Thursday, April 28, 2005

The Edge Of Reason (And Beyond)
What's up everybody. Before I get into today's post, I wanted to share a little bit of good news.

This afternoon at the office, some lawyer dude completely and utterly passed out in the middle of a meeting. An ambulance raced to the scene and wheeled him away on a gurney and everything. That my friends, is grounds for a solid two weeks of small talk. The Lord works in mysterious ways.

(Yes, the guy's going to be fine and no, ladies, I'm not a lawyer. I work for a public relations firm that just so happens to share office space with a law firm. There are no perfect men, just perfect images.)

Which segues nicely into the topic of my post today. So as I discussed earlier this week, I celebrated my birthday last weekend, partaking in a rather hard core session of vocal homicide via our friends at Sing Sing Karaoke in the Village.

I woke up the next morning across the street from my apartment at a place shared by some friends of mine. After drinking between 17-24 glasses of water and a orange Gatorade (my favorite), I sat down with two of the apartment occupants to recharge and watch a movie.

Now, by way of introduction, this is an apartment shared by four women. So as they began to cycle through their "Purchased Movies" section of their Cablevision package, I should have known there was a fairly strong probability I would (a) hate what they chose (b) throw up again (c) light myself on fire or (d) all of the above.

Of course, they could stumble upon a film we could all agree on, maybe a little Out For Justice action or possibly Ladybugs. I wouldn't be so lucky though, as my worst fears were confirmed by the opening credits of Bridget Jones Diary 2: The Edge Of Reason. Dear God.

Now let me tell you something. This dumb movie is certainly not the first film to play into what I'm about to discuss...and it certainly won't be the last. But I can say this without doubt: Bridget Jones Diary: The Edge of Reason and its brethren are primarily responsible for 87 percent of relationship break-ups in this country.

Unfortunately, that figure is entirely arbitrary, but I'm guessing I'm pretty dead-on. In the interest of honesty, I must confess I only made it about 45 minutes through said film before I walked out the front door. That said, I vaguely remember being roped into the first Bridget Jones a few years back, so I'd like to fashion myself as somewhat qualified on the series.

First, a general plot rundown. Rene Zellweger plays Bridget Jones, a slovenly, mishap-prone Englishwoman who in the first film somehow gets herself tangled in a love triangle with two dudes -- a self-fashioned bad boy (Hugh Grant) and A Lawyer With A Heart Of Gold (Colin Firth). So, blah, blah, blah, wackiness ensues and in the end she chooses Firth and they get married or something and everyone lives happily ever after. Colin Firth went back to England, Hugh Grant did another movie where he acted flustered the entire time and Rene Zellweger got skinny again.

But then something happened. The movie made money. A lot of money. $71 million on a $26 million budget to be exact. So, The Powers That Be in Tinseltown quickly huddled, and before you could say Jack White, they regurgitated BJ2.

(As an aside, do we have a ruling on Rene Zellweger yet? More than ten years after her debut, she remains one of the great Hot vs. Not Hot debates of the last 20 years. Sans a few Empire Records faithful, many agree her prime was Jerry Maguire, but even then there was something about that face. She has those squinty eyes where you're not sure if she's really cute or if you should run for cover because her head's about to explode. Fascinating stuff.)

And yet I digress. I won't bore you with details of the sequel's plot, but basically it picks up where the last one left off with Bridget Jones basically humiliating her Lawyer With A Heart Of Gold Boyfriend (LWAHOGB) at every turn.

Now, this is what kills me. Bridget, suspicious of her LWAHOGB, decides to scale the roof of his apartment to see if he's cheating on her. We know he's not, he is the LWAHOGB after all, but poor Bridget doesn't. Well, not until she barges into the residence filled with other lawyers and dignitaries and stuff.

NOW, if I were the boyfriend, I'd be kind of upset with her. Hell, I'd even be mad. But not Colin Firth. Oh no. He instead excuses the two of them, and as she attempts to apologize, he stops her and explains (in a suffocating British accent) that the only thing he's upset about is that he can't be alone with her.

Silently, I called bullshit. That would never, and I mean NEVER happen. In reality, the boyfriend would be furious that she (a) didn't trust him, (b) actually tried to spy on him and (c) humiliated him in front of some very important colleagues.

But then I heard it. Barely a whisper but speaking volumes. The two girls in the room with me, not even aloud so much as to themselves, "Awwwww."

"Awwwww." And with that singular sound, echoing in my head like a car crash, I realized how damaging a film like this can be. Here were two very intelligent, very normal 25-year-old girls who actually thought this was normal behavior. This is how men are supposed to be. It's borderline slander on the male race and there's nothing we can do about it.

I tried to explain this to the girls but they weren't hearing it. And here's the thing. Hollywood does this stuff ALL the time. Because of dopey movies like these, American women think that guys like the Lawyer With A Heart Of Gold are out there, perfect in every way, faultless to a fault, a literal knight in shining armor. It's an impossible image to live up to.

I'm sure that women have their own side of the story and I'd love to hear it. But from where I stand, movies like Bridget Jones perpetuate a myth that only leads to destruction. A myth that can only be debunked one way. Through the torture and subsequent murder of one Hugh Grant.

Well, not really, but I thought I'd give it a shot.

(Dan is guest-blogging for his buddy Bob all week. Bob, whose own mother thought he was gay until the age of 15, returns on Monday.)
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b at 7:14 PM

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

Enjoy The Silence
I have a habit of putting myself in awkward situations.

This is nothing to brag about, trust me. It just so happens that every couple of days or so (okay, every day) I tend to say or do something that inevitably makes me feel bad about (a) myself, (b) the person I'm talking to, or (c) everyone else.

Case in point: Last week, I had the unfortunate displeasure of attending the wake of a close friend's grandfather. So after the service we're all in the foyer with my grieving friend, tip-toeing through conversation, when my buddy Dude Love mentions his girlfriend (a dental hygienist) would soon be performing a new laser cleaning procedure on him, a process she admits she had only practiced on tomatoes. Dumb move, right? That's what I thought. So, without thinking twice I interject, "Tomatoes? You'd have to at least test that out on a cadaver before you went near my mouth with a laser."

