Mitch Hedberg-- Funnier Than You
I quoted Mitch Hedberg just the other day. Talking to my boss, I said, "Well, you can't please everybody all the time, and last night those people were at my show."
Mitch was brilliant. I'll never forget the first time I saw him about 4 years ago. It was the weekend after Thanksgiving and I was working a swing shift at TGI Fridays. Twelve hours of waiting tables is never fun, and what made it even worse was that I was coming down with the flu. By the time I left that night I was all-out sick. When I got home I was hot and cold, shaking and dizzy, and for some insane reason I decided I wanted to find something to make me cry. Hey, I was probably running a 106 fever, I had no clue what was going on. So as I was flipping through the channels I landed on Mitch's Comedy Central special. I didn't know whether it was the flu talking or what, but I decided that night that I had never seen a funnier guy in my entire life.
Turns out it wasn't the flu. I went out and got Mitch's CD and I listened to it on repeat for months. The guy was a genius. Here are some of my favorite Mitch jokes:
I don't have a girlfriend. But I do know a woman who'd be mad at me for saying that.
I got my hair highlighted, because I felt some strands were more important than others.
I type a 101 words a minute. But it's in my own language.
My lucky number is four billion. That doesn't come in real handy when you're gambling. "Come on, four billion! Fuck. Seven. I need more dice."
An escalator can never break: it can only become stairs. You would never see an "Escalator Temporarily Out Of Order" sign, just "Escalator Temporarily Stairs. Sorry for the convenience."
Someone handed me a picture and said, "This is a picture of me when I was younger." Every picture of you is when you were younger. "...Here's a picture of me when I'm older." Where'd you get that camera man?
I wish I could play little league now. I'd be way better than before. Anyway, about an hour ago Sherrod Small walked in my office and asked me if I heard that Mitch died. I said I heard it but that I didn't believe it; he confirmed that it was true. So yeah, in a rare My Blog is Poop display of emotion, I'm going to say that I'm actually truly saddened by this. It's strange. I'm the same guy that organized the "Ol Dirty Bastard Memorial Pub Crawl" last year, and just named my fantasy baseball team
The Feeding Tubes. I usually don't let these kind of things get to me. Usually.
The guy was a real talent. Though it hasn't been announced yet, people are already attributing his death to a heroin overdose. This is the same guy that said, "I used to do drugs. I still do drugs, but I used to do them too," so I guess it shouldn't be too big of a surprise. I guess it isn't a surprise. But it is a shame.
If you've never heard Mitch's stuff, pick up his CD now. Seriously. I promise you won't regret it. I've never written a serious post like this before, so I don't know how to end it. So that's that.
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b at 3:05 PM
something strange is in the air
Okay, sorry for the late post. But all day I've been staring at this Arnold pic...
And it's been bothering me. It just looks so... familiar. At first I thought it resembled some sort of face you would see on the bark of a tree. Then I thought that it was a cloud face. I just couldn't put my finger on it. Then it hit me.
It's Robert Goulet!
Check it out. It's some weird phenomenon, like crop circles, or the popularity of Aaron Karo. Can anybody explain this??
There's some strange shit going on in Cali, I'll tell you that much. Don't drink the water.
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b at 6:51 PM
Lessons Learned from Just One of the Guys
- If you want to cover up the most perfect pair of breasts ever, all you have to do is throw on a flannel.
- Lifting cafeteria tables increases your upper body strength.
- It's perfectly okay to bring a tremendous lizard into the gym showers with you
- All balls itch. It's a fact.
- If you walk up to your male friend in the bathroom and brush his hair behind his ears and say, "It's just that you looked so nice today," he won't assume that you're gay.
- That Terry as a guy looks exactly like Adam Brody on
The O.C.- If you lose the back of your earring you can just use an eraser to keep it in place. (I have sisters)
- If your girlfriend talks obsessively about wanting a career as a journalist, you probably shouldn't refer to it as her "little hobby."
- And don't try to make things better by saying she should be a model.
- If you ever want to prove that you're a woman, just tear your shirt open to reveal your breasts. That will get your point across.
- Girls judge guys mainly on looks. Then it goes to what kind of car he drives.
- It should only take 1-2 months to come to grips with the fact that your best guy friend is actually a woman who wants to fuck you, and to decide that you want to fuck her too.
- There is some music that you just have to listen to alone. Like James Brown, for example.
- Girls dig guys who dress like Elvis Costello and look like The Karate Kid.
And on that note, I'm going to end this with perhaps the greatest movie question known to man: Did Greg Tolan despise Terry Griffith because he/she reminded him of Daniel Son? And are these two movies actually connected? Did Johnny leave The All Valley Karate Tournament after losing to Daniel LaRusso, quit Cobra Kai, change his name to Greg Tolan and relocate to another California high school to start a new life?
Think about it. The fact that Sherilyn Fenn describes Terry as looking like "The Karate Kid" could mean one of two things: Either the characters in
JOOTG were familiar with the movie
The Karate Kid, or they were familiar with the man that was the Karate Kid. I think it was the latter. The Karate Kid took place in 1984 while
JOOTG takes place in 1985, so odds are that the Daniel LaRusso story had made it's way around Southern California between the two movies. When
JOOTG begins, The Karate Kid story was probably just as famous in their high school as "the girl from the next town over with the dogs and the peanut butter" was in yours.
If this All Valley tournament was as big of a deal as they made it seem, when Johnny lost to Daniel he would have had to leave town fast. Like immediately, before graduation even (which explains why in
JOOTG he's a senior again.)
So what happened to Johnny/Greg in between? Well, over the summer he gave up karate but he didn't give up working out, so when school started up again he was a buff fitness God. He got himself some tough guy friends, landed the hottest girl in school, and immediately began asserting himself by picking on nerds and beating up "new kids" to make himself cooler. Everything was going fine until Terry showed up.
Terry-- this Karate Kid lookalike-- got to him. Suddenly, the Daniel LaRusso memories that he was trying to suppress came flooding back. He acted on it by throwing Terry in a bush (and subsequently making Terry's new best friend's life a living hell) but ultimately, his rival once again lead to his undoing. By picking a fight with Terry and Rick, Greg ended up coming off as more of a dick than ever before and lost his girlfriend because of it.
(Yet somehow he was still voted Prom King despite everybody hating him. I'll never understand that one.) Need more evidence that Greg Tolan is Johnny Lawrence? Check out the fight on the beach. There's no way that a loser like Rick should be able to beat up Greg (just like there's no way Daniel Son should have been able to defeat Johnny)-- but he does. During the fight you can just tell that Greg wants to unleash some Cobra Kai karate on Rick, but he can't bring himself to do it. The crane kick was still a little too fresh in his mind, and because of this, Rick took advantage and knocked him the fuck out.
Greg Tolan IS Johnny Lawrence. The greatest movie revealation EVER.
Now if you give me a few hours I should be able to tie
Back To School into this theory as well. Assuming I don't pass out first.
(And if you've never seen Just One of the Guys, I'm sorry. No, I'm not sorry that I've wasted your time with this post... I'm sorry that you haven't even begun to live. Watch it. Trust me.)
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b at 4:22 PM
i'd say this is in bad taste, but...
On Easter Sunday, Schiavo's ninth day without food or water, the severely brain-damaged woman received Holy Communion -- a single drop of wine on her tongue.I know a drop of wine doesn't sound much, but I bet it got her fucked up. I mean, when I skip one meal to start drinking I get drunk quicker, I can only imagine...
(hey, I felt like I had to start the week writing something terrible since I ended it writing about celebrities. We're fair and balanced over here at MBiP... fair and balanced.)
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b at 11:16 AM
celebrity skin
You always hear people say, "Oh, celebrities, they're just like us." I used to believe it, too. But more and more I'm realizing that the only "us" celebrities are like are the ones that appear on HBO's
Real Sex.
These fuckers are kinky!
If you wanted to make a Modern Perverted Celebrity Timeline you could start off at
Fatty Arbuckle in the 1920's and work your way right up to
Pat O'Brien today. Maybe it's the added attention, or maybe it's the fact that they're so far removed from reality-- whatever the case may be, I'm willing to bet that most stars today have some sort of freaky thing they're into.
That's right, I'm saying "most." Not "all," because I can't imagine the lovely Sarah Michelle Gellar being into anything freaky. But take a guy like the aforementioned Pat O'Brien-- of course the guy is a freak! I could've told you that years ago, though I would've guessed he'd be in to diapers rather than dirty talk. Think back to Marv Albert-- who wouldn't have been able to figure out that this guy was into wearing lingerie and biting people? He might as well have worn a T-shirt advertising it, which he probably would've done if it didn't clash so much with his French Maid's outfit.
So what am I getting at? Celebrities are perverts, and I think that if we look close enough we should be able to figure out what their secret freaky fetishes are.
Sean Penn
Clues: Extremely serious demeanor; inflated sense of self importance; possible chemical dependency; hates the spotlight, still makes movies
Fetish: Total masochist. Particularly enjoys hot wax, nipple clamps
Lindsay Lohan
Clues: from Long Island; unstable, insane father; enjoys the spotlight; uses the word 'retarded' too frequently in conversation; possible chemical dependency; attracted to unattractive men.
