Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Some Christmas Stories Retold

The Christmas Story

Many people don't realize that the Christmas Story they were told is, in fact, false.
2009 years ago, almost EXACTLY, the world was a different place.
Back then, dinosaurs trodded the Earth, and the word "trodded" was a word.
Sure, you'll read about mangers and old shacks made of wood, but in reality, the Earth was much more advanced.
Yes, we all know the story of how the Messiah was born. But in fact, he was hatched from eggs. Yes, eggs. There were three. One for the head, another for the torso, and another for the Messiah's limbs. Back then, in dinosaur times, people were built pre-fab and it was on Christmas day that people got their children in eggs laid by reptilian goats. They would spend the day putting their children together. That is how Christmas came about.

Santa Claus Reaks

Another famous Christmas story is about Santa Claus and how he came to be from lowly saint to fur loving man about Earth. But what they don’t tell you is that he also had some problems.
Elves can't smell. It's a scientific fact. Not only that, but Mrs. Santa died in 1908 from diabetes.
Without an objective smeller, Santa was free to not bathe. And not bathe he did. All the live long day, everyday.
One could say Santa is the stinkiest man alive. Imagine leaving meat out in the hot sun for a few days, then add some tartar sauce and let it sit for another few days. While you're doing that, go smell some dogshit – that was what Santa smelled like.
That's why Santa comes down the chimney, because his aroma must be doused with the rising heat of your fire, or your house would reak like Santa's smelly balls.
This is science, folks.

The Gingerbread Man Once Stole Purses

It's true.
"You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!"
Well, they did catch him and in exchange for his miraculous story, they let him go. They sold the story to Penguin publishing and the rest is history.
But before all that, he was a petty thief.
A gingerbread thief.
That's why gingerbread houses are made from gingerbread and not wafers – the idea is to catch the Gingerbread Man by creating a lavish home for him to hang out in.
And that's where they caught him.
Now everyone celebrates the Gingerbread Man by creating small houses for him to hang out in so he doesn't steal so much.
But during the summer months, boy howdy! That man is thieving like a coked out Gypsy!

Rudolph the Red Eyed Reindeer

Rudolph the Red Eyed Reindeer
Had a very shiny bowl
And if you ever smoked it
You would eat a pork roast whole
All of the other reindeer
Used to steal his stash and steal his game
They would let old Rudolph
Stand-alone in the cell and take the blame

Then one foggy Christmas night
(Santa was on Ambien)
"Rudolph with your shit all fucked up in the jail for fucking smoking reefer and playing with my wife's panty hose and what's on Jeopardy?"

The Little Drummer Boy

The Little Drummer Boy was actually a real person who lived in the dino-world as read above.
His name was Marvin.
And Marvin wasn't little. He was like 9 ft tall. He played basketball and the drums (as you might have guessed from his nickname).
Anyway, he had no idea that Jesus was being born or any of that stuff. He was just out having a good time, all f'd up on Rudolph's reefer when he wandered into this Motel 6 and came upon this couple, their baby, and three hockey players.
"What's up, dudes?" He asked.
The Los Angeles Kings were on loan from the future as this Middle Eastern business man was trying to sell hockey to the Middle East, which was actually going through a mini ice age at the time.
"I'm Wayne Gretzky!" said one.
"I'm the Little Drummer Boy."
"Alright!" Then Marvin kind of jammed out for a bit on the drums as Joseph and Mary put their egg baby together with a screwdriver they had borrowed from the LA Kings that night.
That's why the LA Kings were over there hanging out.
No one gave anyone any gifts, so the Drummer Boy was just playing to jam a bit. But it was a good drum solo and the LA Kings decided to bring him back to the year 1987, where Marvin changed his name to Dave Grohl. And the rest is history.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Happy Holidays, You Guys

Christmas is a Special Time of Year

The holidays are upon us, and since WE SAY CHRISTMAS, it's important for you to know that Jesus died for them.
Or was born for them.
Either way, fat people get to eat to their heart's content with the lie they hold in their heart: I will lose 200 pounds for New Years.
Or Lent.
Either way, I'm fat and enjoying getting fatter.
But we must not forget the spirit of the season that comes after Christ, after buying stuff, and somewhere below rummaging through your closet for a pack of hangers to regift to someone – giving.
Giving is an important part of human nature, but is even more important during the holidays. Sure, you might be able to get away with accepting free food and gifts without lifting a finger for others, but there's a whole nation of Republicans that will come knocking on your door asking you to work for a living or to get out of their country.
I should know. Back in 96 I had no job and had just opened my 14th gift and was laughing out loud about how I was sticking it to the man. Well, this group of Republicans had hunted me down using my social security card and directions from my Dad.
They were pretty mad that I wasn't working and taking gifts from family members. They suggested I get a job, and then they suggested that I leave the country. I tried to explain that other countries require that immigrants have some sort of use, but they weren't having it. They explained that I could get into another country as a political refugee. I asked them if they would sign the paperwork, but they told me that they didn't do clerical work and that I should get one of their Armenian housekeepers to do it.
The point is - you have to give. Give something. If you don't have anything to give, give your life. I knew a guy who was broke and around the holidays he got all depressed and I realized it was because he didn't have anything to give. So I suggested that he give his life. His family still doesn't talk to me after his unfortunate drop from the Columbia tower.
That's what you calling giving till it hurts. But to be honest, I'm pretty sure he didn't feel anything.
This year I have decided to give the gift of stuffing. I have chosen to make the rounds with my family and personally stuff any dead animal with crushed crotons.
I imagine I may buy gifts for some people, but unless they can give me something, I probably won't bother. See the Republicans above.
The holidays are also about dead people and remembering dead people that can't be here. See Columbia Tower.
I guess my favorite dead person this year is Oral Roberts. The man threatened to die so often that by the time he did, most people figured he had it coming. There's a story called the Boy Who Cried Wolf, it is the story of a boy who yells wolf a bunch and eventually Duran Duran appears and takes him to the land of misfit toys. But Oral didn't do his homework. Or, if Oral did, he didn't do the best job. It's known far and wide that Oral is sloppy.
That was cheap.
You know what else is cheap? Hookers after Christmas. See, everyone goes out and gets their Christmas hooker before December 25th. So, when the 26th rolls around…man, I'm telling you.
And always remember – you can give a guy named Oral a hooker, but you should never give a hooker oral.
I have a friend who learned that the hard way.
You could say he got into a sticky situation.
One might call him dying in a hospital as I write this from AIDS.
That's another thing about the holidays – it kills people. Chances are you are more likely to die from a heart attack or stroke the day after Christmas than any other day of the year. This is why Canada celebrates Boxing Day. It's the holiday where the Canadians box up their dead and they give them to each other.
My buddy Ray lives in Canada and he got someone's dead uncle last year. You'd think you can't do much with a dead body, but Ray is queer and you can do the math.
Next is New Years. New Years is where people get drunk to celebrate the coming year…or the going year. It depends how good your previous year was. If it was bad, you celebrate the new year and the chance (in my case) at a 33rd chance. If it was good, you celebrate the last year and how good you made it. It's a win-win holiday. However, if you are celebrating how you're going to make a change in your life and you wake up with a hangover giving oral to a hooker, you're probably screwed.
Then it's MLK day and everyone stays home from work to celebrate the life of a man who worked so hard.
Pretty soon you're getting drunk again on St. Patrick's day. Many people don't know this, but St. Patrick is a saint who wrangled snakes. I'm not making this up. That's why snake charmers are usually drunker than shit.
Pretty soon it's Easter. And it's Christ's time to shine again. However, this is all about how he died, so it's more somber than Christmas. But there are bunnies that lay chocolate eggs. What this has to do with crucifixion is beyond even me.
Soon, it's Mother's Day and it's time to call your Mom and change that light bulb in her hallway.
Next up is Flag Day and Father's Day, the loser holidays.
Then it's the Fourth of July. This is the celebration of America (the cool top one). People of all countries come together on this day and thank America for kicking ass and making Country Western music.
Pretty soon there's Labor Day, which always gets mixed up with Memorial Day, because they are both days.
Later, you have Halloween, where children dress up as dead people. I'm not sure why we do this, but it'd probably be more appropriate if we did it on Easter.
I'm just saying.
Next is Thanksgiving, which is kinda like New Year's and St. Patrick's day, only instead of booze, it's food.
Following that are Hanukah and Kwanza and all the other holidays that I was informed about via a Gap commercial.
Then you're back at Christmas.
How many is that?
1. Christmas
2. New Year's
3. MLK
4. St. Patrick's Day
5. Easter
6. Mother's Day
7. Loser holidays
8. Fourth of July
9. Memorial or Labor Day
10. Halloween
11. Thanksgiving
12. Gap Day
Does anyone see what I'm driving at? Why don't we just name the months after the holidays? Sure, some of them fall in the same month, but we could work around it. Gap Day could be moved back to what used to be November, Halloween follows, etc.
That means I was born Loser Holidays 9, 1976. Thanksgiving would fall in the month of Gap Day. And Halloween would be celebrated in Thanksgiving.
It's amazing that I don't have a golf course named after me.

Saturday, December 12, 2009

Father's Day

Father's Day Special

What it Means to be a Father

By: Greg Welky

Tim Russert has asked me to contribute to his new book on fatherhood and I'm pleased to tell you a little about my father and the everlasting relationship with my beautiful son James.

When I grew up, times were different. Back then, a father was the crux of the family and the family's survival depended on him.

Today, with modern conveniences and social progression, the father has much more free time to be a friend to his children. And I suppose my son James thinks of me that way.

But, when I grew up, my father wasn't always around to talk baseball, throw the pigskin around, and tell me how to change a tire on a Chevy convertible with no lug wrench!

My father worked 14-hour days at the GM plant in Flint, Michigan and the time he had after work was devoted to the continuous maintenance of our ramshackle house.

If it wasn't the septic tank, it was the roof. If it wasn't the roof, it was the heater. My father broke his back at work and when he came home it was no different.

Times were hard and what little I know of my father is in the small windows at dinner where he would silently fork hamburger helper, or whatever we could afford at the time, into his mouth.