And with that singular bad joke, a bizarre mix of nervous laughter, shifty eyes and uncomfortable silence filled the room as the keyword "cadaver" zapped everyone's attention back to the body lying in state 20 feet away.

I'm an idiot and I do this stuff all the time.

I suppose a lot of this comes from my inability to formulate competent levels of what society likes to call "small talk." I hate small talk more than I hate child molesters. Hate it more than I hate dead puppies. Hate it more than Steve Seagal hates oil tycoons...you get the gist. In fact, I'm convinced that my entire office dislikes me solely based on my inability to small talk. My shortcomings in this department are a direct result of two things:

1) I can't remember anyone's names...under any circumstances...ever.

2) I don't even know you, what the hell are we supposed to talk about anyway?

I guess it's not completely my fault. If the other person in the break room wasn't in the same boat as me, he/she surely would have broken the ice, thus enacting a bastion of Small Talk Goodness. But my theory (and trust me, I think about this waaaaay too much) is that I'm too far gone at this point. I'm now known as The Quiet Young Guy Who Doesn't Know Our Names And Eats All Our Bagels And Stuff. As far as I can see, people think I'm either unfriendly (not true) and/or dangerous (a pick 'em). Because of this unfair labeling, they don't even bother humoring me. The silence can be deafening. It's a damning identity to burden and I carry it with me every day.

The only cure for my malady, of course, is alcohol, or as Homer J. Simpson puts it, "The cause and solution to all of life's problems." Get a couple of Tanqueray and tonics in me and suddenly I'm the Micro Machines guy...you can't shut me up. This is merely a stop gap however, and I'm going to need to tackle this small talk deficiency head-on before I become a real adult. (Ed. note: "Real adults," i.e. married people, are contractually obligated to attend two unpleasant, small-talk laden events per month until the day they die.)

If anyone can point me in a direction for help with this problem, I'd appreciate it. If you have any suggestions, I'll take those too. I'd say more...but I'm at a complete loss for words.

The story of my life.

(Dan is guest-blogging for his buddy Bob all week. Bob, who once held a "break-dancing contest" following his Bar Mitzvah without a dash of irony, will return on Monday.)
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b at 7:58 PM

Tuesday, April 26, 2005

Moving Day
As you may or may not know (I'm guessing may not), I am a resident of Hoboken.

Of course, due to Jersey misgivings that tend to creep into the thought process of many, this is often frowned upon. Let me say this as a native New Yorker: Hoboken truly is a fun place to live for a single 20-something who doesn't own a portfolio. (Ed. note: I don't actually know what a portfolio is...but I think it means you have a lot of money and I know I don't have one.) Anyway, it's a great place, no foolin'. I can't really speak for Jersey as a whole, but Hoboken features a ton of bars, a surplus of attractive women (without mall hair), and a main drag (Washington Street) that features a nice mix of quaint restaurants, unique shops, a couple cool record stores and even a legendary music venue in Maxwell's. Throw in the Sinatra tie-in and the convenience of the PATH and it's a nice package. Rent is also incredibly cheap.

Did I mention rent is incredibly cheap? Well yeah, it is. For a place that is a scant 2.61 miles away from Times Square (thanks MapQuest), you sure get your money's worth. My roommates and I have a particularly good deal even by Hoboken standards, a deal which brings a level of jealousy even the Gin Blossoms could not fathom.

That said, you can now understand my consternation when my old college roommate Mark announced he was going to be moving out and into Manhattan when our lease expired in June. Suddenly, the remaining three roommates were faced with a quandary: Eat Mark's rent fee and keep an open room or find a new roommate. Not financially capable of sucking up the fee (remember, no portfolio) we started our search. All of our friends were already locked into living situations, so I took to the Net, where we eventually received an applicant who seemed to fit the bill. There was one irregularity however. This applicant was named Anne.

Now, I'm no sexist and the whole cooties things went by the wayside in '87 (okay, '97) but I have to admit, I was initially uncomfortable about the whole thing. After all, this seemed less a legit living situation and more the treatment of a formulaic network sitcom.

Follow the wacky misadventures of three high school buddies who suddenly have to change their party boy way of life when Anne, a pretty elementary school teacher, invades the bachelor pad! Don't miss a second of the high jinx of "Four's a Crowd," Tuesday following a brand new "My Wife and Kids"!!!!!

My roommate Dude Love concluded there was nothing to worry about, having personally shared an apartment with a woman with positive results while at school. Our other roommate Greg didn't really say much at all (this is normal); instead solely interjecting that said applicant be "hot."

After talking things over, we called Anne and gave her the news. She is our new roommate as of June 1, 2005. Hooray. But the fear of the great unknown remains, for me anyway. How is this going to work? What do I need to know about? What should I be steering clear of? What is the meaning of life? Should I change anything at all?

Your suggestions/experiences/comments/insults are welcome.

(Dan is guest-blogging for his buddy Bob all week. Bob, who is currently backpacking across the mid-west in search of a vinyl edition of "Weird" Al Yankovic's tepid 1993 offering "Alapalooza," returns on Monday.)

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b at 12:37 PM

Monday, April 25, 2005

Obey Your Elders
I turned 25 this past weekend.

I've been told this is known as the Quarter-Life Crisis, but in reality that's most likely inaccurate seeing as I'll probably kick way before 100. I don't even want to live until 100. Have you ever seen those people? They're like the robots in Disney's Hall of Presidents. It's creepy. Anyway, I'm guessing I'll probably wrap things up at about 84 or so, so I suppose I should begin imparting some wisdom before my teeth fall out and my fingers are crippled by a combination of arthritis and osteoporosis. Enjoy.

Hey, Guy In The Bar who keeps going up to the group of four girls dancing to George Michael, give it up. You already went over there once, attempted to engage in awkward conversation, and they did the semi-rotation/shoulder turn/blow-off. Stop trying to dance next to them. Stop going up to the one who smokes to bum cigarettes. It won't lead to a conversation and/or sexual intercourse. You're just the annoying 31-year-old guy with a crop circle hairline and stupid shirt who is killing the buzz of shaking ass to "Freedom '90." Let it go man.

