a career stockbroker or corporate suit or animal caretaker. So I'd beat feet. In hindsight, it's clear that I never had viable exit strategies; hence, for example, I went from a sound-as-a-pound (if boring as hell) situation with Ford of Europe to working as a two-quid-per-hour "lounge boy" at a pub in Dublin, Ireland. This probably explains why I'm now a 36-year-old fact-checker. At least I don't live in Canarsie, I guess.

Anyway, for those keeping score at home, add the following to the list.

PIZZA COOK
PIZZERIA SHIFT MANAGER
GIFT SHOP SALES CLERK (@ the Seattle Zoo)
TEMP GIFTWRAPPER (@ University Bookstore, Seattle; this did NOT go well; I didn't/don't know how to wrap gifts. I also can't fold clothes. I had to quit a job at a department store when I was in high school because a woman told me that I folded clothes like her three-year-old son -- she was right.)

Check out the luggage rack!

2007-03-15T11:59:00.000-05:00

So. Like a child or a dog, I make poor decisions when left on my own. Consider my revamping of this site. My goal was to make it look a little less like a mental defective created it. Success? You make the call. The content, however, will remain the same (I am, after all, a known mental defective). Yes, this means that I will continue to post lists of things that make me want to barf; I'll continue to consider conundrums like what's worse: receiving a surprise package containing stool or having your leg humped by a drunken Verne Troyer (fyi: I go with the latter -- big-time); And I'll forever be playing the who-would-it-suck-most-to-be-stuck-with-on-an-elevator game [that I invented -- fact; you can source it, sucker]. Of course I have a readership of only two: Angry John Sellers and the Macek Collective. A whopping two readers. Sweet. So I got that going for me. Until they pooh-pooh the new design. [And if you do, and if you do...]

Okay, that's it, I'm outta here.

Here, I open my mouth, so to speak, and PROVE that I'm a moron

2007-03-13T10:32:00.000-05:00

Well, I took a brief break from playing the greatest game ever -- Who Are the Three Worst People to Be Stuck on an Elevator With? this afternoon to meet Angry John Sellers' dare: yes, I have another list of 150 things that make me want to barf. And yes, I really do have too much free time on my hands. Idle hands, idle hands. Still. This list didn't take long to create; and I don't believe that there are any dupes with the last list; if you find one, I'll buy you a biscuit. And just for the record, here are three people that would really suck to be stuck on an elevator with: Steven Tyler, Renee Zellweger, Stephen Hawking. Actually, I'm pretty sure that I would barf if I were stuck on an elevator with that trio. Although that suckfecta isn't on my honk list, here are 150 things that are...

Another Top 150 Things That Make Me Want to Barf (in no particular order)

1. Incense
2. Honeydew melon
3. Doo-wop music
4. Little Richard
5. Mad TV
6. Lame Elvis impersonators
7. That fucking walrus that hung around with Tennessee Tuxedo
8. Skinks
9. Skanks
10. Skunks
11. English muffins (seriously, just a dose of muffin whiff makes me want to upchuck)
12. Orange marmalade (uh, yuck)
13. Dunkin Donuts "reduced fat" blueberry muffins (it's bad enough to do something fruity like order a fruity muffin at the Donuts, but this particular breed tastes not unlike lint -- belly button lint [don't ask])
14. Smithwick's (it's pish)
15. Mystery meat
16. Tan lines caused by wearing socks (seriously. after a dire burning at a Braves-Nationals game last summer, I have permanent lines on my ankles -- sucks!)
17. Getting gooned on cheap beer, specifically Pabst Blue Ribbon
18. Pus
19. this! (scroll down)
20 Lime juice
21. Cold refried beans
22. Cold gravy
23. Seeing a dude apply chapstick
24. Dr. Phil
25. The slang term "groovy"

26. The slang term "far out"
27. The Grateful Dead
28. Grateful Dead fans
29. Guys over the age of 22 who "wake & bake"
30. Ash tray whiff
31. Seeing a cigarette butt that's covered in an old lady's lipstick
32. Ragweed
33. Wicker (god, I hate wicker)
34. People who shop at Pier Imports (for wicker -- or rattan -- furniture)
35. David Schwimmer
36. "Television for Women"
37. Women's basketball (the worst sport ever)
38. Mad About You
39. Gauze
40. Totting the nod (No, I don't know what this means either. But it makes me want to puke.)
41. Public nose pickers
42. Booger eaters
43. Zoo whiff
44. Dudes called Kenneth (Not Kens. Kenneths. Fuck their frequency.)
45. Crabapples
46. Road apples
47. Tater blight
48. When you roll a Rollo to your stupid friend and he doesn't roll it back
49. Overtipping to keep from getting hassled (guilty)

50. When you're trying to order a Whaler at the BK drive-through and your jackass friend sasses the box (Never sass the box. 'Nuff said.)
51. Chives
52. Being told to "get bent"
53. Mildew stank
54. Chutzpah
55. Damn dirty sons of bitches
56. Weak coffee
57. Chicory
58. Midgets with 'tude
59. Grapefruit
60. Tartar sauce
61. Steak tartare
62. Flabby Lycra-wearers
63. Semicolons
64. Flatulent geezers
65. Shit-breathed dental hygenists
66. Mealworms
67. The idea of bed bugs
68. Pig latin
69. Buckeyes
70. Yams
71. Burlap
72. The New York Times' "Metropolitan Diary" column
73. Blues Traveller
74. Bathroom Monkeys that hate to clean
75. Films with talking babies

76. Finding an old potato that's got gnarly shoots in the fridge
77. A fridge's "crisper" drawer (what a scam that is)
78. The word "uvula"
79. Realizing that I have a uvula
80. Pone
81. The clearly retarded -- and pantless -- Mr. Bubble
82. The smell of cooking Hormel's Corned Beef Hash
83. Grizzle
84. The word "groin"
85. Dudes who wear slippers
86. Disco music
87. Getting slimed
87. Recovering important stuff accidentally dropped in the toilet, like your wallet
88. The reek of death
89. The smell of napalm in the morning
90. Hi and Lois
91. Being told by a local tough that he can "crap bigger than me"
92. Ride's Carnival of Light
93. Cotton candy
94. "Guys in drag" humor (uh, Milton Berle pretty much covered that to death about 50 years ago -- move on)
95. I Love Lucy
96. Brent Musburger
97. Show tunes
98. Non-dry heat
99. Mimes
100. Fancypants dandies