But, you know, that's how he showed his love – through his determination to get our family out of that house and into a descent lifestyle. He knew it wouldn't happen in his lifetime, but with the money he put towards our education I'm happy to say that I've been able to give my son everything my father couldn't.

Don't get me wrong; I still see 14-hour days at work, but not often. And, what house chores need to be accomplished I'm able to leave for the weekend.

And I'm not alone.

Lately, on weekends my son and I work together on a gazebo we're building for my wife Sharon.

I guess James will tell you that I spend a good two hours a night helping him with homework and teaching him how to throw a screwball – I guess a lot has changed since my dad's day.

But, I believe that maybe what love I show my son now is a direct result of the love my father showed me. The only thing that's changed is what we can afford to show.

That's why I think this Fathers day we dad's should reflect on how lucky we are to live in a world where we can throw the pill around with our sons and daughters.

I know our fathers would be proud of us.

Dad, You are so Fucking Lame

By: Jim Welky

My Dad asked me to write a piece on Father's day for Tim Russert's new book on fatherhood.

Well, Tim, ever since my Dad purchased your last piece of shit, he's been totally gaying up our relationship and recently he's been taking my beer drinking time and putting it towards some fucking gazebo thing he's building.

Weekends used to be dope – I'm about to graduate high school (SENIORS RULE!), Larry's parents are in Barbados for six weeks, and Jerry has been scoring beer with his brother's ID.

Not only that, I finally got Jill to put out!

So, basically, I've been livin' the dream – until your fucking book got into my father's hands.

Before he read that piece of shit he pretty much forgot I existed.

And I didn't mind.

Look, Tim, a boy needs a father around – I totally agree. But, at this age I only need my father to bitch me out when I do something REALLY fucking stupid, or to bail me out when I do something even more REALLY stupid.

And, of course, for money.

All this "throwing the pill around" shit is fast becoming gayer than three gays on a gay train.

I get home the other day and Dad has his catcher's mitt on and produces my graduation gift: a fucking baseball glove his father gave him.

His ALKY father – don't get me started, grandpa died smacked out of his gourd on Schlitz.

So, goodbye Acura – hello crappy baseball mitt. Not only that, but when he gives it to me he starts weeping and tries to hug me.

Tim, you need to write another book and change this shit quick.

I hate baseball and if my Dad tries to hug me again I'm going to call Social Services.

Go fuck yourself,


Things That Bug Me

Some Shit that You Should Know that I Hate

Men who personally groom themselves: I was just in the bathroom, and I know we've gone over this, but there was this dude washing his glasses for the entire time I was in the bathroom (piss, wash hands, dry hands, leave). He's probably still doing it. I don't touch my glasses with any cleaning supplies until it looks like I'm walking through an erupting volcano.

And I've seen this guy before washing his face, hands, and eyeballs for hours at a time. I'll put money on it, late at night after every one is gone, he washes his dick in that sink.

It's really that I hate anyone who spends more than a few seconds on his or her personal appearance. You know how I comb my hair? I use my fucking hand and some gel. That's it. Meanwhile I see these metrosexual fucks in the bathroom making VO5 commercials in front of the mirror.

Christ I hate people.

Stupid contraptions: So, my Mom got these Wolfgang Puck espresso things, or something. They're these cans that you turn upside down, activate some sort of liquid, turn over, wait eight minutes and you get a can of heated latte...that tastes like shit. My worries include: how did it heat? Could it have been heated using depleted uranium? How much sugar does it take to kill you? Seriously, every last one of these pre-bottled lattes you buy tastes like a sugar storm on planet sugar. Fucking nasty. The only reason I drank this piece of shit was that I didn't have time to stop at Starbucks. CHRIST I'M SO FUCKING MAD RIGHT NOW JUST THINKING ABOUT THIS SHITTY COFFEE I DRANK!!!!!!!!!!

Eskimos: Seriously, I've had it up to here with Eskimos. Fucking everyday all I see is fucking Eskimo this and Eskimo that. Trying to sell me their culture. Fucking hate them. Just last night two of them gang raped me in an Arby's. Man, this country would be 101 percent better without them. Taking all the jobs and women...man, I'm sick of it.

Godzilla: UP TO HERE (hand to forehead) WITH FUCKING GODZILLA. I'm home last night trying to sleep and all of a sudden this electrical tower gets thrown at the Space Needle and totally wakes me up. I go to the window and examine the damage (otherwise I wouldn't now know that the Space Needle was hit by an electrical tower) and what do I see? Well, first I see Mothra eating the 7-11 next door, then I see Godzilla picking up another electrical tower to throw at Key Arena. I yell at Mothra "I’m trying to fucking sleep you dirty Eskimo!" But, Mothra doesn't speak English (because he's a stinking Eskimo) and just roars at me. Mothra's breath is overpowering, so I stumble into my fan and whack my head against the wall. I wake up and decide that I hate Eskimos and that I'm going to drink canned coffee. Later I go for brain surgery.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

You Are My Noir Lover


Hey, brothers, are you ready for more HOTCHIXXX action?
Alright, calm down.
We have another....OK.....HOTCHIXXX babe!

She works with me, here in the office. Are you ready for a HOTCHIXXX babe....who works in an office? Can you imagine the office lust that goes on with this HOTCHIXXX babe?
Take a gander:

Matt: Hello, office babe, what do you do at the office?
HOTCHIXXX BABE: My job is to make to half wits look competent.

Matt: Really, fascinating. What can you tell us about your LOVE life?
HOTCHIXX BABE: My love life is fairly mundane. It’s my sex life that you’d find more interesting.

Matt: That is so erotic. Next question: have you ever had a taco?
HOTCHIXX BABE: Many times…. Finger lickin’ good.

Matt: Whoa, I'm getting hot. OK, tell me about the first time you saw E.T. Were you turned on by the large finger the E.T. had?
HOTCHIXX BABE: Not really. Not much girth ya’ know. Although… it was kinda hot the way it lights up at the end.

Matt: That's extremely juicy. Speaking of juice, what's your favorite flavor of juice?
HOTCHIXX BABE: Stoli Cranberry with a splash of lemon.

Matt: Oh, my lord! God, you're hot. Have you ever had sex with a porpoise?
HOTCHIXX BABE: No, but I’ve ridden a killer whale.

Matt: Hmmmmm....who would you rather sleep with: Me or Lionel Ritchie?
HOTCHIXX BABE: Tough question. Didn’t he get his ass kicked by a woman?

Matt: What if Lionel Ritchie contracted syphilis, how would you answer then?
HOTCHIXX BABE: Definitely you.

Matt: What if Lionel Richie turned out to be Richie Rich in black face, how would you answer then?
HOTCHIXX BABE: Sorry Matt, Diamonds are a girl’s first love.

Matt: That's amazing. Will you be willing to show me your chest?
HOTCHIXX BABE: Anything for you.

Matt: Hot damn. OK, final question: Grape Nuts or Malto Meal?
HOTCHIXX BABE: I’d have to go for the Nuts.

That's been our time, join us next post for more HOTCHIXXX action!

The Email Address Is Dead

If anyone would like to be the next HOTCHIXX. Please send me an email at reckert6122@comcast.net. I'll then send you a questionaire.

Jeb Bush Is A Serial Chubbernaut

The bastard is trying to go after the Schiavo husband for not calling quick enough after she fell.

It's funny how these dirtbag Christians wanted her to live because cutting her tubes would go against God.


Meanwhile, Jeb's daughter is a crack addict, his brother is a cokehead and mass murderer, his sister in law has killed someone personally, his Dad is a mass muderer, his mother looks like she expired in 91, his nieces are drunks - and he knows all about family values? Enough to interfere with someone else's family?

Jeb Bush is a flabby hall monitor that eats children.

I'm Losing My Hair


Oh Bethany, scream! There's a large margin of poverty underneath the streets. Oh, Bethany. Hmmm. Climbing through the streets, bunkers of wombs, we decide to kill the


Oh, Bethany. Some lost love. Ovum and sea germs.

Oh, Bethany. Fell dead on street lights and done again.

Wires and typos.

Typographical errors in a


Storming the streets of Melbourne. Why not make another Mecca out of mold and

Sea germs plague the large area of about five by two yards in diagonal hexagons placed about the garden to ward off cricket.





And I found her dead among a book of CDs.

Tired letters hanging around and I keep stuffing dead pigeons down the drain hole.





Lights are on. Should we go in?

We might as well.

There's plenty to plunder.

Oh, well, a rape now and again.

Please leave the maps of Austrailia here at home. There no good to us here in Arizona.

But, you said to bring a map.