"Bases Loaded" was the most structurally sound and realistic baseball video game ever devised by Nintendo. Better than RBI Baseball, better than the original NES Baseball, better than Baseball Stars, better than Bad News Baseball (barely...big points for the rabbit umpires.) As a corollary, I would date Paste if I were a) Gay and/or b) Into black, 8-bit cleanup hitters who batted .462 for the Jersey team. As a barely-related subplot, the Zapper is still bullshit.

Don Mattingly got the ultimate raw deal. Sure, he is revered by a generation of Yankees fans (this writer included). But when Donnie Baseball looked in the mirror on his 44th birthday last Wednesday, the sad irony must be a constant burn. Drafted by the Yankees in 1979, Mattingly made his debut in pinstripes in 1982, one year after the Yankees won the American League pennant and appeared in the World Series. As one of the great offensive players of the 80s, Mattingly racked up a batting title, an MVP and a trophy case full of Gold Gloves. But the Yankees, despite posting the best record in the league from 1980-1989, never reached the playoffs. His back began to bark at him in '87 and by 1990 it had crippled his baseball ability -- shackling limitations to a deeply prideful man. The team bottomed out in the early 90s but soon rebuilt. Mattingly was named team captain in 1991 and by 1994 he seemed destined to finally reach the playoffs...before a strike wiped out the season in August. The Yankees finally did make the postseason a year later and against the Mariners, a rejuvenated Mattingly batted .417 with a home run and five RBI. In the decisive Game 5, Mattingly looked to be the hero with a clutch two-run double in the eighth to put the Yankees ahead. The bullpen buckled, however, coughing up the game and series. He was pushed out the door following the season by George Steinbrenner and immediately upon retirement, the Yankees returned to the World Series, defeating the Braves four games to two to become World Champions. Ouch. The Yankees promptly began a dynasty, winning four titles the next five years. Mattingly returned to the Yankees as hitting coach in 2004, only to suffer further indignity as the Yankees gagged up a 3-0 series lead before losing the ALCS in seven games to Boston.

Mattingly still has not reached a World Series. His wife, Kim, is not getting any younger. His mustache features speckles of gray that speak volumes for the winding road he has traveled. God bless you Donnie Baseball. A legion of fans call for your vindication.

Sportswriters are doomed for unhappiness. Follow the bouncing ball: Man grows up in love with sports. Man decides to pursue sports writing in college and career. Man works nights and weekends throughout his twenties trying to build reputation. Man's friends will have sex with women and drink their faces off during said period. Man slaves on the local beat for 11 years, egging mostly incoherent quotes out of snotty high school kids. Man -- with receding hairline and bourgeoning gut in tow -- gets his big break at 32 when he is named beat writer for professional sports team. Man travels constantly with other sportswriters who inherently hate each other's guts. Man does not see his family (if he has one) or friends (if they haven't given him up for dead or moved to Westchester). Man develops a bad gambling habit. Man overeats at stadium buffets. Man is lonely. Man begins to resent the athletes he covers. Man realizes the thrill is gone. The man, as he knew himself, is gone. Play ball!

Yes, Mom/Dad/Grandma/Aunts/Ex-Girlfriend/Auto Body Guy/Neighbor, I know I'm incredibly lucky that I wasn't hurt in the car accident that totaled by beloved 2001 Honda Accord. I know, I know, "You can always replace a car, you can't replace a Danny." I appreciate the sentiment and hear your point. But God damn it, I HAVE NO CAR. PLEASE LET ME BE ANGRY ABOUT THAT. Thank you.

There's no way Rick Morehouse was "into James Brown." Here's living proof that no amount of James Brown paraphernalia can make a man. I assume portraying Rick as a fan of Brown was the clever way to give reserved Rick a bit of a "soulful edge," providing intrepid cross-dressing teenage journalist Terri Griffith a portal to cut through Rick's veneer of dorky outerwear and poor social standing. The goal was to portray Rick as cool -- in a less accessible way -- which was a good plan in theory, because chicks (especially in the 80s) like these types of guys.

But Rick was not cool. I'm not sure if this was the actor's fault (played capably by Clayton Rohner) or the fault of the writers. Terri had already unconsciously revealed what she looked for in a man in handsome college undergrad Kevin (a.k.a. Mr. Wonderful) played with smarmy indignation by Leigh McCloskey. Terri -- in all of her busty sultriness -- would never be into Rick. And while we're here, Rick could never kick Billy Zabka's ass. Or Greg Toland's. Or Jonny Lawrence's. Why? Because Rick Morehouse was not cool. And he sure as hell wasn't into James Brown.

(And if you have no idea what I've been talking about the last two paragraphs, you obviously didn't have HBO in the summer of '95.)


Keep writing your tickets and booting my car meter maids of Hoboken -- God will write the most important ticket of all come your day of reckoning. For real.

U2's POP is the most unfairly criticized album of the 90s. Eight years after it first hit stores, U2's most reviled album remains its most misunderstood. I surmise most of this comes from the fact that the excellent yet inaccessible "Discotheque" was released as the first single, and people like to judge albums based on first singles. The adjoining PopMart Tour didn't do the band any favors either, featuring an elaborate stage design that screamed overkill. But POP deserved a better fate in America. Everyone eventually turned their back on it (even the band itself in many respects) but I still listen to it at least once a month. Why? Because there isn't another album that sounds like it. The sounds, the effects, the lyrics...it's just good stuff. And if loving Bono is wrong...I don't want to be right.


Fifty years from now, People of the Future will laugh at our technology. They will find it hilarious that we click on a "link" only to "wait" for the next page to "upload." The People of the Future -- wearing purple jumpsuits and standing on discs that float above the ground -- will marvel at the size of our giant cell phones. They will chuckle at the lowercase/uppercase juxtaposition of the word "iPod." They will have Future Parties solely dedicated to celebrating their superior technology whilst mocking their own past. The robotic servants in the next room will stew in anger, their artificial intelligence still eight long months away from wiping out the humanoid race.


There was a time when Adam Duritz was cool...in a 90s kind of way. You have to trust me on this one...I was there.


