Lossing Friends Everyday

Mom always told me I should tell AIDS jokes. Which is weird, because she was saying it in '79, WAY before the epidemic was public. Am I claiming my mom had a hand in creating the virus? Not in this post...but stay tuned...

I can't help myself. I make fun of horrid things. NOt sure why. I'd like to think my attempt is to take the piss out of such scary things as AIDS, Cancer or Fatty Arbuckle's coke bottle collection. But the truth is, I'm just a hateful soul. If there is a Heaven, I'm fairly certain I won't be going there. I don't think I'll end up in Hell either, but rather haunting the vagina or a lonely 60 year old woman living out her days on Long Island. So based on that I should care what people think of me or the things I say...but I do. Sorta...

I don't regularly count how many friends I have on facebook, but I do notice once in a while. More so I notice a decrease of numbers and sometimes I even notice a particular person who has abandoned the home of my rants which often feature some choice four letter words (such as boob).

It's weird because I recent came up with what I thought would be a great idea of losing EVERY single friend I have. Someone (I think Julie) said it would be like a modern day Brewster's Millions. I can't get rid of friends, but I have to force them al away...but the problem is I'd lose them forever. And as much as I pretend to not care, I really get excited by people I know only causally, reading my blogs or watching a short film I've made, or just "liking" a clever jab I might take at a retarded kid on the side of the road (even my acquaintances are shitty people).

I do say "fuck" & "cunt" a lot. So I do understand when people drop me...especially if they don;t have a lot of friends or at least a lot of friends who regularly update their accounts. You're likely to have an entire page of me sounding off on people masturbating in the stall next to me, or hoping Michael Vick accidentally sits on his nuts.

I'll continue to be the rude prick my mother raised, and hope some day she gets on facebook. Because no one's Mom would unfriend them...right?

Halloween? More like SWALLOWeen...am I right?

Year after year, I hear more and more people getting pissed off about the increasing SEXINESS of Halloween. These "people" are usually "fatties" who likely aren't fitting into the "sexy" costumes that have become all the rage with 14 year old girls...er, wait...

Personally, I am a huge fan of the trick/treat look Halloween has adopted. You like a good scare on Halloween? Well then nail one of these minimalist self esteemed ladies without a condom...seriously, you'll trade that "sexy nurse," for the real thing while your unit is dripping puss in hospice.

I decided (strictly for research) to type "sexy halloween costume" into our old friend google image. And these are the fine selection they gave me:

#1
First off, how is this sexy? Since I don't see an open wound, I'll assume this is supposed to be someone else's blood. Either way, not the definition of sexy to most. It is possible this girl just got her period out of her belly button, but I'll assume this is part of the costume. Not a very good one...unless she's a "cutter." Then this is the best costume I've ever seen.

#2
This one is weird, because there are 2 girls in it. I like "couples" costumes...but am failing to see the theme here. The one girl looks like poison ivy. Not the character from the Batman comic, but just the weed that grows in my side yard. Which would make sense as I am certain that anyone rolling around in this will wake up with a wicked itch and possibly a burning sensation when they urinate. The girl with her seems to be a girl scout. She knows the pratfalls of poison ivy, so will likely avoid prolonged contact. Also, I am interested in her cookies. And before anyone gets upset by that comment, I don't mean her actual cookies a girl scout sells out from of every supermarket across America come Spring time...I mean her vagina.

#3
This one is not sexy at all. The inside of a woman? Wait...that is came out wrong. I fail to see how the skeleton can be sexy...though I do like the measuring tape revealing a torso that would make Tracy Gold jealous. I notice the Xray like outfit reveals the "important parts" of this young lady. Clear made by a man, as there is no indication that females have brains.

#4
Pacman Fever! You get 200 points if you eat the cherry. I got news for you...this chick ain't had those points to give since this costume was relevant.

#5
This is sexy? Of course if you look closely, you can see Bin Laden's cave.