PH balanced for your protection

in the fields

and in the air

in the currents

of the

fair haired


dead to night

brass rings

and shiny things

we'll make it

through to











Bloody Condom Beach

Phantoms haunt me.
They really do.
What else? Well, apparently a sick, retarded rodent thinks I'm making up profiles of her.......
Anyway, back to the phantoms. Last night, as I was laying in my bed the phantoms of three elderly, German monks came to me and expressed their deep apologies for scaring me half-to-death, then went on to tell me about the end of the world.
I explained to them that I really wasn't in the mood, and that I was half-drunk, but they went on and on....something about...I think it was the 3rd of August of 2012. I'm not really sure. It could have been December, but it involved that Sedna planetoid and the alien race that pilots it. Apparently, they will take the chosen to some sort of Eden and leave the rest to die.
Apparently, I get to take the trip to the Eden, as I am enlightened and don't have a pony tail or tattoos.
So, there's that. But, it's just annoying. The last time I was haunted was a week ago when a group of Shriners came by to see if I wanted to go bowling. That really pissed me off.
Anyway, for the record – phantoms haunt me.
Oh, man. I'm tired....tired of writing this. I really have nothing to write about, but I figured I'd post with the last few minutes I'm here.
More on the phantoms:
Some of the phantoms aren't even from this planet. Like Lego from Legoland. You remember that little astronaut Lego-man? Well, he's based on a real creature – Lego. He's fucking annoying, but kinda funny when you see him in actual size ratio. He's always trying to get beer from me. I haven't seen him in awhile, but he came by Christmas Eve. I was really freaked, cuz I thought Jesus would show up again.
Lord. Jesus can scare the shit out of you. I'll be sleeping and he'll jump up and go "BOO!" Then he'll laugh his ass off and say "see ya" and exit through the window, just to be funny. He's a real joker, but he'll scare the hell out of you sometimes.
Anyway, so Lego always wants beer and that was his demand Christmas Eve. I got him a beer and had one myself. He's been dead for nearly 50 years and always wants to watch TV. I asked him why he doesn't go haunt Legoland, but he told me they're all squares. He wasn't trying to be cute either. He doesn't have much of a sense of humor, like Jesus. He's more nuts and bolts. Always talking about interlocking this, or stacking that. He rearranged my cupboards one time so that everything fit together and made small walls. Trying to make beans became a game of Jenga.
Anyway, on Christmas Eve he told me that there was a band of German Monks that would play "end of the world" pranks on people. So, I'm not really worried about them. Lego said he's had bad run ins with them before.
Fucking phantoms keep haunting me.
Keith just notified me that Angel has the Feds on me. I don't understand this huggaboo, it's not even me posting. I think Angel is a elderly, German monk. She shows all the signs: making up stories, annoying me, smelling of pickles...
My stomach still hurts. I keep eating crap food. I no longer believe that living unhealthy makes me strong, powerful. No, it makes me gassy.
The phantoms always comment on the lack of d├ęcor in my bedroom. I live in an apartment, so I always think I'll be moving soon, so I don't have any pictures up or anything. This seems to disturb the phantoms greatly.
Goddamn phantoms.
They're the worst.

Wino World

I can't Believe I'm Writing This:

Go see Batman.

No joke. Here's the backstory...

I haven't seen a really good movie since Memento. With that said (it's been three years), I had come to the ugly knowledge that I may have grown out of any entertainment resulting from a movie.

Then Batman comes along.

It'd been getting great reviews and everyone was saying how great it was. So, I thought to myself "At least it will be mediocre."


This was an all-around awesome movie. Also, it wasn't all bullshit – it's the true Batman tale and this is coming from a recovering comic book nerd.

There weren't even any of that crap comic book bullshit you see in every other comic movie. The closest it came to that sort of dipshitery was the line "I'm Batman" does pop up and Batman talks like Clint Eastwood on roids.

But, aside from that, it was fucking awesome.

Do yourself a favor and squirt Tom Cruise in the face with a water pistol. After doing that, go see Batman Begins.

A truly great movie.

That's it for now. Go home and die.

Arsenio Hall Thinking Test

Arsenio Hall Thinking Test

1. If Arsenio is on Star Search on channel 5 and he is on The Arsenio Hall Show on channel 543, what time is it in Denver?

2. If an armada of aliens descends upon the Earth, and Arsenio is having a bagel with grape jelly, how many toothpicks do you have left?

3. Arsenio is shot out of a cannon at 345 mph, and you just dripped mustard on your t-shirt; what direction is the sun in relation to the nearest Arby's?

4. How old would Raymond Burr be if Arsenio is 12?

5. You're on a beach, and you're wearing your walkman, and Arsenio asks you for the time; what color is the robe you're wearing?

6. You're with a lover, and you're out of condoms; what do you do? Oh, plus Arsenio is baking a potato.

7. A train traveling at 45 mph is leaving Denver at 5:00, Arsenio is leaving Portland, Oregon at 6:00; how fast can a cheetah run in this hypothetical world?

8. A woman is murdered in a conference room in your office, the doors are all locked from the inside and she is the only person in the room; do you call Arsenio or the police?

9. Finish the series: 2, 4, 6, 8, Arsenio, 12.....

10. Arsenio is pumping his fist at the speed of light, his "dog pound" is pumping their fists at just under the speed of light; how long will it take for the dog pound to realize Arsenio's fist is now in the year 7421?

Send your answers to:


Still, I Hate Michael Moore

From Anonymous

An unmarked car pulled up to the house. Two guys in suits knocked on the door. The whole family was home at the time. Someone from the family answered the door and was shown a homeland security badge. They gathered the family and instructed them to sit on the couch in the living room and wait while the two men searched throughout the house. The men finished and left. The family wasn't accused of anything. I think they were flagged for visiting Iran a few years ago. I betcha Homeland Security is going through all the records of people who have visited the middle east area in the past years and huntin them down. God Bless America and our civil liberties eh? You should go look at Michael Moore's site. He has a list of people who have been searched and their stories.

When You Realize I'm Staring At You, You Will Understand

The ABC's of Me

A - Age you got your first beating: 15

B - Band listening to right now: Prodigy

C- Crush on: Abe Lincoln

D - Dad's name: Bob, no really

E - Easiest person to talk to: Michael Jackson's Ghost

F - Favorite bands at the moment: Nails

G - Gummy aphids or gummy USB ports?: It's gotta be the ports

H - Hometown: Kent, WA

I - Instruments: A woman's body

J- Junior High: Meridian Junior High – the worst place on Earth

K - Kids: FUCK NO

L - Longest car ride ever:Seattle to Chicago

M - Mom's name: Doris, no really

N – Nicknames: Asshole, fuckface, shit for brains

O - One wish: To be renamed Jacoby

P - Phobias: Whatever has collected underneath Oprah's belly

Q – If you have to shit on your girlfriend's back to get an erection; you probably wouldn't make a good father.

R - Reason to smile: I gave my ex herpes

S - Song you sang last: Love on the Rocks by Neil Diamond

T - Time you woke up today?: 5:00am

U - Unknown fact about me: I can completely disappear if I'm near fish

V - Vegetable you hate: Burlap

W - Worst habit(s): Heroin

X - X-rays you've had: The kind that come from the aliens that are secretly spying on me with X-rays shot through an Atari and out of my fire alarm

Y - Yummy food: Birch

Z - Zodiac sign: Gemini

Get to know... Let's get to know each other...

X = have done

(x) bit Morton Downey Jr.
(x) shat on someone's porch
(x) molested a bear
(x) killed an entire throng of ants with a hose
(x) been committed
(x) gone out in public in a horse costume
(x) murdered a stranger
(x) rode a stranger
(x) been in a cock fight
( ) enjoyed Dr. Phil
(x) laughed and started bleeding out of your eyes
(x) farted in an elevator and then rode the elevator all day farting to make it stink
(x) swore at Gandhi
(x) been in love with a dwarf
(x) been close to love with a dead fish
(x) been to a casino in Israel
() voted Republican
(x) jacked off to skinny dippers
(x) laughed all the way through the English Patient
(x) been electrocuted for medical purposes
(x) told a cheerleader she'll be worthless in life except for her cooch
(x) sent ketchup back
(x) given stitches to a doctor
( ) thought Jeb Bush was doing a good job with Florida
(x) beat a man with a Twinkie – half to death
(x) been to McDonalds
(x) gotten malaria
(x) kissed a member of Bannarama
( ) thought lists like this were cool
( ) been to Iraq
(x) ridden in a Ton-Ton
( ) thought people who have never been dumped are special
( ) thought Lord of the Rings was the best cinematic accomplishment in movie history
( ) thought 50 cent was talented
( ) had a crush on a Llama
( ) had feelings for a Llama who didn't have them back
(x) fucked a blind woman
(x) had a crush on a driver's ed teacher
(x) celebrated Mardi-Gras in the Falkland Islands
(x) been to the Marshal Islands
(x) killed Communists in Florida
(x) downed enemy planes at Midway
(x) sold an elderly person for drug money
(x) had Bette Midler
(x) seen someone die of Funyons
(x) had a close friend die of New Kids on the Block
( ) got into video games
(x) sold road kill to children
(x) been to your house when you weren't home
( ) had fun doing this
(x) found hope in the fact that I'm halfway to my life expectancy
(x) seen Girls who Suck Cock and Eat Cum
(x ) thrown up in Bette Midler

( ) thought Courtney Love was talented
(x) eaten a tapeworm to lose weight
(x) told people I ski so they think I'm rich
(x) have to work on some documentation because Enron fucked up our trust in companies
( ) lost a kangaroo
(x) gone to clown school
(x) graduated from Martin Atkin's school of tap
(x ) fired a gun at a school bus
( ) purposely hurt yourself with mayonnaise
(x) taken painkillers to church
(x) been intimate with someone of the same race

Ok....done...if you did not complete this...tag...you're it.....

Till later...

It Votes

Aamerican Ddream

You have 36 years left. There’s some truth to this when you look at the dead ant on the ground and you wake up and you’re staring at the same pack of cigarettes that’s been there for fucking

Years ago you told yourself that you were different, and then you turned on the television and found out that you weren’t. Another character that defeats you with a laugh track. And then you think that somehow, someway

A large gopher wakes you up in this desert out on the side of Los Angeles. You greet the mammal with a grin of omelet and cheese…

The mind reels and you realize that you’re sunbathing on the top of an Arbys in Tallahassee.

There’s no reason to be scared, you’ve dreamt this before. You know that your dreams mean nothing.

There’s no reason to mean anything out in the American dream. Dead, rotten, exhausted feeling that you think might turn you around into something more savage and true to your human

Existence out on a dead high plain. You like living on dead rat. You are now more mankind than the founding fathers who built this wreck.

And a wreck it is. Sweeping down, barreling through dead woods, clipping branches and dead leaves: this is your country.

Attack an ant. Play reality with black people, sexuality and drug use – pretend that you accomplished something.

There’s another culture to rip off. It’ll turn up in the mailbox with a “Have you seen me” title and you’ll laugh at them and then try to emulate them and notice that you’re

On trial, once again. You’re a celebrity and it’s your day off. You think to yourself “How did I molest a polar bear in broad daylight and why am I wearing parachute pants?”

You’ve made it and it’s time to prove that you’re not skin of white batter stuck in a pair of earrings. You’ve made it and it’s time to level yourself off in front of the housewives, black plants, and white trucker drivers that want an excuse to put another black plant behind bars.

