You know how it's 99% disgusting to throw-up? It stinks, burns, splashes everywhere, makes your eyes water, and cramps up your stomach muscles. BUT, there is the 1%. That far corner of your mind that you don't want to admit is there in the middle of your five alarm fire of hot mess. It is the part that is enjoying the vomiting process. Hopefully, my blog is that 1% .

Friday, December 17, 2010


7:05 Hi Jen. It’s me. Just calling to say “I love you”. Call me. Bye.

8:18 Hey Jen, you wouldn’t believe what John just ate for breakfast. Musta been that new Egg-Sausage-Ass sandwich from the BK. Call me back this time K.

9:54 Jen. Greg. Where the fuck are you? I’ve sent you like 10 texts and left like 10 messages. Call me BACK. NOW!!!!

11:39 Jen. I’m sorry, I think I had low blood sugar or something. John and I were talking in the bathroom and we both agreed that you are the best thing that ever happened to me. When you get a free minute, please call. I love you honey bear! John and I are going to HomeTown Buffet!

1:15 Okay, Jen, this shit isn’t funny anymore. Instead of banging the GODDAM mailman while I’m working my ass off to support your uneducated, lazy, boney ass, how about putting down every cock in the neighborhood and getting back to me or we are OVER like a SOBER ROVER!

1:16 Wow Jen, I definitely crossed the line on that one. I am really sorry. Really! It’s just that I love you sooo much baby. You know how crazy you make me. HAHA! I’m your passionate stallion! Neeeeiiiiggghhhhh!!! HA! But seriously, if you don’t call me back soon, I’m afraid I’ll cut myself again. Okay, bye. Call me. Bye. Don’t forget. Okay bye. Okay?

2:12 JEN PICK UP THE PHONE!!! There was a HUGE EARTHQUAKE and John dove under his desk like a giant pussy. But get this, all of his stupid Salesman of the Month trophies blocked his way out and guess who saved him? Me! HAHA! I got this huge adrenaline rush and saved his limp-dicked ass. The guys think you are totally gonna blow me now! Haha! Okay. Talk to ya soon.

3:33 I gave you your chance and you BLEW IT Jen! You are such a passive-aggressive fucking ungrateful fucking whore. GeT THe FUcK OuTtA MY LIFE!!! UNDERSTAND ASSFACE?! WE ARE THROUGH!! I HATE YOU!!! HOPE YOU DIE!! Why, oh why did I waste my life with you? You have brought me nothing but pain and misery! I have been nothing but honest, loving and heroic. You owe me more. I owe myself more than this. I’ve been talking to John and we both think you have been using me for a looong time. He should totally know on accounta his gayness. We gave it a good run I guess. Now that I’ve had time to think about it, my heart was never really into it all the way anyways. I took pity on a poor little helpless girl. I did you a huge favor and got nothing back. That’s the last time I think of someone else first. Good riddance skank!

3:34 Oh, HAHA! I just found that little reminder note you left in my attache. Whoops, I completely forgot you were taking my mom to the Camarillo Outlets today. Hope you had a great time. Should I pick up some dinner on the way home? Love you! We’re good right?

Monday, December 13, 2010

I know

What exactly is the downside to convalescent living again? Where do I start? You can literally fall asleep anytime you want, even while in mid-sentence if it feels right. There’s the never worrying about shitting yourself because, get this, you are supposed to shit yourself. You can yell at the Flintstones, yell at your herpes, yell at your eyebrows and then yell at the nurse because someone keeps fucking yelling. I don’t even have to think about chewing anymore- food comes in liquid form, it’s like being a baby bird in a warm nest- I asked them to take the rest of my teeth out and guess what...they did. Natch.

Don’t even get me started on the all-day pajama wearing. For the last 3 months, I’ve been Sponge Bob Squarepants bottoms and Spiderman tops and not a one has said a goddam thing about it. Last yesterday, I lost my socks and then I realized I was looking at the wrong feet?! Go figure.

Then there’s the experimental drug ingestion. You literally can have all you want all the time. I spent all of Mayvembery in a haze so thick, I thought I was Ryan Seacrest auditioning for the role of Jimmy Smitts in NYPD Blue. I only made it out because the can of Spam Jen force fed me on her last visit must have been contaminated with the right mix or mercury and piganus.

Can you keep a secret? Good. Sexual orientation is a thing of the past. Once you get over the initial stage fright I guarantee you won’t believe how many cocks you can suck at once and not even break a sweat. Vagina isn’t even the same animal anymore either. Not that I ever really understood all those moving parts, but now it’s more like a sideways roast-beef sandwich hold the cheddar or maybe not. Good thing I’m here ‘til I’m dead cuz you couldn’t pay me to leave. I’d never make it on the outside again anyway.


I am turning into someone I barely recognize anymore. I used to be able to stick a motherfucker, ya know. Now I’m full of regret and even worse, self-loathing. I’ve never been the quiet, introspective sort. More like the quiet, I got nothing to think about kinda guy. Lately it seems like shit has just been getting to me. What’s particularly troublesome is that the denial that has been my go to emotion for so long is no longer working. From ignoring my gum disease to believing that my Axe body-wash will eventually get me laid, I’m starting to think it might actually be me. Jesus, the thought of me being depressed is super depressing. I guess prison really fucking works. Plus I miss Whole Foods.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Pants on Fire

I have a 10 inch penis.

I once blessed the Pope (then he sneezed).

I can out stare the sun.

Clint Eastwood once made my day.

I chop down trees on Arbor Day then replant them.

I talk shit about Perez Hilton.

When Google wants to know something, they call me.

I die on Good Friday, come back on Easter and give Jesus the credit.

I was a model for Abercrombie and Fitch but got fired for looking too good.

I don’t know what my ring tone is because I answer my phone before it rings.

I caught the most interesting man on Earth reading my journal looking for ideas. I gave him a dos G’s because I don’t hate.

They make number one pencils for me exclusively and instead of lead, they are filled with a diamonds.

I am the reason Mike Tyson got fat.

I will solve the conflict in the Middle East after I finish watching Season 1 of Archer. That shit is just funny.