101. Transfats (I think; I'm really not sure what those are)
102. Frisbee golfers
103. Guys who refer to pizza as 'za (As in, "Dude, I'm so hepped up on goofballs. Let's order some 'za.")
104. Sha Na Na
105. The unfrosted side of Kellogs' Frosted Mini Wheats
106. The term "munchies"
107. Smelling what the Rock is cooking
108. Jalapeño peppers
109. Not having a future so bright that I gotta wear shades
110. Having the theme of my high school's senior party being "Futures so bright you gotta wear shades" (lame)
111. When an old asian woman carrying a bag of fish forces her ass into the too small seat next to you on the subway
112. The word "panties"
113. Massive Attack
114. The smell of old coins
115. Liverwurst
116. Getting clocked with a forearm shiver
117. James Carville's accent
118. Not knowing why you don't bring me flowers anymore
119. When they send in the clowns
120. Squid
121. Scabies
122. Not knowing the correct answer to the "paper or plastic" question
123. Accidentally touching a piece of used chewing gum stuck under your desk at work
124. Seeing milk come out of a real chowderhead's nose when he laughs hard
125. Seeing some damn kid blow a snot bubble

126. Moobs (man boobs)
127. The term "pokie" (meaning jail)
128. When a chick says "I gotta hit the can"
129. Getting snubbed
130. Diaper loads
131. Getting concussed (However, I love the strange word "concussed." It does not make me want to barf)
132. PAM cooking spray
133. Mousse
134. Lazy wine-swilling cheeseheads. I.e. the French. And Wisconsinites.
135. Tab cola (I've had one and only one Tab in my entire life. I drank it on a dare. I puked.)
136. The smell coming out of the backseat during a long roadtrip
137. Dandruff showers when some jackass shakes their flaky noggin
138. Fruitcake
139. Boils
140. Existential angst
141. Fear of going permanently berzerker
142. Naugahyde
143. The bastardly Greedy Smurf and Brainy Smurf
144. Suet
145. Jaunty tunes
146. The Jaundice
147. Creamed corn
148. Spastic colons
149. Pink eye
150. Those fucking milk moustache ads

Game On

2007-03-11T09:15:00.000-05:00

So. Yesterday was another defeat. Didn't accomplish a single thing that I was meant to do, including buying pants. My hangover actually got worse as the day went on. How does that happen? I don't know, but I do know that I'm still not fit. And I have to work. Sweet Hitler's ghost! Anyhoo, expect another list of 150 things that make me want to barf sharpish -- probably Tuesday, after I complete my move from the horrible UES to the tolerable Cobble Heights, Brooklyn. Today, though, I feel as if I ought to introduce the greatest game ever: Who Are the Three Worst People to Be Stuck on an Elevator With? Here are the simple rules (abridged version -- I have a fucking steamin' headache and can't sweat the details just now)...

1. Consider yourself absolutely stuck on that elevator -- there's no escaping through an emergency hatch or having Scotty beam you out of there or something. And you're gonna be jammed up on that lift for a long time. Several hours, minimum.

2. You have to choose THREE PEOPLE to be stuck with -- any three LIVING PEOPLE, though. Midgets don't count as only half a person; a ventriloquist's dummy or a sock puppet (think Lamb Chop) doesn't count at all (so you could have three ventriloquists, plus their dummies); huge disgusting fat guys count as only one guy (as convincing an argument as it might be, Louie Anderson will not count as two dudes); no cartoon characters, etc. THREE LIVING HUMANS!

3. You don't have any diversions like a video iPod or even a cellphone. Your companions are likewise curiously free of any such devices. However, if a person that you're stuck with is known for playing a musical instrument (think of the Silversun Pickups keyboard player) or talking into a microphone (think Dick Vitale), etc., then they've got that gear. You have been warned.

4. Everyone is sober and dressed in their normal kits. This does mean, though, that if we're talking about a swimmer, say Greg Louganis, he's wearing a Speedo. Fucking horror show!

Okay, that's all I've got for rules (for now).

So. Here are two quick examples, trios that would really suck to be trapped on an elevator with. You'd probably go feral as a result.

1. Joanna Newsom (with her harp), Newsom's father (thereby preventing any chance of scoring a gam job from Joanna), and Norm! Clarke, the eyepatch-wearing gossip columnist for the Las Vegas Review-Journal (to see the patch, click here.

2. Joan Rivers, her daughter, and Jim "Mad Money" Cramer.

Let the games begin.

You'll Get Nuttin and Like It

2007-03-10T11:02:00.000-05:00

So. I was at a deli this a.m. ordering an egg & cheese roll to feed my hangover when I heard some jackass non-ironically say, "Can't we all just get along?" What a homo. Apparently, this was his aghast reaction after another guy cut in front of him at the register. Of course we can't all just get along. I mean, take this Snooty McLadypants, for instance. I want nothing to do with him. I loathe him, if you really want to know about it. Tolerance, shmolerance. If you're lame enough to say something like "can't we all just get along" in response to some fat guy cutting in line ahead of ya, well, you deserve to be inconvenienced. Carrying it further, there's just no fucking way I'm going to ever get along with some damn honkey who wears dreads (for example). I mean, forget about it. I see one of these guys and he's immediately on my list [of things that make me want to barf -- see my last post]. Granted, I'm not exactly the most easygoing person in the world. But. I'm not "just getting along" with everybody for the sake of getting along -- most people suck donkey balls (that's a fact) and need to move it (or lose it). God, I should have kicked McLadypants right in the nuts.

