Thank you for taking my money and arbitrarily giving it to dome dude down the street to spend on blow and Jager. I love Jager too, Nancy! It would be cool if you would “stimulate” your brain with a lesson in basic economics.

Political correctness is about denial, usually in the weasel circumlocutory jargon which distorts and evades and seldom stands up to honest analysis.
-GEORGE MACDONALD FRASER (RIP)

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TV used to be so much more fun.

My buddy, Matty, had his annual holiday party, dubbed “Red n’ Slutty.” The theme of the party is as the title implies. People come dressed in the color red. The cut of the clothes is then supposed to also be slutty. Lots of bustiers and bras and shit. This year I wanted to do something a little different so my buddy Iv and I decided we’d rather go to the “Read n’ Slutty” party. And so we did.

This picture makes me look fat. It’s just the picture right, I’m not that fat right? Am I fat?

I went to pee at the urinal at work the other day. I was all set to begin evacuating (that means I had my junk outside my pants and in the open air) when I noticed that there was a nasty looking pee left in there from the asshole who went before me and decided he didn’t need to flush. Normally, I would have seen an unflushed john and taken action way ahead of time. I guess I was just in hurry and not paying attention.

Rather than start over at step one, I tried the move I’ve seen countless old men pull throughout my life. The ol’ flush-n’-pee. I mean old guys, they’ll just take it out, start peein’, flush, and then lean forward in relaxation with both arms resting on top of the flushing mechanism. Ultimate urinal mastery.

What happens when I try this? Nothing less than a piss-laden urinal tsunami. I have never, in my life, seen a urinal flush that hard. You’d think I would be familiar with how my workplace urinal flushes. No. No. When I flush, I am long gone to the sink, washing my hands, by the time the flushing starts. I was sprayed everywhere with piss and water all over my bare penis and pants. It was like Katrina minus all the poor people. How can I not have AIDS after something like that?

John, once my AIDS sets in, we can start hanging out more and do AIDSy stuff together.

Check this out. This is one of the coolest reasons I’ve seen to use Gmail.

If you haven’t yet made the switch, I really think it’s worth it.

“High-Low” - A tactical team prank. My team is called Team FUCKFACE and consists of Teammate A and Teammate B (interchageable). Teammate A engages in a conversation with the Victim (V). Teammate B sneaks around behind V and crouches down on hands and knees just far enough away to not be noticed by V. Teammate A then pushes V, who falls backwards over Teammate B to the ground. Team FUCKFACE ROFL!!

High-Lowing is a great time and makes for good team-building. And yet, just this past weekend I discovered an even better way to High-Low people. When you do the High-Low, make sure the Victim is a GIRL.

Why is it more fun to High-Low girls? I’ll tell you why - because they think they are exempt. There is nothing better than the look of confusion, disbelief, and a little fear on a girl’s face as she falls down backwards into an uncertain future that is the essence of the High-Low.

I just bought a motorcycle. I am now the complete package. And when I say “package,” I’m referring to my means of locomotion, if you know what I mean. VAVOOM!!

Everyone knows I have a Honda Element which is pretty much the best car on the entire planet. Definitely better than a 3-series BMW which is made for striped shirt-wearing dicks who make just over $100,000/yr, and so they think they’re entitled, but can’t really afford, to drive a BMW. They also have major problems w/ premature ejaculation. Trust me, I know.

I, on the other hand, being the proud owner of an Element, can turn the seats of my car into little beds (configuration #64) and screw older women who “always wanted to know what the inside of one of these looked like!” for a good 0:04:32 (I timed that shit the other day).

My Element’s name is NightHawk.

Now I have the best motorcycle on the planet too. It’s a Kawasaki VULCAN. It’s a 4-speed cruiser with lots of torque. Fuckin’ tough! The only problem is I have been having trouble coming up with a name for my VULCAN. Everyone has been asking me what I’m going to name it but it just wasn’t coming to me. And that was the problem. You don’t find a Name. A Name finds you.

And find me it did. I was riding down Hwy. 1 to Half Moon Bay and had a vision. It was like god (Zeus) himself was whispering in my ear. He told me the name of my bike.

The Gentleman.

I’m writing a TV series pilot called NightHawk and The Gentleman. It’ll be the exploits of some awesome, handsome guy who has a car and a motrocycle, named NightHawk and The Gentleman, respectively, and goes around on different adventures, bangin’ random chicks (who are not necessarily hot, thus calling his cred as “the man” into question - can you say drama?!?), and killing people. I’m still working on the details with some heavy-hitters in H-wood, but that’s the basic premise.

Hard to argue with this.

I am going to start a company that bundles and ships what I like to call “The Power Package.”

Caffeinated donuts and legalized wicky sticks. By the truckload.

I’ll make my fortune and I’ll throw my Arena-Rock Kegger. I had my people (Steve) talk to the arena rock people (another Steve) and I now have .38 Special on retainer, ready to rock and roll, as they say, as soon as I make my $113M.