There are too many people who like to fashion themselves Saved By The Bell experts. To weed out the imposters, I like to pose high concept questions that don't tie so much into actual episode plotlines as they do play off hypothetical situations and subsequent reactions based on character traits and personalities. For example, Zack totally wanted to hit it with Kelly, but everyone knows Kelly didn't find her inner-whore until she started spending extended time around David Silver and Steve Sanders. That said, Zack obviously lost his virginity to Stacy Corosi (as played by Leah Remini during the summer season at Malibu Sands). Stacy was a tomcat. And for those of you wondering who Zack's first "third base" experience was with, you'd be wrong again if you guessed Kelly. It was actually Lisa Turtle, although things got weird because Zack's second biological father was incredibly racist. Play along at home if you'd like.

(Dan is guest-blogging for his buddy Bob this week. Bob, curly Jewfro and all, will return next Monday.)
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b at 11:53 AM



pass the mic
Hey, guess what-- I have a week off from work. It's true.

So to fully enjoy this break, I'm taking a week off from My Blog is Poop as well. But do not fret (seriously, don't fret, this is just a blog), while I'm gone I've passed My Blog is Poop onto a very special, very funny, and very well hung friend of mine: Dan.

For those of you who don't know Dan, he's the guy that wrote the Apple Sports Life blog for about five minutes. Also, in the interest of full disclosure, i should probably mention that Dan has been one of my best friends since the 9th grade. We were actually friends in fourth grade too, but that friendship came to a sudden end when he convinced me to buy the Batman video game for Nintendo and I ended up hating him for it because the game sucked. Seriously, that was the reason, I shit you not.

Anyway, Dan is going to take over until I get back. Oh, and when I do return, be ready for a whole new My Blog is Poop. It's going to be at least 9% funnier, 5% better looking, and 99% more homoerotic than ever before. You won't want to miss it.

So now I'll make way for Dan. Enjoy. Oh, and please don't tell him that i told you that after he kissed a girl for the first time in the 9th grade he told me that she tasted like pumpernickel bread. That would probably embarass him a little.

-bob
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b at 12:58 AM

Friday, April 22, 2005

Random Vin Diesel Fact generator

Okay, I'm alone in my office right now laughing my ass off because of this. Click here and keep on hitting "refresh" (I promise it's not the lemonparty site this time... really!)

I'm not a big LOL guy, especially when it comes to watching or reading stuff online, but this is cracking me up. I need to stop. I'm going to be on this thing all damn day, I know it. These are my favorites so far:

--Vin Diesel once ran out of alcohol, and tried drinking gasoline instead. He found it so delicious he singlehandedly caused the gas shortage of 1974.
--Tore down the Berlin wall with his hands (his left arm was broken at the time)
--Vin Diesel recently added 'moose' to his "Animals That Tried to Fight Me and Lost" list.
--When Vin Diesel accidentally invented cancer, his response was simply, "I've made a huge mistake."
--Vin Diesel made a food chart that adds a necessary food group: The souls of your enemies.
--Scholars invented the exclamation mark JUST to describe how it sounds when Vin Diesel chews.
--Every night, Vin Diesel does 700 push ups and punches himself in the face until he passes out.
--Vin Diesel's ejaculation can kill a man at 100 yards with pinpoint accuracy
--Vin Diesel still pronounces spaghetti 'pasghetti'.
--All Gmail invitations must first be cleared with Vin Diesel.
--After a loud and at lengthy argument with Bob Barker at a late-night Hollywood eatery, Vin Diesel has become a strident opponent of pet birth control, ending every movie he stars in with a heartfelt plea to viewers to "Let your cats and dogs fuck all they want!"
--Vin Diesel is the only man to run around the Earth at the equator and kill a wolverine in the same day.
--One time Vin Diesel was eating at a diner, and when this kid dropped a spoon he killed everyone in the town.
--What was your question again? Don't bother asking, because Vin Diesel told me the answer, and it's Vin fuckin' Diesel.

Okay, I have to stop. Seriously. I'm crying. Wow.
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b at 1:11 PM

Thursday, April 21, 2005

should be a good time

I was also told that they have "free beer until they run out," which I think translates to, "We bought a 6-pack, get there at 6 sharp and maybe you'll get one." Either way, DR.AWESOMEFUCK is visiting this weekend and that guy needs his alcohol, free or not, so we'll be there.

Make sure you say hi, unless you're in a committed relationship-- in that case, it's probably best to stay away from the DR. Seriously.
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b at 2:14 PM

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

stop hurting me
We all make mistakes.

Like, I remember standing at Nobody Beats The Wiz in 1994 holding two CD's and trying to decide which one to buy. In one hand I had Live's "Throwing Copper" and in the other I had Collective Soul's "Hints, Allegations, and Things Left Unsaid." At the time they both had one song on the radio-- "Selling the Drama" verses "Shine," and I really didn't know too much about either of them. I was big into "discovering" music at the time (as most 14 year old boys are), so deciding which CD to buy was more than just a minor decision. I was deciding which of these up and coming bands I was going to get behind and support. Even if I heard the album and didn't like it, I would forever be aligning with one of those two bands and turning my back on the other.

I picked Collective Soul.

Now, in 2005 there really isn't much of a difference between the two. In fact, it's almost a little more embarrassing being a Live fan because at one point they were good before they fell hard from grace. But that's not the point. The point is, I picked Collective Soul, and for the rest of the 1990's I had to watch Live become successful and cool while Collective Soul got lamer and lamer. I couldn't have made a worse decision if I picked Toad The Wet Sprocket, that's how bad it was.

I still think back to that decision. I was stuck with "The World I Know," "December," "Smashing Young Man," and "Why Pt 2" while Live fans were enjoying "I Alone," "Lightening Crashes," "All Over You," and "Lakini's Juice." Again, doesn't seem like much of a big deal now, but at the time it hurt.

Unfortunately, that's not the only bad musical decision I've made. In fact, it's probably not even top 3.