You look at the jury and realize they may be against you. It’s time to tell the truth: you have no idea where and what your talent will do next.

You lose wind and suffocate on glass. You’re losing ground to a DA and a guest star.

There’s no reprieve and you go to the chair for your sins.


Veins of glass break among the curls of white brain and you scream in shock as your body is ridden by electric current – whadda rush.

Wake up in fecal matter and realize you’re now an Appalachian blueboy, stuck on your sister and eating hamburger helper for protein.

You tell yourself this is not happening, but it is and you’re falling into yet another American dream.

Gain courage in the fact that the white man still holds court. Fall asleep and land as a Polish immigrant in Chicago and fall silent in some crack house you couldn’t imagine.

Take a hit and wind up Chinese in a telephone booth. You’re calling your mother and talking in Cantonese and you can’t even understand it.

Telephone and police operator come down on you and demand change and you

Cringing in the night, you’re now some Mexican man that needs help with a tire.

How did you find yourself here?

You try to pull a hitch, but no one wants to pick up a degenerate Mexican in the middle of the night – especially you.

You search your mind for true identity:




East Indian

West Indian

Native American


There’s nothing you can do. Look down at your skin and give up: you’re American.

You’re American and you have no culture.

You’re an American.

You’re something between a ragweed and a ring of Saturn. You’re described as being an acid or a base.

A zombie or some street wandering for a name.

A brain.

Gear down on some idea of what it’s like to own a boat, kill a cop, bend a straw – you are fucked.

Welcome to America.

You will get a packet of bank debts, television shows to watch, and the best restaurant for puking up your lunch.

To our left is Asia, to our right is Great Britain.

This country was born in 1776.

If you look to your right, you’ll see Great Britain sucking fumes.

If you look to your left, you’ll see Asia propelling us forward.

If you look down you’ll see a turbine crushing the West and inflating the East like a balloon we threaten to pop.

This is a plane and you’re on it.

This is the downward spiral they all warned you about.

There’s no way to avoid it.

You’ll see in good time.

There’s no nice way to put this: we’re out of peanuts.


We’re crashing

We are were

We are so not “we”


Kill the French and rape them of their wine and cheese.

They did this.

The British must be stopped at New York.

The Indian are taking our jobs.

The Mexicans are taking our jobs.

The Chinese will soon attack.

North Korea descends like an umbrella of denial and we all fall down.

House of cards comes up Jokers and we lie

Lie dead

Lying dead

Just desserts taste like ozone and we choke on policy.





We’ve lost again.

Struggle to suture the arm.

Arm in hand.

Wake up to another pack of cigarettes.

You’re Polish-African-German-Vietnamese and you hate the Chinese because in a fortune cookie you got a slip of white paper that told you what you really are.


Graveyard of what you were.

Dead possums litter the road as you drive on.

Sign post says “which way”

And you drive on.

Drive on.

Through mini malls and wooden convenience stores.

Through the night trees you see elk making plans to run into your car at 100 miles an hour


You press the gas and throttle into Idaho

You ride South Dakota into New York

Slam the breaks at the dead hulk of Twin Towers

Say a prayer for John Wayne and other wastes of American idealism

A cop breaks you off as you say a prayer for people you never gave a shit about

Walking down the street you see memorials to the dead nineties

Unrealistic dreams bubble forth and you realize that you’ll never be happy again

Undead start up companies and dot coms

Friendly investor’s day trading dreams on some starving Puerto Rican’s check

And/or back

Wireless laptop opens up a Google search on “How did this happen?”

A homeless person asks you for change and you

Completely ignore

The fact that you’re in New York now, and your dream of

What did you think was going to happen?

It’s the fourth of july

You throw a firecracker into the hole that was the

Dual penis of what you thought was safety

Banks collide

Shattered Steel

Falling bodies

Ddead Bbodies

Sshattered Ssteel

Bbanks Ccollide

The land of the informed?

You’re more stupid than before.

Wake up, America

You’re vulnerable

You’re next

There’s a bully looking down on you

And you can’t own up for this

And that

And you whimper in shame

Because you’re American

Because you know how it feels

Because you felt it deep when

Punching holes in your back

Beating bruises on your skull

Wipe your brow


Walk as dead

Walk among the dead

Rise once again

Rome is a rumor

Hollywood is a reality

We’ll stomp the buggers yet

But, it’ll take some foreigners to build more planes






Wake up to another pack of cigarettes.

The city is still on fire

And America

You realize

Is the opposite of safe

You are now the American dream

The culmination of fear

And you’re finally real now

Turn off the TV

You’re finally home


Because I Can Post

Email the President

I just wanted to share with you all my feelings concerning this crappy sandwich I ate yesterday.

I got it from Subway, it was toasted and it tasted like crap.

Please, email the President of the United States today and urge him to ensure that Subway doesn't serve another shitty sandwich. Feel free to use my name:


Thank you,


Tell That Guy Next To You


Oh, my brothers, here is a gem. Are you ready for some more hot office action?
Take for instance HOTCHIXX BABE number 3.
Can you say triple HOTCHIXXX ACTION?
I knew you could. She's an office worker, just dripping wet with HOT, EROTIC answers to my HOT, PROBING QUESTIONS.

Money shot interview:

Matt: What do you do for a living?
HOTCHIXX BABE: i am one of those flameeater chicks in the cirque de soleil

Really? Fascinating. Are there any venomous snakes involved?
HOTCHIXX BABE: no, but the ringmaster is an asp

Tragic. OK, let's get personal here: what kind of soap do you use?
HOTCHIXX BABE:lime-a-way, spring fresh scent

Amazing. So, how do you feel about seckshul relations with garden hoses?
HOTCHIXX BABE: am i getting the male, or the female end?

Yeah, me too. Have you ever skinned a porpoise?
HOTCHIXX BABE: no, but i got a dolphin swatch once from ikea. i was thinking about re-upholstering my skaarg sofa and loveseat combo

Yikes! Tell us about a touching memory that has nothing to do with you personally.
HOTCHIXX BABE: once upon a time gas was .99 a gallon

What is your favorite word that rhymes with tuck?
HOTCHIXX BABE: pluckabucketamuck

Have you ever you know with a horse?
HOTCHIXX BABE: i was young. i needed the money! he was hung like a human.

Striking. If you were to name a planet, what would you do later, after naming that planet?
HOTCHIXX BABE: i don't believe in planets. it's all a myth perpetuated by the pope and his minions. but i like the name "gordo". naming something gordo would make me want to go eat kettle corn.

How do you feel about Ranch dressing?
HOTCHIXX BABE: i prefer "farm chic"

Have you ever used a controlled substance? If so, which one, and how did it make you feel about Gary Coleman?
HOTCHIXX BABE:i have licked the sticky side of duct tape. coincidentally, it was with Gary Coleman. Gary "Sugar Daddy" Coleman who sat two rows up from me in 8th grade. he was an albino with a white mullet. he was dreamy. at the end of the roll, i hallucinated about small, hairless dogs.

My thoughts exactly. Two part question: how are you feeling today?
HOTCHIXX BABE: like john kerry has the ugliest unibrow in the history of the democratic party.

Have you ever been caught, you know, with yourself?
HOTCHIXX BABE: yes. in a hotel once i looked up to find a mirror on the ceiling. i chastised myself duly and promised to go straight to confession as soon as i finished.

Me too. OK, last question: what are your turn ons and rate them in order of turn onning.
HOTCHIXX BABE: dual axle pickups, large gap between the left front tooth and left front fangy tooth, Caramello, the way wile e. coyote says "pis-taH-chio" when he's describing the different flavored parts of a roadrunner.

Whoa! I'm going to go clean up, but tune in next week for more HOTCHIXXX action!

These Are Old Posts People. I'm A Different Man.

To the Kansas School Board:

The school board of Kansas wants to teach intelligent design as an "authentic theory that challenges evolution."
Please email Kathy (school board) and let her know of some more good ideas that she can run with. We can't limit our children to evolution and super heroes in the sky - we must teach them the truth: that our best guess is evolution, but naked chicks growing out of ribs is pretty fucking cool when you think about it.
Sample email I wrote to Kathy (board member):

Yeah, I was wondering when you were going to introduce the theory that robots created humans into the curriculum? See, the way I see it is that robots created mankind and that we created robots - isn't that ironic?
So, basically, what I want is for you to include the robot theory in your curiculum now that you have added Zeus or Jesus or whatever to the list of ways in which Earth (or the universe) was created.
Let me know if you need more info. Your best place to start is by Googling "robots created man and vice versa."
Good luck and let me know if you would like me to speak at any one of your fine schools.
This is an authentic theory that challenges evolution and should be taught!
I'd like to applaud your courage to embrace the idea that we don't need to abide by just one set of rules!
P.S. I'm working on this theory of how this giant tractor is going to destroy the Earth - but, it's still in beta testing.
God bless,
Robert Eckert

Please email Kathy and let her know that you support her mission to teach alternate theories to evolution in schools.
Because video games, porn, and drugs have not made our children stupid enough yet.


At This Point You Should Probably Go For A Walk

Nicole Kidman is coming over to MY HOME tomorrow to give me a BLOWJOB!!!!!!!!!!!

In related news:

Click me

New Post From 2003

Click me

Robert, You Need To Find A New Hobby

There's nothing like the smell of burning flag in the morning.

God Is Gay, Burn The Flag

So, I got my first negative comment about the flag post.

In response: I understand your feelings - according to your profile no one is as enlightened as you are to talk politics or religion because they don't understand it.


If I don't understand, I'm more than happy.

I have no intention of burning a flag and feel that those that do are "look at me and what I can do" jerk offs.

Further, I could care less.

It's a fucking flag.

"But, Robert, that flag stands for everyone who fought so that you could sit on your fat ass and blog about whatever you want."

Nope. It doesn't.

Evolution, God, Vulcans - whoever, put us down here.

Then we decided to fight one another.

Then we made flags so that we could figure out who we were supposed to be fighting.

The flag stands for an idea that you owe your government something for sending people off to other countries to die for whatever that government decided to believe in.