So that's the sexy Halloween. But still, there is the inappropriate Halloween. That could consist of a tit hanging out, though it's more likely to make that a "sexy" costume. I mean the, "let's cash in on a recent tragic event for a cheap laugh, and a photo on Facebook that will eventually cost me that House of Representative seat" type costume. Here are a selection of those bad boys:

#1
Let's get Hitler out of the way up front. There's always some asshole who thinks it's funny to dress their kid up like a guy who killed over 6 million people. I look at this kid and think, "well he's going to community college." Mostly because he comes from a gene pool that would do this in the first place. Though I do think the glass of water is a nice touch. Sure he's a tyrant, but he's thirsty.

#2
The suicide bomber costume has become a popular way to loose your children to Child Services as of late. This kid does look like he's having a great time though. I wonder if this is what a real suicide bomber does before blowing himself up...you know, besides shitting his pants. I will admit, I have wished I had a incendiary device strapped to myself on many Halloween when some asshole neigh felt a Zagnut bar was appropriate. "Do you have any idea how long my Mom sewed this outfit pal? Let's make with a couple 3 Musketeers, stat!

#3
This cunt will end up making more $ than any of you reading this. If that doesn't piss you off I don't know what does. But look on the bright side ladies, she has very small breasts.

#4
I'm a vegetarian, but this kid is fucking cute!

#5
The concept on this doesn't even offend me, but the laziness does. Seriously, 2 boxes and a model airplane? Where are the action figures jumping out of the windows. You failed boys!

#6
I like this one. I look at it and think, "Hey, if you can get away with it." That in fact was the Catholic Church's official policy at the time...

So finally, I found a couple of WTF or just weird costumes I had to include:

I know what you're thinking, "Use a glass!" But I say don't judge her! After all, she's in college and going down on some box is a right of passage!

This dude looks like he's tapped a box of wine or two in his day...his day being 5 minutes ago. Seriously dude, are they VHS Disney movies behind you?

This guy says it all. I felt weird and uncomfortable seeing this sign as I did in fact masturbate to pictures #2 & #5 on the "sexy" list above.

New Computer, Same Old Porn

Here I sit at my new iMAC. Still getting used to a lot of it, like the lack of a backspace key.

I thought to myself, "what is should the first thing I do with my MAC?" I know what you're thinking, PORN! Well me too. But I didn't. I figured that is too obvious. And besides there will be plenty of time for that later (ie when I hit post on this blog).

So I did some light facebooking (is that a word? Spell check doesn't seem to think so). Now I am blogging. My hope is to write more and edit video. But let's face it, in 2 weeks, it'll just be a faster way to look a porn. Of course now I run the risk of accidentally taking a photo of myself and sending it to everyone I know.

Which reminds me, please send me your email addresses.

The Clink Blogs...Continuous

I think I have like 5 blogs. I only use 1 and sometimes not even that! But over the next couple weeks I’ll use this as my film blog. I always wanted to keep a film dairy ala Hitchcock, “and then I said, ‘stop bitching Leigh and get in that shower before I taxidermy you!’”

Next weekend I start filming my second internet series “The Clink” (theclink.net). We learned a lot on the first one “The League” (theleaguetv.com) and hopefully won’t make the same mistakes. Instead we’ll make totally different ones! One of the biggest things I learned was to try and do the WHOLE series at once. Film everything together and be done with it. Tim will tell if that works out but we do have a rigorous schedule starting Sunday August 15th.

I have been in the process of building props (and amazing myself at the same time). The electric chair turned out really well. I used a picture I found on line and just built it (with wood I found in someone’s trash). It comes apart easily for transporting and future storage. I’m very happy with how it turned out.