Friday, October 29, 2010

4-Year-Old Can Be Sued, Judge Rules in Bike Case

October 26, 2010

What took so long? Just the other day, I seized upon a golden opportunity to not only quench my thirst but also help out some industrious little fuckheads and bought some “lemonade” from a local stand. Talk about tart! In fairness, I’m not exactly expecting Hot Dog on a Stick quality, but Jesus Country Time Christ, is nobody on my block responsible for quality control? That’s 50 cents I’m not getting back. Or is it? I just found out, it’s now open season in a new litigious world and anyone north of fetus status is game. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure you can sue an embryo at conception if you are crafty enough and still hung over. I’m all in favor of letting kids be kids but that doesn’t mean those little dill munchers are getting a free pass if they fart when I tickle them. God forbid they piss on me too and they may as well be punching my ticket to a South Beach vaca.

At this point you may be asking what’s the point of suing a shorty. I agree, it’s not exactly like these snot faced bastards are rolling in duckets but they have other valuable resources: If you’re both a Lego fan and a Harry Potter fan (and who isn’t, really) the Lego Harry Potter Hogwarts Castle is a must have. It’s not only huge, but with 10 minifigs, kids can practically film their own animated movie with it! All you gotta do is trip on a block and that motherfucker is yours fair and square. And how about this? Imagine if a skate board and a Razor Scooter had a baby (I’m sure you can sue it too). The result would be something called the Razor Sole Skate. Holy shit, I can’t wait for my next visit with my reckless nephews. That bitch will be in the garage.

Friday, October 22, 2010

Saturday, October 16, 2010

L.A. County Sheriff Lee Baca says deputies would enforce marijuana laws even if Prop. 19 passes

October 15, 2010 | 1:12 pm

Los Angeles County Sheriff Lee Baca wasted no time responding to reporters' inquiries regarding his take on Prop 19, California's controversial attempt to make recreational use of marijuana legal. "Goddam hippies think I ain't the law! HA! Wait 'til I see some stupid punkass smoking a lid! He'll be hearing nothing but his Mirandas' while the shit hits the fan", Baca lamented as he popped a couple of Percocets out of a Jon Stewart Pez dispenser.

"It's days like these makes me wonder why we let anyone over 21 the right to vote!" he continued, "There should be a law restricting these frivolous propositions from getting on the ballot. I mean if there was a proposition that ended stupid propositions, it sure as Hell would have my vote" he said as he flawlessly injected a hypodermic needle into each of his temples while this reporter watched in awe his wrinkles magically disappear.

"I mean, look how far we've slipped as a society. It's bad enough with the homos flaunting their same-sex destruction of 'marriages' all over West Hollywood but we also have stem cells that, I'll admit are helping people with debilitating diseases live more comfortable lives, not being given the proper Christian burial that they deserve" apparently oblivious to his surroundings he started kicking strollers and sucker-punching babies (is there any other way to punch a baby?)."

Asked if he ever smoked marijuana, Baca unstrapped his 45 mm, pushed it into this reporter's forehead and as this reporter's life flashed before his eyes, he surprised himself about how much focused regret he had at never successfully orgasming a partner. Baca replied," Are you fucking kidding, you fascist Leftie! I oughta send you to your maker where you'll learn the manners that your Momma shoulda taught you but she was too busy toking up with your sperm donor." A little too spot on, this reporter was becoming a little concerned that maybe he had done some kinda background check, then it dawned on this reporter that is was probably the bowl he smoked in his Miata on the way to the press conference that made him a little paranoid, but then a second dawning revealed that it was probably the big ass gun still aimed at this reporter's frontal lobe that was more the likely the source for impaired thinking ability. Nah, it was the bud.

Monday, October 11, 2010

Wednesday is target for extraction of Chilean miners to begin

In a dramatic shift of events, negotiations have been resolved granting the Chilean government permission to evict 33 bloodsucking leaches. The settlers believed to be occupying the luxurious, deluxe low-rise, previously rent-controlled apartments located 2000 feet below the surface of one of the shittiest countries on the planet.

The obnoxious, gibberishly named "Los 33" have been squatting for the last 2 months seemingly abandoning family members, friends, and generous former employer Chilean Mining and Pedicures, without care or concern. Video feeds displaying giddy, drunken, slender men engaging in lewd acts have in recent days resulted in sending the nation's citizenry into a panicked frenzy attempting to join them. A few copycat groups such as the shiftless lay-about, Los 32 have been caught digging into random mud fields in desperate, vain hopes of riding the wave of a newly awakened culture. No longer can Chileans be accused of being a group of self-indulgent caffeine addicted misanthropic surfers. Sure, they have had a few distractions along the way, like some Pinochet dude and his cocksucking policy about hippie hating, but is that an excuse for the general population to namby-pamby around the underground and fuck up the best neighborhoods with their reverse gentrification?

In my opinion, you can't get those motherfuckers outta there soon enough!

Friday, October 1, 2010

'bout time

I’m thinking that upon achieving super-stud status (happening any day now, btw), I’ll be employing the semi-controversial Bill Murray S.O.P. for dealing with everyday situations: FUCK EVERYBODY!

I have been far too accommodating to the pedestrian individuals I am forced to interact with on a daily basis; the passive-aggressive geriatric Walmart greeter whose singular, disposable use to me is directions to the boxed Merlot. Then there's Floyd, my overzealous, self-righteous, self-entitled landlord. Not to mention Cynthia at American Express with her droning, judgmental questioning of my purchasing habits (maybe I want to charge my entire team’s hockey fees before declaring bankruptcy!). But how do I respond? I swallow my hate and burp, "Yes sir, yes ma'am, you are right. I guess I was in your way!" Screw that shit, it's tea-bagging time. I am a white, male for fuck'sake. Why am I stuck nurturing and dish-washing? Well, no longer will I sit passively by as my country turns into a huge cesspool of a Hitler-loving-Stalin-following-perfect-storm-of-fascist-communism. Polar opposites, my ass. It's not like I put myself in this dilly on my own. It's time for America to be American again. If I can't eat it, I sure as hell better be able to fuck it.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Netflix Hires Actors to Pose as Its Canada Fans

Published: September 22, 2010

Not having an overabundance of confidence in legitimate Canadians is becoming an increasingly annoying practice by arrogant American companies. First, there was the whole debacle when I didn’t get hired by KFC after testing perfectly well for their Double-Down commercial. Some bullshit about a pre-existing heart condition, my bum, eh! You hosers were too afraid to admit that you are all Canadian-phobic. The only exception you Yanks make is when we are hot as Hell. Sure Pamela Anderson and Alex Trebek are exciting and dynamic eye candy, but there is substance below the surface. Canadian substance. Well screw you, don’t make me take back Evangeline Lilly or Anna Paquin, because I will and we’ll soon see who comes crawling back, boners and hat in hands.