Fetish: Orally fixated
Simon Cowell
Clues: British; rude; enjoys horrible music; possible chemical dependency; curt and cold to people.
Fetish: Loves getting pissed on. Loves it.
Ashlee Simpson
Clues: Craves the spotlight; prone to failure; desire to step out of sister's "shadow"; needs attention, acceptance; wants to be the best at something
Fetish: Anal.
Adam Duritz
Clues: Sensitive; funny looking; hopeless romantic; bounces around from starlet to starlet, but all he really wants is to be loved
Fetish: Don't let the sensitive lyrics fool you, this guy loves beating the shit out of women.
Colin Farrell
Clues: Womanizer; modelizer; heartthrob; bad boy; tough guy
Fetish: Dudes.
Jennifer Aniston
Clues: Was one half of Hollywood's sexiest couple; starred in television's most popular sitcom; her famous haircut was copied by millions
Fetish: This one is obvious, but she loves being worshipped. She's all about the roleplaying and the dominating.
50 Cent
Clues: Hardcore; shot 9 times; raps about getting his "lollipop" licked; very close with Dr. Dre and Eminem; wears a lot of "bling"; makes hit records
Fetish: Dudes. Specifically, dudes in gym locker rooms.
Paris Hilton
Clues: Everything
Fetish: Everything. Moving on.
John Sencio
Clues: Awesome; one of the biggest stars of the early 90's; handsome; talented; great taste in music; great sense of style; did I say awesome?
Fetish: Chronic masturbation. How he can he possibly expect to find somebody good enough for him? It's impossible.
Taye Diggs
Clues: I don't really know anything about him; I think he was in
How Stella Got Her Groove Back and maybe
Cool Runnings with Doug E. Doug
Fetish: He's into feet. You can just see it in his eyes.
Elisha Cuthbert
Clues: Hot; Canadian; Hot
Fetish: Half Jewish, Half Italian New Yorkers named Bob. And threesomes. I hope.
And this is just the tip of the iceberg, people. The tip of the iceberg...
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b at 11:06 AM
a spring break story
Since I'm still in a Spring Break frame of mind, and since I keep watching MTV's Spring Break even though it's a shadow of what it once was, I thought I'd share with you one of my favorite Spring Break memories. Now, this isn't an "And then I got drunk and hooked up!" type thing, because that's boring. Everybody hooks up. Not everybody gets chased through Fat Tuesdays by a tiny Mexican police officer.
Like I mentioned in my previous post, my junior year of college I went away to Cancun. My friends and I booked through Studentcity.com, which... well, I can't say it was a mistake, but it wasn't as good as we hoped. You always hear about these websites ripping college students off, but for the most part they were legit. Except, of course, when we got a bill a week before we were set to leave to pay for Fuel. Not the shitty band, but fuel for the plane. Interesting. Anyway. When we got off the plane we signed up for some sort of week-long package which included a "Booze Cruise" on the third night. We had been told that we should not miss this. So we didn't.
The Booze Cruise turned out to be insane. We got on a boat along with the same drunken slobs we saw every night
(because they signed up for the same package we did-- wonderful) and proceeded to drink our faces off. When we got to the island the drinking just got more intense. In what would become a theme for the week, I lost all my friends within 5 minutes of stepping off the boat and spent the rest of the night wobbling around looking for them. I don't remember much. I got in a chugging contest with some girls, I remember that... but I don't remember much else.
Okay, so after a wet t-shirt contest and some more drinking we were thrown back on the boat. Thankfully, I found my friends. When we got back to the mainland and docked at Fat Tuesdays we all had to go to the bathroom. Rather than try to make our way through the large crowd of grinding Spring Breakers, we decided it was much easier to run into a nearby alley and do the deed there. I got the prime spot next to the dumpster, whipped it out, and proceeded to drain Gorgo, when all of a sudden SMACK! somebody grabs my arm. I looked down and there was a tiny Mexican police officer pulling at me saying something in Chinese. Or Spanish. I was drunk.
I was completely terrified. He started dragging me to his police car while I was trying to reason with him. Of course, despite taking 4 years of Spanish, all I could remember was, "Lo siento. No. Lo Siento." Which loosely translates to, "I'm sorry. No. I'm sorry."
Shockingly, that wasn't enough to make him stop. My friends ran over and jumped to my defense with a few more "lo siento"'s but for some reason that didn't help either. I started panicking. And I was drunk. So as I get dangerously close to the car I knew I had to act fast. I quickly jerked my arm away and BOLTED into the crowd. Now, here's where my massive drunken intellect kicked in. I figured they were after me so I had to disguise myself. So what did I do? I took my shirt off. Yep. There's no way they'd be able to spot me then.
So I was quickly cutting through the crowd, shirtless, and I had no clue whether or not I was being chased. I figured that I was a dead man. I assumed that since I escaped my friends were fucked. Now they were probably going to get arrested instead. I wondered if I should go back to save them? I really didn't know what to do. Oh wait, yes I did. I was going to go to the bathroom. Because I hadn't finished.
Now, if you're a police officer in Cancun I'd imagine that you've probably dealt with your fair share of people urinating in public. On top of that, if you're a dude, you know EXACTLY what somebody's going to do if they're stopped mid-stream. They're going to finish. Of course I was going to run right to the bathroom. And predictably, I did.
It was there that I was met by 3 large men. They handcuffed me and threw me in jail where I sat for 4 days before I was allowed to contact anybody. I had to pay $600 cash to get out. It was awful.
Okay, sorry, that's bullshit. I just felt like that's the direction the story was going. In actuality, there was nobody waiting for me. I finished the task at hand, then spent the remainder of the evening-- once again-- trying to find my friends. When I finally found them back in the hotel room several hours later, they had the video camera out and were shooting a video about how I was probably in jail. I'm glad they were doing that as opposed to, you know, actually looking for me. That wouldn't have made any sense at all.
So yes, I was able to avoid a night-- or possibly a week-- in a Mexican prison. So what's the moral of the story? If you get caught peeing in public, run away, take your shirt off, and try to blend in with the crowd. That, and when you're in trouble, know that 4 years of Spanish and the simple phrase "Lo siento" won't be enough to save you.
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b at 5:47 PM
mtv spring break rant
Watching MTV's Spring Break, one question keeps coming to mind: Where are all the white women at? Hey, and while we're at it, where are all the black women? And Latin women? And the good looking guys, where are they? So many unanswered questions-- but perhaps the greatest one of all is...
Remember when Spring Break was fun? After watching a weekend's worth of MTV's Spring Break, I can't help but feel utterly depressed. And it's not like how I was depressed watching it as a kid because there were all these hot college co-eds getting naked and rolling around honey and I wasn't there; and not like how I was depressed watching it the year after I graduated college because my youth was fading away and I'd never be able to experience another Spring Break without being the "creepy old guy;" but in a way that made me depressed for our youth. The children.
As a teenager and a pre-teen, MTV's coverage of Spring Break was one of the unequivocal highlights of my year. Sad as that may be, it was true. It was an event akin to the Superbowl, or the first Saturday morning of the fall season when the networks debuted all the new cartoons. It was something I was always excited for. For one week, all of my favorite VJ's hung out at some cool location to debut original programming which largely revolved around girls in their late teens and early 20's finding excuses to take their bikinis off-- what more could you possibly ask for??
MTV made Spring Break look like the best thing on Earth. In fact, it's probably one of the biggest reasons I wanted to go away to college. These kids were having the time of their lives. Girls were followed around with cameras, getting drunk and triple-kissing guys. Guys were randomly pulled on stage to oil down or feel up some ridiculously proportioned college freshman who was on a quest to be named "The Queen of Spring Break." And all the while Idalis and Pauley Shore and THE IMMORTAL JOHN SENCIO and the rest of the crew were trying to pull themselves away from the insanity for just a couple of seconds in order to do their part to put a tv show on the air. It was beautiful to watch.
(Here comes the first plot point) But then, something changed...
(see how I did that?) I don't know when it actually happened, but this year is the first time I actually noticed it-- Spring Break is horrible. Actually, to be fair, MTV's Spring Break is horrible. I'm sure there are still thousands of college kids partying and having fun in Cancun and Cabo, but you'll have a hard time finding that on MTV now. What will you find? Well, you'll find Paris Hilton participating in some lame game show, introducing stunts that tie into her new movie "House of Wax." And you'll find Jimmy Fallon and Drew Barrymore trying to interact with the least charismatic man on the planet, Damien Fahey, in order to plug their new movie about the Boston Red Sox. And you'll find countless other celebrities plugging their new shows, movies, and albums too. But when the camera pans out to the crowd I'll tell you what you won't find-- people having fun.
What happened to the college kids getting naked in a Volkswagon while the cameramen tried their hardest to see through the fogged windows? Remember that? Remember Dr. Dre (the fat one, not the cool one) doing a belly flop to impress Downtown Julie Brown? Remember Jenny McCarthy bursting into the stratosphere during "Singled Out: Spring Break?" Remember Springer break?? The girl rolling around in honey???
