An open letter to pregnant Jamie

Dear Jamie Lynn Spears,

In case you haven't been reading the news, you're prego. My fellow man might like to call you a whore. I on the other hand will refrain. You're prego. That's all there is to it. You got sloppy one night and now you're dealing with it. Do I care? No, not really. Why the media have latched on to you and your fertilized egg is beyond me. Lord knows you'll probably make a better mom than your idiot sister.

I would like to point out that the book that your mother is writing is the biggest load of crap ever, however. Come on, a serious book about parenting? She's the one that cursed us with Brittany and all of the idiocrocy she shares with us via the tabloids everyday.

I guess what I'm saying is: hurry up, marry some sleaze we all know you'll divorce, poop out a child or two, make an ass out of yourself by shaving your head, and fall off into a life of obscurity. I don't care that you've got a bun in the oven. Please ask the media to stop talking about it--because I don't give a shit.

Regards,
Someone who could care less

Merry Freakin' Christima. I hate Merry.

We've reached the end of the year! The holidays are in full swing, as are high levels of stress, drinking, empty checking accounts, and a general loathing for holiday spirit. I think that about says it all.

Christmast turned my red balls blue

My uncensored Xmas wish list...

• One iPhone
• The latest version. None of this take this and then we'll come out with something better in 2 months bullshit. Hey, Steven P. Jobs, you fucknut. Listen up... no more of this shit. Oh yeah, a mime wrote me an e-mail (because he doesn't talk) and said he wanted his mock turtle neck back. Go fuck yourself.

• 15 minutes alone with Kristen Bell
• I'm not saying I'd need the whole 15, but still...

• World Peace
• I'm not into this for some hippy reason. I think there's money to be made here. What about peace monitors who walk around and make sure everyone is loving each other the exact same? Weapons recycling anyone? Don't steal my ideas.

• A Girlfriend
  
• I wished for this one last year and got Fd in the A. Santa has some poor taste in women... but I guess when you're surrounded by chicks the size of 3 year olds and an old lady you kind of developed a warped sense. I guess I just always figured the real reason why Santa went around the world was to get some strange ass.

That's it. I'm pretty simple.

P.S. Hey fat fuck. If you don't get it right this year I'm going to be waiting at the bottom of the chimney next year with a roll of DUCK brand duct tape and a shovel. I think we know where that leads...

Hierarchy is no excuse...

You might think it is. I don't. What? You don't like that my logical, forward thinking doesn't mesh with your outdated thought process? Too bad.

Sorry, hierarchy is just no longer an excuse.

In the days of yore, if you wanted to skirt around someone, you could go to the higher up and play fake tears, "they stole my bike." Not any more. Sorry.

Nowadays, if you've got something to say, you'd better say it. Don't be shy. I'm a reasonable person, who's willing to reason with you. Granted, my reasoning might show you that I'm right and you're wrong, but at least something will get resolved. But, I suppose if you can't do that, you could just go the old route, create more trouble for everyone involved, and still end up having to face the basic reasoning. Your call.

Regards,
Disgruntled logically reasoning person

Save it for Monday

Well, it's Friday again. The morning has been filled with dysfunction, disdain, a little bit of loathing, and an overwhelming urge to take the day off.

Friday morning to me is better than Chirstmas day. The week is over and the weekend is almost here. If you have bad news for me today, keep your mouth shut until Monday. I'd like to enjoy my Friday.

I want to smell like SEARS

That's right. We all could use a little more Roebuck & Co. in our lives.

Don't tell me you haven't noticed. All Sears stores smell the same and that smell is DELICIOUS. It smells like the 1950s and it damn well better, because you can't beat it.

It was a simpler time and I want to smell like it.

Someone bottle that crap STAT.

Holidays: SLOW THE F DOWN WILL YA?

I was in a number of retail stores yesterday (Sears, Target, etc.) and I'm pissed.

No, it wasn't because I couldn't find the droids I was looking for (although, if you see them, please tell me). It was because I saw CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS!

Holy balls people... I haven't even bought my Halloween costume yet and already I'm getting punched in the face by little tin soldiers and can't see the masks through the (fake christmas) trees.

STOP IT, PLEASE!

When I was younger, I used to LOVE Thanksgiving because it meant that FINALLY it was almost Christmas and I could deal with that. At the end of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade Santa Claus would come down in his sleigh and THAT, not walking into your local Target and seeing snowmen staring you in the face, meant that Christmas was on its way.

I can barely even get by month to month as it is and now you're reminding me that I have to drop tons of money on friends and family?

How about this, I start celebrating my birthday three months early and everyone has to deal with it? Piss off big box stores. I hate you.

Negotiation JuJitSu

I want to negotiate like Shatner. "namsypamsy." That's a dude that can negotiate.

Ode to Thursday

Thursday, 5:19 p.m. Eleven minutes to closing time (the real thing, not the song). Thursday, You're like a love/hate emotion. I have to like you because you mean one thing: tomorrow is Friday. I have to hate you because by the end of Thursday, I'm drained, completely unable to focus or think creatively. Yes, that's why I'm writing this post about you. Thursday, shape it up. Would it kill you to be a little easier on me? Come on, seriously...

I get it, you ride a bike... now get out of my way

Dear Dude on Bike in Arboretum,

Thank you for riding at 5 miles an hour in the middle of the lane during morning rush hour. Thank you for wearing those awesome spandex and for leaving your racing jersey unzipped down to your cleanly waxed chest…

Thank you for passing me at the stop sign as I waited for a chance to pass you on the road and then for again riding at 5mph for the rest of the length from the stop sign to the light at Montlake.