Looks like Netflix is the most recent fuck up in what’s already a litany of embarrassing American greed. It wasn’t enough that they sent me an altered, sad copy of Juno (which stared one amazing Canadian: Ellen Page). I cannot believe that they actually reshot the entire movie with that pussy Michael Cera playing the role that Michael J. Fox executed perfectly to the delight of tens of tens of Canadians. Now we find out that they actually paid people to pose as Canada fans! Like there is a shortage of Canada fans in Canada?! Show me a self-loathing Canadian and I’ll show you an asshole that moved to Southern California because he couldn’t handle a diverse climate!

Alright, enough for now, I gotta go to hockey, if that’s alright with you Halliburton. Mooooom wait!!!!

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Late for Pro-Am, Furyk Is Ineligible for the Barclays

GREG MITCHELL/Associated Press
Jim Furyk, the sixth-ranked player in the world, took full responsibility for the cellphone fiasco.
11:57 a.m. | Updated

Looks like a typical day at the office for Jim “Fuck up” Furyk with another notch on the belt for the guy that has been a major disappointment for throngs of young, impressionable followers.

Asked how in the Hell he could possibly over-sleep for a job that most people would eagerly give their left nut to participate in, Furyk responded, “Look Greg, when we were in Vegas last November did I give you any shit when you accidentally killed that albino midget with my fairway wood?”. Well, this unbiased, unflappable reporter cannot be flapped, “Sure we can make it all about me but how do explain the simple fact that because you obviously require more beauty rest than most, you lost out on a chance at a million dollar purse?”

“Sure Greg, 1 million dollars right? How about the time you complained to me after shelling out a million dollars ordering the entire inventory of your wife’s experimental vegan-porn DVDs just to get it off the open market?” Furyk moaned.

He was starting to get on my nerves. I really should never have confided in someone with such a fucked up backswing. Furyk continued, “And how about explaining last night: crashing the Furyk man-cave at 4AM hopped up on God-knows-what Jonesing for a go at my 1977 Playboy pinball machine and you didn’t even freaking leave until you got the high score.”

I have to admit I must have blacked that one out (even though it happened like 6 hours ago). And though it probably explains his late wake up, it was still a low blow.

Okay, apparently my persistence was really bumming him out but this relentless reporter was not about to relent. After all, I owe you readers answers. “Jim, do you think maybe you can answer ONE simple question without projecting unto me?”

“Fine. What?” Furyk asked while removing his Johnny Walker cap to reveal a swastika I just now remembered Sharpie’ing to his oblong dome.

“Hey, can I borrow your car again tonight? I promised Jen that I would show her what the ceiling of the Trans-Am T-top looks like. Wacka wacka.”. While pantomiming thrusting and slapping motions for emphasis.

“Fuck you Greg, this interview is over!” he snarled.

“So, that’s a “no” then?” I was genuinely disappointed.

He tossed me the keys, “Nah, I can’t be a hater”.

Well, I can sucka!

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

I'll Sleep When I'm Dead

It’s come to the point where I spend every possible moment in repose. Once free from the shackles of nagging goals and objectives, I feel completely liberated and bereft of guilt for relegating myself to life on the sidelines. I think back to all the wasted hours of daydreaming about having dreams but knowing full well it was never getting any further. Sure, I’ve tried writing, procreating, and cupcake baking but feh, I get bored even thinking about such activities let alone actually participating. My laziness has gotten to such a shallow level of unproductiveness that recently my mother bought me some new software that had her link up my brain with electrodes wired directly to my computer. All I’m doing is thinking about this entry and BLAMMO, its here. I no longer even want to put in the sustained effort that it takes to masturbate. In my heyday, I could get the job done in less than 60 seconds, now I just don’t see the point about getting all excited. Or having to clean up. My ultimate hope is to be free of thought altogether and live in the moment of nothingness, kind of like transcendental meditation without all of the hassle of thinking about breathing. Yeah nothing, I can’t wait.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

My Road to Manhood

Unremarkable Canadian birth. Apparently fell out like a champ.

Peeing on the floor in school because I didn’t want to disrupt the flow of our charismatic, asthmatic Librarian.

Getting hosed for a 20 spot buying a pack of Players for my father. Subsequent ass-kicking followed.

Watching Darren practice his haftarah for his bar mitzvah and realizing religion is a sucker bet.

Watching Darren get close to a grand opening envelopes for said rite of passage.

Playing hockey like a pacifist until I got pissed, then playing like a school girl (style remains unchanged am told).

Move to Southern California: tanning, blondeing, further reinforcement of my inner pussified disposition.

First dance. Country-Western style (thank you Placerita). Hands were respectful, can’t say the same for my erection. Sorry Nicole.

First J. Toked enthusiatically with way too much lip contact. Seeds, stems, burnt fingers. Could not stop talking about how high I was. I think it lasted for 3 days.

First car. 1982 Fiat Strada. Baby blue, spacious 82 sq.ft. interior,12” tires, London Calling on loop. Purchased for $500 from father. Overpaid by at least 400. One day as I rounded a corner, the frame cleaved, transmission made a break for it.

1st-4th base, in field home-run. Is 30 seconds considered premature ejaculation? Found an agreeable, resourceful fellow camper at an Ojai summer camp and involuntary, spastic muscle movements ruined what could have easily been a decent orgasm. Sorry Michelle.