Of course you do. We all do. And I have proof. When I went away to Cancun the Spring Break of my junior year of college, I was overwhelmed (in a bad way) by how many guys were there. The ratio must've been 8:1, no joke. Tons of guys, my age, getting drunk and going insane just like they saw on TV... just like we saw on TV. It made perfect sense; like me, these guys grew up watching MTV Spring Break and wanted to participate first hand. Unfortunately, unlike me these guys were all huge and had bicep tattoos and probably got laid. But that's not the point. The point is, MTV influenced a generation of horny teenage guys to study just hard enough to go to college so they can one day hook up with a drunk MSU girl on a beach. They should definitely get some credit for this, or at least some sort of Spring Break Scholarship made up.
Sadly, watching MTV's Spring Break now, I don't know how many kids are going to be inspired to go away. "Oh, you mean if I go to Cancun on Spring Break I too can stand shoulder to shoulder with a bunch of shirtless guys and watch 3 girls try to find an index card in a pool of wax in :30 or less? Um, no thanks." Back in the day, the only way you'd see wax on MTV was if a topless girl was pouring it on a guy. Now, it's a prop in a "wacky" stunt. Another "wacky" stunt they had was a hot dog eating contest, which I think wanted to be hot, but in actuality was the farthest thing from it. *sigh* In the words of Noel Gallagher, where did it all go wrong?
Perhaps MTV is doing us a favor. Maybe they realized that they've turned Spring Break into a sausage fest, and now they're doing their part to make it seem unappealing and boring. Maybe. But probably not.
This can be fixed. MTV should stop producing "MTV's Spring Break" and start covering Spring Break again, like they used to. Please. Good things came out of it. Without MTV covering Spring Break we would have never been introduced to the Triple Kiss-- and I think we'd all agree that the world is a better place now for it.
p.s. quick note to the higher ups at MTV: please don't fire me. remember, i have viacom's best interest in mind. thank you.
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b at 4:27 PM
The Great Debate
Everybody's played
Who'd You Rather.
Dan and I decided to give it a go today.
Round 1: Salma VS. Elisha
BOBWe're starting with the big guns. And of course by "big guns" I mean "tremendous breasts." I mean Jesus, look at these two. Salma is gorgeous, and the fact that you can find naked pictures of her on the internet in mere seconds certainly helps her case. But she's always kind of reminded me of a Mexican housekeeper for some reason. A hot Mexican housekeeper, of course. One that would do dirty things to you when no one else was around, but still a Mexican housekeeper. Then there's Elisha. I mean, that scene in "Old School" where she's wearing the pink underwear... and have you seen "The Girl Next Door?" I actually blacked out during that movie (which was the first time that's happened since Sarah Michelle Gellar told Ryan Phillippe he could put it "anywhere" in Cruel Intentions) You can't beat her. What she lacks in housekeeper appeal she makes up for in the fact that she's only like 19 or something. I'm going with Elisha all the way.
DANThere are certain things in life you should be criminally tried for if you pass on. Having Sex With A Massively Endowed Mexican Movie Star With Limited Knowledge Of The English Language happens to be one of those things. Salma Hayek es mucho caliente. (four years of Spanish in college). Don't get me wrong, Cuthbert is phine, but as she consistently proved in 24, bad things seem to happen when she's around. That scares me...especially if my balls are going to be prominently involved in any meeting between us. Nothing, I will repeat, NOTHING bad could happen while cuddled in the gi-normous bosom of sweet sweet Salma (sans suffocation of course.) There's also a cultural barrier hurting Cuthbert. Salma is Latina, Cuthbert is Canadian -- and personal feelings aside Boobie -- you will never confuse the two cultures in terms of sack ferocity. Gotta go with Salma on this one.
Round 2: Moore VS. Bynes 
DANThere is something very special about Amanda Bynes. This kid has superstar written all over her. A five-tool prospect. A can't miss. Buy her rookie card now; it may just put your children's children through college. I often gauge my love of a chick on what I'm willing to put up with (this goes in both the fantasy and reality world). For Bynes, I'll suffer through that dopey WB show she stars in just to soak in her tall and lean perfection. And man, if you've seen that show, you'll know that says something. Her age is a little threatening on both the legal and experience front, but look no further than her television co-star Jennie Garth (who was actually eaten by the shark while attempting to jump over it) to see that youth is fleeting and should be cherished. Can I go to jail for these comments? Doesn't matter...worth it. As for Mandy? Eh. Don't get me wrong, she's definitely foxy, but that fastball's lost a little zip of late. If Amanda is the up and coming superstar, then Mandy is the former phenom who could never really put it together. So I ask you this: Why take Todd Van Poppel when you can have Johan Santana?
BOBDan, reading your Van Poppel / Santana analogy does nothing but remind me why you haven't made the playoffs in Fantasy Baseball since our pre-internet days when we had our stats sent to us by mail. Mandy Moore is a lot of things-- dorky, phony, freakishly proportioned-- but she is no Todd Van Poppel. If anything, Moore is Carlos Beltran. She's been around for a little while, she's proven that she's above average, and lots of people believe she has what it takes to become a superstar. Also, like Beltran, she may or may not have fucked Adam Duritz of the Counting Crows. But that's besides the point. Like Billy Beane says in "Moneyball," some players just have that big league look. Moore is one of the players. Bynes, meanwhile, looks more like the bat boy with downs syndrome that wanders around the outfield in between innings and waves to the crowd. I mean, if that's what you're into then fine. I won't judge you Dan... but I'm going with Moore.
Round 3: Ray Romano & Patrica Heaton VS. Jim Belushi and Courtney Thorne-Smith
BOBHmm, which married sitcom couple would I rather engage in a hardcore 3-way with? Where to begin, where to begin? Well, let's start with the ladies. You've got the lovely Patricia Heaton going up against the hot surfer chick that wanted Mark Harmon in "Summer School." If this was 1989, I'd say Courtney Thorne-Smith in a heartbeat, however she's lost a little something in recent years. Plus, Heaton has that sexy-but-I-just-can't-put-my-finger-on-why quality that's hard to come by. So as far as the women are concerned, I'm giving Heaton a slight edge. Now that brings us to Romano or Belushi. Which one of these men would I rather risk making eye contact with while plowing his wife? Romano would probably say or do something kind of funny, which would be annoying because it would distract me from the task at hand. You don't have to worry about Belushi being funny at all (he hasn't been funny since "Taking Care of Business"). I guess what it comes down to is the fact that when I was a kid I made a promise to myself that I'd try my hardest to make it through life without seeing Jim Belushi's cock. So for that reason, I have to go with Romano & Heaton.
DANRay Romano frightens me. He seems like one of those guys that the public lovingly adores, but then you find out years later he's a certifiable lunatic who irons his shoelaces and eats his own fingernails because they "make him whole." Is that the guy you want to be naked with? I didn't think so. Patricia Heaton, on the other hand, exists only in a tangible sense at this point, as years of plastic surgery have morphed a once attractive and relatable MILF into some type of Neo-Heaton, made up of interchangable composite parts to represent a whole. On the flipside, you have Courtney Thorne-Smith, who earned instantaneous legend status in the aforementioned "Summer School." She's cute as hell and she's definitely one of those girls that you can just tell has a wild carnal side to her. Jim Belushi probably looks as good naked as his brother John at this point...and I speak of John Belushi in his current decomposed state. Just a horror show. Jim was in "Mr. Destiny" though, which is a huge bonus as far as talking afterwards in bed. But Courtney was in "Chairman of the Board" with Carrot Top, which kind of cancels the two out unfortunately. Damn. Put me down for a Smith-Belushi romp. While the Romano and Neo-Heaton intrigue me out of curiosity alone, you can't pass Courtney. Andrew Shue didn't pass on her...who am I to defy the Gods?
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b at 3:15 PM
i neeever do this kind of thing....
But I have to post this
link.Look At My Striped Shirt!
Look at my button down striped shirt! Fucking look at it! This shirt means one thing! I'm coming home with some pussy tonight! That's right! It's been a long week at the office and it's time to blow off a little steam! I am a Junior Vice President! I have business cards that say "Junior Vice President" on them! They're glossy and magnificent! Here! Have one! Take it!So great. Since I'm too lazy to actually write something today, pretend I wrote this and just say to yourself, "Man, that bob is really fucking funny. I'm really glad he wasn't trying to get out of work early today to watch basketball and start drinking, otherwise he would have never written this! Boy, are we lucky!"
Till tomorrow...
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b at 5:21 PM
Guess The Karo! Vol. 7
I took a break from
Guess The Karo! for a little bit, but now it's back! Everyone's favorite
College Humor writer and "comedian" has put out another column this week, so let's do it up.
You remember the rules. I'm going to pick out a hand full of "jokes" from his new column, and each one will have 4 possible punchlines-- his "hilarious" one, and 2 by me pretending to be him. See if you can spot the Real Karo.
(1) I'm pretty sure the entire cell phone industry would collapse if it weren't for people standing on line outside of bars desperately calling everyone they know to try to get in. The guys are standing in the street, brows furrowed, phone on one shoulder and a finger in the opposite ear so they can hear better. The girls are standing just behind the velvet rope, dressed completely inappropriately to be waiting out in the cold, and text messaging every guy they almost hooked up with once to get them in. And I'm standing halfway down the block calling all my friends to abort because there's no fucking way I'm waiting on line. a) Seriously, the bouncers should be sponsored by T-Mobile.
b) Seriously, if only I had led on a couple of the bouncers I'd be in.
c) Seriously, why is getting into a club harder than getting into someone's pants?
