Fighting Crime

Now I normally don't care what people do with or to themselves. You want to pull an Amy Winehouse (become an uglier version of Sarah Silverman and do drugs), than go for it. I figure if it doesn't affect me right this second, then why should I care. Fine, I like to watch people go on downward spirals. Big deal. Speaking of which, today at 8:00 AM I pulled up to a traffic light on my way to the gym to work my glamor muscles when I notice the guy sitting in the car next to me is packing a bowl. We will now refer to him as Mr. Weedman in any future reference. At the same time this guy is getting ready to smoke up, I notice a police officer sitting on the other side of the traffic light looking for speeders. Mr. Weedman looks at me and quickly closes his hands praying I didn't see his precious weed. Oh, but I did, Mr. Weedman, I did. Now this is a long light so I had plenty of time to think of what to do next. The full gambit of emotions ran through my head; Why does he get to smoke weed and I don't? Why couldn't he just do it at home like everyone else? Is he really driving a Hyundai? Why does my leg itch? Did I pack underwear in my gym bag?

Before long the light changed and Mr. Weedman speeds off to what I assume is a high stakes job in the world of finance. I on the other hand drove across the street and pulled up next to the cop. Without getting into too many details, let's just say, I said "Go get em". The cop turned on his siren and took off. I have no idea what became of Mr. Weedman nor do I care. I was off to work my triceps and hopefully catch someone peeing in the shower.

I chose the Red Skull over Colleen

As some of you might know, I know Colleen of Col's Blog for thirty years. We were in elementary school and junior high together. I haven't seen her since I was 16 (junior prom), but I have stayed in touch with her by reading her Hitler-esq blog. I mean is there anything I can't learn about Colleeen that isn't summed up in her Monday Morning Dance Party? Anyway in the last twenty years we haven't had many times to hang out so one would think if the opportunity came up I would jump on that shit. Well last night Colleen was in LA and wanted to have dinner. I told her I had important plans that could not be broken. She understood and said maybe next time. I thought all was good but my fucking brother sold me out. Yes, it is true I was busy watching Captain America when I could have rekindled one of the world's great friendships. I mean it is only going to be in the theater for two to three months. I couldn't risk missing it for a reunion with a friend. I would think any good friend who traveled 3000 miles would understand. Colleen, I hope you are that good a friend.


Col's response

What are you doing today?

Other than celebrating Vin Diesel's birthday does anyone have any plans?

I cannot wait to get home, crack a beer and watch the Pacifier.


Life doesn't get any better than this.

Is this your homework Larry?

So a couple weeks ago I posted a letter that my ideal child would write to a butcher. Today, I found this homework assignment on the interwebs. Clearly written by the same brilliant child.

Jonah HIll - No longer funny

I am calling it right now. Jonah Hill is no longer funny. Did he not get the memo that as a comic you never lose weight and you never start lifting weights. I figure he is six months away from being in the direct to video Scavenger Hunt sequel. It's really sad.

Live forever? No thanks!

The other day Skip Dickford told me he read an article about aging and a few things really stood out to him. The article stated that in the next five years someone would be born who would live to 200 years old. I know you are astonished, but if that isn't shocking enough the article also said that in the next twenty years someone would be born that would make it to a 1000 years old. Holyshit, can you say Highlander? Then again I guess these people aren't immortal. I mean a gun could still kill these old bastards. Hell you can kill most grandmas by yelling at them, but this is definitely interesting. I pressed Skip for the facts or where he read it, but all he could say was he read it the same day he had Fruity Pebbles for breakfast. Yabba, Dabba, doo, I would like to make it to 200. Then again, I don't know if the people who have figured all this out have realized the major flaw in living a long time. As you age your nose and ears continue to grow. Being that I was born with a huge nose and dumbo ears, if I live anywhere past my 41st birthday, odds are I won't be able to lift my head off the table from the shear weight of my nose hair alone, not to mention the fact my ears will probably suffocate me in my sleep. Think about how freakish the world will be with all these huge nosed old people running around. It would be like living in Germany circa 1938. No thanks.
Old person

Watch Old Bandit Run...