First car accident. Lotsa shrieking and exceptionally loud undesired metal readjustments to my 1978 Firebird. I think I blacked out. I’m sure it was my fault because most trees are inanimate (unless you count “growing” but that can hardly be to blame for our meeting).

First “real” girlfriend. Co-dependent, shallow, unrequited, Workers Playtime. Left spinning and drunk. Dinosaur Jr. Sorry Melissa.

Employment. Cubically, grey floors, grey walls, grey ceiling, grey feelings. Soul crushing, creativity depriving, ass-kissing, corrupted, unethical, un-environmental, foolishness.

Marriage, kids, mortgage, debt, debt, debt. At current rate, likely retirement scheduled for 2055. Sorry Jen.

Family, friends, alcohol thank god.

Saturday, August 7, 2010


By now, dear readers, you probably have a firmly pressed thumb upon my writing “style”: stream of consciousness + vulgarity - proof reading. My objective thus far has not been to educate nor to introduce. Maybe I have passed along some opinions, judgements and opinions (proof of lack of proof-reading) that have been relatable. I don’t know, nor do I give a shit. Assuming you have stuck with this paragraph so far, you would probably like me to arrive to some type of a point. Here it is: I have no taste in wine. I have tried to develop some type of palate but my tongue must be tone deaf. I have tried, how I have tried! I even spent some time caring, all to no avail. I have friends and family members that go on and on about bouquets, aromas, vintage, year, blah blah all tastes like horseshit. I know that food pairings are vital. Decanting: crucial. Glasses: kinda important. But nothing makes a difference. Everything takes like acescence. Only after forcing too much in does it even begin to taste consumable but at that point I could imbibe battery acid. I guess the only upside is that wine connoisseurs are pretentious fucking assholes.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Why I got Married

Hi, I’m Greg. And you are? That’s a beautiful name...Fuck Off. Is it 2 words or just 1? Sounds Croatian. Seriously, I just wanted to say "Hi" because I noticed your beautiful smile when I walked in. Oh, her? No, she’s just a friend from work. She doesn’t even want to be here. Ok fine. Watch this...hey Becky, fuck off! See, I used your name in a sentence. No seriously Becky, you should totally leave, I’m talking to my new friend here and I’m about to play some Def Leppard in the jukebox. She hates Def Leppard. Sorry about that, I really tried to protect her feelings but sometimes you just have to be direct. So, what are you drinking? Really, Bushmills? Blech, I can’t really stomach that. Waitress, I’ll take 2 Bushmills. I guess it’s never too late to try something new. Hey can I ask you your input about something? I am totally going to get a new tattoo and I need an objective opinion and an objective opinion from a beautiful girl is even better. Do you know where I can find one? Ha, just kidding, you will totally get used to that. I have a wicked funny sense of humor. And timing. Oh sorry, right. Okay, you know how EVERYONE has those faggy, barbed wire or tribal band tats around their biceps? Oh thank you. Yeah, I guess I started getting serious about lifting in 10th grade. It really has become a way of life for me. Back then it was all long hair and long hours in the gym getting pumped...sigh. Oh yeah, I was thinking about getting a monkey swinging from limb to limb all the way around and then BLAMMO, fucking TARZAN chasing him. You know, like Cheetah forgot to clean his room and Tarzan is pissed. You gotta figure Cheetah got sick of Tarzan acting all anal all the time and just started throwing all his feces at him. What? Sure but it will be really hard to hear you from here. What? See, I told you. But our Bushmills aren’t even here yet. Okay but specifically speaking, what exactly did I do wrong? Nice. Look it couldn’t be everything. Well I got this from my ex. 1994. I think it looks good. Fine, well if I ever meet Eddie Vedder, I’m telling him what you said. Fine. You don’t have to tell me twice. Well can I at least get your phone number? Okay your name then? Can I look for you on FaceBook? Jesus. Well, that went well Greg. Good job.

Monday, July 12, 2010

1, 2, 3, 40

Lately I’ve been eating like 8 meals a day. Not 8 Julian Michaels meals mind you (you know: 8 satisfying, healthy, small meals, to keep your blood sugar stable and you in a perpetual state of unhungry), more like Dom DeLuise 8 meals; a bombardment of heart stopping, panic-attack inducing, binge eating without the relief or satisfaction of a purge- unless accidental/involuntary- which is promptly met with frustration at the thought of refilling the insatiable chasm of my appetite. I’ve even tried watching continuous loops of snuff films on all five of my LCD screens in A Clockwork Orange effort to curb my hunger, all to zero effect. I guess I have to just come to terms with what is really at play: I’m giving up. Balding, forty, on the brink of poverty, and an inability to ejaculate more than 5 millimeters has all left me a shell of the man I formerly was. I play hockey like I’m eighty and weave uncontrollably while I drive. I stain my underwear and couldn’t get a girl to do a double-take unless I shout obscenities in her general direction. Sure there are small semblances of upsides to my midlife crisis: excessive marijuana consumption, copious amounts of booze and lack of desire to masturbate. But these tiny pleasures are mere distractions to my final conclusion: never mind,I forgot the ending.

Saturday, July 10, 2010


I was walking back to my car and it dawned on me that I left the iron on. It’s amazing how forgetful you get when you kill a hooker by applying too much Vicks Vapor Rub. Is that even a thing? You imaGine that your focus becomes as narrowed as she promised her vagina to be but wE all know how that turned out. Anyway, I can’t seem to concentrate on any 1 thing at a time anymore. My mind is constantly racing with thoughts about dinner, hoCkey and fly fishing. Which doesn’t make any sense right since fly fishing requires an ability to relax and focus all at once. Maybe it was the 8-ball? I’m thinking at a frenetic pace and I’m typing 2 sentences ahead of myself. Right now I’ve already thought of that. And that. And that. And that. Can you feel my skin crawling? I thought maybe you could because you are living all over me. Okay tell me you heard that? It’s like a perfect mix of a child crying and a blue whale cow delivering conjoined calfs. Jesus, remember that time we went to Knotts Berry Farm and ate caraMel appLes and dropped acid? I swear to God, you kept asking everyone there directions to Space Mountain. WhataRiot!