(2) I called Delta the other day and the automated voice asked me to enter my frequent flier number "one digit at a time." a) Come on, I'm in my mid-20's, like I have a frequent flier number!
b) One at a time? I guess the computers at Delta aren't as sophisticated as I had hoped.
c) How the fuck else am I gonna enter it?
(3) I love getting emails from fans my age that clearly have had the same email address for like a decade. It's always like soccerplaya11@yahoo or something. And I just know they haven't participated in anything remotely soccer-related in years. a) Actually, does anybody play soccer anymore? Anybody?
b) In fact, just writing me an email probably got them winded.
c) Seriously, get a gmail account already, will ya?
(4) Why can't they make a beer can that tells you the temperature of the beer, kind of like those batteries that tell you how much power is left? That would prevent me from thinking a beer is cold, when in reality, only the can was cold. a) Now if we can do that, and get girls to wear shirts that say how many beers it takes until they're drunk, I'd be a happy guy.
b) And how obvious is it that I thought of this idea while completely wasted and drinking surprisingly warm beer?
c) I'm sure it's on the way-- along with computers at Delta that can read more than one number at once. Fuck me!
Okay, as always, the answers are in the Comments section. And as an added feature, I'm going to include one quote from Karo's bio on his
website at the end of all future
Guess The Karo's. Here you go:
In 2004, Ruminations spread like wildfire as I continued to detail my evolution from frat boy to manhood. Word spread as readers posted excerpts in their away messages and friendster profiles. Fans toiling away in cubicles spent hours procrastinating by reading my columns. Girls began emailing me to report that guys hitting on them in bars were passing off my stories as their own. Slang I coined (fuck me and gourmet) gained popularity across the country. Two readers were even sent to the emergency room in separate incidents, one with a concussion and the other with a cracked rib, after laughing so hard they fell over. Thankfully, no charges have been filed.Fuck me!
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b at 4:22 PM
Who Needs a Doctor?
Some of you already know
DR.AWESOMEFUCK. Some of you don't. Well, I don't know what there is to say about him that you can't gather from his name. He's a Doctor, and he's fucking awesome. That about sums it up. For more information, you can click
here or
here. Or you can just read through some past comments. Okay, are you up all caught up? Good.
This arrived in my Inbox this morning...
ALRIGHT, BITCHES AND BITCHES! SINCE I'M FUCKING INTERNATIONAL NOW, I WANTED TO GIVE SOME SHIT BACK AND HELP OUT. THAT'S WHY I'VE DECIDED TO SET UP A
GMAIL ACCOUNT FOR ALL YOUR FUCKING QUESTIONS!!!! HERE'S SOME GUIDELINES TO PREVENT DUMBASS QUESTIONS:
1. I'LL READ ALL YOUR SHIT, BUT REMEMBER-- I'M A DOCTOR AND I'M VERY FUCKING BUSY. ALSO, I SPEND A LOT OF TIME GETTING BUSY, SO DON'T EXPECT ANY PERSONAL RESPONSES. I'LL ANSWER SOME QUESTIONS WHEN I FEEL LIKE IT AND BOB WILL POST MY ANSWERS WHEN HE FEELS LIKE IT SINCE IT'S HIS SHIT AND I'M NOT TAKING IT OVER. THAT WOULD NOT BE AWESOME!!!!!
(editor's note: actually, it would be awesome. wouldn't it?)2. YOU CAN ASK ME ANYTHING EXCEPT SHIT LIKE "CAN YOU SEND ME SOME PICS" OR "WHAT KINDA MEDICINE YOU PRACTICE, LOL?" OR "WHERE'S YOUR OFFICE/HOSPITAL?" THAT SHIT'S NOT GETTING ANSWERED!!! I GET ENOUGH ATTENTION FOR BEING AWESOME ALREADY, I DON'T NEED EXTRA BITCHES DROPPING BY THE OFFICE AND TAKING UP MY FUCKING TIME. UNLESS YOU'RE REALLY FUCKING HOT, THEN IT'D BE AWESOME!!!!
3. NO FREE MEDICAL ADVICE: YOUR OWN DOCTOR KNOWS YOUR ASS BETTER THAN I DO. UNLESS YOU'RE A HOT BITCH, THEN CHANCES ARE THAT I KNOW YOUR ASS, TOO!!!! IF SOMETHING'S BOTHERING YOU, I'LL TRY TO HELP, BUT I'M NOT FUCKING DOCTOR DREW!!!
4. I'M AWESOME!!!! DON'T FUCKING FOREGET IT!!!!
5. SEND YOUR QUESTIONS TO
DRAWESOMEFK@GMAIL.COM. THE DOCTOR DIDN'T WANT HIS FULL NAME IN THE PUBLIC DOMAIN IN CASE THE KIDS SEARCH!!! CORRUPTING THE YOUTH IS NOT AWESOME!!!!! THAT IS, UNLESS THEY DRINK SOME NATTY BO'S!!!
I'M AWESOME!!!!!
-DR. AWESOMEFUCKAlright, well the Doctor has spoken. Send him your questions, and I'll be sure to post them sometime next week. I'm Awesome! Ah, who am I kidding. I'm Adequate!!!! That's more like it.
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b at 1:05 PM
Guess Who is Heartbroken
You know, I've been in a pretty bad mood lately. Every day for the past two weeks I've woke up depressed. Every night, I've cried myself to sleep. And the hours in between, well, they haven't exactly been a picnic either. Why, you ask? Simple. Ashton Kutcher.
I know you're probably asking yourself, "Why Bob? How could some actor you've never even met (who isn't nearly as good looking as you are, by the way) upset you so much?" Well, because every day Mr. Kutcher and his new movie "Guess Who" is reminding me of the darkest period of my adult life-- my failed interracial marriage.
It's true. Not many people know this, but I was once married to a negro girl. Sorry, it's 2005, I should be politcally correct here. Negro woman.
Kendra and I were married for just under a year. It was a tumultuous year, one that we almost didn't make out alive. See, the year was 2004 and as I'm sure you remember, the racial tension in the country was intense.
We had it rough, because, well, we were the first interracial couple EVER. Look it up. Before we got together, a white guy dating a black woman was completely unheard of. It's true. Way back in 2004 white people and black people weren't even friends, let alone lovers. I know we've come a long way since then, so it's hard to remember, but it's true.
When we got married our parents didn't approve. This was 2004-- people weren't as open minded back then as they are now. We would get strange looks in public, little kids would throw things at us, hell, some restaurants wouldn't even give us a table. When you think back to 2004 the close-mindedness really makes you sick.
I guess I thought that those days were behind us. Nowadays, it's completely normal to see interracial couples. As a whole, we don't think there's anything wrong with it
(and we also don't refer to African Americans as "negroes" anymore, which is one of the few habits from 2004 that I've yet to break-- sorry). The point is, as a country we've become more tolerant and open-minded, and I really felt that we had come a long, long way since 2004.
Or so I thought.
You can imagine the heartache I went through the first time I saw a commercial for "Guess Who." All those old feelings from my failed marriage came back. Here I thought that the country was more accepting of mixed marriages now, but apparently I was wrong. You can tell by the disgust on Bernie Mac's face when Ashton walks in the room holding his daughter's hand. You can hear it in Ashton's girlfriend's sister's voice when she looks at Ashton and asks "are we being audited?" And you can cut the racial tension with a knife when Bernie and Ashton are listening to "Ebony and Ivory" in the car together.
I mean, art is a reflection of society, right? So for "Guess Who" to come out in 2005, I guess it's society's way of saying that we're still not ready to accept black/white romances. That has to be it. Because I know that Ashton Kutcher, Bernie Mac, and Sony Pictures wouldn't get behind a movie if they didn't believe in what they were saying. Right? Of course.
Maybe someday, the idea of a white guy dating a black girl won't be enough material to base an entire comedy around.
Maybe someday. Maybe...
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b at 3:35 PM
things you probably heard in the 1980's...
or just things you might overhear at an 80's themed party..."Man, it is not going to get ANY better than cassettes! Not in my lifetime. Fast forward and Rewind! It's crazy!"
"Some bands are built to last and others aren't. I'm sorry, but I just don't think U2 is going to be around in twenty years. They just don't strike me as that kind of group."
"Are you as excited about the Challenger as I am???"
"Do you want to go have some unprotected sex? We're straight, it's not like we have to worry about AIDS or anything, c'mon!"
"Barry Bonds? Nah, he's too skinny. But Bobby Bonilla, that guy is going to be a superstar, I'm telling ya!"
"Communism is and always will be the greatest threat to this country. Nothing will ever be worse than the cold war... Nothing."
"When I think about George Michael, two words come to mind: Pussy Magnet. That guy gets more ass than both Thompson Twins COMBINED. Man, I'd give my right nut to be George Michael, even for a day."
"I look forward to following Michael Jackson's career. If there's one artist that you can count on to put out one exceptional record after the next, it's MJ. The guy is just incredible, and he's not the least bit pedophile-y either."
"Mike Tyson will never lose. He's an inspiration to us all."
"Dan Quayle is too dumb to be in politics. I bet you he's the dumbest person we ever have in office during our lifetime. At least we didn't vote him in. Imagine we actually voted for somebody that dumb! It'll never happen."