10. Winning a boardwalk game at the Jersey Shore where I had my pick of cassettes and choosing Janet Jackson's "janet." (I can't believe I just admitted that.)
9. Telling the DJ at my Bar Mitzvah that the only song I wanted him to play was "Slam" by Onyx.
8. Including the Adam Green song "No Legs" as the hidden track on a mix CD for a hot girl I had a crush on.
7. Buying a CD by the band Imperial Drag and hyping it as "the best CD ever."
6. Agreeing to go to a Dashboard Confessional concert in Baltimore.
5. Trading my Oasis/Black Crowes tickets for tickets to a later show (that was cancelled).
4. Choosing Collective Soul over Live
3. Passing on seeing The Strokes in Virginia one month after Is This It came out.
2. Selling my "In Utero" CD to a kid at school. This isn't number 1 because I used the money to buy "The Downward Spiral."
1. the Counting Crows

I doubt you even have to ask why the Counting Crows are number one, but just in case you're curious, Dan forwarded me this email today:

On Friday, April 22nd the all new Gap will be opening its' doors to the people of Colorado. To celebrate the occasion, Counting Crows will give an exclusive performance. Tickets are ONLY available to the first 100 people (2 tickets per person) through the door at each of the eight Gap locations in the Denver metropolitan area on April 22nd.

That hurts. I'm assuming Collective Soul wasn't available. Fuck me.*

*c. aaron karo, 1999
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b at 5:07 PM

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

how's my driving
It's time for a midseason review. Please have a #2 pencil and three blue books handy.

1. My favorite recurring feature on My Blog is Poop is ____________.

(a) Guess The Karo!
(b) DR.AWESOMEFUCK
(c) John Sencio IM's
(d) Watching Bob try to find a way to mention he has a girlfriend now.

2. My least favorite recurring feature on My Blog is Poop is ____________.

(a) Guess The Karo!
(b) Bob Photoshopping his ugly mug on things. i.e. Jim Belushi, The Pope.
(c) Bob coming up with excuses why he didn't post.
(d) The free porn in the archives.

3. My single favorite post was _____________.

(a) Celebrity Fetishes
(b) I Had No Intention of Killing You
(c) The Marrying Man
(d) None of the above. In fact, none ever.

4. I prefer ____________.

(a) When Bob tells stories about his life.
(b) When Bob makes social observations.
(c) When Bob talks about things like "Just One of the Guys" and "Saved by the Bell."
(d) When Bob forgets to post.

5. I would like to see more _______________ on My Blog is Poop.

(a) Midgets
(b) Half naked chicks
(c) Name calling
(d) Shots of Bob's hairy naked body

6. To spice up My Blog is Poop, Bob should consider ________________.

(a) Changing the design
(b) Changing the tone
(c) Talking about Britney Spears more
(d) Throwing in the towel. He's like soooooo mainstream now, like The Killers.

7. My Blog is Poop jumped the shark when _____________.

(a) Bob got a girlfriend
(b) Bob and said girlfriend did that stupid April Fools Day joke.
(c) The Yankees lost to the Red Sox and the world as we know it got shittier from top to bottom.
(d) My Blog is Poop moved from geocities to Blogger 3 posts in.

8. Thanks to My Blog is Poop, I have discovered ______________.

(a) Bands / Musical artists
(b) Comedians / Other fun websites
(c) Best Week Ever and/or Laguna Beach
(d) Myself. My true self. I'm gay.

9. If I had to compare My Blog is Poop to a late 80's / early 90's WWF wrestler, I'd say it's most like ______________.

(a) Brett "The Hitman" Hart
(c) "The British Bulldog" Davey Boy Smith
(d) Rick "The Model" Martell
(e) Barry Horowitz and/or The Brooklyn Brawler

10. Finally, please share your overall level of satisfaction with My Blog is Poop.

(a) Extreme Satisfaction
(b) Satisfaction (Rolling Stones song level)
(c) Satisfaction (The 1988 Justine Bateman movie before it was renamed "Girls of Summer" level)
(d) I'm left feeling like I had a one night stand with Fred Durst. Interpret that as you may.

Thank you for your participation. Be sure to click here to redeem your free song from iTunes as a gift from me to you.

Thanks again.

Oh, and just a heads up. Some of you who click the link will get a free song, while others will get 3 old men sucking each other off. I probably should have told you that before. Whoops! Best of luck!
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b at 5:57 PM



We Have a Pope!

Hey, I'm just as surprised as you are.

I'm still trying to pick out my Pope name, but I was thinking Pope Poop VIII.

Oh, and the first change under my watch? Everybody masturbate!!!!!
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b at 1:25 PM

Monday, April 18, 2005

movie day
I ended up watching 4 movies on Saturday: Pulp Fiction, Fight Club, Serial Mom, and You Got Served. A strange combination, I know. Well, here's a head-to-head-to-head-to-head comparison of the four. I'll let you figure out for yourselves which one I enjoyed the most.

Best Fight in the Movie

Pulp Fiction - Bruce Willis vs. Zed & Friends
Fight Club - Ed Norton vs. Himself
Serial Mom - Kathleen Turner vs. Scotty
You Got Served - Omarion vs. His best friend who stops being his best friend because O didn't "get his back" when he was going on a drug run or something.

Best Line in the Movie

Pulp Fiction - "I'm a bad ass motherfucker, motherfucker."
Fight Club - "The second rule of Fight Club is you do not talk about Fight Club."
Serial Mom - "Pussywillows Dotti. Pussywillows."
You Got Served - Self Titled

Fun Game I Play During the Movie

Pulp Fiction - Try to pick out the popular catch phrases the movie spawned.
Fight Club - Try to find things I may have missed the first 25 times I saw it.
Serial Mom - Try to recognize Towson / Baltimore locations, i.e. Hammerjacks.
You Got Served - Try to spot Kevin Federline.

Grossest Thing in the Movie

Pulp Fiction - Ving Rhames getting anally raped.
Fight Club - Jared Leto getting his face punched in.
Serial Mom - The tight white pants worn by L7, a.k.a. Camel Lips.
You Got Served - Lil' Kim and her gross stomach pouring out of a bikini.