Most of all, thank you for telling your 75 friends to do the exact same thing. I don’t like driving at the normal pace of traffic anyway, it’s too normal.

I love that you’re helping the environment. But seriously, what was the hardest part about being a cyclist? The rigorous training and stuffing your junk into the spandex OR was it explaining to your friends that you’re a gigantic douchebag?

Love,

Guy running over you next time you dart out in front of him

Premier, that's Premier

Yep, that's right. Premier week is here. Long gone are the days of Family Ties, Family Matters, Different Strokes, and all that other sitcom fodder written with mindless dribble and a happy-feel-good ending. Today it's filth, innuendo, sex, and general humor at the expense of others--I couldn't love it more.

How I Met Your Mother started last night, and yes, it was legendary. Two and Half Men also premiered. I find comic value in the simple fact that Mr. Sheen to this day likely eats a breakfast of booze, drugs, and hookers--and somehow seems to be doing pretty well. House will start tonight, with a new cast (we'll see how that works out). And of course, my favorite, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia ("Ryan, STAB SOMEBODY!"). All and all, I think this is going to be a strong fall season lineup. There's countless great shows that I haven't mentioned above; these are just a few.

I'll leave you with this, when will the next slap take place? The countdown has begun. MWUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA HAHAHHAHAHAHAAH MWUHAHAHAHAHAHA.

The Starbuck's Tit

I pulled into Starbucks this morning and there was a long ass line. Too long. I don't know if it was just all the stupid people, or my blatant addiction to coffee, but I was pissed. People need to find other coffee places so that I can get my fix. That's right, I said it. One nation, under a bare-chested mermaid, with liberty and some justice.

The Next Installment

Mario was deep in the koomba forest. Surounded by Koopa Troopas. He was tired, but lucky for him he was charged with his thoughts of princess. She's a... Well, "bunggggg." Mario reached into his pockets and found no turtle shells or banana peels. Damn. But then he found his Fire Flower and smoked those Koopas. They were all, "noooooo!" And he was all, "that's right bitches, say helloooo to my little friend!" It was sick.

And that's when Yoshi showed up to help Mario. In this my dear reader, we find out why Yoshi is such a crucial part of this story.

You see, Yoshi was unlike any of his dinosaur counterparts. Yoshi was, well, Yoshi was just a little 'different.'

You're hanging on every word, aren't you? Well, you'll have to delve into the comments of this post to find Mario's fate.

I Think I Love You

Friday! One of the few words that can ring happiness through any nine-to-fiver's heart. God I love Friday. It's really something glorious. If Friday were a date I'd take it out for steak dinner and call it back the next day. I'd bring Friday flowers if I could. Friday, I think I love you.

Fans: Godsend or Placebo Slowly Lulling Humans into a False Sense of Cool

I have two fans, well, three if you count the one on my ceiling. I don’t count that one, because I’ve never really known what ceiling fans were for. Are they to circulate? Cool? Push warm air down? Who knows… hey, if you know the guy who invented the ceiling fan, send him my way, I’ve got some questions for him.

Anyway, I’ve seriously been debating the whole usefulness of fans for a while now. They’re a great idea, but where is that tipping point where all they’re doing is blowing around warm air? What someone needs to invent are AC units the size of fans that take relatively the same amount of energy to run. Then we’d have something useful.

Until then, I’m going to sweat. You can deal with it until it pisses one of you off enough to invent the fan-sized, eco-friendly AC unit.

PEACE

Why do we frown upon the prostitutes?

Have you ever had that moment when you're super-drunk and all of a sudden you see everything clearer than you ever have before? More importantly, have you ever had that moment when you're sober? I had that moment today, sober.

It was a quick realization. We sell ourselves. Yep, that's why I went to college for four years. There was a time when you could say that and people just thought you were a dirty whore. Now, I'm a professional! I've got a degree. Don't you forget it! I'm still a whore, I just cost a lot more and do things the call girls at the W can't do...

It's really funny. I used to work at a grocery store in the produce department. My manager, who was about forty at the time used to tell me, "that's the trick, today you have to be specialized." Well, I'm specialized. I don't sell any products; I just charge people for what I do.

There was a time that if you just charged people for what you do it meant one thing... Well, not any more. Today, you sell yourself for all that you are. That's what you do. I'm serious. Find the nearest millionaire and ask them what they do. They sell them self. But you wouldn't dare call them a prostitute. So, why do we frown upon the prostitutes?

An open letter to the Sun

Oh Mr. Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden Sun... eat shit.

You're never there when we want you to be, while Seattle is blanketed in a two-month long veil of gray. You screw with our minds when you poke out in the morning, only to hide behind clouds for the rest of the day.

Then, once you finally decide to come out for an extended period of time, you have the audacity to blaze hotter than most of our pasty white bodies can handle. Thanks for that.

Does the American Association of Dermatologists have you on their payroll or something? You go around blazing your damn rays down at us puny beings that go months on end without seeing you and burn the living crap out of us, giving us blisters and farmer tans, not to mention melanoma. You make leather seats too hot to sit on and you melt my damn ice cream (which I paid for, thank you very much).

Mr. Sun, we're tired of this lopsided relationship. Either commit to it or pack your F-ing bags for good.

Peace.

If the Stars were Aligned

Sometimes I wish I was a Jedi. Oh man, life would be so much more simple if I was a Jedi. Plus I'd have a light saber, which would be pretty sweet. I don't really care which Jedi--Quagong Jim, ObeeWan Kanobee, princess leah (technically she was a Jedi), it really makes no difference to me, just as long as it's a Jedi. Well maybe not Anikan Skywalker; that guy kind of gets screwed in the end. Hell, I'd even be one of those crazy-ass aliens with all the dangly-shit on their head!