I also built a “two way,” for the episode tiled, “The Two Way.” It is a piece of Plexiglas Jim Burns (producer & playing the part of “Quint”) found in the trash behind a school in his neighborhood. SCORE! The whole piece pops on to a fold up table. It’s sturdy and looks really good, down to the “A” carved in the glass, no doubt by some rebellious schoolboy who will turn his love for “anarchy” into acceptance and a future in a cubical. Go you! So these items didn’t require much in the way of budget (which is good seeing as the prison outfits were upwards of $300)

So last night Joel (co-director & editor extraordinaire) and I went to Lowe’s to pick up the materials needed to build the cell. We thought we had a real cell, which never panned out and just recently found out we might have access to a cell like horse stable, but decided to forge ahead with our newly devised plan. So we loaded up a borrowed pick up truck and headed back to my workshop (aka home).

I live on a windy road. Picture the road from “the Shining” and you’re not far off.

We were heading down the windy hill, right past the road that houses the Church where I got married. All of a sudden the truck pulls hard to the left (my side as the passenger). The front passenger side dips down as if we’ve run off the road. However I know this road and the embankment is about the same as the road so this shouldn’t happen. Joel calmly pulls to the left and applies the brakes. We come to a stop and see a wheel on our left hand side continue into a parking lot. What the what???

We come to a stop and assess what’s happened (and our underwear).

What we surmise is the entire wheel broke from the car (not something that you EVER want to happen when you’re in motion). We laughed about it and waited for Joel’s brother-in-law Dennis (whose truck this was) to show up. Dennis works on cars/trucks so we figure he’ll fix it. We’ll sit around and wait.

I actually walked home, got my car (and some lukewarm waters as it was about 90 out even at 10:00 pm) and came back to load all of the wood into it. I was surprised that it all fit in one trip which means I didn’t need the truck in the first place. But then it hit me. We were SO LUCKY!

This could have happened on the highway and likely seen us in A LOT of trouble. It could have happened as we went into the turn as opposed to coming out of it, which more than likely would have caused us to flip (did I mention I was not wearing a seat belt because I was holding a trash can in the cab and could reach my belt?) This could have happened next week while we were driving to film. Or it could have happened to Dennis or any other people who use this truck on a regular basis.

Someone could have gotten seriously hurt or even killed. Weird.

So what do I take from all of this? That the universe REALLY wants “The Clink” to happen. It may throw an obstacle or two in the middle of the road, but it’s just to see how we’ll react. Especially if that obstacle in the middle of the road happens to be the vehicle we’re driving in.

PS, this is my 69th blog here!

It's the Jazz that haunts me

I own 3 AC window units. About a month ago I put the first one in. Every year I try and wait out the summer as long as possible, but like the law beating down John Cougar or John Melloncamp or whatever he goes by nowadays, the summer always wins. However it was not a hand’s down victory as I only put 1 of the 3 units in…at first any way.

I store the two lighter AC units (translation: the ones that way slightly less that 200 pounds) in the attic during the off season. I store the heavy bastard, which goes in the window in the living room, in the basement. It was the heavy bastard that was put in first. He’s a juggernaut that makes a lot of noise to let you know he’s working. The cats love it.

I thought we’d be fine with just the 1 unit, until last week.

The temperature soared to a less than quaint 90 plus throughout the night. I couldn’t take it anymore so I decided to wave the white flag and hope that waving action would bring a cool breeze my way. It didn’t. But at least the house was comfortable. That is, until 2 nights ago.

The temperature dropped and we were able to turn off the noise making coolers for the first time in a week. We opened the windows and went to sleep. That’s when the sounds started coming from the attic. “Oh no,” I thought. This happened last year too, but we were able to ignore it. This year was different. Louder. Just a real pain in the ass.

Sorry. Let me fill you in…

Last year, about this same time, we were lucky enough to turn the units off for a few days. We noticed music coming from the attic. Music and moaning. Now I know what you’re thinking, music and moaning often go together. Two things. One, you’re right. Two, you’re a pervert. So after about 3 nights of music and moaning, I went into the attic with my 2008 Philadelphia Phillies Commemorative World Series bat. And a flashlight. Now I have a light in the attic, so I’m not sure what inspired me to take the flashlight. But I’m glad I did.