"... and that's why I agree with Bowie over Jordan."
"I cannot wait for Back to the Future 2!!! When it said "To be continued..." at the end I was like "Man! It can't come soon enough! I bet it's better than the first."
"Do you believe in miracles? I'm telling you, now that the Olympics are over, Hockey is going to be Huge! I wouldn't be surprised if it became our new national pasttime. Everybody loves hockey."
"Heavy metal is here to stay!"
"It's really not easy being a Yankees fan. I love Donnie and all, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't envious of the Mets. They have a great team over there in Queens, and it wouldn't surprise me if they build a dynasty. Straw and Doc? They're going to take them far."
"I don't want to sound like a freak, but I've always kind of enjoyed the thought of two girls making out with one another. I wish college aged girls did that in real life, and not just in the XXX movies."
"Special effects will never get any better than
E.T. That bike was FLYING!"
"Did you hear that Christopher Reeve took up horseback riding? Is there anything that Superman
can't do?"
"I wonder what color Janet Jackson's nipples are."
"There are three things I'll never do in my life: Pay to watch my television, pay to listen to my radio, and pay more than $5 for a movie. It's totally not worth it."
"I wish George Lucas made some more Star Wars movies. How great would those be???"
"Wouldn't it be great if there were like 20 TV shows celebrating how much we Love this decade! No? Yeah, you're probably right."
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b at 3:25 PM
best...movie....ever
Apparently
Parker Lewis can lose.
Not a lot people know this, but My Blog is Poop isn't the first website I've ever worked on.
This is.
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b at 1:42 PM
i'm a dreamer
Way back in the day I wrote "dreams are the only thing in the world that everybody feels the need to talk about but nobody really cares to listen to."
Well, being fully aware of that, I'm still going to tell you all about my dreams last night. Mainly because there were so many of them, and they were all kinda strange.
1. I was participating in the first Post-Lockout NHL game. It was the New York Rangers vs. the Toronto Maple Leafs. The Leafs scored 4 seconds into the game, which caused me to turn to my friends and say, "Well, the Rangers picked up where they left off." After that I was IN the game. I took a shot on goal and the puck squirted past the goalie and started sliding towards the post. My friend Nelson tapped it in for the goal, I got the assist. I didn't mind.
2. I was at
Joe Franklin's Comedy Club hanging out with a bunch of comedians, shooting the shit. There was some C-Level celebrity in the crowd (I'm not sure who) that we all got a kick out of. I said, "I have a feeling we're going to come across another celebrity tonight, guaranteed."
Steve Miller didn't believe me so he left. A few minutes later,
Billy Crystal walks in with his entourage wearing a tuxedo. He was looking for Joe (Franklin, that is), but when we told him Joe wasn't there he simply sat down with us and asked us how comedy was going. He was awesome. Then
Daniel Stern walked in with a camera crew and the dream ended.
3. I was at
Lindsayism's birthday party. Oddly enough, the theme was "Clowns." Everyone at the party was dressed up like some sort of clown. I wasn't able to enjoy it, though, because every two minutes I had to leave my friends to go to the bathroom. One one of my trips I ran into Jess from
Gawker who said, "Great costume, I didn't even recognize you." Following my failed bathroom attempt, I walked back out and was introduced to Laura from
The Modern Age, which rendered me starstruck because her blog was the first blog I ever discovered. Following this dream I woke up, went to the bathroom, and realized that I am a tremendous loser.
4. I was at a bowling alley with
Christie. She told me that we actually met for the first time at that bowling alley a month ago, but I didn't talk to her because she was with an ugly friend and she still had a boyfriend at the time. Okay. Then I walked into the next room and started flying. Naturally.
5. I was standing outside the VH1 building, hanging out with my good friend
Britney Spears. She was being interviewed for some show, and I was standing just off camera making faces. On the monitor, you were able to pick up spit-strings on Britney's teeth which was gross. When the camera crew left I told her that, and then I started calling her "The Predator." I asked her if she was going to start fighting the
Mars 2112 alien that stands outside the building. She laughed and smacked me. Then she got a mint ice cream cone and hopped on my back. I was walking around, giving Britney a piggy back ride and taking a lick of her ice cream cone when Christie woke me up because I was going to be late for work. Dammit.
So yes, that was my night. And yes, that post was more for me to write than for you to read. I'll provide you with a real, somewhat enjoyable post later today, I promise. That is, assuming I'm not hanging out with my good friend Britney. Of course.
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b at 10:27 AM
you're going to learn to like it
Remember when you were a kid and you didn't like something? Your mom would turn to you and declare, "Yeah, well you're going to learn to like it!" And you knew, no matter how much you hated asparagus, she was right. You were going to learn to like it because you had no choice.
It's amazing how that worked. You didn't like something, but through fear, repetition, or a variety of other outside forces, you learned to like it. Throughout my life I've learned to like a lot of stuff that I never thought I would. Some, I learned to like because I had to do it to fit on. Other things I learned to like because I wanted to like them. And other things I couldn't learn to like, no matter how hard I tried.
Coffee - I still remember my first cup of coffee. I was in Pennsylvania with my father, stepmother, and sister staying at some sort of "dude ranch" outside the Poconos. The place was kind of ghetto, but they had organized activities, a swimming pool, and horseback riding, so it was A-OK in my book. I'm not sure what year it was, but I remember that the show
Roc starring Towson alum (and ex-con) Charles S. Dutton was playing in the lobby at the time. So anyway, I remember being in the dining hall when I decided I was going to try a cup of coffee. I took one sip and that was it. I thought it was the most disgusting thing to ever touch my lips, and it was (and it stayed that way until junior year of college, when... let's not get into that). I started drinking coffee regularly in high school, but what I was drinking could barely be classified as coffee. I would stop at 7-11 on the way to school because you could make your own cup there, and proceed to fill it halfway up with milk. The other half was coffee. Then I would dump packets of SweetNLow inside the cup and declare myself "a coffee drinker." Now, years later, I barely require milk and sugar in my java. I've come a long way.
--Result: I learned to love coffee.Aqua Teen Hunger Force - I've never tried to like a TV show as much as I tried to like Aqua Teen Hunger Force. I have friends that LOVE this show. Swear by this show. Insist it's the funniest cartoon ever. I. Don't. Get. It. Not at all. But thankfully, after repeated viewings, I figured out something important. It's not that I don't get it... I mean, it's not that the comedy is "over my head" or anything. No. The thing is, the show actually isn't funny. At all. And everybody who thinks the show is funny? Yeah, they're wrong. I'm so glad I figured that out. Whew.
--Result: It's not me, it's you.Beer - Don't lie, you didn't like the taste of beer at first either. When I started drinking beer in my early to mid teenage years I couldn't stand it. I would make a "beer face" after every sip as I struggled through can after can. At "parties" that would take place in the woods that surrounded the Pearl River Middle School I would even go so far as to pour my beer out when nobody was looking, like I was the lead in a bad after school special. My distaste for beer lasted all the way to college, however once I went away to school I developed a taste for it pretty quickly. By the time I visited my friend Sarah at Villanova, I was able to tell her what kind of beer was in the keg solely by taste (I believe it was Busch Light). Now, I love beer. Love it. Who likes beer? This guy likes beer.
--Result: A big, sloppy, drunken success. I definitely learned to love beer
Radiohead - You know, I actually liked Radiohead when
The Bends came out. I never bought it, but I liked it. "High & Dry" and "Fake Plastic Trees" made it onto numerous mix tapes, which was an incredible feat for any song that I didn't own at the time. To make it to a mix tape it meant that I actually had to sit by my stereo with my fingers perched on the "play" and "record" buttons waiting for the song to begin. So there's the proof that I liked Radiohead. However, over time, I just stopped caring about them. When
OK Computer came out I liked what I heard, but I started disliking the people that talked non-stop about how much THEY liked what THEY heard. So I pushed Radiohead away. Of course, I was a stubborn dick for quite some time and refused to give Radiohead any credit whatsoever, but eventually I decided I'd give them another shot. I mean, all of my friends that liked the same music I liked loved Radiohead, so surely I'll like them. I tried. I tried to learn to like them (again) but I just couldn't do it. Sure, OK Computer is a brilliant album, but the stuff that followed is just... blah. Sorry.
--Result: I just couldn't learn to love them.Mushrooms - You couldn't pay me enough to eat a mushroom. Never. My roommate Eric and I once had a deal: if I ate a mushroom, he'd eat an earthworm. I said no, because I had the shittier end of the deal. Mushrooms are gross and I will never, ever eat one. Hell, I won't even
do mushrooms because I'm so disgusted by them.
--Result: I will never learn to like them. Period.Girls - I think I started learning to like girls in the first grade. I still ran away from them in the playground when they said, "Bob's my boyyyyffffrrrieeennnddddd" but beyond that I was fairly interested. My friend Pete was able to find a Good Housekeeping magazine where a topless woman gave herself a breast exam and the two of us would pass it back and forth and marvel over it. That aided the learning process. Also, I distinctly remember gazing across the classroom and looking up Sarah's skirt as she sat Indian style. Of course I didn't know what I was looking at at the time, which isn't surprising at all. What is surprising, though, is that years later I'd be telling Sarah what kind of beer we were drinking at a Villanova frat party. That would almost be cute, if it wasn't kind of strange and disturbing. --
Result: Most of the things I liked in first grade are kind of outdated, but believe it or not I still like girls.