What I'm really getting at is the Force. I want it! Think of it, the power to move things with your mind ("that's telepathy Kyle!").

And then, of course, there's the sheer sex appeal. If Jedi existed, they'd be the socially imagined children of Brad Pitt, Natalie Portman, Maggie Gillinhal, and that new guy that plays James Bond. Yeah, it's pretty safe to say I'd be dripping in pharamones.

As my first order, I'd revise the Jedi uniform. Those robes are dank. Unless your name is John and you're hanging out with Robin Hood, that brown cape needs to stay in the closet. I think Jedi could probably start charging this capitalist world for all their good deeds. In which case the dough would start rolling in. I'd be suiting up everyday! And I'm not talking about the Men's Wearhouse. Nope. Only the premium, top-shelf stuff. And yes, I'd rock an ascot.

They say the average American makes at least three significant career changes in their lifetime. I'm still pretty young and only on my first career, so I think there's still hope of becoming a Jedi.

May the Force be with you.

I think it's going to be a good day

Is no news good news? Today I think it is.

Usually this is only something you want to hear from the elderly. No broken hips or shingles; no news. That's great! Granny's going to live another month.

But here, in my early twenties on a Friday, I'm preaching the same message. No news today is good news. Hell, it's great news! The papers don't have much to say, it's approaching 8:00 a.m. and I only have a few new messages in my inbox. Hizah!

There is however one thorn in my side today that I could really live without, well, maybe two: unaddresed emails and people asking for things they don't understand. If you don't know what you want, don't ask!

Happy Freakin' Birthday America!

Dear America,

On this, the Fifth of July, I'd like to wish you a belated happy birthday. I would have said something earlier, but I was a little busy trying to avoid all those rednecks who like to celebrate this great day with explosives and other annoying humb-dingers, cat-chasers, and dixie-whistles. I mean come on, do we really need all this noise? People loose fingers, pets, eyes, and only god knows what else on this supposedly majestic day. Why? If I took a bullet in the War of Independence, that would be the last think I would want people doing.

I get it, sort of, you've had a few drinks, you're feeling pretty good. Maybe you even feel invincible. So you decide to blow up your neighbor's mailbox. It was fun last year and got a laugh from your friends. But really...

And America, while I'm at it, who came up with the idea of fireworks anyhow? Yeah, I'm asking a lot of rhetoricals; but isn't that what this country was really founded on? Our founding fathers signed our Declaration with the fact that they would "hang together or hang individually." But they had the patriotic pairs to look to the queen and say, "what are you going to do?" They knew damn well, but they did it anyways.

Well, until next year, America, happy birthday.

Regards,
One of your many citizens

Censorsh(BLEEP)

OK, seriously, who let the damn censors in here? I said censorSHIP.. not (BLEEP) you uptight... Ah (BLEEP)! I can't get away from these mother(BLEEP)ers.

The last two blogs I sent in to the PI got turned away because of "profane language not in line with the image of the Seattle PI." (BLEEP) that (BLEEP).

If I want to refer to the night that my girlfriend got face-raped by some drunk dude at the bar as a cluster(BLEEP). Seriously mother(BLEEP)ers, knock it the hell off! Oh what? You're going to let me say hell? How about ass? Oh wow, that one worked too. I'm obviously toeing the line here.

OK, seriously Mr. Censor. Come here, I want to shake hands and make good...

CRACK! Take that motherfucker! YES! I beat the system!

Oh shit, now the suits are after me... I better get outta here before they kick the (BLEEP). Oh hell (BLEEP) where the hell did another one of you come from? What the (BLEEP) is this, the (BLEEP)ing Matrix?

Can I give a shout-out?!

...To myself?

I recently learned that sometimes people are just too busy to give a shit. The worst part is that when you take the lead and try to set a standard, others often just follow the path that's been outlined for them rather than getting a clue and doing a little sumpin'-sumpin' on their own.

With that said, I'd like to give myself a shout-out. Cram it Seacrest and Daily, this is my time in the limelight. For once I'd like someone to write some gleaming email to me, demonstrating that they took the time... For once I'd like to be the American Psycho looking at himself in the mirror. For once I'd like it to be my deuce that doesn't stink.

It's recently become apparent that some people are so self-centered they can only recognize their own work as self-proclaimed works of genius; thereby neglecting the work of those around them. That's a load. Period. I'm as serious as cancer.

Now, you might think to yourself, "this guy is really pissed, and probably for no reason." But it is with reason. With a lot actually! I won't bore you with examples, though. That said, I just want to give a shout-out to myself. And a shout-out to my baby's daddy; to Lafonda; to Kip; to Kit; to R2D2; to the Hoff; that angry dude from the Breakfast Club; and any and all teen movies from the 80's.

I wish we all had our very own Dr. Cox

As I approached the Store24 on Boyle street, a homeless man looked to me and said, "spare it if you got it, brother, please remember." Why, please let me ask, do I always get approached by the dread-locked, soiled, desperate people without homes in foreign cities?

I sat in the airport in Philly and listened to an inherent Irish-catholic drone on about the 15 misdemeanors he had acquired before the age of 16. He was all, "damn, you know damn, I was up in Compton and these dudes approached me and they was like whaaa, and I was like whaaaa and that was when I just had to throw down you know what I'm saying?" NO! I don't know what you're saying. You're barely speaking English!