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

You waited long enough

Well since my movie reviews have been an overwhelming success - seriously, I cannot even go to a theatre anymore without some fan telling me to stop dictating into my iphone- obviously a natural progression for me is to try my hand at gastronomy. I’m not going to get all uppity about it either, so don’t worry. While I do have more taste buds than a dog and a more evolved palate than you sorry sacks reading this, I will not make you feel stupid. I’m sure you are capable of that all on your own.

I’m going to fill you in on a world that you will not be able to fully appreciate nor understand. The life of a food critic, while I’m sure you equate to the rankings of 1980’s TV sitcom stars, is not as glamorous as it appears. We use a lot of drugs. We are greasy and overweight. It is impossible to know how many calories we consume let alone salt and cholesterol contents. Basically, any food critic that makes it past 50 is a hack. We have no friends because, as you all know, friendships are usually cemented while breaking bread, and how in the fuck can I be expected to dine, let alone respect, ignorant food neophytes? So yeah, I’m pretty lonely but it’s better than being bored I guess.

That being said, my first official review: DEL TACO located at L*ons Avenue in Newhall California as tasted June 14, 2010. To start, I got really baked in the parking lot. I was nervous and afraid my appetite was going to be suppressed, so it seemed natural. I pulled into the drive thru around 11:45 PM, still smelling like my hockey equipment because some fucking junior team that played before us lost and took it out on the flowered curtains and there is no way I’m taking a shower in front of Danny’s mustache. I was promptly greeted by the friendly sound of a crackling intercom demanding my order. I reflexively ordered the #4-thanks Jen (2 chicken soft taco combo) but specialized it with hard shells - soft tacos are for chumps. They asked a series of stupid questions: yes I wanted a LARGE combo, yes I wanted Del Scorcho sauce, yes I wanted a drink, no I wouldn’t mind telling you what kind. Ten minutes later, I was at the window handing over my Chase Visa debit-card, grabbed the food and parked. I don’t remember much of the meal, by then I was starving and ate everything in less than 90 seconds. The ambiance was nice, considering it was the driver’s seat of my 1988 Fiat Strada and I was listening to the boss crone the River. Of course I’d go back, it didn’t kill me and didn’t give me the shits. Fuck, I forgot to apply the Del Scorcho!

Friday, June 11, 2010

Movie Review #4 The Road

I figured from the trailers that The Road was to star Viggo Mortensen in a self-indulgent vanity project where he prances flamboyantly about in designer costumes like Dorothy in search of the Wizard. Guess I was a little off. What can I tell you that you don't already know? This nihilist tale is a Tea Party member's wet dream: no big government, no military, no food stamps just good old fashioned salt of the earth types who spend their days in search of fresh meat. Unfortunately, fresh meat is an acquired taste because it is usually wrist-watched (it's man okay. They are cannibals. What I'm saying is that survivors must eat people). Viggo's achilles heel and reason to believe is his 9 year old son. Although all this boy has ever known is a lifetime spent in fight or flight mode-he's been sheltered literally and figuratively by his ever growing sicker and uglier Poppa-he is pretty much a pussy. So much for the coming of age tale I expected. As soon as Viggo finally drops dead, along comes an unclean nuclear family (the father, played by Guy Pearce with a voice that was a dead ringer for Eddie Vedder and I kinda hoped he would break into Hungerstrike) complete with pet dog and adopts our boy without skipping a beat. No sex, little violence. Bleak. Made me go home and kiss the kids. Viggo really rules.


Hey stop stopping and stop acting stupid.

You know I hate to get wet.

Greg, can you open this?

You better make it quick.

No you can’t put your finger there.

Get off my hair asshole

I feel sick.

Do you wanna get something to eat?

I had a feeling you would try something stupid.

Okay but don’t talk, your breath stinks.

That hurts.

Did you just call me “John”?

I’m really full.

Fine, I’ll grab your nuts.

Hurry up!

Wednesday, May 19, 2010


Last night my buddies and I were having a great night at the rink playing hockey. Then Todd farted and my life changed forever:

Now, no one else can fart for 100 years

I think he changed my gender

I am now unable to parallel park

I am now unable to differentiate between laughing at and laughing with

I mix metaphors

I can no longer conjugate a verb in simple present tense

My semen has the same cleavage ratings as basalt

My right foot grew 2 sizes

I forgot how to drive a manual transmission

I think Justin Bieber has chops

My left nut registers 1 degree warmer than my right one

I ate a Double Down from KFC and lived to tell the tale

I can disobey the law of gravity by throwing a puck in the air and clapping the Star Spangled Banner in Braille

I gutted a Swedish fish with a hairpin

I can no longer see the color blue

Friday, May 14, 2010

My Way

Do not judge me. Okay so I spend all my free time hanging under my kitchen sink subsisting on whatever doesn’t make it through the disposal. And last night, as I scraped the floor of my oven I was overcome with emotion upon the discovery of a year old fish stick. I knew the turnaround between mastication and defecation would be short but for a few brief moments as I dipped the charred Gorton’s tidbit into my homemade blend of bird feces and Colgate Total Advanced Whitening, I was God-like.

I still find it amazing how relatively easy it was to eat the neighbors. Granted we didn’t share political or religious views, I still expected some tinge of guilt or at least a gag. But nothing. I hate to say it, but they were kind of delicious. I guess it’s one of those self-preservation thingies. Try telling me God doesn’t have a plan and I’ll laugh right in your face… before I try to bite off your nose.

In the wee hours of most nights, I can’t help but think wistfully back to what used to be. Oh, the daily rituals consisting of deodorant (non-consumable by the way) application, generous shitting and eager masturbating. Now I consider myself lucky if I get one or two of those pleasures a month. I remember hanging on to every word Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert teased. How I laughed at the morons on Fox News as I made out my Whole Foods grocery list. Thank goodness for Armageddon or I woulda been a pussy my whole life.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Owwww MOM!!!!

Would it really kill the fine people at Body Essence to keep a caged gorilla in the lab basement? Why do I have to be the guinea pig and find out for myself that when your shampoo seeps into my eye it burns like acid? I appreciate your PR attempts but I would appreciate it if I didn’t have to lose my vision in my quest for richer, fuller hair. Get a poodle motherfuckers.