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b at 4:51 PM
things i can afford to forget
Okay, it's time for me to start ridding my brain of the unnecessary shit that's been stewing in there for the past 25 years. Enough is enough. I know far too much useless stuff, and I think it's starting to affect me. I'm no longer able to retain information like I once was, and I blame that on all the crap that's occupying brain cells. So, I made a quick list of stuff that I can easily afford to forget. In fact, by writing it, I hope it evaporates from my memory once and for all. Here it goes...
- The McDonalds song from the 1980's. The one that they put on little records and gave out. "Big Mac, McBLT's, Quarter Pounder with some cheese..." I still remember whole thing.
- That the first time I heard the word "Bitch" on TV was during an episode of
Golden Girls.- Video game codes (Contra), video game tricks (finding the warp zones in Super Mario 3), and video game disappointments (never beating Mike Tyson).
-
Hull High, Parker Lewis Can't Lose, Camp Wilder- That Steve Larmer scored the first goal for the New York Rangers after they won the Stanley Cup.
- That Steve Larmer also gets an assist for the Jeremy Roenick goal scored by Trent in
Swingers.
- The Repo Man, Crush, Maximillion Moon, Doink, The Brooklyn Brawler, The 1-2-3 Kid, The Mounties, Nailz, The Beverly Brothers, Adam Bomb, Giant Gonzalez
- The majority of my
Saved by the Bell knowledge. Specifically, knowing that Screech's robot's name is Kevin, his dog's name is Hound Dog, and that when Stacy Carosi's boyfriend gave her a promise ring he said, "Now you're my girl FOREVER!"
- The words to just about every song in every musical I watched when I was a kid. Especially
South Pacific.
- Everything about
Problem Child 2,
Madhouse,
Weekend at Bernie's 2, and
Stay Tuned (all of which I saw in the theater).
- The words to "Baby Got Back," the words to Skee Lo's "I Wish," the words to "We Didn't Start the Fire," and the words to "Regulators."
- Useless baseball statistics. And I'm not talking about important stuff like Don Mattingly's career fielding percentage, no. I mean stuff like remembering that Wade Boggs batted .311 for the Yankees in 1996 and that Marcus Thames homered off Randy Johnson in his first major league at bat.
-
The Street, starring Jennifer Connelly and Tom Everett Scott. Not because it was a bad show, but because I liked it so much and it got cancelled after only 8 episodes.
- Jimmie's Chicken Shack, Marcy Playground, Moist, the Pulsars, Bettie Serveet, Matt Pond PA, and every other lame opening band I've ever seen
- That Bobby Collins was the comedian that replaced Rosie O'Donnell as the host of some VH1 stand up show.
- My extensive knowledge about the movie
Drive Me Crazy. That the Electrocutes are played by the Donnas, that Melissa Joan Hart has a lazy eye, and the nickname 'Designated Dave.'
- "Surf dudes with attitudes, kind of groovy, laid back moods. Sky above, sand below, good vibrations, feelin' mellow. Won't give it up. Don't wanna stop. Don't wake me up." Don't wake me up if I'm dreamin'. California dreams. Just let me lay here in the sun until my dream is done."
- That Charlie from
Empty Nest got a personalized license plate made up that read "Clover" which was meant to be read as "Sea Lover."
- That Hacksaw Jim Duggan b-b-b-beats people up.
- Everything I learned in high school.
That about sums it up. Okay, now it's time to start filling my brain up with important stuff. Hmm. I wonder what's going on with
American Idol tonight.
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b at 7:11 PM
Where: Hoboken; What? The St. Patrick's Day Parade
To the people about to fight outside the bars: I guess yelling, "Come on, fighting is the answer!" and "A real man would punch him!" didn't help. Whoops.
To the guy that recognized me: Okay, you're the first person to ever stop me on the street and tell me you like my blog. Either I should be scared of you because you studied the back of my head a little too closely, or I should thank you for paying such close attention to the
According to Jim post. Either way, sorry I wasn't more entertaining, I had a few too many beers and I wasn't prepared for that.
To the guy with the stupid red curly wig: The second you walked into the bar I knew a conversation was inevitable. "Hey, we have the same barber." I would've put money on you saying it, and sure enough, you did. Thank you.
To the guy at the party that looked like Jim Morrison: You're a very good looking guy. Although, there was something about you that just screamed, "I have sex with ugly girls." I don't know what it is. Sure you're tall and handsome, but I just had that feeling that you've been caught with a genuinely unattractive girl on more than one occasion. You can do better dude, you're hot.
To the people at the party where we wrote "I hate fucking Jews" on the door with magnets: I'm Jewish, it's cool.
To the 40-year-old guy we were making fun of at the party: Listen dude, there comes a time in one's life when he has to make a decision-- am I going to be the guy at the party with the noticeable bald spot hitting on girls half my age, or am I going to go out with a little bit of dignity? I'm happy that you chose the former... and I'm also happy that you wore a bright multi-colored button down shirt that I can GUARANTEE you were talked into buying by a 19-year-old salesgirl at Express. You're my idol.
To every single Italian guy wearing a green shirt: I'm all for you "being Irish for the day," but just know that you look stupid. Green shirts that say "Kiss me I'm Irish" go better with pasty white Irish skin, not fake tans and gold chains.
To any guy that did a penis-shaped jello shot: I don't think that it makes you gay. Unless of course you took it off of an actual penis, then I'm pretty sure it does.
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b at 4:26 PM
10 Thoughts on Handjobs
A friend of mine (
let's call him Brian Levin) recently told me about a hookup where he left with nothing but a handjob. Now, according to Brian, when things got going the sky was the limit... but as it turned out the limit was much, much lower than he anticipated. He left that night in a strange state of mind-- somewhere smack in between success and failure. In some ways he was like a man who had won a war but forgot what he was fighting for. In other ways, he was just another 24-year-old guy who was given a token handjob. Whatever the case be, it made him think. And as a result, it got me thinking as well...
1. Have you ever heard somebody over the age of 16 brag about getting a handjob? No. It doesn't happen. If you hook up with a girl and all you leave with is a handjob, you're probably going to end up rounding down to your friends to save face. "What'd you get?" "Um, I just felt her up, that's all."
2. Here's a question for ya. If it's raining out and you have an umbrella and somebody walks up to you and tries to hand you an umbrella, wouldn't you just be like, "Um, I already have that covered, thanks anyway." Yeah. Exactly.
3. Girls will say things like, "I know guys complain about handjobs, but I always get the job done." Yeah, you probably do, but that's only because desperate times call for desperate measures. If we know that's all we're getting, we're gonna make it work. Mind over matter. I'm pretty sure I could finish while getting an Indian Burn on my arm if I had to... it's all mental.
4. Handjob + 72 degree angle + closed eyes + gravity = potential to give oneself a facial. And that equals a very unhappy customer... usually.
5. A sweaty palm is not an acceptable form of lubrication.
6. Ladies, every time you say "I hate it when a guy tries to push my head down there!" somewhere on earth, at the EXACT same time, there is a guy saying, "I hate handjobs." If only we communicated a little more, maybe we'd all be happy.
7. This one's for the hookers: A handjob shouldn't cost any more than 1/2 of what a blowjob costs. I'm saying, if a bj costs $50, a handy shouldn't be any more than $15, that's all.
8. Remember those old SAT analogies? Well--
A penis is to a vagina : A hand is to a mitten. Please don't put my penis in a mitten.
9. Remember when you were a kid and all you had was Nintendo? You loved your Nintendo, didn't you? But then one day you were in the mall and you came across a Sega Genesis, and there was Sonic in all his 16-Bit glory. The game moved faster, the colors were brighter, and the overall excitement was so much greater. Once you got your hands on that joystick, you knew you'd have a hard time going back to your Nintendo. Right? So what did you do? You stuck your dick into your Sega, didn't you? Didn't you? That has nothing to do with handjobs, I'm just curious.
10. Finally, to make one last analogy: Getting a handjob is like pulling up to the full service pumps at a gas station. Sure it's a nice luxury, but in the end you just end up feeling a little strange having someone else do that job for you.
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b at 4:51 PM
my blog is poop, season 2
Bob Castrone hits his stride returning for a second successful season in Blogger's breakout family blog, "My Blog is Poop." In this traditional family blog, he is the quintessential guy and family man. Proud of his mid-west values, Bob is an accessible and likeable everyman. He and his attractive wife, Cheryl (Courtney Thorne-Smith), are crazy about each other and know they're in this marriage for keeps. Blessed with three adorable down-to-earth kids Ruby (Taylor Atelian), Gracie (Billi Bruno), and Kyle (Conner Rayburn), Bob continues to support his family as a contractor in a design firm with his architect brother-in-law, Andy (Larry Joe Campbell). To feed his other passion, music, he carves out time to play the blues with his six-man garage band.
Cheryl, for her part, is gorgeous, smart, and has Bob's number. She calls him on his childish antics but enjoys the playful banter and appreciates his passion, honesty and steadfast loyalty to her and the kids. Though Cheryl always seeks perfection and control in what she does, she's grateful to Bob when he coaxes her playful side out into the open.