Traipsing through the city streets of Bawston in a town car I came to the quick realization that life would be a lot simpler if we all had our very own Dr. Cox. You know, someone to call me a sissy, tell me to buck up, and accept the fact that sometimes you just have to accept what the world deals you--soiled homeless people begging you for change.

Did I mention it's hot here? It's like 96 degrees. I've been awake for 13 hours on less than 3 hours of sleep. Something about hot, muggy, "it smells like..." weather just isn't cool; and shouldn't be taken with sleep or a small meal.

If only I had a few more days and pop-culture references I could write more; but I won't. Let me just leave you with this: In a matter of hours, it'd be the biggest story from Boston to Budapest!

Note to self

Get some post-it notes.

Take over the world.

Stop by the liquor store.

Tell that dude in the parking lot he was wrong.

Complain to the apartment manager.

Get one of those Tiki lamps like in the Movie Joe Versus the Volcano.

Post this list to blog.

I've got a drinking problem? You're the one who has a problem with my drinking.

As anyone who works in this business knows, there's a lot of stress. In parallel, there's also a lot of drinking. I've provided a simple visual aid below to demonstrate this.

You'll note that drinking is always higher than stress (that's just because we really do have drinking problems). But you will also note that as stress increases, drinking quickly escalates as well.

I think Johnny Cash said it best when he mentioned that he "woke up Sunday morning with no way to hold his head that didn't hurt." Now, whether that was from the stress or the drinking, I can't say. But I can tell you that stress just plain sucks. Of all the human feelings, this is the one who really deserves to get shived in the prison yard.

So, what can be done to fight this increasing delema? Well, right now I'm ignoring email (this one's really popular with people still working), and watching survivor man--I love watching that dude put himself through hell for my entertainment. Granted, when I'm stranded on a desert isle, I won't remember shit, but I'll at least have the memory of being greatly entertained. And of course, there's drinking. Although, it's not quite past the lunch hour.

Here's to holding your head up, and avoiding stress! Cheers.

There are two types of people in this world...

Men and women. What did you think I was going to say something profound?

SERIOUSLY though, try to find two groups of humans that are so incredibly similar, yet so cosmically at the far ends of the spectrum that it drives them (both) bonkers...

For instance... I have this friend, we'll call him D. Now, D's a nice guy and despite his ability to do absolutely nothing around the house, isn't that bad. D's fiancee on the other hand can be a real GRINCH (if you saw the episode of HIMYM where Barney calls Lilly a GRINCH) you know what I'm saying.

We've lived in my house for over a year now. Every night I walk in, take my shoes off and walk upstairs to find D and his fiancee sitting in our living room with their shoes still on. Over the past three nights I've heard the following excuses from said fiancee (in order of absurdity):

#3 "That's why you pay a damage depoist"... WRONG, WRONG! I bought the house Steph... there's no damage deposit.

#2 "These are my gym shoes, I only wear them indoors"... OK, so you magically teleported from the gym to your car to my couch? Awesome. Sign me up.

and #1 "I forgot I had shoes on"... I don't even know what to say to this...

This just goes to prove that the thought processes in men and women are different. Yes, I enjoy the differences between us and them, but come on. This isn't a generalization, but simply showing how incredibly far apart I am from one girl in particular.

Peace be with you.

Attack of the idiots

Jimmy woke up this morning with a pounding headache, utter contempt, and an unsatisfiable need for caffeine. Never-the-less, Jimmy got out of bed, got dressed, and went to Starbucks.

Standing in line, Jimmy realized that all of the people around him were idiots. Idiots!

Jimmy checked his email; yep, more idiots. Read the paper, yeah, idiots.

The moral of the story: Remember, there's a lot of idiots out their. Your best protection is to not be an idiot.

Why am I the only one sending email...

at 11:07 p.m. on Friday? This blows goats.

Hey LaRusso, where have you been?

Seriously! What, Miagi dies and you decide to drop off the face of the earth? Okay, so maybe you didn't completely disappear, put you sure as hell quit waxin' it. Damn, you used to be hardcore. Droping round houses and back fists--what with catching flies in chopsticks and dodging fishing knives...

Look at yourself now. You're barely 'c-list.' And you've got a broken-ass nose, but you're still cool. I'd still hang with you. Besides, I'm sure there's hope for you yet. You should beef-cake it up and enter a reality TV show. Better yet you should go find Bam Margera and challenge him to a duel--I'd pay to see that.

Here's to you LaRusso! I hope to see you in a real movie sometime.

It's 50 cups of coffee and you know it's on

She packed my bags, pre-flight, and I'm going to be high as a kite. Damn, I wish I was as cool as the Shat! I'd pull that line every day. I could be a total jerk, but people would be like, "hey, you're a jerk, but it's cool. If you weren't a jerk, you couldn't be as Shatastic as you are."

I bet the Shat is pretty cool to meet in person. In fact, I bet he's uber-cool. I hope to be uber-something one day...

Is this even a coherent thought? Damn it's early.

Why does Steve Jobs always wear the same, black, foe-turtle neck?

Feel the wrath, the fury of attack, from my squirrel army

If you ever meet that guy that plays Janitor on Scrubs, please ask him to call me. I'd like to rent his squirrel army sometime...

People underestimate the power of a squirrel army, let alone one single squirrel. Just this morning I saw a squirrel fight off a crow for some kitchen scraps out of my dumpster. Yeah, a nimbly-bimbly squirrel versus a large, winged bird. It's like an ornithologist's wet dream. It was awesome. Had I stuck around, I believe the fight would have ended in the squirrel losing an eye (but ultimately taking on a weathered, rugged, and pretty cool look with an eye patch, but that's another story), but in a counterattack, Mr. Crow would lose a leg and break a wing--soon falling victim to the juvenile squirrels, much like lion cubs in the safari--gnarly little creatures! Those squirrels will forever remember the last gasping "caw, caw" from the crow...