In 1977, Universal Pictures released a film about the greatest American folk-hero to ever drive a Trans-Am: Smokey and the Bandit. In it, Burt Reynolds plays Bo "Bandit" Darville, the best truck driver of his time. The film follows the Bandit after he gets hired by a rich Texas oilman to escort a truck full of Coors beer from Texas to Georgia for a BBQ. Many of you will read that and think that it's a pretty thin plot, that the writers should have come up with something a little more compelling in order to draw the audiences in. The thing is, there were no writers, Smokey and the Bandit is a true story!
You see, prior to the 1980's, Coors was a regional beer, outside of Colorado and a handful of other western states, it was practically unheard of. Back then, the only way for a person on the east coast to sip a cool Coors 16oz'er was to either know Pete Coors himself, or know The Bandit...

Well I've never met Pete Coors, but can tell you one thing, there are few experiences in this life as sweet as watching the Bicentennial Fireworks over the Hudson River while downing a couple cans of Coors.



I'm a little late in saying this, but thank you Bandit.

Happy Birthday America!!!

Everyone should be a patriot and wear the colors!

Milia?

I was at Bay Cities Italian Deli enjoying what could be the perfect meatball sub when I noticed this sign at the shop next door. Now I know what skin tags, moles, and warts are from reading Boy's Life, but I honestly have no clue what Milia are? I will not look it up on the interweb. I refuse to use the same machine that provides me with hours of enjoyment/boobies (thank you tumblr) to learn about something that I clearly have and need removed by a deli slicer. I won't do it.

Wasted Youth

I stumbled across this ad in the back of my pristine copy of Boy's Life magazine, May 1987, volume IV and I immediately cried. All these years wasted with no coitus when for what amounted to a week's allowance I could have had a lifetime membership good for live computer sex. For the last three minutes I have been trying to figure out how much sex that really would have gotten me. I mean, if I was 12 in 1987 and I was jerking off an average of three times a day, everyday with the exception of weekends (five times a day), I would think I would have used up my membership pretty quickly. I imagine eventually being turned away like a fat man at a buffet. Fat man equaling horny pre-teen. Buffet equaling pussy. Figure for an extra 12 bucks I could buy a second lifetime membership. I would have destroyed that computer. I have so much to do when I finally invent a time machine. I have some questions though. What is live computer sex? Would I be having sex with an actual living computer or would it be with a tiny woman inside the computer? We are talking 1987 so I think these questions are appropriate.

Fuck Whitey

It should come as no surprise to any regular reader of this blog that Barry and I have long dreamt of becoming "professional" Nazi Hunters. I put professional in quotes because aside from the sheer pleasure of actually capturing a Nazi, there really isn't much in the way of reward. Sure, you may get lucky and stumble upon a Nazi that still has a pile of loot, but those are rare, and these are late days. Most surviving Nazis have already pawned the gold fillings and rectum diamonds that they took from the Jews. Nazi Hunting is like being a struggling artist in that regard, sure you may grind out a little cash doing it, but you really do it because it's your passion, and you better keep your day job.

Which brings us back to the man that the little asian boy, pictured above, wants dead. The news has been reporting that after a 15 year man-hunt, Whitey Bulger, the boston mobster, was apprehended in Santa Monica thanks to a tip from a neighbor. Normally, I'd say "who gives a shit", but then I read that the FBI was offering a $2 million reward for him.

$2 MILLION DOLLARS FOR AN 82 YEAR OLD WHITE MAN!!!

And to make it worse, Barry lived in Santa Monica at one point. Whitey Bulger could have been our day job! You nail Whitey every now and then and it pays for the Nazi operation, no brainer.