Friday, April 30, 2010

Man oh Man

Hungry man dinners
Man Vs Wild
Man in the Mirror
Manic Depression

Man Vs Food
Man on fire
Manny Rodriguez
Mandy Moore
Burning Man

Man caves
Human League
Manchester United

Monday, April 19, 2010


it asked me if these pants make my ass look fat (I said, “no, your fat ass makes your ass look fat”).

I can legally drive in the carpool lane.

I put a helmet on it to play hockey.

it can be fellated successfully.

it stole the covers while we were sleeping.

it beat me at wii bowling.

it made me see Avatar again.

it makes me walk to the left.

it ate a Snickers Bar and was satisfied.

it watches me masturbate (and offers advice).

it ate a Snickers Bar and now it has a zit.

it writes a more popular blog.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Glenn Beck

Can’t a guy tell a racist joke without Joe Liberal getting so offended anymore? It’s racism and hate that gives people a reason for waking up in the morning! While you weave your Scooby-doo hybrid through Silverlake thinking your hipster thoughts in your hipster head, don’t you understand thems crosses ain’t gonna burn themselves? I cannot for the life of me understand why you sensitive souls take umbrage every time a progressive wheel like me squeaks. You get all high and mighty thinking you are Whole Foods when we all know you are Walmart. Own it baby. How can you get any more American than “Made in China”?

Sunday, April 11, 2010

Z to A on 1 Foot

Why can’t I ever catch a break? I was poisoned for christsakes! And look, I threw up all over my new $750 Evisu Ninja jeans! Lesson learned if I do say so myself. Sure you can argue that I brought it on myself but is that really true? Is it? I think not. How am I supposed to stop drinking when everybody knows that drinking impairs your judgement, so if I did stop drinking wouldn’t my judgement have been good thereby rendering it unimpaired? It’s not like I’m a superhero even though I am wearing a cape. Oh yeah, the tights too...but they looked awesome in the store. They have high definition lighting or something. I swear to god I woulda bought a shirt made of raw macaroni in that place. My point is you can’t win officer. And what was I doing behind the wheel? Well look, I can’t justify that but I can tell you I was earnestly trying to get home without running into you. I feel like you are really judging me right now and I’ve had a couple of setbacks recently. Yes, I think I really know now what it means to be personally responsible but obviously this is NOT one of those times. What I am trying to say is that since we’ve met, I don’t know if you call it male bonding or what but I feel this energy between us and I wonder what you would do if I leaned in and gave you a small sweet kiss just south of your perfect manicured lawn of a mustache. While it may not be the most original accessory for someone in your line of work, you really have found a way to make it work for you and make it your own. It is glorious sir. Oh, you are right, there does appear to be a deer halfway through my windshield. Well, I can totally explain that.

Friday, April 2, 2010

Odd to John

I just pulled a stomach muscle while stretching and even though it hurt like a monkey, at least it proved that I do own and operate abs. I’ve been thinking a lot about my outer appearance lately. In the past, I generally took for granted my ridiculous good looks, and pitied most of the shapeless sad sacks who found themselves lucky enough to be in my company. Recently, however, I am finding myself to be a tad more self-conscious. Obviously, my grooming and hygienic habits are not the problem, (I freelance as tooth and gum poster model). My issue can be directly attributed to the fact that I am friends with John Banks. In order to make himself feel better, John carries out daily audible inventory counts of my facial beauty marks (he calls “moles”). He badgers me incessantly about the love handles I have methodically nourished and nurtured. John delves deep into the crevasses of my psyche and reels up to the surface the source of all ills that has damaged me: “fagitosis”. Outwardly, Mr. Banks gives the impression that he is a compassionate, thoughtful listener; he nods appropriately, smiles encouragingly and responds convincingly. The thing that blows his cover is his constant and unmanageable erection. I guess it’s all my fault. He has fooled me more than once but I keep coming back to the well. I never thought of myself as being so dependent on the vague whims and needs of such a selfish fuckface but I guess it is my lot in life. To be completely transparent, if I had a chance to do it all again, I wouldn’t change a thing.

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Tru Dat

There are words and phrases that make my skin crawl. Keeping in mind that my ability to navigate the English language has already been trumped by my children, I represent zero authority. I think I’m just an asshole. Some of these are perfectly fine, they just hurt my brain. Anywho, here is my list of grievances that I would like to see disappear from the language:

Anywho - Zesty - Fascia - Happy Camper - In no particular order

24/7 - Hob-Knob - Repurpose - Move the Cheese - Outside the Box

Double-Speak - Short and Curlies - Lectern - Case in Point

Vis-a-vis - Stalagmites (but strangely, not Stalactites) - Chipper

Parka - Rouse - Effervescent - Obsequious - Uber

Porno (but not Porn) - Not for nothing (N’ fo’ nu’in) - Palimony

Sheaf - Tummy - Season to Taste (Sean) - Regina

Turn of Phrase - Salacious - Break Bread - Buzzwords

Hiccup (when describing anything other than the bodily function)

Break Wind - Scandalous - Tongs - Libation - Aerate

Smegma - Gift of Gab


Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Movie Review #3: 300

Okay, just saw 300 on TNT. I did see it in the theater with Jason but was way too tired from taking advantage of the generous dollar menu at KFC and nodded off like 5 minutes in. Am I glad I gave it another go! Let’s just start by saying I have several new questions about my sexual orientation. I mean, if there was a way you could track my eye movements during the flick, I seriously doubt I ever looked away from Gerard Butler’s abs. How did he do that? And it wasn’t just him either, every mofo in the movie could not have possibly consumed a carbohydrate within 2 months of filming. I don’t have any idea what anyone said or what happened but I am willing to give the movie 5 erections.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

In Honor of Chuck Norris' 70th Birthday

Chuck Norris is so tough, he performed his own caesarian-section.

Chuck Norris may be 70 but that is only 10 in Chuck years.

Chuck Norris’ mustache was the inspiration for the bomb-deactivator in the Hurt Locker.

When Chuck Norris dies the law of gravity will end.

Gillette had to invent the Mach Chuck so he could get a clean shave.