Without the flag and without government we would deal with each other on a personal basis and would know what we like or don't.

With the flag we are told who are enemy is and who we are supposed to shoot at.

"But, that's hippy bullshit and without government there would be anarchy. You smell like Swiss cheese and lavender."

True, but I'm sure as hell not going to worship a false idol because the God of love and peace doesn't make sense at this point in time.


Your flag is a false idol.

But, no I wouldn't waste my time burning one, but I do think it's a waste of time and your money to pass a bill telling people they can't burn it.

Who gives a shit?

If you honestly feel that the flag is a symbol of something akin to your family and friends - great, good for you! I have no problem with that. You have your opinion.

But, if this is the case and you treat a piece of cloth like it's Zeus' tit, then I would expect you to figure that the idea behind it would endure some 18-year-old burning it to get down some feminist's pants.

If your ideals are as fragile as a flag, then you better rethink them.

Any bond I feel I have towards other Americans certainly wouldn't go up in smoke because somebody in Madagascar decided to burn an effigy of it.

Feel free to print this and burn it - I'm sure I'll post again and again and again.



Back When I Did Drugs Pt. 1

Thanks amy. I know it seems like i don't care about all this shit, but it means a lot to have you comment and support me. You too, Dita.
I think that you both and I are very into pushing envelopes. Not for the sake of pushing envelopes but for the sake of being in an insane world of weirdos and being normal enough to act like weirdos in it.
Most of the time I scoff at this service and everyone in it, but the both of you have really proven to be good writers in the sense that you make sense as real people (and make me laugh).
I don't like giving a lot of comments to your work because I feel it cheapens it when it comes out of my fingers. It's like falling in love and not feeling like you have to say "I love you."
Not to say that the rest of the blogs are shitty, it's just that I feel that I bond with you both in the way that we're wrecks (no offense I'm sure you have fun, but we're definitley not Katie Courics and Matt Lauers) not attached to the abominable boat of humanity that's sinking (reality show, give me stories about abuse, I was never loved nonsense). No you are both my kind: awake enough to know that we're fucked and the world is fucked and it's no fault of the world or of our own.
We truly are the last of the great Mohicans. We are the cars that crash in the night for no other reason than we're doing 90 in a residential neighborhood - and that's all the reason in the world.
I would never be as fake as to say I love you (that would be cheap and you deserve better). But, you both are like extra limbs and I thank you.
P.S. I'm coked out of my gourd.
P.S.S. Which means I'm honest in a way that is true: I'll feel like utter shit in the morning because I became what I really am behind the bullshit; the reason I hate myself in a childish way.
And to my enemies and whatever God I'm looking forward to: this is what I am and all the bullshit in front is crepe paper to hide behind because if I feel I'm a good person then I'm rotten in my hubris.
I'll always think too much and that's what fails me.
If I were a bigger man I would live this way and realize it. But, it's so much easier to deny any good because then we fall victim to what we could never be: used.
No, we're of the type that will never be use because we can only give what is never used in this world at the moment: truth.
We are the reality show everyone is afraid to enjoy.
And we are better for it.

OK, that's that. I don't get high that often, so you won't have to hear it again. But, everytime I'm here I wonder why I can't always be here and how chemicals are personalities on their own. The only trouble is I feel like I can only be me with this and it's really a shame.
I've watched too much TV. I've subscribe to too much of what they told me. I've been original to be original and that's just so fake.

Sincerely, I hope you make fun of me for this junior high admission - but, I'm coked out of the gills and I don't care.
Again, Dita and Amy, you guys are great writers and that's hard for me to say cuz I think compliments are B.S. on the norm. But, you live years away and there's no way I'll get down either of your pants or wallets so take it as true. I read you to feel more normal and that's the last and only compliment I'll give you.
It's an ugly world and I feel your ugliness (beauty) and feel at home.
Something really meaningful,
MATT eckert

P.S.S.S.S If I was a better man I would cry and wouldn't take this post down in the morning as embarrasment. And I probably will. I really hate the fact that it takes drugs to come clean, like washing the tub with a dirty diaper. But, it's all true in a coked up sort of way.

P.S.S.S.S.S. I would totally make fun of this too, so don't feel bad.

P.S.S.S.S.S.S: The Activites Directory chick from the Love Boat works at the QFC on Capitol Hill (Belmont for Chicago, Greenwich for Newyork) in Seattle.

Humility will save us.

If there's anything I've always hated in the world, behind the politics, races, religion, POWER - it's a sure mind. Anyone who is sure of anything in this world is my enemy, because this world is so

Standard Practice

Standard Prac
Boy, what a day. I have done so much with so little time. Like how I did those edits and how I defecated – all before 4.
Uh oh, the guy who sits behind me had an edit question, so I had to look at his computer screen and have him relate his problems to me. But, it's all fine now and he didn't over explain himself, or have an erroneous issue, so I'm fine.
Another woman I work with just purchased insurance for her mobile home. She seems pretty excited about this and she's having a conversation with another lady about it.
I don't think I'd want a mobile home. I traveled in one once and it was claustrophobic. We went to Yellowstone and all sorts of places on a journey to Chicago. It was OK, but it got boring being cooped up in the mobile home. One part was scary, when my ex was trying to take down the outdoor cover with this long metal pole in the middle of this storm with a tornado on the way near Devil's Tower. This angered me, cuz I thought she would get hit by lightning and we got in a fight and didn't talk to each other till the next day when we decided to break up.
Man, there's a gem. A personal glance into my life where I revealed a touching moment of sadness. This is the best Real Blog ever!
Someone just sent me an email to reschedule a meeting. I think I will wait till I'm done writing to open it. I don't feel like opening it when I'm on a WINNING STREAK with this REAL BLOG.
Uh-oh, there is a email in my Purchasing mailbox, that means I need to set up another project, but I will wait until later.
Shannon and I are going to see Kill Bill V.2 on Wednesday and I have marked this on my calendar.
I can't decide what to do tonight, but I think it will involve me eating hash browns at some point in time.
I just spelled hash browns wrong, but I corrected it. It's not one word, like I would have imagined.
People in my cube sing and make funny voices all the time and it annoys me. Someone just made a funny sound and it bothered me because they are not funny.
Someone else is talking about dead people, but I can't hear enough to know how this relates to anything else.
I saw Josh outside when I went for a cigarette, he was going to Barnes and Nobel, but I didn't want to go. So, I went inside and back up to the third floor.
There weren't always offices on the third floor. It used to be empty space where they would store things and have "sample sales."
Sample sales are when our company sells all the vendor's samples to the employees for marked-off rates. But, they discontinued these for some reason. I rarely would go, but one time I went and I bought a leather Captain's chair and an ottoman which were very nice. But, then I was broke for awhile and had to sell them to my sister for only 50 dollars. She broke the ottoman the other day.
I now have three requests in my Purchasing mailbox, that's 15 minutes of work – oh, brother!
So, no one has told me how much they like or dislike my new REAL BLOG. I'm really disappointed, I know that I have many loyal fans who enjoy my fiction and would love to sneak a peak at my REAL LIFE.
If you love sneaking a peak at my REAL LIFE, you should email me or respond on my CHAT BOX.
OK, I'm going to read for awhile.

Back When I Did Drugs

Oh Brother

Well, yesterday was a nightmare. Three years since I did coke and I spent 18 hours realizing why.

Saturday I went to the outlet mall and bought clothing to make myself feel better about myself. I could have saved 200 dollars by not getting embarrassingly drunk and stoned the following evening.

What else?

After yesterday's fortress of paranoid solitude I've decided I'm not going to return to my apartment for a good six months.

It's amazing how ugly and prison-like a dwelling can become when you're stuck in it for a whole day.

Drugs are bad.

Crap, I remember around two I ended up taking a sponge to what was left.

I don't even want to think about it.

Saturday night, before I decided to treat my body like a test subject at Pfizer, I went to Chris' wedding reception.

Immediately upon entry there's a picture of Chris and his wife and space for signing and writing some witty note about how you wish them the best.

Now, his wife is hot and maybe I'm being prudish here: but, what the fuck was up with the full on leg action in the pic?

It's a picture of them sitting on a rock kissing with the ocean behind them and she has her dress pulled up to reveal her leg up to her waist.

This is the couple that sent me a Christmas shot with her panties showing. But that was on accident – or was it?

I don't know, maybe weddings should be tacky: they'd be more truthful that way. But, I don't think they wanted tacky, especially after watching the cavalcade of Hallmark Hawaii that was their wedding video.

No, I think they thought it was romantic. But, it didn't come off that way. Ten minutes after my arrival I saw the best man and a group of Shriners from the adjacent hall circle jerking to the picture.

Later I made a drunken speech.

The funny part was I wasn't even drunk.

Let me explain: I thought it would be funny to pretend that I was drunk.

This did not go over well. This came off as creepy.

I've made plenty of wedding speeches and they've all gone great. In some circles I'm known as "That guy that made the funny speech."

Not at this one, brother.

This one I came ill prepared. I totally forgot that speeches were in order. It was Weisberg, so I didn't even take the wedding seriously. The last wedding I went to I was too hungover to even talk.

So, I wasn't expecting to give a speech. Normally, I would have written something beforehand.

So, I went on at the coaxing of these semi-friends I have, who probably just wanted to watch me make an ass of myself.

I started off with the beginning of the Luke Wilson speech from Old School. This went over well with the ten people who were familiar with that film.

Then I went into some unfunny crap about T-ball, and went further down the spiral with jokes about how drunk I was.

This was all interspersed with long, creepy pauses while I tried to think up another joke.

Stilted laughter and applause have never been used so ferociously.

Later, I went to some crappy club in a funk, told some annoying women to leave by doing something I thought was funny at the time, then bought a gram of coke, was euphoric for five hours and then plummeted into some paranoid depression as I kept reciting the mantra "It's only the drug."