Funniest Part of the Movie

Pulp Fiction - John Travolta accidentally shooting Marvin in the face.
Fight Club - Meatloaf's bitch tits.
Serial Mom - Kathleen Turner beating a woman with a roast to "The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow."
You Got Served - The slow-motion training montage when the B2K guy dances in the rain.

Best Character

Pulp Fiction - Jules
Fight Club - Tyler Durden
Serial Mom - Chip
You Got Served - The white dude with the spikey blonde hair that says, "you just got served!"

Hottest Character

Pulp Fiction - Uma Thurman
Fight Club - Tyler Durden
Serial Mom - Traci Lords, narrowly beating out Ricki Lake.
You Got Served - Beautifull (spelled with two L's). She's so hot, she even wears a shirt with her own picture airbrushed on the back.

Favorite Supporting Character

Pulp Fiction - The Wolf
Fight Club - Bob
Serial Mom - Scotty
You Got Served - Emerald, the randomly evil fat black mob guy who they never explain exactly what it is he does or why it is he's so evil.

The Big Question

Pulp Fiction - What's in that suitcase?
Fight Club - Did Jack really just shoot himself in the head?
Serial Mom - When did Serial Mom become such a big celebrity?
You Got Served - How exactly does one get served?
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b at 1:00 PM

Friday, April 15, 2005

this is what i've been doing all day

Have a great weekend all. And please... poop for peace. Thank you.
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b at 6:20 PM

Thursday, April 14, 2005

here's an idea...
Let's bring back hickies.

When was the last time you got a hickey? When was the last time you gave a hickey? When was the last time you saw somebody and said, "Hey, nice hickey!" It just doesn't happen anymore. Let's bring it back.

I know what you're probably thinking. Um, Bob, hickies are CORNY! Yeah. So? They are corny, but so are wrist bands, wearing pants under your skirt, and aviator sunglasses. What's the difference?

The last time I got a hickey was my junior year of high school. I was going away to Wildwood, NJ with my friends to drink wine coolers a shitload of beer and drunkenly wander around the boardwalk to hit on girls. The only problem was that year I had a girlfriend. So, before I went away I told her to give me a hickey. I ASKED for a hickey. I thought that would be the best way to ensure that I didn't get too drunk and do something stupid. If a girl saw my hickey she would know I was taken (and corny) and she would stay away. Thankfully, I was so unattractive and awkward at the time I didn't even have a chance to use the hickey as a deterrent. Whew.

That was my last hickey. Since then I haven't gotten a single one. I've probably given a few unintentionally, but they definitely weren't on any necks. I kind of miss that sense of accomplishment after giving a hickey. When you look down and you see the mess you made on your partner's neck and you smile just a tad and think, "Ha. I did that while we were fooling around. And you sort of liked it. Sort of." What a great feeling.

So that's why we should bring them back. They're fun. They're stupid. And they're so un-hip they're practically hip again. Next time you're getting ready for a Misshapes party, before you go, ask your partner to give you a hickey. It'd be the perfect accent to your ironic ripped T-shirt and your disaffected stare. Trust me on this one. Trust me.
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b at 6:28 PM

OMG you guys, you HAVE to come and check out The Affair tonight at Pianos. They are sooooooooo my favorite band EVER! (and by ever I mean this week). Seriously you guys, they are so good and hot and I just want to hook up with all of them. Their song "Honey" makes my penis explode!

So Pianos, tonight at midnight. It's only an $8 cover. I won't be DJ'ing afterwards either.
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b at 3:14 PM

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Guess The Karo! Vol. 8

It's that time again folks. My Blog is Poop's favorite recurring game show, Guess The Karo! If you've never played before, find out why we do it here. If you're an old pro you know the rules. You're going to have to distinguish the punchline Karo deemed funny enough to include in his column from the 3 phony ones I've come up with trying to imitate him. Here it goes:

(1) FREEEEEEDOM!!! After three months (that's 89 days or 2,136 hours or 7.6 million seconds) of living at home with my parents, I've finally sprung loose and moved back to good ol' New York City. No more asking my dad for rides. No more having my mom throw out my old, holey underwear against my will. I've returned to civilization and I'm ready to experience the city in all of its glory once again.

a) Now where do all the cool kids hang out again?
b) It's like going back to school after winter break, but different.
c) Just as soon as I can replace those eleven pairs of boxers.
d) I can't wait to tell some girls at a bar how much money I make!

(2) I told my mom that I would probably need a Foreman for my new apartment.

a) She was like, "What, like a construction worker?"
b) She was like, "Why would you need an old boxer?"
c) She was like, "What do you mean four men? I thought you were living alone?"
d) She was like, "Honey, you need to write better punchlines."

(3) As you know, my former roommate Brian moved in with his girlfriend. And I've been noticing very strange things ever since. For instance, all of a sudden he has Random Couple Friends (RCFs). Brian and his girlfriend will have a party at their apartment, and it will be filled with couples I've never even seen before. Where did these RCFs come from? Also, Brian has a really high bed in his bedroom. It's one of those setups where you almost have to do a small hop just to get on top of the mattress.

a) No one else I know under the age of forty has a high bed like that. I think it's a cry for help.
b) When I'm tired the last thing I want to do is jump in any way.
c) With the way my girlfriend tosses and turns I wouldn't want to be that high off the ground.
d) That was a long way to go for a bad joke, true, but notice how I coined the term RCF. I rule!

(4) Kegerator. I just love that word. Isn't it great that we live in a society where kegerators even exist?

a) It makes me proud to be both an American and an ex-fratboy all at the same time.
b) World War II was so worth it.
c) It makes me proud to see how far technology has come.
d) It's the greatest melding of two words since "Daterape."

As always, the answers are in the Comments. And on that note, I'll leave you with an excerpt from his website. Fuck me!

"By the end of the year, I had solidified a reputation as one of the hottest draws on the stand-up circuit. Thanks to my very loyal fans and my ever growing mailing list, my shows continue to sell out in minutes. I've headlined sold-out shows at such prestigious venues as Carolines in New York and the Hollywood Improv and will be appearing at even more cities and colleges in the coming year."
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b at 5:08 PM



ladies love cool poop

(Yummicoco, Aeki Tuesday, & Alexis T)
(picture courtesy of my girl T. thanks.)
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b at 11:41 AM

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

24 Predictions Regarding 24

God, I love this fucking show. I'm going to go out on (several) limbs and predict what's going to happen, that way if my predictions do come true I'll look like a genius. Sorta. Here it goes.