And that's how my day started. I knew I should have just gone to Dunkin' Donuts like I always do, but my sorry, lazy ass chose the closest feeding hole, this lame-ass deli that known collie-molesters frequent (according to sources; I'm gathering proof). God, this day is just ruined. I don't think I can recover from the McLadypants incident. Call me I.R. Pissed. But. I have things to do, including the following (in no particular order):

1. Pick up the copy of Angry John Sellers' book that I ordered from an indie bookshop in Brooklyn. Holy crap, you should have seen the guy working the info counter when I placed the order -- what a fruit! I'm pretty sure he's the type that wears, well, ladypants. Thank god I don't have any proof.

2. Buy some pants. I usually go to Daves New York there on 6th Ave for my kit. Good stuff. But you get cased like eight times whenever you're in there -- I'm an adult! I'm not a shoplifter, goddammit! And I can find my own pants! If I don't find my size (yes, usually some sort of "husky" measure, although I prefer the term "relaxed fit") I'll ask (or more likely flee).

3. Possibly have some beers with the person that I'll be subletting from starting Tuesday. That'll be a game-time decision, ladies and germs.

4. Vomit. Yeah, I probably will need to evacuate my guts the hard way -- there's some serious super-sized Beck's rot in there, plus the lousy egg & cheese roll I ate.

5. Do another Top 150 Things That Make Me Want to Barf list. Yeah, that monkey-fondler (I have proof) Angry John Sellers has challenged me to do another. What a rube! That's like daring a fat guy to eat a free slice of pie! Of course I will do it. It'll be so easy that I can't even believe it. There are lots of things that make me want to hurl. Plus, I gotta fill this stupid blog space with some kind of pap, yeah? (pap: that word -- and the stuff behind it - really makes me want to barf)

6. Move my truckster to a Thursday-side parking spot. I own a Ford Ranger pickup truck (jealous much!? Hmmm!? My question to you is: How the hell do you haul stuff? I can haul pretty much anything, except ass, in my truckster.) which is useful. It's not a bad truck, but it's not great either, is it? Still. It's not like it's a Corsica or something gay like that.

Okay, this act has grown tiresome. See you in the funny papers, suckers! Larson out! buh

Get the bucket for vomitis. The large bucket.

2007-03-05T10:50:00.000-05:00

The Top 150 Things That Make Me Want to Barf (in no particular order)

1. Scissor Sisters
2. Guys who wear sandals
3. Yoga
4. Damn dirty hippies
5. Gumsnapping
6. The word "pee"
7. Popsicles (especially grape or the green ones)
8. Popcorn whiff
9. Harvey Danger
10. Guacamole
11. Dudes who say "yelloo!" when they answer the phone
12. Squirrels
13. Blood pudding
14. Finding snot on your desk, phone and keyboard at work
15. Public restrooms
16. Any discussion re: jam rolls or the associated biological functions
17. Those toilet paper commercials where the bears are wiping their bear asses
18. The word bloated, in some contexts
19. Finding a pile of hobo stool in the stairwell of a parking garage or elsewhere
20. Seeing a used condom on the sidewalk
21. People who wear sweatpants in public for non exercise-related activities, e.g. walking to Dunkin Donuts for a feeding
22. Head cheese
23. Whoopi Goldberg
24. People who make "happy" noises while eating
25. Lipsmacking eaters

26. People who call you while they're in the bathroom
27. Katie Couric
28. Asparagus
29. Honkeys wearing dreads
30. Phish
31. Having to be near someone who's clipping their finger- or toenails
32. Topless fat guys who scream "whoo!" at top volume during sporting events
33. Daylight Savings Time
34. The onion bits in Taco Bell burritos and on McDonald's hamburgers
35. Guys who "think outside the box"
36. NightQuil
37. Geezer whiff
38. Limp-wristed handshakers
39. The goop left behind in pans used to cook pasta (at least when I cook pasta)
40. Having to plunge a toilet that your jackass roommate left clogged
41. Tecate
42. Non native Italians who say "ciao"
43. "Mean people suck" bumper stickers
44. Scientologists
45. The word "tinkle"
46. The word "potty"
47. Ivory soap
48. The stankin' worm stew on sidewalks after a rain
49. Marmite
50. Mystery stains on motel linen

51. Kimchi
52. Knuckle Sandwiches
53. Crotch rot
54. Lispy fruits
55. Buttermilk
56. Lutefisk
57. Scat
58. Hooch (no, not the mutt from "Turner & Hooch")
59. Creamy peanut butter
60. Water chestnuts
61. Don Mclean's "American Pie"
62. Oysters
63. The horrible sensation caused by biting on a towel like Jerry Tarkanian
64. The expression "cream your jeans"
65. Berets
66. Celine Dion
67. Fat-free cream cheese
68. Accidentally stepping on a used Kleenex
69. Witnessing an old Asian woman spit
70. When a seabird shits on your bare shoulder (luckily, this has only happened to me once -- so far)
71. Blue Collar TV
72. Finding ligaments in a Chicken McNugget (parts are not parts)
73. Finding a worm in an apple that I purchased at the grocery store
74. Biting into a piece of bread before noticing the mold growing on it
75. Acid jazz

76. The thought of a midget, dwarf or whatever the hell Verne Troyer is humping my leg
77. When a jackass friend shows you the accident-scene photos his cop father gave him
78. Grits
79. Kool-Aid
80. Jagermeister
81. Watching a dog drag his wormy ass around
82. The idea of earwigs
83. Joanna Newsom's singing
84. Long-time listeners but first-time callers
85. Black licorice
86. Scottie Pippen
87. Ryne Sandberg
88. Turbulence
89. Dr. Pepper
90. Lime Jello
91. Black jelly beans
92. Green jelly beans
93. Maggots
94. Accidentally swallowing a damn insect
95. The word "turd"
96. When people pronounce "coupon" as Q-pon
97. A fear of change
98. Circus peanuts
99. Smarties
100. Aerosol hairspray reek

101. Guys who non ironically give ya the "talk to the hand" gesture
102. Al Gore's accent
103. Clowns
104. Being described as "husky"
105. Grown men who refer to their fathers as "daddy"
106. Castor oil
107. When it's like Africa hot
108. Haiku
109. Chicken wings
110. Seeing someone crack their back
111. Dentists who try to sell you on teeth whitening
112. Dingleberries
113. The word "slacks"
114. New Ageism
115. Local newscasters
116. Chopsticks as headgear
117. Trapped wind
118. The term "oleo"
119. Jay Leno's "headlines" humor
120. Ben Affleck's success
121. Pete Burns
122. Rhubarb (it's a plant)
123. Three Musketeers candy bars
124. Taylor Hicks
125. Bread & butter pickles