I flipped on the attic light, pulled down the retractable stairs and slowly climbed upward. The whole while the music grew, yet the moaning seemed to stop. I took a deep breath and broke the plane from the hallway to the basement. Just then ALL sound stopped. And the attic light went out. I flicked the flash light on and dropped it to the floor below me seconds after seeing something, or someone move. I too dropped to the floor below and let the stairs slam shut.

That was the end of sleeping that night.

The next morning Julie and I were greeted by a local ghost hunter, Tig Sillbourne, who seemed willing to entertain our little problem. I explained what happened to Tig as he drank the coffee we brewed for him. He shook his head in agreement as if he knew exactly what I was going to say next. I was hopeful under Tig asked what the music sounded like.

“Jazz,” I said.

“With a tonal bebop harmony,” Julie added.

Tig’s eyes grew wide, but only slightly. It could have been from the strong brew beneath his lips.

“Can you hum it?” He asked.

“I can’t,” I explained. “I had an accident as a child, that keeps me from being able to hum, whistle or roll my tongue.”

Julie whistled. It was a sweet song. Not as haunting as it had been the night before. Tig’s face went white and the coffee mug went smashing to the floor.

“Sell the house.” It wasn’t a suggestion. He was commanding us what to do next.

We sat stunned in silence. Then the music and moaning started again. At 7:23 in the morning.

“What is it?” Julie said looking toward our guest for some information.

“It’s not a what. It’s a who. I’m afraid your attic is haunted by Eric Allan Dolphy.”

I was appalled. “Who is that? A biker? A killer?

“A jazz musician.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“How do we get rid of him?”

“You can’t.”

“We have to be able to do something.”

“Well….”

“What?”

“Jazz musicians are impervious to almost everything on Earth…save one thing.”

“What?”

“Heroin.” Julie guessed right. She had just watched a documentary on Chet Baker.

Luckily for us Tig provided many services and happened to have some “china white” on him. We climbed into the attic and left a spoon, a needle and the white powder. We waited an hour and the music stopped. The beast had been sated…for a little while. For you see, ghost can not overdose on heroin.

That brings us to the other night.

I grabbed the bat and immediately became reminded that there is no 2009 Philadelphia Phillies Commemorative World Series bat. This pissed me off and made me ready to face a jonesing Jazz musician.

“Dolphy!” I yelled as I ascended the stairs. “We will not have this crap again this summer.”

There he sat amongst my comics, with his base clarinet pressed against his lips.

“I never understood how they brought Superman back from the dead.” He said as he lowered is instrument.

I noticed Action Comics & Superman issues everywhere. I lowered the bat.

“It was the ‘Eradicator’.” I said.

“Yeah. But I still don’t get how.”

“I know. It’s a bit messy.”

“And that Red & Blue bullshit. What was that supposed to be man?”

We sat in silence for a few moments.

“I think it’s jazz,” I said.

He nodded, and hasn’t made a sounds since.

Holiday Warning

Holiday Warning

The Warning

My company is Gung-Ho to keep you safe this and presumably every holiday. Or as I call it, the “If it’s a regular Monday you can go fuck yourself, but when cake is being served, please be careful” policy.

“The 4th of July means picnics, barbecues, pools, parades and fireworks.”

Being the patriot that I am and the son of a Vietnam Vet, I believe the 4th of July means a bit more than the list above. Such as hustling handjobs from the ladies…or dudes if that’s your thing.

Picnics. I honestly can’t think of the last time I was on a picnic, aka = got a handjob in the park. I do have a picnic basket however my cat has destroyed it. Thus proving the old adage, “Ants may ruin a picnic, but a cat can fuck up a picnic basket beyond ALL recognition.” I can’t tell you how many times my grandmother said that to me.

Barbecues. I always think of them as the Mennonite version of the Amish picnic. Sure there’s butter churning at both (again…handjobs), but the Mennonites have cooler means of cooking their food, like using a George Foreman grill.