I'm Against Slavery

My name is Matt Eckert. I run this "blog."
And I have an announcement to make – we're RETOOLING!
That's right. Because of poor ratings (see Blog Hot or Not: we got a 1.3 as an average of 9 votes) we will now be a REALITY BLOG. That's right, everything here on the blog will be part of....REALITY. Not only that, it will no longer involve just my own reality – it will involve others. And I know you've all been asking for more SEX in the blog – so, you'll be getting MORE SEX! The following will be the first of many blogs to involve ACTUAL HUMAN BEINGS WITH VAGINAS! Or, as I like to call them – HOTCHIX.
I will continue to write (questions), but the rest is all HOTCHIXXX!!!!!
So, without further ado:



The first HOTCHIXXX babe is my ex-girlfriend from a long time ago. Which ex-girlfriend? I cannot say. But, she is definitely a HOTCHIXXX babe. K, apparently she didn't have time before leaving work - so, she will be tomorrow's HOTCHIXXX babe.

The second HOTCHIXXX babe is a reader of the previous unretooled Larrington. I haven't seen her since I was drunk a few months ago, but I promise you, my readers, that when I'm drunk I'm always around HOTCHIXXX!

Matt: Have you ever slept with a porpoise?
HOTCHIXXX BABE: No, but have been humped by a dolphin.

Matt: If you were alone on a desert island, but you knew God was watching: would you, you know?
HOTCHIXXX BABE: Yes because he's always watching and I do it all the time.

Matt: If you had only Ed Asner or Britney Spears to choose from – who would you sleep with?
HOTCHIXXX BABE: Ed Asner only as Lou from Mary Tyler Moore

Matt: If you had your choice between Dom Deluise and one of the Olsen twins – who would you cook for?

Matt: If I continued to yell PING in your ear, how long before you'd hit me?
HOTCHIXXX BABE: 1 min 31sec

Matt: What drugs have you taken?
HOTCHIXXX BABE: all sorts but I like to stick with downers

Matt: What drugs are you on?
HOTCHIXXX BABE: Just huffed some office depot compressed air

Matt: Would you be fat or thin?
HOTCHIXXX BABE: Fat, because fat girls have pretty faces and great senses of humor.

Matt: Would you rather be eaten from the inside out by a tapeworm, or spend an evening in a really nice hotel?

Matt: What do you do for fun?
HOTCHIXXX BABE: I just got back from following Da Band around the southern us. Ooohwhaaaat YEAH!

Matt: What are your turn ons?
HOTCHIXXX BABE: Croquet, music- anything by Burt Bacharach or Black Rebel Motor Cycle Club, Don Johnson.

Matt: What are your turn offs?
HOTCHIXXX BABE: Men who wear tight pants and those weird chinese socks that separate your big toe from the rest of your foot. You know those ones. Star Trek. Cologne.

Matt: Have you ever had a dream that involved moles?
HOTCHIXXX BABE: Never , that's a weird question.

Wasn't that great? We delved deep into the lives of REAL HOTCHIXXX and asked probing questions that they answered as only HOTCHIXXX could – hotly.
Are you turned on? I bet you are. Stay tuned for more HOTCHIXXX actions as I interview dudes who want to have sex with HOTCHIXXX! Why dudes? Well, I have to find more HOTCHIXXX to interview and HOTCHIXXX usually want money for their time. So, I'm going to have to have a few DUDES to talk about HOTCHIXXX while I scope for more HOTCHIXXX to interview. Also, send me any HOTCHIXXX that you know of and I will interview them.
This has been the HOTCHIXXX room of LEVI LARRINGTON.
PSSSSSSSSS, ooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhh – HOT!

I Like Women Who Wear Lipstick


Restaurants should give in to consumer needs and start putting fingers on the menu.

Look, for years now we've been doing everything we can to find fingers in our food. I know it's an unsettling aspect of our psyche, like the enjoyment we have when we hear a "white man dance like this" joke, but the truth is we want to eat fingers.

Case in point: finger food – a clever name to identify foods that are small enough to be picked up by the fingers? No, it's our base cannibal urge to eat numerous fingers.

Think about it: French fries, jalapeno poppers, and chicken strips all resemble fingers, somewhat.

Is it any wonder that we rub our bellies with our hands when we're hungry? It's because we secretly want our hands in our stomach.

Infants are our best mirrors of our most base needs and what does every infant do from the day they're born until they're five?

They suck their thumbs. Why? Because they want the delicious protein that only a finger can give.

So, today when I read that another patron has accused another restaurant of placing a finger in their salad, I thought – the time has come to be honest with ourselves: we like to eat fingers.

And we're so ashamed of this that when we find that we enjoyed that delicious finger we accuse the restaurants of diabolically or accidentally placing it there.

The truth is the restaurants know what we like: they spend millions on studies such as this one:

John Public: Hello?

Studier: Hello, is this Mr. Public?

JP: Yes.

S: Hello, this is Studier from Levico. We are a company that works with the service industry to provide beneficial reports on the tastes and habits of the average American. We're currently taking a survey on restaurant patronage. We'd like to ask you a few questions concerning your restaurant patronage. All of your answers and input will be confidential. Would you have a couple of minutes?

JP: Uh, sure.

S: Great, for the record my name is Studier and you've accepted Levico's invitation to take this survey. All the information you provide us will be confidential. Are these statements true?

JP: Yes.

S: Great. Mr. Public, when was the last time you ate at a restaurant, drive thru and take out included?

JP: Uh, well, I've got a Whopper in my hand right now.

S: Oh, great. OK, and the last time – er, the Whopper, are you enjoying it?

JP: Yeah, it's meaty.

S: "Yes" or "no" are fine. OK, and were you satisfied with your purchase?

JP: Sure.

S: OK, I'll mark that as "Yes." And would you say that you would eat at the Burger King establishment again?

JP: Yes.

S: Super. OK, now what could Burger King do to make your visits more satisfying?

JP: Well, I only got two packets of ketchup and the fries suck.

S: OK, ketchup, fries..Alright, anything else?

JP: Oh, it would be awesome if they served human fingers.

S: Excuse me?

JP: Well, these surveys aren't going to use my name, right?

S: That is correct sir; all the information you provide us will be confidential.

JP: Well, then I have to admit that if you, like, strategically placed a thumb or half a forefinger in a Whopper or a cup of fries I would enjoy my meal more. In fact, if you served a basket of fingers with a dipping sauce that would be awesome.

S: Really? So, human flesh on the menu?

JP: No, not all human flesh, just the fingers.

S: All right, well your honesty was refreshing. I appreciate your input.

JP: No problem. Cubs win!

S: Thank you.

That was a survey done by yours truly. And at random.

Look, we're not going to win our wars, or unite this country until we come to grasp some cold, hard facts: we like to eat fingers with dipping sauce.



Classic Larrington

Classic Larrington

Carson Daly Gets Shot in the Head 450 Times by Me
By Matt Eckert, Associated Press Writer

New York, NY (AP) MTV's resident dipshit and massive tool, Carson Daly, has signed on as the new host of NBC's late-late-night one-on-one interview show, Later. Total Request Live fans need not fret, I have shot him in the head 450 times. Daly will be keeping his TRL day job, along with his gig deejaying two syndicated music radio shows, his head is completely gone but sources say he will operate the show in much the same fashion. Although his involvement with NBC is part of a three-year development deal that gives him a chance to give interviews beyond the grave using Carrot Top and a Weejee board.

"We are ecstatic that someone as bright and promising as Carson's dead body will be joining our lineup to ensure that NBC remains the late-night leader," says NBC President Jeff Zucker.

As host of Later, Daly will be staying up late to interview not just the 'N Syncs and Britneys of the world, which I haven't got to yet, but celebrities and pop-culture personalities who are actually vacant enough to hold a 1 hour conversation with a headless body.

While NBC is doubtlessly counting on Daly attracting a younger demographic to the ratings-challenged show, insiders wonder "will he be as fun and lovable without that obtrusive head?"

Before hitting the big time as host of TRL, MTV's juiced-up take on American Bandstand, Daly would sell hot dogs out of a cart and tell everyone "I'm going to be the next Dick Clark - but even more boring". After moving to MTV, his offensive looks helped make Daly the obsession of millions of retarded teenage girls and TRL the music network's highest-rated show since such wonders as Remote Control and I Did Downtown Julie Brown, as well as a required stop on any suicidal popster's publicity tour.

Daly became my obsession after seeing one of his shows and thinking to myself "This is the biggest monster since Hitler."

When You Say "I Love You" I Feel Like You're Being Sarcastic

Godzilla is Dead and Remember September 11th

A lot of you have been questioning our military progress off the coast of Japan, and I'm here to reassure the American people that our actions are steadily succeeding.

And remember September 11th.

A year ago all power over the islands off Japan that were once occupied by Godzilla are now in Japanese hands.

Our brave soldiers took down a monster made from nuclear fallout and greed and liberated a people.

But, now we face our toughest challenge: the other monsters.

Sure, it's fair to say that Godzilla never attacked us and maybe his place out in the Pacific, whether to ruin a few buildings or gas the Thais, was evil but served as protection against the even more evil and multiple monsters he held at bay.

Some will say that the likes of Titanasaurus and Mothra were kept at arms length due to Godzilla's position out there. Some will say that without Godzilla and with the plentiful fallout of the islands, we've created a breeding ground for new monsters, like Baragon.

Some might even go as far as saying that Battra and Orga would never have been anywhere near Seattle when they came and ate it, if it weren't for the fact that Godzilla wasn't in the Pacific to swat them away like large, terrible flies.

I understand that San Francisco, Hong Kong, and Portland are now in the belly of Megalon and that Megaguirus is off the coast of Mexico as I speak, fighting King Ghidora and sending flames into Mexico city.

Was it worth it?

You're damned right.

We attacked Godzilla because we believed that he might have the capability to shoot anthrax out of his tail.

We were wrong.

But, should we have let Godzilla go on until he finally had evolved into the type of monster that could shoot anthrax out of his tail?

I think a billion Chinamen wouldn't take too kindly to that.