Armed with this information, I went to the FBI's 10 Most Wanted List thinking I'd see what other low hanging fruit was out there... WTF? Everyone else on the list is a Mexican drug lord, and they're only offering $100,000 for each of them. The potential ass-kicking to dollar ratio for each of these guys is exponentially higher. I totally missed the boat, I need Woody Allen to become a wanted fugitive so I can Dogg the Bounty Hunter him. I believe it would look something like this...

*Me Bounty-Hunting Woody Allen In Order To Support My Nazi-Hunting Operation

Such a missed opportunity.

It aint all bad

Being in an entourage can have some great perks. In my case as I mentioned earlier it means I get a pay check, but aside from that sometimes being with the right crew gets you some memorable moments.
Was going to a Dodger game yesterday for inter-league play one of them? No.
Was going to a game, sitting in a suite and having unlimited beers handed to me one of them? No.
Was going to a game, having Tommy Lasorda come into the suite and wish a friend happy birthday one of them? No.
Was having Tommy Lasorda ramble on about how there wasn't a "chinaman's chance" that his assistant would ever find a girlfriend one of them? Yes!!!!!!

I love old people. There are no rules once you make it to 80.

Damn you Mother Nature!!!

Due to the recent tsunami, my billable work at my so called day job has dried up quicker than the shores of Japan. This has kinda put me in a pickle (what the fuck does that mean?) because with no billable work comes no paycheck. Sure, I could look for another job but its tough when the best way to describe me is to think about any of the ten to fifteen guys in 50 Cent's entourage. None of them are doing anything, but as long as 50 makes hit records, they get paid! I am one of these people that show up when the projects are good, throws out some jokes, possibly get my project manager lunch, and bill a few hours here and there. With the aftermath of the tsunami, there ain't no hit records coming out and suddenly I am looking for a job at Wendy's. I either need the economy to improve or MC Hammer to have a come back. My hanger on status is going to shit!

I need to get paid!!!

Mikey has irritable bowl syndrome

The other night I had my first bowel of life cereal in what has to be twenty years and it didn't take more than three bites to realize why I haven't had it since Reagan was in the white house. By bite four the sweat was running down my face even though the room was a cool 68 degrees. My ass quivered as I ran to the bathroom. Why did I buy such a stupid belt? Ah, the sweet release of liquid life cereal shooting out my ass in less than 5 mouthfuls. Wait a minute this isn't my bathroom!

Anyway, my point is I am not sure what is in that stuff. Ground up fiberglass? Perhaps something worse like soluble fiber? Whatever it is, one would have to assume that Mikey must have some serious bowel problems if he is still eating this stuff after thirty years. I am guessing full blown Crohn's or maybe just a touch of colitis. Poor kid.



Yeah, I am back to posting.

If I ever had a son - A Father's Day Post

Went to the beach this weekend, at the local market they had this letter hanging on the wall. It's a little tough to read so here's the text:

"When I grow up I want to be a butcher. I want to be a butcher because I like meat. My favorite type of meat is steak. Sausage tastes good too. I also like hamburgers with pickles and ketchup. Another reason why I want to be a butcher is because I want to try other meats. I might end up liking something I have never tried before. If I like it, I will sell it. My friends will want to buy meat from me and tell their families about my excellent fresh meat. In addition I can eat all the meat I want for free since I like meat so much I can eat it whenever I want. I can call my family and tell them to have some meat. As you can see, I want to be a butcher because I like meat. I would try other meats and I can eat meat for free."

I want this kid to be my son.

Tracy Jordan Morgan aint all bad.

There has been a lot of negative press about Tracy Morgan lately. I guess he made some off colored jokes about killing his kid if he was gay and came home lisping. People are acting like he's a pariah. Has anyone ever listed to Tracy on the Howard Stern show? These comments seem tame compared to his normal stuff. Anyway I have to give Louie C.K. credit. He defended Tracy and pointed out the guy is doing standup not preaching at a pulpit. It would be awesome if Tracy was a preacher though. Maybe standing on a milk crate in Union Square, telling everyone the mother ship is coming. Soon enough I'm sure.