I can't wait to get a hold of that squirrel army.

I heart conference calls

My dearest conference call:

You are my foe and my savior. You host the hours of my day that are my own personal hell. My own road to perdition. I especially like the way you encourage people to think outside of a box, that's just inside a larger box--which in my imagination would also be inside a grocery bag. That's why I'm going to start getting people to think outside the bag.

You're only really thinking if you're thinking outside the bag. Otherwise you might just be another douche bag trying to "shift the paradigm by thinking outside the box." Don't be a douche bag unless you hail from douchelandia (look at a map).

Which brings me to my next point, are you thinking outside of the delivery van? That's some real fifth-dimension s%*&t. Well, they're saying my name, I'd better get back to thinking inside the box...

Under the Red flag

There's been many things in history that work in theory, but don't quite pan out. For instance, communism. Yep, that one definitely didn't quite work. Stallism, nope. Flying cars, well sort of, but not quite. And, in-office-fun day.

Yep, It's fun day. You know what that means.

There will be cupcakes (I hate cupcakes). There will be games a varying length and interest. There might not be any booze--DAMMIT. Several members of the group will enthusiastically lead us into what could potentially be hours of time spent not doing better things. And no, we don't have a Micheal Scott or a fire pit. At least one of us will disappear into a laptop, never being seen again for the day, and will inevitably be the winner in my eyes. With that said, we'll all hail the red flag today, not accomplish much work, and pretend to enjoy ourselves.

Note to self, influence fun day decision maker next quarter with at least one of the following ideas:

1) Find the Frosh - just like in Dayzed and Confused, we'd get Matthew McConaughey to dawn some facial hair and a stoner's accent and chase the junior staff around the office for a good hour, only to end in his embarrasment.

2) In-office-paint ball - This one speaks for itself. It would be sweet. Minutes of heart-pounding, adrenaline-pumping, non-stop-action. Plus we'd leave awesome battle scars of paint all over the office for days to help us remember this most-excellent fun day.

3) Superdrunk punk rock fun day - Every one would be required to take one shot of tequila for every 20 pounds that they weigh. Then we'd go down to the local punk rock club and circle-pit the day away.

4) Double Dare - Slime, a large hamster wheel, and endless obsticle courses setup throughout the office. Word!

An Open Letter to Brad Pitt

Dear Mr. Pitt,

I recently saw an interview with you and your wife. It detailed your philanthropic work with green housing, rebuilding New Orleans, ending poverty, AIDS in Africa, hunger and many others. Your ability to love children and take them into your family shows your willingness to give of yourself.

I think I speak for my fellow men when I say... PISS OFF

You're f***ing it up for the rest of us. Not only are you seemingly God's gift to women and I don't want to know how many times I was with a girl and she was imagining it was you trying feverishly to take off her bra, but you're a nice damn guy too. Come on man. It's not possible for you to get with every girl on the planet, just the hottest ones, so why don't you go ahead and tone it down a bit so the rest of us can get on our way. No one liked the kid in class who had all the answers and always brought brownies. Keep up that shit and you might find yourself getting pummelled by a bunch of middle-aged guys in La Jolla one day...

Sincerely,

John Doe

P.S. I loved Mr. and Mrs. Smith. I've watched it like 30 times. Did you do your own stunts?

I'm positive there's a negative side to this whole carbon neutral thing

Carbon neutral, green, environmentally friendly… blah, blah, blah. You hear these words tossed around these days like they mean something. You’ve got ex-Veeps telling you to be green and that the polar icecaps are going to melt while they fly around the world in expensive jets and roll up to auditoriums in stretch hummer limos.

I’m going to drop an eco-knowledge bomb on your asses… IT’S A SCAM!!!

Being green and helping the environment sounds great… if you’re LOADED! Buying carbon offsets like trees and such to make up for your “carbon footprint” isn’t cheap. You can buy tickets on expedia.com and click on over to a site that will “plant” trees in order to cancel out the dirtiness you toss in the air on your transcontinental jaunt. Have you ever seen these trees? Do you know they’re there/

If I buy a tree in the rainforest, can I visit said rainforest and built a treehouse in said tree? I seriously doubt it. It’s like the damn national star registry…

You can do little things to reduce your footprint and yes you can even make a difference, but until you see Al Gore rolling up to a speech in London on a bike after he just rowed his ass across the pacific it just doesn’t compute…

I love the environment, I hate pollution, but I can’t afford a zero-emission car and I have to get to work to live… I don’t hug trees, but I think I might have peed on one once. Does this make me a bad person? Al Gore says yes. President Bush says it doesn’t matter because there is no problem. I say…

PISS OFF

A Pirate's life for me...

With the upcoming release of the third installment of Pirates, we're bound to see a variety of movie goers sporting pirate attire. Be warned! These people all have different intentions for dressing up for the release of this movie. I've outlined some of these types of people below...

1) Child without a choice - Mom made the call. Feel sorry for this kid, he was forced to dress this way. He's likely dying inside.

2) The Faker - This guy's just looking to get some play with the awkward teenagers at his high school. Make fun of him!

3) The Fanatic - Yes, this person is obsessed, likely swashbuckling a sword, and does not take kindly to criticism.

4) The Shithead - These guys are funny, but can get old. They dress up to spite the Fanatics. Make a derogatory statement towards a Fanatic and blame it on a shithead. the entertainment that awaits you is better than HBO.

