US Health and Human Services Bans Ephedra

20 minutes after Federal agents took his ephedrine tablets, Gooch entered into a deep slumber.

Click HERE for the story.

JUST WHAT THIS SITE NEEDS: ANOTHER PICTURE OF ME LOOKING OFF CAMERA WITH A STUPID, STUPID LOOK ON MY FACE.

The bigger the headache, the bigger the pillin' - Ice Cube

My briefcase, which looks remarkably like a laptop computer bag, was stolen out of my car Friday night. My window got replaced today. I did get the rare opportunity to watch a video replay of the event which revealed nothing except unidentifiable figures robbing me in time-lapsed photography. I'm gonna get a copy of the security video and put it up on Goochradio soon.

I shaved the goatee before the holiday festivities. People like it, girlfriend likes it, I feel somewhat naked without it. Goatees cover blemishes and double chins. They make you look older and more intimidating. GQ is now telling men to shave them off, but Jesus, look what it has to offer. I was clean shaven last around 25 pounds (heavier) ago. I looked like I was wearing a neck brace. Christmas is over. Why did Jesus have to be born so close between Thanksgiving and New Years'? I'm really partied and shopped out at this point. I'll bet you Jesus got a lot of those combination Christmas/Birthday gifts growing up. It's 3pm. Nap time.

GOOCH: Sedated

Top-shelf drinks at Holiday-work party: One drink ticket
Well drinks at Holiday-work party: Free
One of your friends passing out so that you can fuck with him at Holiday-work party... Priceless

I'm Back.

WELCOME HOME, INDEED.

Had a lot of fun in Miami. The pictures speak for themselves. I returned to Portland on Tuesday, finished off my temporary stint as a 40 hour/week employee for a large computer training firm, and Monday I'll return to normal independent contractor/sleeping in life. My scabs from my bicycle fall are peeling off. All of the pictures from the trip will be in a gallery as soon as Mike comes to Portland later this month.

As I write this I'm watching Goodfellas on... The Lifetime Channel? I guess it is a story about a men who ruin families and beat their wives.

Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. Burl Ives, 1964. What a fucked up story is that? Rudolph, a young reindeer who, once discovered is "differently abled" than the other reindeer (to use a PC term) is berated, excluded from activities, ultimately a victim of several hate crimes. Rudolph is only accepted by the rest of the group when he bails out entire toy distribution operation with the anomaly that drew so much hostility from his other brethren - his glowing red nose. "Then all the reindeer loved him..." So the lesson learned is that it's okay to fuck with people different than you until they manage to somehow redeem themselves for being different? Are "all of the other reindeer" off the hook for being such pricks in the first place? Did they learn their lesson, or are they gonna fuck with "Wilbur the One Legged Reindeer" or "Jefferson the Black Reindeer" with the same wanton disregard for feelings as they did Rudolph? What the fuck is going on at the North Pole? Get me the numbers for Gloria Allred, Jesse Jackson, and the NAACP.

Another thing: Santa and his sleigh were grounded for the first time in 1000 years due to fog and a glowing grape sized nose is all it took to navigate the fog? I've got high-intensity lamps on my truck and I cant see shit in the fog when I drive up the street. Every winter I need to find one of these red nosed reindeer out in the forest, poach and wound the fucker with some strategically placed shots with a .22 caliber pistol, strap it to the hood of my car and just keep it fed enough to keep that nose glowing. I'll be able to drive anywhere. Some people drive around with a wreath or a Santa's head on the hood or grille of their car to show holiday spirit. I'll strap a fucking living, breathing (barely) reindeer to my hood. I'll let small children pet it and feed it, then I'll feed the same reindeer to the same children after the first of the year.

Keiko is dead. They're trying to decide whether to bury or tow him out to sea. Lots of heartbreak here in Oregon... lots of questions. I've got one question: How many tuna cans of meat could Keiko fill? I mean, I'd pay $20 for a small can of Keiko... The REAL chicken of the sea. I'd serve him instead of caviar this holiday season. I'd make whale-fin soup out of his bent dorsal fin. Happy Holidays, kids!

Keiko: 1978-2003

Coming Home Tomorrow

Me and friend Bonnie at Big Pink, a restaurant in South Beach.

Gooch and Mike bike in Oleta River State Park.

I fell endo styled while mountain biking.

I went down a steep incline on my rented mountain bike and went over the handlebars, landing on my head and shoulder, rolling and sitting up in time for the mountain bike to land on my head, cracking the shell of my helmet. My arm is more comfortable at a 90 degree angle, thanks to my swollen elbow. I look like a drunken Napoleon. I'm in mellow mode for the rest of the trip, going souvenir shopping, hanging out in a cafe or so. I love Miami, but looking forward to getting home.