126. Pepsi
127. Garrison Keillor
128. Sock puppets
129. Macramé
130. Cirque du Soleil
131. Dudes who wear ponytails
132. Slack-jawed yokels
133. Huckleberries
134. The prostate exam during the annual physical with Dr. Jellyfinger
135. The pain resulting from having dilated pupils on a sunny day after a glassies exam
136. Cannonballing Carl Spackler Bent with cheap red wine
137. The term "luncheon meat"
138. The sequels to "Caddyshack" and "Slap Shot"
139. Cold, dry toast
140. Curry whiff
141. Faxe (Danish lager sold in liter-sized oil cans)
142. Fluff
143. Those Discovery Channel programs showing things like women giving birth or eye surgery, which I always seem to land on when I'm flipping through the channels
144. This goddam film we had to watch in my third grade class about horses which included an "in action" birthing scene
145. Jive talk
146. Pretty much everything about the 1960s and 1970s
147. That uppity Mr. Peanut
148. Thinking about shingles, piles, lupus, and/or goiter
149. Albinos
150. Hunt's "catsup"

Titty Tetanus

2007-02-26T23:22:00.000-05:00

So. I just paid an eighter for a sixer of Bud. Eight bucks for six tins of Bud. That's Bud, right, the stuff that PROMOTES its use of RICE as an ingredient ("best barley, rice, and choicest hops;" check the can muthafucka; and how weird is it that it's best barley, and some fucking choice hops, but just regular honkey ass rice--wha? I need answers, people). You may be interested to know that I recently paid only $4.78 for the same dose of ricey braw at a Wal-Mart in Columbia, SC. That's fookin cheapers. But. I had to have this gear, if only cuz I may or mayn't be suffering from tetanus. No guff, man, this might be my last suppers. I caught my hand on a rusty nail--I sort of feel lockjaw coming on sharpish. No, I'm not foaming at the mouth or anything, but I don't feel thrilled to bits. Prolly cuz I paid eight bucks for a sixer of Bud, though, if ya really want to know about it. Stupid. I really need to kick my own ass. Anyhoo.

Here are three things I really care about

Detroit sports (including U of M), except the Pistons
Jesus & Mary Chain
Burritos (gotta be sans gwauk, dude)

And here are three things that make me want to barf

Guys who wear sandals
Yoga/Sting (pk'em)
Rice

Mind Riot

2007-02-24T13:13:00.000-05:00

So. What would be worse? Having a midget, dwarf, or whatever the hell Verne Troyer is hump your leg? Or receiving a surprise package in the mail containing human feces? I can't decide. Unfortunately, this is the kind of stuff I think about in the morning before I've had any coffee. God, I need a cup of the bean ASAP. I think I'd rather get the stool box. Can you imagine how bad it would be, though, if you were expecting some sweet new pair of shoes or a DVD or something, but instead you got a box of shit? God! That would be horrible. But the idea of a little guy humping your leg is just unbearable. Once they get started on their business, I'm told, you just gotta let 'em go till they finish. Or else.

Irony Chef

2007-02-17T15:13:00.000-05:00

What the hell is that goopy spunk left behind in the pan after cooking pasta? Yuck. I mean, it's pasta and it's water. What's causing this carbo-jaculation? Am I doing something wrong? Overcooking? What the hell? Granted, I'm not the gourmet around here. From now on, I'm only eating takeout. Book it.

Snow Day? More Like Hell Day

2007-02-14T15:27:00.000-05:00

So. My big interview at a prominent sports mag was postponed today because of this bitch-assed Nor'easter smacking down on the East Coast. That meant I had, more or less, a free day. How did I spend this time? Yep, I went to Dunkin' Donuts to feed and surf the Net; interestingly, D'D seems to have penetrated Brooklyn like Starbucks did Manhattan. Well, perhaps that's not that interesting. Regardless, here are the lowlights from my afternoon down the Donuts....

[note: I'm into my 7th pint of Guinness at this, eh, juncture, so I can't be held accountable for how poorly written this slop is. Or how dull. I'm sure it sucks monkey testicles. But who can tell when you've got this many fucking beers in ya? Ya got a problem, ya write a letter to somebody. But don't bother me. Happy Valentine's Day, suckers!]

A big disgusting old guy comes in and tries to repair his umbrella, which is clearly in tatters and unrepairable. He eventually gives up, cursing the damn thing and throwing it at the counter. After this minor victory, he decides to stay for a cup of joe. Here's how he drinks: sluurrrrp, lip smack, [punctuated by] a hopelessly gruesome "ah!" happy noise. Repeat. And repeat. Same again. And again. You get the point. It's amazing how a such a small cup could actually be bottomless. I think he was fake drinking after a certain point (possibly unintentionally), which is really perverse. I hate old people.

After grandpa tits left, I was basically alone in the joint. I had a fine seat at the counter running along the front of the shop. Enter a huge fat woman. Of course I notice her as she enters--you couldn't miss this wheezing tub of lard. She heads up to order, and I'm able to forget about her. And then the next thing you know, this slob is slapping her massive ass RIGHT DOWN NEXT TO ME! Fuckballs! I mean, there are empty seats everywhere, but the fuck chooses to sit immediately next to me in what is really a very tight spot (especially for this blob). And her counter spot was dirty! Whoever had been sitting there earlier had left a muffin's worth of crumbs all over the damn place. Anyway, so I'm like, "hey, what's up?" I totally gave her the stink-eye. She mumbles something like "sorry," but she's already devouring a egg-and-sausage roll, so she might have said "so good!" That fat fuck. Yes, I immediately left. Before I got ate.