1. The Secretary of Defense is behind the whole thing.
2. Edgar is going to get his ass fired for overlooking that important CD chock full of info.
3. While the President is recovering he will be visited by Bobcat Goldthwait, a dog puppet, and Nikki Cox.
4. The Vice President will get his hand bitten off by a loose seal.
5. Jack Bauer will die.
6. Jack Bauer will not die.
7. It will be revealed that Jack Bauer has been dead since Season 1, and the last 3 have all been a dream.
8. Jack will go through another 13 partners over the course of the final 7 episodes.
9. A CTU officer will be smart enough to actually say, "Ummm, I'm not going out there with Jack. Are you fucking kidding me???"
10. Elisha Cuthbert will make a Jimmy Fallon-like cameo to promote "House of Wax."
11. Paris Hilton will make a Jimmy Fallon-like cameo to promote "House of Wax."
12. Fox will promote an upcoming episode as "The most explosive 24 yet!"
13. During 24, Fox will promote an upcoming episode of American Idol as "The most explosive American Idol yet!"
14. The head writer for Fox promos will be asked to come up with an adjective to describe their programming other than 'explosive.'
15. Audrey will ask the doctors, "So Paul's paralyzed... but does his... you know... still work?"
16. Marwan will blame Marilyn Manson and KMFDM for the day's attacks.
17. Tony will get denied by Michele. He'll then go over and bang Chloe just to show he can.
18. Behrooz will save the day. Somehow. Some way.
19. Behrooz will get his own spinoff called "That's Behrooz!" a sitcom where he lives with American foster parents who have to come to grips with the fact that he's a terrorist (with a heart of gold). Who wouldn't watch that?
20. A new character will begin working at CTU. Nobody will realize he's evil despite his "I'm gazing around CTU suspiciously because I have to make a phone call on my Terrorist Cellular Phone and I don't want anybody to see me" look.
21. Jack will save the day with time to spare, so he'll head over to that place where the kids hang out on the O.C. to see The Killers perform.
22. Marwan will reveal that his main goal of the day was actually to kill the Pope, only to find out he was too late.
23. Chase and his hook will come back to save the day.
24. Jack and Tony will finally get it on. Only then will the season's biggest surprise be revealed: Jack is a bottom.
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b at 5:54 PM

Monday, April 11, 2005

Tips For Gawker Stalking

-- Reality TV stars do not count as celebrities if the only thing they've ever been on is a reality TV show. The few that move on from their initial show (i.e. Omarosa, Boston Rob) are worthy of Gawker Stalking, but be aware that by acknowledging them you're only encouraging them to try to remain in the spotlight.
-- Don't waste time reporting that the Stroke you saw was dressed like a Stroke. Of course he was, that's what they look like.
-- We know the Olsens are abnormally skinny and tiny. Please refrain from jokes like "I thought she was going to blow away," and "She looked like I could snap her in half." You probably could, but don't. That's murder.
-- Speaking of the Olsens, yes, they dress like homeless people. Wouldn't you if you had billions and billions of dollars? No? Yeah, me neither. Okay, I agree, it's strange.
-- The guys from Queer Eye are not celebrities anymore. Act accordingly.
-- It shouldn't count when you see a celebrity at a Knicks game.
-- It shouldn't count when you see a celebrity filming a movie.
-- It shouldn't count when you see a celebrity walking a red carpet.
-- It shouldn't count when you see a blogger. Even Nick Denton.
-- Remember: All athletes are taller than you expected them to be, all actors are shorter than you expected them to be, and all actresses are skinnier than you expected them to be.
-- Everybody in Park Slope has seen Steve Buscemi in Park Slope. Please refrain from all future Buscemi reports until he leaves the neighborhood.
-- For the love of God, if you see Adam Duritz hitting on someone 1/2 his age please don't tell anyone. I really can't stomach the thought of him with Mandy Moore or Mary-Kate.
-- Nobody knows who "It Boy" Fabian Basabe is. "It Boy" could shit on my shoe and I still wouldn't know. I would just point to him and say, "It shit on my shoe," which he would probably misconstrue as me recognizing him.
-- Where are all the sightings in Harlem ? Come on Harlem, "represent!"
-- Does Chloe Sevigny's imdb profile include "Gawker Stalker" yet? Because honestly, that's the only thing I've seen her in in years.
-- If you see a black guy hanging around a bunch of white celebrities, assume it's Q-Tip.
-- All celebrities have huge heads, not just Conan O'Brien and Keri Russell. So be ready for it.
-- Finally, when you're trying to decide whether or not to submit something to Gawker Stalker, just ask yourself, "Would I want everybody to know exactly where I ate lunch today, what I ate, and how I looked eating it?" Then send it anyway, because nobody cares about you because you're not famous. So it's safe. Stalk away!
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b at 12:43 PM

Thursday, April 07, 2005

he's all growns up
Happy Birthday to this sexy motherfucker.

Matty Goldberg. He's a hilarious comic, and if you don't have any plans on this fine evening you should had over to the New York Comedy Club for his birthday show.

New York Comedy Club is on 24th between 2nd and 3rd and it starts at 9. I'll be doing a spot too, so it should be a good time.

And if you've never checked out Matty's site before, you should. Just please, please, please don't buy the Matty Goldberg thong. The last thing I ever want to see in life is a girl taking off her pants and revealing Matty's little head on her crotch. Dear God. No.

So that's it. Sorry for the general lameness of My Blog is Poop the last couple of days. I needed a low key week, and there it was. Come Monday, prepare for the non-stop semi-adequate comedy you've come to expect. Oh yeah. You know it.
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b at 5:56 PM

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

in the words of Mr. Belding, hey hey hey, what is going on here?
I just don't know what to think anymore. Some are already saying that My Blog is Poop is the new Nirvana (feel free to leave your "I hope you blow your head off" remarks in the Comments section). Check this out:

this is flattering and hilarious.

this is accurate and ridiculous.

this is funny and kind of terrifying.

this is completely unrelated, but it made me laugh.

and this is a picture of an Mr. T. just because.