Please, feel free to add to this list of species...

Fear and Loathing everywhere but Las Vegas

"We can't stay here long, this is bat country..." Or at least we can't keep one single meeting scheduled for a consistent time. Fucking dinosaurs, man! We need to talk to our lawyer. Maybe a simple reschedule is no reason to go ape shit, but right now it's approaching that point.

American Idol or Idiot?

Why are we so obsessed with Idol? Is it the cunning wit of Simon Cowell or the lush(ious) bantering of Miss Abdual? Perhaps the constant drool pouring from the mouth of the "big dawg" Randy Jackson? Or we could take a contestant approach. What the hell is so damn interesting about these people. I have to say, they might be talented, but no more than any other stage performer at the state fair (sorry Weird Al). One of them even looks like Shrek (yes, she does, look at her proportions).

There's nothing wrong with really getting into a TV show. But when you have to read about that TV show in the paper every Wednesday and Thursday morning, it starts to get old. Maybe they should bring Sanjiya back to make a mochery of this Brittish-imported show, or better yet his Mom with the shady record...

2013: The Year of the Reunion Show

TV Show Reunion Plots

2013 will be the year of the reunion show. I’m calling it right now. Here are a couple reunion shows I’d like to see…

Heroes

It’s 2013. Heroes are no longer looked at as mutants and the world is at peace. Then, a new super-breed of Heroes comes to the surface, their powers: sexy! The fembot-esque ladies roll around the world on a whirlwind, grindhouse style deathmarch filled with bikinis, broken noses and bloodshed. It all ends when Hiro teleports to the year 2013, acts like a loveable little Asian guy and saves the world or was it the cheerleader? Ah fuck it.

One Tree Hill

After a long run on the WB (and later the CW) the kids from One Tree left, went to college and have now magically all congregated back in town as young adults. This reunion show brings the gang back together for Peyton and Lucas’ wedding. Mouth, now in law school blows into town to find that Haley and Nathan’s daughter, now 4 years old has been abducted by the weirdo that was stalking Peyton. In a twist Brooke Davis is actually now Brooke Davis-Scott after she married Lucas and Nathan’s father Dan. Both Lucas and Nathan try to cope with the fact that they slept with their mother. Deb and Karen kept with their business and are now a legal couple in the eyes of North Carolina. Whitie is represented as a basketball that talks to Lucas.

How I Met Your Mother

In the reunion episode titled “How Your Mother Met the Pool Boy” a surly Bob Saget begins narration by belching and tossing a whiskey bottle at his kid who is clearly not listening. The story begins with Ted and his wife (name being withheld until appropriate time) moving into their new house, two babies in tow. Marshall and Lilly show up with a housewarming present that involves heavy drinking since they’ve been married for 6 years and have discovered the peace and serenity found only at the bottom of a tequila bottle. Loveable Barney (Neil Patrick Harris) makes a short appearance (at this time his billing rate will be $598,000 per “suit up” and with CBS near bankrupt in the year 2013 they have to watch the purse strings. The episode concludes with the introduction of their step mother, you guessed it, Robin Sherbatzky. The episode ends with a quasi-gay line from Barney to the pool boy. The line trails, but I think it’s “jimmy suit up Pablo…” weird.

It's Monday; Suit Up!

You heard it, Suit Up!

I'm so happy this day is over, I think I just crapped my pants a little.

Goboldy Gooo!

DAYQUIL! It's a wonderful thing. It freshens the day, rejuvenates the spirits, opens your eyes, fills your head with air--fuck you blue man, you ain't even got feet--and just plain makes you feel good.

If I'm ever to be reincarnated as a pharmaceutical, I hope I'm DayQuil. It makes you feel wonderful. Plus, I bet NiQuil is a fox in the sac...

What's in a name?

When I was a freshman at WSU we had to learn the founding fathers of our fraternity.

Alberg, Anderson, Bayer, Bertrand, Bervin, Case, Cliat, Cook, Dielenberg, Ermi, Felt, Fischer, Gormley, Greninger, Hardy, Harris, Howell, Jackson, Majestic, McDougal, McIrvin, Plumb, Poole, Prater, Reese, Robertson, Ross, Snell, Stone, Tartalia, Wagge, Weinstein, Winnier, Woodcock

I still remember them...

What is it that makes you remember names like that? People F-up my last name all the time, but I guess it's not exactly spelled how it sounds.

So, in honor of the founding fathers, I've come up with a list of potential last names, should I ever change mine..

• Woodsmen - Strong to quite strong name. Definitely let's people know you mean business.
• Majestic - While it was one of our founding fathers' names, I think it's, well, majestic.
• America - Who wouldn't want to have their last name also be their country?
• De La _______ - Basically throw a word in the blank and you're set. (De la Hoya, De La Renta)
• Steel - Put any name in front of this last name and you've got a great combination or a miraculous porn name.
• Rockwell - Norman had the name to get him into the game. It let's everyone know what you're here to do.

I encourage you to come up with aliases for yourself in your spare time. You never know when you might need to start answering to Ron Honcho...

Peace be with you

Murder the early morning!

It's 5:09 a.m. and the sound of Gwen Staffani is ringing in my alarm clock. Screw her.

There's no traffic on the road, but it smells like garbage in the parking lot.

The scurry of crack heads on Madison is ramped.

I just fell asleep a little at my keyboard. Let's kill this morning!

When Mexico got even with America

You'd be hard pressed to not find reasons why Mexico might not have the best things to say about America. Let's see, we export cheap labor to their nation, we hoard the best spots of their country for our own private, all-inclusive vacation resorts, and oh yeah, we put up a giant fence up and said no entry--I'm sure they really loved that one.