I returned about an hour later as I needed to do some more Web surfing. Luckily, la bimpa was gone. So were the crumbs. I bet she ate those, too, the hungry hungry bastard. Anyhoo, I'm there for like six minutes before these two yuppie Heights' mothers and their gaggle of preppy children enter. Also entering: chaos. These kids immediately go berseker, running amok: screaming, repeatedly opening and slamming the drinks coolers doors, whining for food--they basically just sucked ass. Did the fuck mothers do a goddam thing to get them under control? Fuck no! I could hear -- no feel -- the guy at the counter cursing these circumstances. Fair play to that poor bastard. For the next 30 minutes, these stupid, worthless "parents" go on and on about how special their annoying little brats are, all the while stuffing their fat little pie holes with donuts and chocolate milk. Yeah, that really helped matters. These fucks were all over the place. If only I owned a Taser. If only.

Finally, these bastard broods leave. Peace. For about 46 seconds. Then: school lets out. Enter about a squillion little fucking middle school punks. It was horrible. I mean, you just wanted to die. Who can enjoy their chocolate glazed when packs of local toughs are sacking the joint? The dude behind the counter nearly collapsed. Me too.

And that's really all I have to say about this afternoon. Other stuff happened. But you probably don't want to know about it. I mean, you really don't want to know about it. Still, Dunkin' Donuts is the shit.

Mattpower

2007-02-13T20:08:00.000-05:00

Here's a list of jobs I've held since graduating from college in 1992. I'm sure I'm forgetting at least a few. If you have a longer list (relative to time elapsed), I'd suggest you simply give up and beome a rent boy/hooker. Unless you already have been or currently are a rent boy/hooker; if so, I will buy you a USPS Postal Exam study guide. Go to work!

Purchasing Finance Trainee (w/ Ford Motor Co.)
Beertender
Barback
Waiter (very briefly)
Dishwasher
Operations Trainee (at a financial services firm)
Stockbroker (for two days)
Janitor
Animal Care Technician
Customer Service Associate
Front Desk Clerk (at a dive hotel)
Fact-checker (freelance & staff)
Associate Editor (fact. check the masthead!)
Freelance writer (well, sort of)
MIS Tech
Shipping Clerk
Facilities Management Associate
Clipping Service Clerk (for two hours)
Student. Several times, several different schools. I made it a job!
Handyman
Landscaper
Dope Dealer's Assistant (helped him harvest a crop; it paid quite well)
Bookseller
Temp Textbook Clerk
Researcher (for a construction trade pub; I was really a telemarketer, but I was called a researcher)

---------
In no way related, I'm watching the Westminster Kennel Club dog. I think I watch because there's a chance that a dog will go berserker and start humping some guy's leg or bite the head off a Chihauhua or something. That would make up for having to see all those fat lady dogtrainers in cheap sequined pantsuits. I'd love to have these broads do a "beauty" pageant. There would NOT be a swimsuit competition. There would be fetching and barking competitions. I may sell this idea to Fox.

2007-02-10T18:10:00.000-05:00

Does anyone still care about the following bands? That is, does anyone ever intentionally listen to these bands anymore? No, according to sources. If so, however, kick yourself right in the nuts.

O.M.D.
Fine Young Cannibals
INXS
Jesus Jones
Too Much Joy
Harvey Danger
Depeche Mode
Violent Femmes
Dead or Alive
Midnight Oil
The Farm

(Yes, I was cleaning out some old CDs recently.)

Oh, and I'm gonna be big with lists until I can find an apartment in NYC--I have no time just now to be interesting, meaningful, or anything important. My crib search, so far, has been one giant failure; and, it's getting worse. But hey, who doesn't love lists? Nobody, that's who.

2007-02-03T11:14:00.000-05:00

Click here if you like things that rule. Otherwise, click here.

2007-01-27T11:42:00.000-05:00

An actual news headline today. From the New York Times.

"Some black music lovers prefer hipster styles and the rock scene, even if it makes them outsiders." (source)

Wow. That is journalism. Here's a story I'm working on. "Some white people prefer to wear dreads, even if it makes them complete assholes and hated by everyone." Who knew?

Meanwhile, here is further proof that we are on the verge of losing the use of actual English to communicate for a language composed entirely of emoticons. One day, the following e-mail message I received in response to a housing wanted ad I posted on Craigslist will be considered the missing link in lingusitic evolution.

i have an Apt to let out,get back if you re still on the look out.k
Hype

Seriously, I don't even know why I get out of bed anymore.

"He had more paper than a person generally carries."

2007-01-26T19:58:00.000-05:00

I have nothing to say today. Nothing. Not that I ever do have anything to say. But today I really have nothing to say. So here's this. Some Dork Brought in to Address Civics Class

Also, it's my theory that everything should be caffeinated. We've got caffeinated water. Beer, too. And here's a good idea.

Sweet Mother of Jesus

2007-01-25T19:33:00.000-05:00

That's a dude? Oh, yeah. It's Pete Burns. Damn my eyes, man!

I Am Gobbo. Hear Me Roar.

2007-01-24T23:04:00.000-05:00

If there's a worse show than Blue Collar TV, I don't ever want to see it. I'm just not a fan of watching slack-jawed yokels make jokes about being slack-jawed yokels. In fact, I'm just not a fan of slack-jawed yokels. Period. If you watch Blue Collar TV, you are probably a mental defective. Hee-yuck!

I'm also upset today because I got the following response to a Craigslist ad I posted to try to find an apartment sublet.

I have 4br,3bath,front yard pool and garage in the {Candler} area im looking to rent free to someone neat, responsible, hardworking and trustworthy too, pls email me only if you still looking for a place. i hope to find someone soon. nothing is free , there is always a catch but im sure this is the best offer and i hope interests you if you fit my demands. pls serious inquiries only!

Jason Lewis.

What a douchebag. His subject line was "Hello !!!" I shit you not. Yes, there was a space between the O and the first exclamation point. Here's the perv's e-mail, in case anybody feels like sending him an e-mail to tell him that they aren't looking for a place, and his "demands" can go straight to hell: lewis_jason002@yahoo.com.

Gobbo out. Call me I.R. Pissed tonight.