Some would say we're fighting for nothing. Well, sir, you tell that to the people of Bangkok who lost sons and daughters when Godzilla sat on a small village and expelled his Godzilla gasses which turned out to be akin to mustard gas. It may not have been anthrax, but you just try to tell me you'd enjoy watching your family tear up for five hours.

I get a lot of questions. "When are we going to catch Bin Laden?" Well, Bin Laden is not on my mind right now.

Bin Laden pales in comparison to the likes of Gigan or Rodan, Ebirah or Destoroyah.

No, we will stay the course and finish our job.

When the great Biollante comes and attacks your city and you blame it on Godzilla being gone I want you to think hard, think deep, and remember September 11th.

Well, not the part about Bin Laden, but the part where...um...Godzilla could have gotten anthrax in his tail and shot it all over Houston. Maybe he didn't, but he could have.

Good night, God bless and remember September 11th.

Other Things That Happened On 911

Falling Through the Cracks: September 11, 2001 News Archived

Sanitation and Industry: What leading cheese makers of the world don't want you to know.

Wolf Rabid A.P.

In the weeks that followed September 11th, the headlines were grislier than Jeffrey Dahmer in a bear suit. But, the real question is what wasn't reported in that horrendous week?

Well, I'll tell you a lot went on behind the public's back as we were driven to watch hours of endless CNN carnage.

The news stories here aren't any prettier, but, I felt it was my duty as a reporter to go behind the news and find the stories that were eclipsed by the dreadful events of Sept. 11.

September 11:
In a hair raising scene of all out panic, a New Hampshire McDonalds is attacked by Big Bird.

At approximately 9.10 EST a very inebriated Big Bird entered the beef and chud dispensatory and opened fire on Ronald, Mayor McCheese and various Hamburglers, who were later discovered to be casing the place.

"Oh, it was awful, we were minding our own business, having hashbrowns and breakfast burritos when one of my children, who was getting Ronald's autograph, asked Ronald why Big Bird was here. Well, Ronald looked puzzled, then nervous and said something to the effect of 'he knows.' Well, the next thing you know, Big Bird comes in brandishing a pistol and shouting something about Ronald having relations with Big Bird's wife Grimace. Well, this really threw us off. I mean, we always thought Grimace was a guy. Then we started thinking, maybe he is and Big Bird is a girl....but, then we wondered if they were....well, you know."

Other witnesses said that they heard shots fired and a lot of shouting. By 10 am Ronald Macdonald, Mayor McCheese, and various hamburglars were taken out of the restaurant in stretchers. Conditions are listed as critical.

September 12
Eggs Found to be Deadly
Researchers at a Chicago based health facility announced yesterday that eggs are poisonous and may be eating away at you this very minute. That's right, this may be the most ground breaking news story ever to be published. It seems that for most human beings, the next egg will be your last. "We can only hope that this story gets massive coverage, so that people all over the Earth realize that if they eat just one more egg, they will die a horrible death."

Investigative reporter Wolf Banister assured researchers that his top priority would be to see to it that the world is informed of this horrible finding.

September 13
Wolf Banister Shot and Killed Before he Could Let the Public Know About Toxic Eggs
Wolf Banister, 33, was shot and killed yesterday on his way to CNN headquarters in Atlanta.

Sources say he was killed by other sources that would not say why they killed him, only that it had something to do with the shooting death of Ronald McDonald who died yesterday in a New Hampshire hospital.

September 14
Ronald McDonald Rises from Grave, Demands McNuggets
Early this morning Ronald McDonald rose from his coffin in a New Hampshire morgue to warn the world of the Apocalypse and to devour nine twenty-piece Chicken McNugget meals.

"God's wrath is upon you! Pass the sweet and sour.....what do you mean it's a quarter, I'm Ronald....But I'm not dead anymore."

A CNN poll taken hours ago said that 96% of polls taken are inaccurate.

I Hate All Of You



We're having a very special live moment here, in the midst of publishing the old entries from the previous site.

I thank every last two of you for the encouraging comments.

Let's get up to snuff:

I am still a technical writer for a large retailer. Although, there's a freaky story I must relate.

Freaky Story

A nameless woman and I were having a joking back and forth in regards to having sexual intercourse. This involved a twister, nylons, and lipstick. It was all in a spirit of gravity as the woman has an insane boyfriend who works for security. Well, somehow, a few Fridays ago, he receives (according to the woman) the printed version of our email string on his desk.

How did it get there? Well, unless someone is monitoring my emails, I have no idea.

So, I may be in trouble. Who knows?

I am also still living in Seattle where my mail is repeatedly broken into. They've now locked the apartments up like Fort Knox. Crime seems to follow me, as in my last complex, I was robbed right before I moved. Maybe I'm doing it? I could be some Jeckyl/Hyde type guy and not even know it.

I'm still single. Although, I went through a week with a woman who broke it off on a text message. Don't worry; I found it funny. See, we had this one night stand and it was nice and drunken. Well, she asks me at some point whether it's just a "tonight type of thing." Well, I thought "Why not call her again, I don't have many friends and I love making more." So, I called her a couple of times and went out with her twice. We kept the sex up, but by the second date I knew I would have to explain my intentions, and I had none other than the hanging out. Well, everything came up Eckert when she broke it off with me over a text message to the effect that she didn’t see our thing going anywhere. Kinda funny.

I still think my ex-girlfriend from Canada is a total fucking bitch. Look, I wouldn't put this in here, but I just had an exchange with her after six months and she's still a fucking twat. She works with me, via Canada, and has decided to drop me from the distro list for setting up new projects. So, I email her with a WTF? And she tells me in a very bitchy way that she doesn't like working with me. Look, I don't expect us to be fucking buddies, but a simple "How are you?" would be nice. But, whatever, she has to live in Ottawa and I don't.

Moving right along.

I still have the Acura, but it was hit and ranned? This was a problem in reporting it. What was the correct verbage? Hit and runned? Ranned? It was hit and ran? Man, it stunk trying to figure that out. I think I ended up just saying "I got hit and the driver ran." Well, sufficed to say, I'm 2040 $ richer now. That's right, I elected to not have the dent repaired. This decision was made on the belief that I would get my timing belt fixed with the money. Not to be. I've blown most of it on gifts and clothes. I get a tune up tomorrow and I'll have the battery repaired or replaced or whatever, but the timing belt will have to wait for next paycheck. The dent will wait until I (crossing fingers) get a tax refund.

Well, that's about it as far as lately goes. Last night an extremely gorgeous woman moved in next door...so, there's that.

As far as the site goes, I will continue to post old stuff from the blogger site until it runs dry and then we'll be back up to more mischief.




The Thoughts of the Porno Actor

Oh, man. How long can I keep doing this?
Jesus. OK, OK.


Man, that really didn't seem like acting. I mean, I came, so it's not like I was really acting.
What am I doing in this business?
One day you're trying out for Shakespeare in the park and the next....
Well, you're here with this woman fluffing you so that you can do a double penetration scene with a horny housewife and the janitor.
Man! My mother always said I was lazy...but, this...this is no way to – great, hold on

"Oh, Jesus! Yes, just like that baby. You like that?"

OK, what was I thinking – yeah, so I mean, maybe that's just it – I'm lazy. I guess if I worked

"Oh, yeah, make it hard! C'mon! C'mon!"

a little harder at respectable work, maybe I wouldn't be here, inside this woman's butt. Oh well. Damn, why does she have to have a tattoo of Goofy on her butt. I'm trying to stay aroused here and I'm looking at Goofy. Jesus.

"Yeah, that's it, you like that don't you?"

God, if I have to repeat that line – damnit!

"Yeah, that's it, that's it."

This director sucks. Can you even call a guy a director if all he does is shout out stock porn phrases? Oh, crap, the other guy's gonna blow his wad. If he hits me again –
DAMNIT! Just what I needed, a good load of some dude's spunk on me.
OK, here we go. I wanna get this over with. OK....Oh, crap, did I leave the iron on? I hope I didn't leave the iron on. Damn. Now, I'm worried. What was that one album I was going to get? I heard it on the radio. I think it was the Carpenters –

"OH YEAH, I'm about to come!"

Something about roses or something? I can't remember. There's not enough love music out there. I mean, it's all about sex and drugs and crap. What ever happened –


to love music?

You'd think there'd be a good love song or two on the radio. Something like old Manilow or Diamond. Oh, well –


I guess I'm just a romantic.

I Wish I Was A Capital Letter

I’d Rather Play with My Balls Then Have another Friend

So, I keep meeting people.

It’s not my fault.

Look, I have these friends that I’ve had for years. They’re great, but the problem is they keeping meeting other people that I have to meet.

So, I pretend to meet them – tell them what I do, make a joke, and help them to the bathroom at some party where they don’t know anyone.

From there, I could give a fuck.

In fact, everyone new that I meet is just a road bump in the way of going over to a friend’s house and sitting on their couch, drinking their beer, and farting noisily.

The only time I want to meet new people is if I can get them to fuck me for an extended period of time (girlfriend) or employ me for an extended period of time (boss).

Beyond that, I already have friends.

I have, like, ten.

That’s enough.

But, these ten people keep bringing others into the mix that I have to like for a year and up to the end of my life.

Fuck them.

I’m tired of them.

I don’t like any of these people. They annoy me.

If I met them back when I was younger than 18 and in my “make friends” mode, maybe I’d like them.

But, no, I hate them. They do everything my old friends do, but they piss me off by not paying dues like my other friends. Sure, if you’re an old friend you can act pompous and make like your opinion is the word of God – but, if you haven’t picked me up from jail in Ellensburg – think again.

I already have a friend who quotes Eddie Murphy every time we build a fire.

I already have a friend who thinks he’s going to fuck every woman in the room even though he hasn’t been laid since Crystal Pepsi.

And, I already have five friends who have kids and lecture me about how mature they are because they are parents.

Look, I’m sure you’re cool and all, but I don’t need this shit.

I pretty much half hate all my existing friends and you’re just reminding me why.

I try my best to be TV SHOW FRIENDS normal: I’ll quit drinking for 45 minutes to stop by a friend’s house to feel like I’m social. I’ll call a friend at 2 in the morning and whine about how my life is all screwed up. And, yes, I’ll borrow money from a friend at lunch in an Arby’s to pay for beer so I won’t be bored that night.