Dana (Kimberly Williams-Paisley), Cheryl's beautiful sister and a former ad agency VP, finds herself suddenly unemployed after her well-meaning brother-in-law, Bob, witnessed her former boss brow-beating her and, in her defense, told him off. At a crossroads, Dana is unsure now of her career path. And in her search for the perfect man, she continues to suffer a series of unrequited setbacks.
Andy is an architect in Bob's firm and a loving, neurotic, incurable romantic, persnickety but brilliant, and on the prowl for the lady of his dreams.
Tune in for non-stop hilarity! My Blog is Poop, every Tuesday night, only on ABC!
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b at 2:56 PM
1 Year of Poop... for the People
I was reading Stereogum.com one day when I came upon a link that read, "My Blog Is Poop." I had no clue to expect...was an Asian immigrant writing this thing or Stereogum's pimply-faced 14 year old cousin?
That's when I discovered Poop and my everlasting love for his blog was born. He's the guy at the bar with the best stories...online. Anyone and everyone can relate to his silly musings, naughty mishaps, and brilliant analogies. And guess what motherfuckers? Your blog is boring but his ain't. You keep clicking back for more Poop. Who knew feces could be this fun?
Happy Birthday Poop! Here's to many more...until blogging becomes the new trucker hats.
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Alexis T----------------------------------------------------------------
It's hard to pinpoint what I like most about Bob's blog. Probably the fact that Bob knows very little html, so it makes my blog look almost professional by comparison. I mean, his images are always warped. And there's no wrap around the text. C'mon that's like, WEBSITES 101 shit. I do admit Bob is funny. And that's why I steal from him all the time. Happy Birthday Bob's blog. You are truly awesome despite your terrible, terrible name.
Your pal,
John Sencio
I mean,
Scott Stereogum.----------------------------------------------------------------
It's hogsviously known by most, Peabs' love for all things poop-related: hot carls, dirty sanchezes, my sexual escapades with Montel Williams, et al. And whilst yours effing truly isn't a fan of most blogs (they lack the proper amount self-referential narcisism and habitual drug abuse, like my very own, Ratzo Rizzo!), upon reading "My Blog Is Poop" I had the desirable urge to take a shit on my kitchen floor. And freebase some Midol and get in touch with my feminine side, snatch. And who do I have to thank for feeling so fresh and fancy-schmancy ooh-jah boo? Yes Bob; you, you fucking jackoff. Congrats - Peabs looks forward to another year of utter shit. Bovs fecally smothered all over effing tees! Anything to add, Dr. Bill Cosby?
"Youuuuu seeeeee, I just pooped my pants and danced and pranced all for my romance of Dizzee Rascal! Flazzum!"
She mars.
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So Sayeth the Peabs----------------------------------------------------------------
When Bob approached me about contributing some thoughts on the one year anniversary of My Blog Is Poop, I had two questions:
1) You have a blog?
2) Why won't the burning go away?
After some explanation on the site's roots and a trip to the doctor, I agreed to do it. After all, Bob and I were voted as "Bosom Buddies" by our Pearl River High School senior class in '98, a telling and, truth be told, homoerotic honor that is tangible proof that we are indeed friends and should do things for each other and stuff.
So, with that said, I'm happy (and obligated) to help. But how has My Blog Is Poop changed my life? Ummm. My gut feeling is that it hasn't. But Bob wouldn't have asked me to do this if he didn't have something in mind...so give me a couple minutes.
(45 minutes of awkward introspection...)
Alright, let's give this a shot.
I couldn't picture a life without Bob's blog. It has changed me in ways that I could never have imagined, made me feel things that...wait...this won't work either.
(20 more minutes of awkward introspection, followed by a game of Madden, followed by my 857th viewing of the climatic prom scene from "Just One Of The Guys.")
Okay.
I don't know what I'd do without Bob's blog. When my company blocked out access to my favorite Asian Man-Boy slave trade network, it was My Blog Is Poop that filled the void of office apathy. In a way, Bob became my new Asian boy toy, only with a lot more hair and Jewish heritage and fewer Erasure albums. For this I am forever grateful.
There are downsides, of course. Bob solely refers to himself in the third person now, and forget about getting in on rounds with him - he'll break your bank. Ever try to order two Bud Lights and a bottle of Cristal in Hoboken? These things do not go over well. He also wears a purple cape and homemade crown.
But that's the price of fame, I guess. And since we are Bosom Buddies, I have little choice but to take the good with the bad. I'm sure the fame and adulation will dry up one day, and Bob will stop killing homeless people just to prove he can get away with it. But for the time being, we just have to ride the Poop wave.
Happy Birthday to My Blog Is Poop. Here's hoping that time, technology and Bob's penchant for cold blood do not render you obsolete by this time next year.
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Apple Sports Life----------------------------------------------------------------
BEFORE MY BLOG IS POOP, I WAS ALL ABOUT GETTING MAD HONEYS, DRINKIN SOME NATTY BO'S WITH THE DUDES, SAVING LIVES, BOWLING, WATCHING NASCAR, AND GENERALLY BEING FUCKING AWESOME, SO NOT MUCH HAS CHANGED IN THE LAST YEAR FOR THE DOCTOR. BUT HERE ARE TWO HIGHLIGHTS:
1. THANKS TO THAT KICKASS SHOW "BEST WEEK EVER" I WATCH MORE VH1 NOW, SO I HAVE MORE FUCKING CULTURE. I KNOW ABOUT ALL DIFFERENT KINDS OF SHIT, LIKE WHAT GOES ON BEHIND THE SCENES ON "COPS!!!" THAT'S AWESOME!!!!!!!!!!
2. I'VE BEEN TO TWO OF BOB'S KICKASS PARTIES AND CAME AWAY A FUCKING WINNER BOTH TIMES. SINCE THE DOCTOR BATS ABOUT .995, THIS IS NO FUCKING SURPRISE. BUT BOB'S BIRTHDAY BASH THIS YEAR WAS THE AWESOMEST THANKS TO THE GIRL I MET-- LET'S CALL HER "FUCKING HOT BITCH" TO PROTECT HER SHIT. SO YEAH, FUCKING HOT BITCH AND I ARE FUCKING GOING AT IT, AND SHE STARTS SHOUTING AND THROWING HER HANDS UP LIKE I'M A FUCKING ROLLERCOASTER!!!! AGAIN, NOT A FIRST, BUT AFTER SHE FINISHED UP LIKE SIX, SEVEN TIMES, SHE GETS OFF THE COUNTER AND STARTS YELLING "OH SHIT I'M SO DIZZY!! I'M SO FUCKING DIZZY!!!!" AND THEN FUCKING HOT BITCH WALKS SMACK INTO THE WALL AND CRACKS HER SKULL. NOT AWESOME!!! LUCKILY I'M A DOCTOR AND I KNOW MY SHIT, SO I PATCHED HER UP, WAITED AROUND FOR A FEW HOURS, AND THEN I PERFORMED MY OWN KINDA STRESS TEST ON HER TO MAKE SURE SHE WAS ALL BETTER. I'M AWESOME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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DR. AWESOMEFUCK----------------------------------------------------------------
The reason I like My Blog is Poop is because of the self-aware brand of hipster-wanna-be hilarity that only Bob Castrone can bring to the internet. You see, Bob is a true comedian at heart, which means he has intergrity and real passion for his art. But he also works for a TV network which means he is a heartless, soul-less sell-out. This dicotomy, which has taken down people of a far greater pedigree than he, is what keeps My Blog Is Poop fresh and irreverent. Just the fact I wrote the words "irreverent" and "My Blog is Poop" in the same sentence in the type of thing that would give Bob an erection. The delicate balancing act between insecurity and insight is something only Bob can offer the world. Well, Bob and Wolf Blitzer.
Bob recently told me how many hits he gets on My Blog is Poop and it completely dwarfs my site (and I'm not talking about the good kid of dwarf.) He has become, in a word, a man who cannot be stopped despite being completely paralyzed by having a hot girlfriend who once had a job where she got paid to play video games. And, while that may have been more than "a word", that is what My Blog Is Poop is all about; taking something that should only be a word and making it into a long, over-stated, painfully self-indulgent, myopic piece of excessive drivel.
That being said come to my website and read my over-stated, painfully self-indulgent, myopic piece of excessive drivel. It is right around the corner at www.rubinville.com.
Yea, I somehow made that all about me in the truest sense of what blogging is all about. Pretty damn impressive if I do say so myself.
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Dave Rubin----------------------------------------------------------------
Well, I first stumbled across Bob's blog while doing one of my daily Google searches for "poop". I usually spend a good 75-85 percent of my average workday relentlessly scouring the entire Internet for even the slightest mention of poop news, poop humor, poop porn, poop gossip, poop scores, poop fashion, poop shopping or just finding others I can connect with who share my love for plain old poop. And boy, was Bob's blog every poopy. I check it obsessively now, refreshing the page probably 84 bajillion times a day, hoping for just one more of his sweet nuggets of, well, poop. Also, I love Lionel Richie.
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BlaggBlogg----------------------------------------------------------------
I, like many others, came upon Bob's site through VH1's Best.Week.Ever Blog. The title of his blog initially threw me off a little bit, because I couldn't help but be reminded of Dan Tobin's daily
dump journal and wondered if this site also recorded the daily dump(s) of a twenty-something male. I don't know where I was going with this, but I guess it has a little something to do with his blog not being shit or something like that.