2007-01-23T21:21:00.000-05:00

Although I almost never make the mistake of going back and reading what I've posted previously, I did peruse the jibba-jabba I spilled earlier today. God, I may have to kick my own ass (unless someone beats me to it). Awful. Simply awful. Although I don't think I should delete this nonsense, I will bury it with stuff that doesn't suck (i.e. stuff written by other people). Here's a sweet little dose of goodness. (Note to self: stop using the word "although.") Writer Frank O'Connor has a slightly better translation (it's from Old Irish), which I will try to find. This is the version that Seamus Heaney refers to in one of his poems in District and Circle, although I can't remember which one right now. (Fuck, another "although," and displaying a total lack of memory! If I only had a brain....)

The Viking Terror

Bitter is the wind tonight.
It tosses the ocean's white hair.
Tonight I fear not the fierce warriors of Norway
Coursing on the Irish Sea.

-- Anon., (Irish, 9th century)

2007-01-22T18:06:00.000-05:00

Note: I apologize for the previous post about puking in the sink of a bar's bathroom; this is a family site, and I crossed a line (albeit a very fuzzy line that I couldn't walk). I was gooned on P.B.R. and really can't be held accountable for any of my bloggered actions (fact; book it). I blame society. Yeah, society. And Taylor Hicks. God, I hate that guy.

Gratuity

I remember when this same
sasssy beertender told me
the same stories about the same
little town, and how it was then.
“Those were such boring days,”
she repeats as I slump further
down against the rail and deeper
into my drink; I notice the same
smile and the same
way of pressing against the bar,
her same busty smile.

With a wink,
she proves that she
doesn't care that I’ve
been listening.

He’s buying it,
as I did. Suckers.
We’re the same kind
of sorry suckers.

Jaysis, isn’t it all the same; yes,
of course I’ll have another

Same again
Same again

2007-01-22T10:44:00.000-05:00

Last Friday, I barfed in the bathroom sink of a crap local restaurant/bar. I probably should have hit the toilet instead, but this particular shitter would have been named Worst Toilet in Scotland, if it had been in the running for that dubious honor. I'm tellin' ya, I wouldn't put my ass on that scatbox, so there was no way I was sticking my face anywhere near it. So I chose the sink, which was in a somewhat better state (i.e. I probably would put my ass on it), to make my hefty deposit. I'm not sure how I'm able to make decisions like that when I'm about to hurl. Vast experience under similar conditions, I s'pose. God, I really do need a bucket for vomitis to carry with when I'm out on a session (remember me at the holidays). Worse than throwing up in a public place on this particular occasion, though, was the fact that I'd seriously chunder-clogged the sink at this particular shop on this particular afternoon: there was no way I was getting out of there without the owner, who happened to be the only employee on duty, discovering that I had fucked up his bathroom sink by puking in it. You see, I'd been the only customer for the past two hours; the bossman had used the pisser just minutes before I honked in there; and, the joint was about to close. This, of course, meant that it was time for the surly, likely feral, owner to clean the bog as part of his shutdown (no, I shouldn't say it was time for him to clean; let's say it was time for him to make sure that no one had fucking puked in the sink). There was no way I was getting out of there without him discovering what I'd done. And I had really fucked up that sink. He was gonna need a plunger, Drano, and probably an auger to get those pipes clean. What did I do? I panicked, which nearly caused me to barf again (where's a sink when ya need one?). And that's all I have to say about that.

In no way related, my new favorite slang expression for 'pregnant' is "in the puddin' club." Previously, I enjoyed "up the stick."

Girls Are Like Metaphors

2007-01-15T16:14:00.000-05:00

I got into an argument last night -- well, technically it was this morning -- with this damn girl about metaphors. She was all hot-to-trot for the use of metaphor, claiming that it was the only worthwhile literary device. I disagreed. In fact, I'm rather anti-metaphor. Just say what you have to say, for fuck's sake; use the patter of everyday language and you've done something. Granted, I'm a fan of kennings and synedoches, but most metaphors (and people who try to use them) are just phoney. Wittgenstein could fuck up a metaphor. He had a right to write in metaphor. But he was a philosopher. Weird. Yes, I was drunk last night/this morning. Yes, I'm a little drunk right now. Still. She was very much mistaken. She was kind of hot, though. And the weird thing is that a discussion about a dead whale shark at the Atlanta Aquarium led us into this damn argument. She suggested that the "corporate" mentality at the aquarium was culpaple in the big fish's death. And it was all downhill from there. So to speak. It was pretty heated.

Anyhoo. Here's a dash of Tom Leonard, a poet who rarely uses metaphor. And he's fucking awesome.

100 Differences Between Poetry and Prose

poetry stops before the end of the margin
you can talk about prose without mentioning school
you don’t read poetry to get from Glasgow to Saltcoats without noticing

John Menzies doesn’t stock poetry
whoever heard of war & peace having the line as a unit of semantic yield
you can call a poem what you want and say its poetic licence

poetry is the subliminal history of linguistic shape
ahem
poetry has four wheels, two wings and a pair of false teeth

poetry is the heart and the brain divided by the lungs
poetry is the world’s oldest cock and fanny story

you don’t get prose in anapaestic dimeters
nobody publishes their first slim volume of prose
aristotle never wrote The Proses

if you dribble past five defenders, it isn’t called sheer prose
poets are the unacknowledged thingwaybobs

poetry is quintessentially contrapuntal
the square root of poetry is an ever-evolving quark
whenever Vergil looked in the mirror, he beheld an epic Latin poet

poetry is all the juicy bits in the juiciest order
poetry is jellied religion
pascal: if your labourers complain too much, try taking them to a poetry reading

prose goes scchhpludd
prose goes scchhpludd scchhpludd clomp clomp clomp
are you sitting comfortably

then I’ll end

My Goddamn Hearing

2007-01-13T23:27:00.000-05:00

I just heard a faggypants poofball say, "I'm a big Hemingway guy. I'm a HUUGE Hemingway guy. We were just in Spain, where he did SO much writing." God damn it. I blame Key West for this. And cute six-toed cats. The bell has tolled for me.

Oh, no. Now I've heard a guy say, "If you're friends with the world, then you're an enemy of god." Color me distraught. .

As I've told some people before, I have nearly perfect hearing (according to sources). That's the curse of my people. Granted, when an E.N.T. doc told me that I had perfect hearing (for my age), I thought he was bucking for a tip. But I do hear a lot of stuff. I hear too much stuff. Damn my ears, man!