Finally, I have to agree with him. If my kid came home and was a black homo, I would want to stab that little nigga too!

Now I know I am not supposed to use that word but come on, this is for the sake of comedy! I am obviously talking about the word "homo".

Weepy Weiner Licked by Breitbart

A trembling, deflated Weiner

Aptly named and over-exposed member of Congress Anthony Weiner
("D"-NY) spilled on his turgid turptitude cocky conduct today during a particularly penis-related press conference, in which he gave penetrating insight into his recent public boners. Barry's staff made contact with Weiner's, and despite much friction and stiff resistance from his right-hand man, managed to milk the following quote directly from Weiner's mouth:

"No, I'm not thinking about running for president in 2012 with Eliot Spitzer as my vice president, but yeah, that would make a pretty funny bumper sticker. By the way put your cock back in your pants, you fucking disgusting bum"

[The Barry Rides declined to do so]

More people that are cooler than I am

Smoking babies, teenagers that sail around the world, and now these broads.... The list keeps growing.

Bummer Dad

These days, with celebrity adoptions being all the rage, I often find myself thinking that it must be a mixed blessing to be a kid that's taken into the home of a celebrity. On one hand, you're typically plucked from abject poverty where, in all likelihood, your tenth birthday would find you either: sewing sneakers in a Taiwanese Nike factory, or performing oral sex on tourists in a Romanian brothel. Neither are particularly appealing options (although at least in the brothel, they allow you a cigarette break every couple hours). On the other hand, if you get adopted by a celebrity, it seems you end up as an accessory, like one of Paris Hilton's dogs; only to be replaced by a newer cuter model once your age and ethnicity are no longer novel.
Take for instance the child recently adopted by Elton John and his husband, David Furnish. This child will probably be raised with every advantage one can have. He'll be offered opportunities that few could ever wish for, and probably be loved and cared for in the best possible way. But... he's named after one of Elton John's songs, and he'll probably be kept up all night while his dads throw fabulous Victorian costume parties in their palatial mansion. Kinda shitty, no? (Coulda been worse, he could be named Crocodile Rock I guess).

Any way you cut it, it seems like a drag, until you consider the following unfortunate: Ted Mann. Here's a guy that was raised like a normal kid, only to find out later in life that his biological father was Ted Nugent, the beef jerky eating, s-whistling, bow-hunting, motor-city madman.

Not since Luke Skywalker, has someone discovered that they had a suckier dad.

Kent, I want 500 words on this by the morning....

Generally I'm not superstitious, but I'm beginning to believe the rumor that the cast of the Superman movies was cursed. First you had Margot Kidder going bat-shit, taking her teeth out, and moving into a bush. Sure that was bad, but she was Canadian, so it seemed to make sense. Then there was Marlon Brando, he got super-fat and his kid killed some people, but again who doesn't that happen to? Christopher Reeve fell off of a horse and subsequently required a nurse to massage the poop out of him. Tragic and awful, but come on, horse jumping? That's just slightly less dangerous than Thunderdome. So while everyone said the cast was cursed, I was able to chalk all of these things up to coincidence.

That is, until I read this morning's news. Apparently Jackie Cooper, the actor that played the newspaper editor, Perry White, died yesterday in a nursing home. He was 88 years old. In the words of someone much wiser than myself:

...and it is in the humble opinion of this
narrator that this is not just "Something
That Happened." This cannot be "One of those
things..." This, please, cannot be that.
And for what I would like to say, I can't.
This Was Not Just A Matter Of Chance.
-Ricky Jay, Magnolia
What sort of evil shit went down on that movie set in order to bring on this type of karmic-shitstorm? Maybe the movie was filmed on an Indian burial-ground, or maybe Jimmy Olsen punched a gypsy between takes. Whatever the story is, if you ever see Terrence Stamp walking towards you on the sidewalk, I suggest you cross the street.