But one day I believe Mexico (or Mehico as I like to say) thought up the grandest scheme of all to seek revenge. That plan is called Cinco de Mayo. It's important to know that this is a Mexican holiday that really isn't celebrated that much in the land of 'don't drink the water.' But that's not what America likes to think.

As if we couldn't pack enough into the Fourth of July, we had to lunge over into our neighboring country's holiday calendar. Here's where the revenge comes in. The plan: import lots of tequila and various other booze, make everyone think it's a day that celebrates the independence of Mehico (it's not), and then on the day following when everyone is really hungover, that's when the border jump begins. Lather, rinse, and repeat. Until next year, here's hoping you had a good Mexican Independence day!

Are we drinking the Koolaide?

Are we followers of Jimmy Jones, knowingly drinking our own Koolaide? While working on a project earlier this morning I asked myself this question. Have we started buying what we've been selling all along? I've noticed in recent days I've quit doubting any of my objectives and just started powering towards the light at the end of the tunnel (maybe that's a good thing?). Whether or not we meet those objectives we'll see, but at least I'm not worried about it anymore--bring on the sleep deprivation and endless sermons!

In any work-related project, I think we need to stop and honestly ask ourselves if we're cutting in the Koolaide line. Are we cannibalizing our own sale? I think we might be... But, I suppose if the objectives are never really met, we'll have long since drank the sugary concoction and inevitably slipped into a mindless state before anyone shows up to complain.

Now all we need is our own small village in Africa. We'll call it jungle 206.

Thank every higher being it's Friday

Not just god. Every single deity on this small little planet we call Earth. The cow, Buddha, Ala, you name it, thank it. It's Friday; celebrate. Get drizunk. Convince the boss to implement beer:30--please! This has been a really long week, for everyone, even that dude that holds a sign on the corner of 7th and Madison (he's been workin' it hard this week). Even the hookers down on first have been pulling OT. Damn. It really has been a rough week.

So please, find the nearest kneeling spot, wall of prayer, temple of heaven, pagoda, or various other portal to a higher power. Stroke your four-leaf clovers, hold your silver crusafix, waive your book of Mormon (grab the hands of your numerous wives), put your hands up and SHOUT!

It's Friday. I'm glad. I'm tired. Is this day over yet? Seacrest out!

I challenge you...

Anyone in the world... Lance Armstron, Tony Roma, Stone Cold Steve Austion, the Rock, Clive Owen, Burt Backarack, any one of you pussies...

Step up to the Shat and he will cooly, calmly and sexily dismiss your attack wit hthe care that he brings life to Rocket Man in spoken word.

Take that...

You should love cheeseburgers.

Served on a warm plate, dripping with cheese, nestled in a large nest of French fries. You're imagining it right now, I can tell. You're probably already salivating; figuring out a way to leave work and visit the drive-through.

You should go get a cheeseburger, right now. It's your dirty pleasure: you're heart is saying no, no, no, but your stomach is saying go, go, yes, yes.

Not tacos or sandwiches, CHEESEBURGERS. Go, now, fulfill your inner desire. Feed the carnivore inside of you. EAT MEAT! Have a steak while you're at it, with a side of ribs (that's what I had for lunch).

Do I need to say anything more?

I didn't think so.

Last one out of Hillsboro, burn it to the ground!

In this world there are metropolitan areas, there are suburbs, and there are rural areas. There’s also a little place just outside of Portland that fits none of the above. Yes, there are homes with people living their lives here—going to work, stopping off at the grocery store, sleeping on sleep number mattresses. Yet, something here is different.

I get the sense there’s a lot of Viagra in this town—everyone looks unhappy either because of their lack of pocket change, or… Yes, there’s something about sitting behind a computer all day that just really takes it out of a guy. Don’t get me wrong, the guys aren’t the only unhappy people here.

A note on hotels: This is one of the few places where a hotel can exist entirely by itself. There’s no sundry shop, no Wendy’s, no gas station, no theater, no grocery store. Yep, hotels with their key purpose of housing cubicle dwellers for the evening. Rooms have kitchens for those Dilberts with extended stays, but there’s no freaking grocery stores to fill the refrigerators.

On a side note, when you ask for an ethernet cable to be delivered to your room, you get

Should this town’s sole employer ever decide to pack it up an move to lower-labor-cost countries, please be sure to burn this city down if you’re the last to leave.

I fear for my co-worker's life

Lao says:

Why's he have to be Asian?

Tzu says:

I don't know.. I think it has to do with genetics

Lao says:

Or Kung Fu.

Tzu says:
YES!

Handle-bar stashes are SWEET

J says:
so i wonder if she thought you looked like the guy in your current IM pic
J says:
that would be pretty funny
Bill says:
She did
Bill says:
She thought all my pics have been me.
Bill says:
If only I could grow a stash like that...
J says:
then you would be creepy
Bill says:
yeah...
Bill says:
But I think I could make creepy the new cool.
J says:
i would pretend not to know you while you tried
Bill says:
But then it would work, and you'd be like, "yeah, I've knew that guy before he was creepy." Of course, creepy would then be cool, so it would be like a compliment.
Bill says:
There by making you creepy by association.
J says:
i think i'm already creeped out
Bill says:
We're half way there.

8:23 a.m.

This is zero hour. Right before the clock strikes 8:30, and, inevitably, I must submit to the work day. Sigh... I search Google news, The Onion, The times, anything to dis...phone rings.