If Bob's blog had a smell, I reckon it would smell like coffee. Coffee (to most people) smells good at any time of the day. Some people hate coffee. Others can't imagine what their life would be without it. If you're an addict like me, you may feel that a day without coffee feels as if you are being anally raped by a humpback whale. I think what I am getting at here is coffee isn't for everyone... kinda like the whale thing. Oh and remember, if you drink too much coffee, you'll get the shits. and nobody likes a shitter. Nooooooobody.
p.s. Bob is good in bed. Real good. Like Sting good.
p.p.s. Happy Blogging Birthday and whatnot.
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All Things Christie----------------------------------------------------------------
I once heard an old Indian profit tell a beautiful young lass that even though he was too old for her she gave him happy pants. Bob, and MBip (curiously close to Mmmbop) give me happy pants. Case in point below....
I just recently moved from Indiana to the great and cold-as-steel-on-testicles-on-a-winter-evening East Coast, and like many out here started a weblog for myself. Seeking ideas and some motivation I looked around at different websites and happened upon MBip. Liked what I was reading at the time and used it as motivation to create my own.
And then about 5 minutes ago, my yahoo messenger rang of the sound file from Eurotrip informing me that you've got "mail motherfucker." In a desperate living alone type of glance, I peeked around the corner of my bathroom door where I was peeing to see if I could catch a glimpse who sent the electric post. I strained hard, my eyes that is, but to no avail. When I resumed my urination I noticed I missed the bowl completely and was miraculously missing my feet as I pissed on the floor.
What does this have to do with anything? Not a damn thing.
So Bob, you should be proud to note that because of your fucking blog, I pissed on my floor, started my own weblog, and bought the Bright Eyes album. Congratulations.
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Still Only Sunday----------------------------------------------------------------
How has 'My Blog is Poop' changed my life? There's a logical fallacy in that question: My Blog is Poop didn't change my life: It
saved it.
This is an absolutely true story, and one I've never shared, not with the millions of readers of my successful, multi award-nominated blog or on the cruelly non-Emmy (or Peabody) nominated basic cable comedy show I worked on for about the life-span of the average housefly. I've never told it to friends or family. Never told it to my girlfriend. This story is so true, you might think it's a lie. But if it's a lie, how come I'm crying as I write this? Are my tears not true?
Here's what happened. Last year, I was at Yankee Stadium, taking in a baseball game. To avoid a lawsuit and In the interest of maintaining the team's privacy, I will not say who was playing at Yankee stadium that day.
Suffice it to say, the team was not doing well and there was a palpable feeling of dread and anger in the crowd. It was like Altamont, but with fewer Hell's Angels. The one Angel I spotted actually seemed quite nice: he was holding an adorable baby in a Yankees onesy. You really had to see it.
Anyway, during the sixth inning, I found myself desperately needing to urinate, a state of being that often comes over me when I've had too many beers. In this case, it was one.
I made my way to one of several men's restrooms distributed throughout the stadium, but I must not've been paying attention, because I wasn't alone. Apparently I'd been followed into the restroom by several hooligans of the ne'er do well variety. You know the type: ruffians in baseball caps. I must've missed them because everyone at the game—even the adorable baby with the Hell's Angel—was wearing a baseball cap, too. Clever ruffians, disguising themselves!
After a long and gratifying urination—I'll spare you the details of the almost masochistically enjoyable pressure against my bladder giving way to a delicious, liberating gush of ballpark urine, its briny odor mixing deliciously with the spearmint of the pink urinal cake, the most desirable but least edible cake known to man—I found myself eye-to-eye with those no-goodnicks. Well, eye to eye to eye to eye to eye to eye to be more specific: there were three of them. One had a glass eye, hence the odd number.
What happened next was a blur. One of them said "Smear the queer," which I knew intuitively had something to do with me since no one else was there and, well, I am a bit odd. In an instant, all three started punching me and kicking me. This was a most unpleasant sensation.
Fists, feet, elbows, a small metal "Kubotan" self-defense keychain pummeled me over and over. I don't know what I did to anger these men, but I knew it must've been something bad: why else would they be beating me savagely, calling me names, and spitting?
Time slowed down, it seemed. It also sped up. Then it went backwards. And sideways.
How long was I being beaten? No idea. Seconds? Of course. Minutes? Possibly. Hours? No, but it felt like it. Years, too.
Just as I was about pass out, a voice interrupted the impromptu piñata party (guest of honor: yours truly). "Hey! Get the fuck off him!" The voice shouted. The ruffians stopped beating me to look in the direction of the man who was speaking. I looked through the one swollen blood-soaked eye that still opened and saw a tall, powerfully built man with a full head of Byronesque curls: My Blog is Poop.
Next thing I know, he's throwing roundhouse kicks, doing crazy
Matrix shit where he jumps, freezes in midair and kicks crane style, and just generally laying my assailants low. Within seconds, all three of my tormentors were out cold on the dirty tile floor of the restroom.
"You okay, man?" My Blog is Poop asked.
"I think so. Thank you, My Blog is Poop."
"Not a problem," he said, running his fists under the tap, washing away thug blood, hair, and, I think, a tooth.
"How can I ever repay you?"
He took a paper towel from the dispenser, wiped his hands and forearms clean. "I dunno, I'll think of something. Maybe you can write something for my blog one day. Like, maybe you can tell people how My Blog is Poop changed your life or something."
He held out his hand to me. I reached up and with his help, I got to my feet. I looked at myself in the mirror: I looked like two pounds of ground beef that had been left in the sink to bleed out. My Blog is Poop handed me a paper towel and I wiped my forehead.
"That's all you want?" I asked.
"Yeah, man. No big deal. Something short. Funny. Whatever. If you spend more than two minutes on it, you've wasted your time."
My ribs ached. Maybe I had a collapsed lung. I inhaled deeply. Swished some of my own blood around in my mouth and looked at the man who saved my life.
"Fuck no! Write your own fucking content, asshole."
And that's how My Blog is Poop saved Christmas.
- Matt,
Low Culture----------------------------------------------------------------
Update: A belated story from my future roommate Brian. ----------------------------------------------------------------
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b at 10:33 AM
MC with the Motherfucker(s) that stole my CD book - 25
Upon returning to my car Sunday afternoon after a quick shopping session at the Palisades Center mall in West Nyack, NY I was dismayed to discover that a CD case holding 20 CD's had been stolen from my car. I figure that since most people read Craigslist, you, the motherfucker(s) that stole my CD's will probably come across this eventually. So hello.
First off, let me just say that I'm not mad at you. I guess I'm more disappointed than anything. I'd liken it to the disappointment that Ted Leo must've felt when George W. Bush was re-elected this past November. Ted displays his distaste for the Bush administration throughout his incredible album "Shake The Sheets," which, coincidentally, you stole from my car on Sunday.
I commend you for robbing me on a day when I was really "mixing it up" musically. Sure, there were thousands of other cars in the parking lot, but how many of them do you think contained The Beatles "Revolver," Dizzee Rascal's "Showtime," Television's "Marquee Moon," and not one, but TWO CDs by Ben Kweller? I'm willing to bet only mine.
In the words of Pulp's lead singer, Jarvis Cocker "something's changed." (from the album "Different Class"; stolen) February 27th will be a day to remember. It won't be, in the words of Pete Yorn, a "Day I Forgot." (Also stolen)
I mean, I guess I'm lucky; I could've gotten mugged. You could've robbed me with a gun, a knife, or even with "Bows + Arrows," which would've been the most impractical, but also the most ironic since that Walkmen CD was in the case as well.
I hope you enjoy my CD's as much as I did
(although I never actually had the chance to fully enjoy "Aha Heartbreak" by the Kings of Leon or "Printz" by Bumblebeez 81 because I only owned them for six days.) You'll probably enjoy the new Bright Eyes album "I'm Wide Awake it's Morning," and if you like that, you're going to love the irreplaceable Bright Eyes mix in there that my friend Marc made me a couple of years ago. Now, don't confuse that burned CD with the burned copy of Travis' "The Man Who" that's in the book as well. In case you were wondering, "The Man Who" is their sophomore album that contains the song "Why Does It Always Rain On Me," a song I think I'd appreciate on a whole new level if only I could listen to it right about now. Yeah. If only.
Actually, there are a lot of "if only's" running through my mind right now. If only I didn't grab The Killers "Hot Fuss" at the last minute, I'd still have it today. If only I didn't have "I Believe In A Thing Called Love" stuck in my head that morning, I wouldn't have taken "Permission to Land" by the Darkness for the ride. If only I didn't borrow "Blueberry Boat" by the Fiery Furnaces from a friend, I wouldn't have to replace it. And if only I left "Siamese Dream" in the CD player before I left the car, it may have had a chance to be saved.
Part of me wants to curl up into a ball, throw the covers over my head, and listen to some good old fashioned country music like the Old 97's provide on "Wreck Your Life." But I can't, because... well, you know.
I'm going to try not to let all of this get me down. I know that I'm strong. And ultimately, in the end, I will survive. Cake. Fashion Nugget. You fucking prick(s).
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b at 3:06 PM