Will Clown for Food

2007-01-13T22:51:00.000-05:00

An actual Craigslist posting. The listing was placed in the "local news & views," section, which somehow seems grossly inappropriate.

***
clowning for parties/grandopening

Reply to: comm-262061712@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-01-13, 1:11PM EST

HI,I am JennyBear the clown.I will clown for your party or grandopening by telling stories and playing games.I will facepaint for an extra fee.If its a birthday-I will bring a gift for birthday person or animal.I am fun loving and out going clown.
***

I really have no response to that. Except, who doesn't hate a "fun loving and out going clown" who charges extra to "facepaint"? And who wants a fucking clown that tells stories? That's just stupid. Hey, great idea! Let's celebrate the opening of our new store by having some damn clown come tell stories and play games! God, that would not be good for business. That would not be good for anybody, really.

In other news, I just discovered that I had enabled this blog's "comments moderation" function, apparently when I launched Blootered. This means that comments aren't displayed unless they are approved--who the fuck knew? I didn't, and I certainly wasn't surprised at the ostensible lack of commenting on my jibba-jabba. But now that I've found and disabled this "firewall," I'm regretting it. It was better living in complete ignorance; to understand what I mean, check out the previous post. I may have to reactivate that screener sharpish.

Smushmouth

2007-01-13T01:46:00.000-05:00

My fave NBA player: Smush Parker. Interestingly, Smush's hobbies include bowling and Ping-Pong, and his fave sport other than hoops is softball. Yes, softball.

Today Was Another Defeat

2007-01-13T01:09:00.000-05:00

Having to listen to a dude snap his chewing gum is like having a midget hump your leg -- it sucks ass. Luckily, I've never had a midget hump -- or attempt to hump -- my leg. Being stuck within earshot of some fuckhole snapping his gum is probably like having sand in your vagina, too, although I can't speak from experience. But this entire evening I've had to listen to a fucking fruitball and his blugly girlfriend snap gum at each other. These bastards even discussed gum-snapping, like useful people would discuss the weather. Damn it all, these obnoxious fools should -- must -- be involuntarily euthanized. It's for the common good.

Vote or Die

2007-01-13T00:28:00.000-05:00

Greatest election ever. I support the Spurs' Kim. I also like the Wizards' Myra. It's win-win, really.

2007-01-11T19:10:00.000-05:00

I saw a woman pushing a grocery cart containing a baby today. This wouldn't have been strange if we were actually in a grocery store. But this was on a sidewalk miles from the closest foodstore. I got the impression that this was not just a one-time occurence: the trolley was kitted out with blankets and toys--it even had a little cardboard "license plate" (it read "Jemel"). There was also something resembling some sort of small, yappy dog in there with the kid, although it may have been a squirrel or some other member of the rodent family. It was hard to tell.

What?

2007-01-07T23:22:00.000-05:00

I almost wish I were deaf. You could live anywhere if you were deaf. What neighbors? I don't hear anything (how do you sign that?) Also, I don't really need my sense of smell. I would give up my hearing and my smell for 20-20 vision. Eyeglasses are a real drag. Actually, I'd probably give up taste, too, for perfect vision. You could eat anything and it wouldn't matter. Well, at first go it wouldn't matter. But without smell, you could fuck up some shit, and not fully know it. Or care. (How do you sign that?) These are the things I think about. I'm not very smart.

2007: The Year of Gobbo

2007-01-05T12:16:00.000-05:00

Things I hope to make so in 2007....

Buy a sweet remote control car.
Ride a go-cart.
Find and photograph an albino dwarf.
Kick a white guy with dreds right in the nuts.
Do a push-up and a sit-up simultaneuously.
Try to read the non-sports sections of the newspaper.
Kick it sudoku school.
(this is a developing story; stay tuned for updates)

Yeah, these aren't noble goals. So what? Don't preach to me, fatso.

Jaysis Fuckeroo

2007-01-04T20:34:00.000-05:00

I just heard a Jesus freak tell his circle of fellow Jesus freaks, "Let's put it on the agenda for next week." God damn my ears, god damn them straight to hell. I don't feel immaculate just now; I do not feel shower fresh. God damn it all. I hate Illinois Nazis and Jesus freaks. Especially Dockers-wearing Jesus freaks who have things to put on an agenda. Source it.

Me and Sir Mix-A-Lot

2007-01-03T12:35:00.000-05:00

Lately, I've found myself saying (to myself) "Look at that big ass!" whenever I see a woman with ample junk in the trunk walk by. Can't help it. It's genetics, I'm told. In other words, it's science, man, so back off. Granted, I'm not particularly evolved and certainly not a credit to my species. But still. Look at that big ass!

Thoughts on the imminent arrival of a new year

2006-12-31T13:02:00.000-05:00

Austin Millbarge: We need a plan.
Emmett Fitz-Hume: Let's play dead.

In no way related (okay in some way related), I'm convinced that the Hussein that got hanged in Iraq on Friday was not the actual Saddam but one of his many lookalikes. That's my theory. Impossible to debunk. I'm quite sure I saw the real Saddam working the counter at my local Taco Bell. The perfect cover. I bet the fuck spit in my chalupa. I'll kill the fucker for that.

2006-12-29T15:16:00.000-05:00

This banner is, amazingly, not a joke: "Chicago: Now Starring Huey Lewis!" I wonder what the News boys are up to? Cats revival? Yes, according to sources.

2006-12-22T16:04:00.000-05:00

What's worse? Finding a hair in your food or something that you can't identify? The latter could be some sort of actual foodstuff, but it could be a snotball or glop of fecal matter. I think I'd take the hair; I don't like surprises.

2006-11-21T11:42:00.000-05:00

"I believe that being a caddy will greatly help me with my career goals, because since graduating in May,(University of Colorado-Boulder) I cannot decide what I am going to do with my life." [sic] --Tanya, Caddy of the Month

I could read that quote a thousand times and still not understand it. Or tire of it. For more on young (22) Tanya, go here

2006-10-24T16:09:00.000-05:00

I love golfing. I really love golfing. Here's why.