I hate Macs. Can I just say that. Yeah, they might be great and all, but they don't work with PCs despite what Apple says. In an office world full of Windows-based PCs, get yourself of PC and save the trouble your causing your fellow co-workers.

Muerta Las Vegas

Vegas sucks ass. I said it.

This place is a hole. If you want to shell out 25 bones for a buffet dinner, hang out with some white trash people who should probably be saving their money instead of pissing it down the toilet, and see countless bachelorettes walking around with their penis veils, then come here. If not, save yourself the time, money and soul that you lose the second you land here.

On a bright note, I am up $360 dollars and actually walked away from the table. High roller five

On a negative note, I walked out of the elevator and saw 4 of my ex girlfriend's sorority sisters... we had some drinks and it was weird.

Elvis was so sick of this place he died. I think Vegas died when the Rat Pack left town... either way, this place is horrible.

Things I Like to Think About

Sometimes I get bored and I start thinking... this often leads to genius ideas (like the business ventures my cohort and I discussed on a flight from San Jose) to downright crazy crap...

This is the latter...

Where the F does a dog that is 1/3 something, 1/3 something else and 1/3 something else come from? Can someone say doggie threesome?
Half-n-half, yeah I get that. But seriously, when it gets down to thirds and quarters, just call the thing a mut and save yourself the time.

Where in the hell do all my socks go?
I buy socks like my roommate buys milk; weekly. Gym socks, dress socks it doesn't matter. I can't keep a damn pair of socks for more than a couple months. I like to think that somewhere Elvis, Biggie, 2Pac and Jimmy Hoffa are walking around, drinks in hand wearing my socks on every part of their body they can.

Women...
Nuf' said.

Why the no smoking lights on the airplanes?
You haven't been able to smoke on an airplane since, what I am guessing, were the early 80s. Maybe the bigger question here is "why am I flying on a plane older than I am and still spending the money I do for a ticket?" for $300 trips to and from SilicoV I better be flying on my own personal plane with lab-altered flight attendants genetically predisposed to love the crap out of me.

OK, that's it'. I'm done.

"I'll kill a snitch. I'm not gonna say I have and I'm not gonna say I haven't, but you know.... whatever." Peyton Manning

Hey, you, boy, come look at watch, good price you buy

-10 RMB
-phsh, no, you pay 460 RMB, you tell me what you pay (put's calulator infront of boy)
(boy types 100)
-No, why you no want me make money. I sell you 300. Good price you buy.
-No, 100. (boy starts to walk away)
-Okay, okay. You name last price, good price (puts calculator in front of boy)
(boy types 110)
(merchants looks at boy with insult) -No, I can't sell that price.
(boy walks away)
-Okay, okay. You name price (merchant gives boy calculator)
(boy types 120)
-No, I sell you 250, low as I can go.
-No thank you (boy glances over at next merchant)
-Okay, okay, 175.
-Okay (boy pulls out RMB.

The cookie

Perfect, round, and sweet. Cookies are very good. Especially when they're used as a business metophore. "make cookies, distribute cookies, reap benifits of distributing cookies..." Although, if you're the Cookie Monster on Family Guy, cookies really aren't that good. Screw you Derick!

Dear Guest,

Tap water is not recommended for drinking.

The hotel will provide you with 2 bottles of complimentary water daily which will be placed in the bathroom. Request for additional mineral water will be charged RMB 10 per bottle. Please note that bottles of water will not carry over.

Please contact Housekeeping at ext 5172 for assistance.

And please remember, your room has complimentary broadband internet access. If you have problems, please consult the complimentary emory board and comb in the bathroom. If that doesn't work, please call the operator. Afterwhich please reconsult with your comb and emory board.

If all else fails, please remember that check out is at 11:00 a.m. We will not provide you with heat in your room. Thank you for staying with us!

Please be sure to use only the best...

And if it takes China's department of Tourism to tell you so, you'd better listen. Granted, it smelled like piss and the soap dispensers were stolen long ago. But none-the-less, it's got a plaque...

light the fires and burn the tires

I chrisen, devirganize, and otherwise bless this blog to be the most awesome, unholy piece of radness on the entire WWW internet and other technical aspects of the earth that I'm otherwise unaware of.

Bill says:

that Weim has a coat so fine he makes Lassie look like a common dog pound skank bitch

Bill says:

I always think I'm going to hear a crunch after those tire squeals

Ted says:

But I bet he's still pimpin Lassie.

Ted says:

I always hunch my shoulders.

Bill says:

huh?

Ted says:

?

Bill says:

oh, when the squeals come

Bill says:

I get it.

Ted says:

Yeah

Bill says:

I wish I was rollin on dubs

Ted says:

Don't we all...

Ted says:

I command the day to END

Bill says:

damn.. it didn't work.

Ted says:

That's what you think

Bill says:

I just don't know it?

Ted says:

I've already left.

Ted says:

The day ends when you leave.

Bill says:

you didn't leave..

Ted says:

That's what you think.

Bill says:

you're just ultra-tricky, like a ninja

Ted says:

Who says I'm not a ninja?

Bill says:

not i

Ted says:

Damn right.

Ted says:

I've got a throwing star that says so too.

Bill says:

I've got a throwing star that says "I break for Egg Rolls"

Ted says:

That's a true sign of a ninja.

Bill says:

that and my nunchuck skills

Ted says:

and bowstaff skills.

Welcome... please wipe your feet

Welcome to the world that is Suite 206. This is a blog for the glorious, glamorous and sometimes downright awesome happenings of Suite 206. Check back for the latest in IM conversations, business ideas and quotes of radness.