Chuck Norris is the real reason dinosaurs are extinct.

Chuck Norris taught Jesus how to walk on water (and to wear sandals).

Chuck Norris sold me a set of encyclopedias and I didn't even want them.

Chuck Norris invented Windows 7.

Chuck Norris told James Cameron how to make Avatar.

Chuck Norris had sex with my wife while I watched (and learned).

Chuck Norris can eat just one Lay's potato chip.

Chuck Norris really wanted Obama to win and sabotaged Huckabee.

Chuck Norris once shat his pants and sold them on E-bay for $1,000,000.00.

Chuck Norris’ hair is so tough it only looks like a wig that looks real.

Chuck Norris moisturizes daily.

Chuck Norris once stole my ATM card and deposited 20 bucks into my checking account.

Chuck Norris won Celebrity Jeopardy and made Alex Trebek shave off his mustache.
****or When Chuck Norris won on Celebrity Jeopardy, Alex Trebek's mustache committed mustache suicide and assimilated in Chuck Norris mustache and heretofore renamed Chulex Trenorrisbek.

Chuck Norris invented Al Gore.

Chuck Norris didn’t invent letters but he did invent alphabetical order.

Chuck Norris’ mustache predicts rain, earthquakes, tsunamis, hurricanes, and Kentucky Derby winners.

When women look directly into Chuck Norris’ eyes, their menstrual cycles shift.

Chuck Norris should NOT have had a V-8.

Chuck Norris once mailed me a check for my birthday and wrote “Bad-Ass” on the memo line.


Sunday, March 7, 2010

Too Far

My ass has been really itchy lately. There’s no other way to say it. I know this happens to everyone at some point but Jesus Christ, I can’t get any relief. Don’t come at me like I don’t have a thorough cleansing strategy either because that is bullshit. I use baby-wipes, I dab-not wipe, I don’t force out involuntary hostages either (I pride myself on keeping negotiations short). So what gives? Lately I have been farting just for the mili-second of asshole relief it offers. I’ve even taken to bitting and swallowing my fingernails so that my turds can scratch their way out...all to no avail. Look, I know that there are products out there to help, believe I’ve tried them: from Anusol to Asshole-Itch-Be-Gone. Nothing. No help. Waking up with my finger three quarters of an inch scratching up the pipe is not doing my marriage any favors either. Maybe I’ll just have to quit getting butt-fucked.


Woman charged in breast milk assault on jailer

AP – 1 hr 15 mins ago  
OWENSBORO, Ky. - A woman in jail for public intoxication was accused of assaulting a jailer by squirting breast milk at her. WYMT-TV reported that a 31-year-old woman was arrested Thursday on a misdemeanor charge of public intoxication. But as she was changing into an inmate uniform, she squirted breast milk into the face of a female deputy who was with her.

I think I just came.


Thursday, February 25, 2010

Better off dead?

I have been thinking about an appropriate way to off myself. Don’t worry Ma, this is not a cry for help. I’m not depressed, however; I am sick and tired of stupid shit. I could go with the Artie Lange method: become a radio show sidekick, achieve B level star status, bloat to 350 pounds, addict myself to heroine, and plunge a knife into my chest and abdomen about 9 times. That just seems like more of a commitment than I’m willing to make to the process. Plus, Artie survived. I guess it’s too late to co-star in a incomprehensibly, popular sitcom starring a nervous anorexic, a Christian nut-job, and a Canadian. Did I mention my character’s name? Boner! No, too derivative. I think I would clock out something like this: spend a life time training and learning about an animal commonly known as a Killer Whale -that naturally spends it’s free time swimming over 100 miles in a day- and keep it cooped up in a tiny tank and teach him to perform tricks for tourists. But the greatest feat of all would be him yanking me from the stage, and proceed to thrash me about until blood flows from every orifice (old and new) in full view of young innocent attendees. I wonder if I would drown or be bludgeoned to death? I know it seems selfish on the surface but to be fair, my employer does believe the show must go on and wouldn’t dream of euthanizing their prized, multimillion dollar orca. He was, after all, just following his instinct of beating to death a 40 year old homo-sapien. See, everybody wins.


Friday, February 19, 2010

Golf Haiku

Tiger Woods Eat Shit
You Sounded Like a Child When
Claiming Buddhist Faith


Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Fuck you Toyota !

Dear Mister Akio Toyoda,

Was that really necessary? All I was doing was driving down a blind alley when my 2005 Camry screeched to a halt, pitching me right through the windshield. As I got back to my feet to assess my damages -several pieces of glass embedded in my forearm and face- the car thrust forward and ran right over me. I came to with your prized piece of engineering pinning my wrists and feet, leaking brake fluid in my mouth. That’s when things really got interesting. Something that can only be described as a robotic goblin was released from the gear box, lowered slowly to the asphalt and rolled right up next to me and made eye contact. As I stared in horror, it winked a red, beady eye and headed south. I wriggled and squirmed as it dropped it’s tiny tinny pants and pulled out 9 inches of dog-dick-red robotic cock. Before passing out from the stinging pain and lack of circulation, I remember thinking "you have got to be kidding me, what kind of sick perverted option is this? I specifically told the sales guy I did NOT want any new “features”."

I must have been passed out for at least 12 hours because I awoke to the heat of the sun drenching my body. Of course the Camry was gone too. No note, nothing. I finally made my way home and found a recall notice...thanks asshole!

Wednesday, January 27, 2010


I have been having some strange dreams lately. Most of them go as follows: as I am in the process of promoting a scantily clad woman to clad-less, I discover she has a curious deviancy IE, a pickle or a pickle and hot pocket (once, she had some form of a decorative body-quilt inlaid along her thighs and stomach that prevented access to her love closet). Here is the weird part, none of these accouterments has even remotely affected my performance (which many of you already know is topnotch). I've read where dreams are the unconscious mind’s way of relieving stress and I am used to the occasional odd event but –and I do not want to sound intolerant- I have less than zero desire to engage in a game of batter up. I mean it’s not like my dreams have me pursuing conquests with dudes. They are always smoking hot chicks but once naked I laugh to discover that I have been duped and figure what the hell, no one’s around anyway so.... I usually wake up before anything gets out of hand, lean over the side of bed and throw up on the carpet, sorry Dash (ruff!).