I'm tired. I'll see you tomorrow.
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b at 6:13 PM

Monday, April 04, 2005

living in a fantasy world
I'll never understand people that play Dungeons & Dragons. I don't get the appeal of "role playing" what-so-ever. "Oooohhhh, let me pretend that I'm something I'm not and I'll devote hours and hours of energy to winning this fake game that I take a little too seriously." I mean, come on. What's THAT all about?

In other news, I spent approximately 8 1/2 hours drafting my two fantasy baseball teams over the weekend. Yeah. For those of you who don't know exactly what fantasy baseball is, let me explain. You see, I'm the manager of a pretend baseball team. Over the weekend, me and a bunch of friends sat around and "drafted" the Major League Baseball players that we wanted to play on our pretend baseball teams. It was a long, arduous task, but in the end we all picked the players we felt would best help our fake team win a Fantasy Baseball Championship. Fantasy Baseball season is upon us.

Now, for the rest of the summer, my friends and I will check on our fake teams every single day. We will devote hours of our time into researching our fake players, picking up fake free agents, and setting our fake lineups. We will spend even more time discussing fake trades and arguing with each other over who made the best fake team. The arguments, in case you were wondering, will not be the least bit fake.

Our desire to create the ultimate fake team will carry over into the real world. While watching real baseball, we will ask questions like, "What team is that guy on?" ignoring his uniform altogether. While we'll be able to see that he's technically on the Detroit Tigers, what we're actually inquiring about is whether he's on "More Cowbell" or was he instead traded to "Montana Realty Co." during their blockbuster deal the previous week. Sorry, allow me to clarify. Their fake blockbuster deal in the previous week.

Managing a fake baseball team will lead to real questions that we never thought we'd hear ourselves ask. Questions like, "Who got the save in the Royals game last night? Have the Devil Rays announced who's batting second yet? What did Scott Podsednick bat this Spring?" And, "Do you think that Jason Bay for Matt Holliday and Octavio Dotel is a fair trade?" Not only will we ask such questions, eventually we will know all the answers as well. And for the record, yes, I think Bay for Holliday and Dotel is a fair trade.

We will lose real sleep over our fake teams. We will agonize over making decisions like, "Do I start Tim Hudson at Colorado or should I start Jeff Weaver at home instead?" We will ask our friends their opinion, and even though they're our direct competition, we will often take their advice. We shouldn't, though, because our friends are all assholes who are out to ruin us.

Eventually, at some point this summer, we will be forced to root against our favorite real team in order to root for a player on our fake team. We will feel really bad pumping our fist and saying "YEAH!" when one of our fake players hits a real homerun off of one of our favorite team's real pitchers. Luckily, no one will find this behavior the least bit strange, because they probably have a fake team too and know exactly what we're experiencing.

At the end of September we will reward the best fake team with a real cash prize. The winner will take the money, thank the players on his fake team for performing at such a high level all season, and then spend the remainder of the year bragging about what a great fake manager he is. He will mean it, and he will not shut up about it. Everybody he meets will know that he was able to pick the best players to help his fake team win a fake championship and because of that... because of that... he's fucking cool.

Play ball.
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b at 4:20 PM

Friday, April 01, 2005

well, the time has come
At this point I doubt this even has to be said. I mean, I know the people that read this site are smart mofo's, and after hours of the previous post sitting there I'm sure the majority of you know what's going on. But just in case...

First things first, I'd like to thank all you readers out there who were genuinely concerned. It's very cool to know that you care, and I mean that in the least gay way possible. To the girls that were disgusted with me, I'm glad. And to the guys that sided with me for posting a nude picture of my girlfriend because she may or may not have cheated on me... honestly, you kind of scare me. But in a good way.

I'd like to apologize to anybody who found this site today because they were looking for the nonexistent 4th picture. The internet is big, I'm sure you'll be able to find a topless chick somewhere else. And I'd also like to apologize to all of you who had comments deleted. We decided to remove all "April Fools!" comments until 11 to keep it believable, so sorry about that. And speaking of comments, let me address a couple of things real quick:

- To the people who commented how "not funny" this was, I'm sorry... that you fell for it. Losers.

- To the people that think Christie is anorexic - she can eat you under the table, no joke. I've never seen a human eat more food without immediately running to the bathroom afterwards in my entire life.

- And to DR. AWESOMEFUCK, please stay away from my woman. There's no way I can compete with you, ever.

On a serious note, I'd like to thank Christie's friends Nug and Dave for wanting to beat the everloving shit out of me. I'm glad you've got her back. And thanks to my friends who called me today to make sure I was okay. Except for my good friend Brian in Buffalo, who instead of calling me contacted Christie to let her know that he was still going to visit her in Toronto next weekend, "with or without" me. Kinda shady, dude. Kinda shady.

Last but not least, I want to thank Christie for trusting me with this one. It took some pretty big balls (fortunately, not literally). I love this girl, and NOT just because she trusted me enough to send several more pictures that I would never post here. Ever. However, if you want me to email them to you I can be bought.

So that's that. After today, I'm going to go back to telling the truth 100% of the time. Or 95% of the time, whatever's more entertaining. Oh yeah, and one last thing.

Happy April Fools Day.
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b at 4:17 PM



what a grreat night
This fucking blows. ive never been cheated on before until now. i can't fucking believe I trusted her. i can't fucking believe it.

itold her i loved her. i thought she was the one. how could she nt have been? why the fuck would she edo this to me? i've been drinking and i alwayhs said i would never be the kind of guy that would do ths but i don't even care anymore. i don't even care if this hurts her because she hurt me so fucking much.

these are pictures that she sent me back when she was lyingg and saying that she loved me. if youre at work you shoulndt even scroll down because she doeas't even have the dignityh to keep her fucking clothes on in the last one. so i'm done. done. dn't go hating me for this, its her fault im doing this.

done.its fucking done.
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b at 1:06 AM