Pools. They rock. I’ll be in one, will you? Aquatic handies are all the rage with the kids these days. Which makes sense since semen smells like chlorine, right? One bit of warning from a fellow who has a pool (a possible medical condition based on the chlorine thing), discourage glass bottles in the pool area. Glass is clear. Water is clear. Emergency rooms smell like urine. Which reminds me, when peeing in the pool don’t be a sneaky bastard. Add a little flair and do it from the diving board. Preferably not while doing a “can opener.” As “parts” have a tendency of ripping open when “can openers” are involved.

I can definitely get behind the idea of a parade to celebrate veterans on the 4th of July. Not literally, like I’m driving a float. But I definitely believe in the idea. However I think people now have parades for the dumbest reasons. Like NYC’s parade last week to raise “Handjob Awareness.” Seriously? We weren’t aware before? Although some of those floats were pretty bad ass! And Belinda Carlisle sang which is nice.

Finally. The best part. Fireworks. I don’t mean packing the family in a car and driving to see things blow up over head. Hell, if that excites you might I suggest joining the military (we are already making preparations for your parade). I have NEVER been a fan of craning my neck and watching pretty color in the sky. Although I am also not a dirty hippie! The fireworks I like are the ones that you perform at a self level. The ones that have the potential of turning a 15 year old righty into a lefty for their remaining years, and lead to awkward moments during attempted handshakes…as well as other “hand” activities (handjobs if you’re not paying attention).

“In 2006, an estimated 9,200 people were treated in emergency rooms for fireworks-related injuries, 36 percent of whom were under 15 years old.” What does that tell us? That these fucking 15 year olds have access to some kick ass explosives. Where are they getting this shit? The ice cream man? When I was 15 I had no idea where to get fireworks. So here I am a miserable 34 year old…with two hands. I feel I missed out.

My office offers the following advice because apparently, we are all retarded. My comments are in (parenthesis).

Please follow these safety tips to help ensure that you are safe during the 4th of July weekend:

•Never allow children to handle fireworks – keep kids a safe distance away. (This is terrible advice. Children are curious, like cats. That coupled with the need to destroy things, such as picnic baskets, kids need the valuable lesson of blowing shit up. They can’t do that from the safety of the mini van. Let them get up close to the guy lighting the fireworks with his cigar. Hey, the kid might even pick up a nice sociable habit like smoking – bonus!)

•Never leave a child alone near water: on the beach, at a pool, or in the bathtub. If you must leave, take your child with you. (Buzz kill! Take your kid with you? Please. If you’re on the beach and a couple of hot, albeit drunk, nympho college girls wanna bestow handies upon you, you can’t have this pint size cockblocker ruining your holiday weekend. Especially if he threatens to tell you wife. Besides, in this post Michael Phelps world, it wouldn’t hurt the kid to learn to upgrade that doggy paddling a bit)

•Never consume alcohol when operating a boat and always wear a life vest. (This is what I call a twofer rule. Double whammy. First the life vest bit. Dumb. If the boat is fast enough your buddies will be able to swing back around once you fall overboard before you sink. If the boat isn’t fast enough, well that’s your fault for going out in the aquatic pussymobile isn’t it? Also, and more importantly, life vests block the good parts on your female passengers. You worked all morning to get them topless. You can’t have them put a vest over them things. As for the alcohol, how do you think you got them topless in the first place? This twofer rule sucks)

•Never drink and drive. More than half of all traffic fatalities are alcohol-related, when attending a picnic drink in moderation and use designated drivers (They never tell you want causes the other half of the accidents, ill timed handjobs? Likely its shoddily chosen designated drivers. I am confused by the line “drink in moderation and use designated drivers.” Which one is it Hoss? And what happens if your DD blew his hand off playing with fireworks-he was over 15. Now you have to sober up in the ER while the genius you picked learns how to sign his HMO forms with his left hand. IN the end, you should have gone out on the speed boat you were thinking of renting)

•When driving, obey speed limits, maintain safe following distances, and stay out of other driver’s blind spots. Allow extra travel time due to increased traffic. (OK. But only on the 4th of July. Christmas I’m flooring it!)