2006-10-22T18:18:00.000-05:00

Actor de la Rosa, Pedro's tiny good luck charm, dies

The most disturbing line in this article: "De la Rosa's body will be sent back to the Dominican Republic after an autopsy and then could be put on display in a museum, his agent said." Wow. And, uh, yuck.

2006-10-16T12:48:00.000-05:00

I just heard a guy say to another guy, "Give it to Bertha." What would you give to someone called Bertha? Sympathy?

In other news, I am nearly at the point where I will either take a hammer to my piece of shit computer, aka my MacBook, or toss it through a fucking Window. I don't own a hammer (perhaps Bertha will soon be receiving a hammer that I could borrow? I don't want to know, to tell you the truth), so pick a fucking Window, any fucking Window. This fucking MacBook keeps randomly shutting down; the processing speed is pathetic; oh, and then there's the AirPort card: how many ways can you spell "sucks"? I can think of quite a few at the moment as I try to connect to my school's WiFi network. Of course, I'm sitting in a computer lab which houses the network's servers. But I can't stay connected; even when this fucking AirPort does manage to connect, it creeps, like -- no worse than -- dial-up. IR Pissed. I wonder if Bertha would sympathize with my plight? Sources say no.

I could use a muffin. And that's all I have to say about that.

2006-10-14T16:24:00.000-05:00

I like muffins, especially a good blueberry or banana-nut, but I always feel kind of fruity ordering one. It's important not to start off a day feeling fruity, so I usually go for a bagel or a chocolate-glazed donut. And that's all I have to say about that.

2006-09-29T21:19:00.000-05:00

My question to Baby Toupee, the "small wigs for small people" company, is this: Were there really no black babies available to model "The Lil Kim," "The Bob" and/or "The Samel L"?

2006-09-23T13:50:00.000-05:00

Stephen Colbert: "Should we drill in ANWR?"
Florida Congressman Robert Wexler: "No, no."
C: "So caribou are more important than my SUV?"
W: "No, no."
C: "That's what you just said."
W: "What's most important is that your SUV be required to have better efficiency in the future."
C: "What if I could make it run on caribou meat? Would you be in favor of that?"
W: "On caribou meat?"
C: "Or hide — it doesn't matter — or bone?"
W: "Probably not."

2006-09-09T07:22:00.000-05:00

Wow, another ridiculous e-mail from Ticketmaster this a.m. Subject line: Don't miss the Wiggles. Fuck the Wiggles. I hope the Wiggles go straight to hell. Ticketmaster too. Still, they're pretty much the only outfit that sends me e-mails that are in no way related to penis enhancement. Wait: perhaps I need to find out what the Wiggles are....

2006-09-04T18:45:00.000-05:00

I soberly repudiate some of my previous statements. That's my confession. I won't say what I'm rejecting as untrue, however. You make the call.

2006-09-02T16:37:00.000-05:00

If there is a better record than U2's Joshua Tree, I want to hear it. No. I don't want to hear it. Cuz it's airing would cause the world to implode. It would have to be the voice of God. And I don't mean Alannis Morissette. (Sorry, Kevin Smith). I also really like Wilco's/ Billy Bragg's Mermaid Avenue. That shit rules. Still. U2. Best band ever? Bono's kind of a cunt. But we get past that easily. This band has done it, brought it -- cohesively -- for three decades. The Stones can't say that. Aerosmith can't say that. AC/DC is close, but...

Bullet the Blue Sky is quite possibly the best song ever. U2 DID it here. It's perfect. It's like Soundgarden's Fell on Black Days. Beautiful AND Sublime. But Bullet isn't even the best song on the record. Mad. GENIUS.

2006-08-31T20:54:00.000-05:00

a poem.

Shitballs

Shatballs

Shittyballs

Shittingballs

Shiteballs

Shyteballs

Shitebaws

Sheitballs.

Shoot! Balls.

shitup

.that was a poem

-- Old Gobbo

2006-08-24T10:27:00.000-05:00

I got another "Don't miss Doodlebops" e-mail from Ticketmaster this morning. Shitballs. I'm gonna do Ticketmaster ugly, like Sam L. Jackson on some muthafuckin snakes.

2006-08-18T12:17:00.000-05:00

I got an e-mail from Ticketmaster today. The subject line read "Don't Miss Doodlebops." What the fuck are Doodlebops? And why are they so great that I shouldn't miss them? I was curious so I looked into it. These are Doodlebops. Sweet holy Mary. My dreams went to that Web site and died. This may be actionable. You have been warned, Ticketmaster.

2006-08-11T12:57:00.000-05:00

Squirrels are evil.

2006-08-11T11:09:00.000-05:00

Cellphones are the new cigarettes. They affect my health. Let's ban them and tax the beejezus out of their use.

2006-08-08T15:58:00.000-05:00

ma lungz iz fuckt
bronchitis again
thi smoakn

lookit
same awl spiht
yella ngreen

van goghs palate
paintn sunflowers

-- Tom Leonard

2006-07-24T11:02:00.000-05:00

Ali G: How many words does you know?
Noam Chomsky: Well… the… normally humans, by maturity, have tens of thousands of words…
AG: For real?
NC: Yeah.
AG: What is some of them?
NC: Well, the ones we’re using.
AG: For real. Me know loads of words: parachute, photograph, anthems, spaghetti, camera…
NC: Well, if you count them up it’ll be in the tens of thousands.

2006-07-23T19:29:00.000-05:00

Who the fuck is Katie Couric? What's the fucking frequency, Katie?

2006-07-22T08:30:00.000-05:00

Nippits or Neuticles

You make the call.

2006-07-16T16:16:00.000-05:00

I blame global warming on the use of cell phones. People never stop talking now. All that hot air is really sticking it to the environment. We should ban cell phones. Let's go back to the days when phones were clunky wall-mounted rotary devices rented from Ma Bell. That's my theory.

2006-07-16T16:13:00.000-05:00

I Don't Like The Person You Become When You're On The Jumbotron

2006-07-07T11:17:00.000-05:00

I Can't Stand My Filthy Hippie Owner