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Michigan defense contractor has God in its sights

Associated Press

Look, I have never been religious per se. Unless I just plunked $100 down on “odd” at the Roulette table in the Casino Royale, I pretty much go about my day without thinking about God. The “miracles” of rainbows, true love, and cocaine aside, the only Intelligent Design I believe in pretty much happens at Steve Jobs‘ desk (maybe his bed, mine is not to question).

Okay I have kids and they are beautiful but that is science, specifically, my wife’s DNA. And full disclosure, it’s not that I’m an unbeliever, I just don’t believe religion (Noah lived to be 900 my ass). That being said, were I a defense contractor, I would probably not choose to put God in my sights. I realize that this is a play on words (okay after reading the story) but the article scared me even more. The contractor, Trijicon of Wixom, Michigan, manufacturers of assault rifle sights, actually stamped references to Bible verses on their products ie. "JN8:12," a reference to John 8:12: "Then spake Jesus again unto them, saying, 'I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life,'" according to the King James version of the Bible. AND: 2COR4:6, a reference to part of the second letter of Paul to the Corinthians: "For God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath shined in our hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ," the King James version reads. So if I am interpreting Trijicon’s intent correctly, on a vessel used to spread freedom among the haters, “the light of life that shines in our hearts and knowledge of God” just happens to be shared by killing any fucking dissenters. Now that is preaching to the unconverted! Good work Trijicon! You have taken sharing the word of God to new lows. Even worse, the US Government purchased $66 million of product before the discovery. I wish I had something funny to say.


Friday, January 15, 2010

My Late Night Take

Who is Jay Leno? His is not quirky, vulgar, snarky, eccentric, sarcastic, edgy, or even funny. You could make the argument that he used to be funny. But that was way before he had a regular gig on television. I understand late night show hosts strive for broad appeal in an attempt to gain ratings but Jay does it all wrong. He comes across as a hollow shell hoping that his wide smile will endear. I am a little bitter because the efforts of Conan, Kimmel and Letterman are obvious. They have worked hard to earn their place. Sometimes they are crude and offensive but they are also inventive and appreciative of guests and audiences (maybe not staff, but who gives a shit). Leno should get into one of his everyman late model cars that only he can afford and drive down sunset into the sunset and leave the entertaining to entertainers.

Monday, January 11, 2010

What Happens Really

I hope when I die there is an afterlife. I will be greeted by my own personal Jesus who will give me a guided tour of the new digs. We will pass down a long, well lit corridor lined with naked, vaginaless (I’m assuming it’s Hell) Zooey Deschanel clones and I’ll be led into my very own theater. Jesus will hand over a 32 gallon popcorn bucket and just as the lights go out and the movie starts, I’ll realize that fucker forgot the butter. It will take a few minutes to recognize my life’s highlight reel, in it I will get to bask in the reliving of peeing on the floor of my nursery school class because I was too shy to ask permission to use the washroom. Laugh all over again about the time I stabbed Gary with a 6” Schrade hunting knife as the last thing he saw before losing consciousness was me licking his blood from the dull blade. Then there was the time I was “caught” masturbating by our French house maid and she made me give her a glass bottom boat(at least I didn’t have to clean up). Then when the movie is over I’ll be placed in a cubicle next to John Banks (I'm pretty sure we died in a murder-suicide) where we’ll spend eternity reading mundane Facebook status updates and not have the ability to unfriend anyone.

Monday, January 4, 2010

Film Review, maybe an ongoing series, don’t know yet: AVATAR

January 4, probably already saw it but..

spoiler alerts aplenty, so don’t come abitchin’ to me later.

First of all, fricken Jason was late. I got to his house right on time and he was still getting dressed. What’s up with that shit? That dude has like 500 versions of the same shirt, how hard is it to make a decision plaid-boy? Plus I was really jonesing to get baked and I timed it to the minute and now I had to worry about accommodating his schedule. We finally get there and the next thing I know, he got the times mixed up and we were like 45 minutes early so we walked around the back of the Megaplex and bought some 99 cent Chinese food from some dude standing next to a dumpster that said they fucked up his order. The economy being what it is, I figured worst thing that could happen is I get the squirts and have to jet during the boring James-I-can’t-make-a-goddamn-flick-without-injecting-a-stupid-fucking-love-story-and-leave-well-enough-alone-Cameron moment. We split the egg-foo what the fuck kinda meat is this and met Vic at the fire exit to let us in (my pass must have been lost in the mail). Vic made us buy him popcorn and some jelly-bellies which was fine by me because he just saved my ass $12.50. I got back to my seat just in time and I tried to not talk and really pay attention since this was gonna be my first official review. Jason wet-farted and I swear to God it changed my sense of sight because every Avatar in Avatar was blue and I knew that there was no way in hell that was a thing. So what happens breaks down like this: wounded ex-marine twin brother of a dead scientist is recruited to replace him and be an AVATAR operator that infiltrates (for an evil human corporate machine) an indigenous people(Na’Vis)’s beautiful world full of wonder and danger only to fall for a sexy sassy smart Na’vi who happens to be the King’s offspring. Turns out he sides with the Na’vi and there will be blood (but no on-screen sex).

Final review: Smurferrific!

Saturday, January 2, 2010

In 1 Sentence

Okay so here’s the pitch: 2 confused but sexually charged dudes spend their days selling commodities (lumber/panel products) while dreaming of ways to manufacture something (anything) creative (i.e.; comic books, websites, TV pilots, film shorts, webisodes, podcasts but NOT blogs) that will justify their insecure, pitiful existence and thus render their nights less anxiety ridden, ya know the sleeplessness, lucid bed-wetting, night terrors, vomiting (voluntary and involuntary), sweating, pajama shitting (voluntary and involuntary), premature-masturbatory-ejaculation (yes, that IS a thing) fail in almost ever aspect with the simple exception of thinking that they are funny, but here’s the rub: they are ONLY funny to one another.

Studio Boss: RUN WITH IT!!