So, there, that’s a friend. Nothing big. I’m not going to spend the day watching the draft with you. I’m not going to go on some road trip with you. And I’m sure as hell not going to talk you out of suicide because most of your friends are as degenerate as me.

No, I will be a friend to you until I meet a chick, then I will disappear for three years and come back when I need to get drunk in front of women in order to think I’ll get laid somehow this way.

With that in mind, the part where I really don’t like my friends and use them to feel normal, I DO NOT NEED NEW FRIENDS!

I cannot make this clearer.

My mission in life was to lead the world into a special time of peace. But, I’ve fucked that up and now I just drink a lot.

So, I need YOU, friend, to give me some sort of grounding on how the rest of the human race works and I’ll try to help you in order to make a last stab at my original mission: I’ll pick you up at the airport on a Tuesday in order to think about how great a person I am since I picked you up and I don’t really like being around you.

So, read the above again and figure out if you should really want to call me to hang out. Because, I only need you in the way a penis needs a vagina for about nine minutes.

Yes, I’m an awful person, but like I said: before all this I was a Jesus Christ figure.

So, you know…shit happens.



I Have No Idea Why I'm Not Famous Yet

Chest Pains

"Why are you having chest pains?"

- Poll on the side of this blog

So, another Friday.
This blog now has a number of 12 votes, tabulating a score of 1.6 out of 10 on Hot or Not. There's really nothing more I can do to bring up the ratings and Blogger has threatened to drop me if I don't.
It's a free service and anyone can post on it; but, they are still threatening to drop me. Or someone is?
I don't know if I can go back to the Dickensian diary that is lying under my bed.
Looking at it now, I see that the last entry is pretty boring:

December 26, 2003

Christmas came and went. I got a jacket and a TV. Jenny and Brad refused to help me bring the TV into my apartment, so I was forced to do it myself, drunk on eggnog and wine.
I hope this warranty works out.

Man, those were the days.
In other events, the ex-girlfriend came back into town. It's been two years, so she's more of an ex-ex-girlfriend. She looks good, which pissed me off. I was hoping that she would come back looking like a sack of feta cheese. Oh well. I learned of how happy she is with her current boyfriend – some French-Canadian.
I told her I was glad as I clenched my fists under the table and tried to figure out why it only takes two years to make someone not want to sleep with you anymore.
The fact that she's getting regular sex and I am not bothers me as well.
We had nachos and steak on the company tab.
We parted company and I contemplated suicide on the ride home. But, I just couldn't bring myself to kill myself with leftover nachos in the car.
There's something sad and pathetic about dying in an ironic way, and my bloated carcass covered in guacamole and salsa would just drive home the fact that my life was a disgusting mess.
But, I kid. It was a nice dinner and I don't hate her as much as I thought I did.
But, the chest pains are still here and I blame the nachos; that I finally got around to eating last night.
I'm a health nut, I gotta admit.
It was between the nachos and the week-old slice of pizza from Armondos.
As I ate the nachos I cried, as I realized they were the last piece of K I had in my life.
There's something sad and surreal about a man crying while eating nachos and watching a commercial for a metal detector.

A birthday card is being passed around today for A. How do you tell someone you couldn't give a shit about your own birthday, much less their's without seeming like a complete ass?
I simply wrote "You're still here, way to go!"
It seemed subtle and to the point.
But, I lied. She is not here. She is vacationing. Let me find out where on my Outlook.
Key Arena it says. I guess this has something to do with the women's basketball she keeps wanting us to go to. I don't even like male sports, much less women's basketball. Yet, day in and day out she bugs us to go. I think it's because there's a good chance that the lesbian population of Seattle won't cut the admissions mustard to hold up a women's team for much longer.
Maybe if they made gay marriage legal in Key Arena they'd get more takers. That would be awesome. They'd have a big scoreboard for all the gay marriages they performed! Man, that'd piss off Pat Robertson.

I had a drink with Cary last night. It was swell. This may be the reason I'm having chest pains. There's something not right about eating salsa that came out of a bucket.
Yes, we were in Azteca.
Cary showed up late, so I entertained myself with the folks on either side of me.
On the one side was a man and a woman and the man kept talking about what a great man he was. Apparently he was thoroughly involved in the church and politics.....but, as his voice grew louder and louder I deciphered that his greatest achievements were in the processing of ethyl alcohol.
On the other side was a man talking on his cell phone, with what looked like his girlfriend sitting next to him. The woman kept shouting unintelligible things into the phone as the man talked on it. So, I figured she was friends with whomever he was talking to. Little did I realize, she was the man's ex-wife. I realized this when I finally deciphered, through slurred gibberish, "HE'S WITH ME, HIS EX-WIFE YOU BITCH!" as she screamed it into the man's ear and phone. It's always around this time in someone's alcohol insanity that I like to make friends with them, so when she asked me for a cigarette, I obliged. She called me "baby-baby," which was endearing.
Cary finally arrived and I told her about the ex-girlfriend and the nachos and my chest pains; but, she didn't care. No, her friend is neighbors with Dave Matthews and I learned that Dave Matthews likes to hang out at her friend's garage sales. Apparently the friend never, ever, EVER! asks Dave about his "other life." That life being the Dave Matthew's band. Apparently, Cary met him at the friend's party and he was really nice. He even sent another ex-girlfriend of mine to buy him cigarettes. I like anyone who smokes, normally...unless they're drunk and yelling into cell phones. So, here's to you Dave...you sent my ex-girlfriend to get you smokes – just like I did when she was around. Maybe I'll start a band. Hmmmm.....

So, the Guy Who Sits Behind Me is stalking a woman over our computer system.
"Hey, how do you use the membership system to look up last names?"
Yes, he's got it in his head, again, that if a woman looks at him, she's flirting...or something. So, now he's trying to find out her last name in our membership system. Ethics aside, this guy is creepy. M and I are trying to figure out why women give this half-assed pony tail wearing, Bon Jovi dreg their phone numbers. But, he has a good heart; I've never watched someone try as hard as he does to make an awkward moment extend into a lifetime. He's making noises now, which means he may talk soon. These are the times I'm glad I have Jesus around...somewhere.....no, wait, those are rice cakes....why do I have rice cakes around?


Handey Hack

Handey Hack

If you wanna play God, sure, keep those flies in that jar. But, I'll warn you: if they develop a religion around you, you better be able to perform a card trick or two. Otherwise, you know, they might not believe you're God anymore.

You might think that in a perfect world there would be no borders or boundries. But, then, that's a lot of maps and globes that someone would have to update.

Mormons will come and go, but I never will forget the one that delivered me pizza last night. Because, afterall, how many Mormons ask you for 18.95 plus tip?

When I was younger, my father sat me down and told me about the facts of life. But, the one fact that I could never understand is why my father insisted upon calling me Tootie.

I told the bartender that I would love to tip her, but I had spent the money on the drink I had just bought.

I think a beautiful place to visit would be San Ignacio, Bolivia. I don't know why I think that, but I do.

If a plane crashes on an ice sheet in the winter, do you think the flotation devices would wait until spring to inflate?

Why do they call German Shepards, German Shepards? I mean, what's the deal with that? It could be that they decend from German dogs and they were used as shepards, but, that's probably just what they want you to believe.

If you come upon a difficult problem and ask for assistance, the best person to ask will probably be a convicted murderer. Because, they'll probably tell you that murder is not the answer, then you'll avoid being a convicted murderer.

I think more children should look up to NBA stars. Because, NBA stars are normally taller than children, so it kinda works out.

I think a funny story problem would be about an engineer that has to burn passengers to keep the train going and how many passengers it will take to keep the train going and get the Queen of the Netherlands to the concert on time without using her for fuel. No, that's probably not a good story problem, but it might be a good TV show or movie. You decide.

If you ever see someone play that old "gotchur nose" game, tell them to stop it. Because, that game always ends in lies.

I've gotten a lot of report cards in my time. That's it. That's all I'm trying to say, but you know, when you think about that - that's a lot of report cards.

If I was a pirate, I would hide my booty in my butt. Because, then when the English Captain asked me where the booty was I'd point at my butt and say, "it's here!" And the English Captain would think I was just joking around and he wouldn't look for the booty there.

A good game to play is that one where you're steering and you have to shift gears and stuff. No, wait, that's driving a car.

Sammy and I used to drive Mr. Roberts down to the grocer every Sunday. He was an older gentleman and I think he enjoyed the company. But, he used to get quite excited when we'd break into the house to pull him from his sleep to do it. Some people don't take kindness easily.

I guess the best job you could get is the job where you get paid to do something you love. That's probably why prostitutes don't have unions.

If you ever find yourself unhappy with the food someone has cooked you, just think about the poor Ethiopians. That and a lot of ketchup.

I explained to young Michael, there's a lot in life to live for. Then I hung him over the balacony by his feet. The thought of a free fall to your death really drives the point home. He stopped complaining about our trip to the Space Needle right then and there.

If I were a monkey, I'd tell all the other monkeys that I was the Messiah monkey. Because, monkeys are probably very naive. I'd also tell them that my hands shoot electricity. Man, monkeys are so stupid.

A funny game to play with your dog is to play chase the stick. A funner game is to light the stick on fire. It's more fun if it's not your dog.

I remember the last time I saw Jane. We were out on the beach, just staring at the ocean. The sun was going down and we were holding hands. I told her that I loved her and I would always love her. Oh, and we were both dressed as clowns. Man, Jane and I were funny like that. Anyway, she got herpes and I don't call her anymore, why?

You think candy is good, right? Well, what if candy tasted like fire. I don't know what fire tastes like, but, hey, would you like it then?

A lot of people will tell you that people are mostly the same, but how do you explain those people that disagree? Because, those people are not the same. Oh, and wolfboy and Frankenstein.

If there's ever a water shortage and bandits and pirates control a water syndicate, I bet it'd be OK to not wash your hands after using the restroom. Because, hey, that's precious water there, buddy.