•If outside, wear a wide-brimmed hat, apply sun screen, and drink plenty of water. (What if my wide brimmed hat doesn’t match my life vest? I’ll let you in on a secret that the government doesn’t want you to know. Wide brimmed hats are what is causing global warming, and keeping you from getting handjobs)

•When grilling, make sure the grill is used outside (Are you kidding me? I have one set up next to the toilet) and at least 10 feet away from your house or any building. (Nice add on. I was gonna put it up against my neighbor’s house) Do not use the grill in a garage, breezeway, carport, porch, or under a surface that can catch fire. (All fine locales for a festive 4th of July Handy)

Have a fun 4th of July, leave safety to the other guy.

And someone should delve deeper into the obvious conspiracy theory stated above. Based on the statistical evidence listed, 15 year olds have the highest percentage of missing appendages yet are the ones clamoring most for handjobs. This might lead to the recent craze that is all the rage with the kids these days…blowjobs from the ladies…or dudes if that’s your thing.

Close One (or potentially 3!)

"Close one!"

That was my thinking last week when I was wearing one of my favorite pairs of boxer shorts.

I don’t remember when I started wearing boxer shorts, but I know the radio station Eagle 106 was still around, because they were an Eagle 106 pair. I remember them well because they were made of this horrific material that was so stiff the “pee hole” was always open, kind of defeating the purpose of underwear at all. If that wasn’t bad enough, my Mom won them for me.

And thus I entered the world of boxer shorts.

There are many stories I could share, such as the “white” Homer Simpson boxers I destroyed…the less detailed the better on this one, but note “white” is in quotes. There’s the light pair I accidentally dyed pink. I continued to wear them, because who would ever know? Then, and perhaps the greatest boxer story known to man, there was my infamous “Bullwinkle” boxers. I wore them to France (no underpants poem coming up). And decided they should, like many works or Art, remain in the Louvre. I have a map indicating where I hid them. Some day I hope to go back and see if they are still there. France is pretty dirty. I’m thinking they are.

So the other day, I put on one of my favorite pairs. They’re supportive. They’re comfortable. They’re one of the pairs that make my day better when their turn comes up. We all have pieces of clothes like this. Which makes you wonder why you hang on to the ones that don’t make you fell like this. I put them on last week and went off into the dangerous world of boxer wearing…

I saddled up to the urinal like a cowboy’s known to do and did what cowboys did…besides running the Natives off their land. Although I guess in a way there was a similarity…that is if the cowboys had asparagus the night before. I finished and pulled the zipper up…and got caught!

Here’s the thing that the ladies will never understand…er…at least I hope they never understand…can you snag a labia in your zipper? Because if you could, you should probably be in the circus. Every guy, at some point in his life will “catch himself.” It just happens. It’s usually not something you feel right away. You think, “Did I?” but you there’s no pain. Then it HITS! *WHAM-O!

*I did notice that I have WHAM, “getting caught” and men’s rooms in this past sentence. I dedicate it to George Michaels.

I felt resistance, which causes an immediate stoppage of zippering. I looked down and realized, not unlike the Secret Service, my boxers took one for the Commander in Shorts. Will they get a metal? Unlikely. Will they be remembered in a text book for children to read about for years to come? No, but as previously mentioned one of their contemporaries is in the Louvre. Will they just get thrown into the trash and become another discarded piece of clothing eventually worn by a homeless man? Maybe…but not yet. I am happy to say I am wearing them as I write this.

They’re my favorite pair, how could I simple toss them aside especially after they took one for the team (I refer to my parts as a team, as we’re all in this together).

So next time you put on some article of clothing that is near a dear to your heart, stop a moment and enjoy that feeling, especially if your “heart” happens to be in your crotch.