"If I was Jesus, this is what the Shroud of Turin would look like."

More Miami Photos

Gooch and Mike Smoke in the Florida Everglades.

Jose Rojo, the crazy mofo, Mike's sister Becky, and Gooch.

Gooch gets way too close to a gator.

Gooch and Mike at Jazzid, a Florida hot spot.

I'm going to put a photo gallery up when I get back from the trip. I should mention that Mike has taken almost all of the photos posted, as well as provided lodging and cigarettes. Having a great time, wish you were here. Not really, I mean I wish you could fully comprehend how good a time I'm having without being here with me. I mean, I could care less where you are or what you're doing, just know that whatever it is, I'm having a better time than you. I mean, Have fun at work, suckers I'm going to soak up some sun so you all will have a nice, tanned ass to kiss when I get home.

GOOCH: asshole.

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Went to some clubs last night. Swanky martini place called Wish and we went to Jazzid where DJ Kevin Yost was spinning some techno/beat and bass shit. We were all dancing while holding glowing ice cubes from the martinis at Wish earlier in the evening. Glowing ice cubes kick ass. I crashed at Mike's apartment by myself last night because Mike stayed at his girlfriend's house. I ate and I passed out. Slept awesome. Gooch doesn't get hung over, yo. Are you confused yet? I'm in Miami right now taking a vacation from my life, the biggest vacation ever. I'm NOT checking email this entire trip. I do have pictures from last night that I'll post soon. It's like 75 outside right now. I've got to get out of this apartment. Later...

GOOCH: out tha do' beeatch!

missyoumeg.

Me on the steps of the Versace Mansion, drinking a beer, where Gianni Versace was stabbed to death.

Gooch and Mike in Miami.

I posted those pictures last night. It's 10:50am, EDT, and I just woke up. Mike and I are watching Miami Vice and comtemplating hitting the Florida Keys. I'm drinking a bottle of S. Pellegrino. Went went to a few clubs last night. I got pretty loaded. Every guy around here looks like a goddamned body builder. I even saw a handicapped guy with bigger arms than me. Shit. I've got to get back into the gym. Crockett is comforting Tubbs over the death of someone and Tubbs is becoming a vigilante or something. I don't know... you can't just start watching an episode of Miami Vice halfway through; you'll get fucking lost quick. Where's my pants and my pomade... I've got to get the fuck off this computer. Gooch: well hung (over).

I noted my state last night as being "drunk." Truth is, I'd had two drinks but eleven hours of travel time and little sleep the night before rendered me effectively inebriated. I got some nine hours sleep last night and am much better now. Good enough that I'm able to type this on a Macintosh without getting confused (Macs are like Kryptonite to me).

This place (Miami) does look like Vice City from the Grand Theft Auto games. Lots of neon, scooters, prostitutes, and taxis.

I've got some ironing to do. I got my luggage last night and it must have stayed out in the rain for a while. Fucking baggage handlers. Don't get me started on the airlines (read columns in the 'columns' section for my thoughts on air travel).

Anyone with that server space for me? Lots of people emailing me with requests to see the Paris Hilton video, no one emailing me willing to help out. They all got their cups but they ain't chipped in" - Snoop Doggy Dogg

Gooch: In Miami.

I'm in Miami right now. Everyone here is drop dead gorgeous; even some of the girls. I just got done hanging at a bar with my friend Mike and his sister. It's bed time right now. No sleep last night, 11 hours travel time. It's awesome out here. I'll upload pictures when I can.

Miss you Meg.

GOOCH: drunk.

I finally dug up the Paris Hilton video from the bowels of KaZaa. KaZaa's been so fucked lately, that I've been having a hard time stealing music, much less getting the most important celebrity sex video of the year. What I can't understand is why the quality of the video is so bad. It looks like it was shot under infrared night vision lighting. It's not like she didn't know it was being filmed, so perhaps the lights could have been turned on? I mean, if you're a guy and Paris Hilton is going to let you videotape yourself having sex with her, wouldn't you want a finished product that doesn't look like a parking lot security tape?

A couple of notes about the video: Rick Solomon sounds creepy as hell as he directs Paris throughout the vid. Further proof that men shouldn't talk during sex, ever. Paris gets up at one point to answer her ringing cell phone, to which Solomon barks "fuck your cell phone." Girls have it so easy. If I even glance at my ringing cell phone during sex, I'll get an acrylic french-manicured fingernail in my eye.

This video is a 5mb file, if someone wants to give me some server space and a link, I'll upload the file so others can download it. Free Comcast server space would be good.

Things I'm Thankful For:

Girls who don't notice (or care about) the video camera loosely hidden in the corner of guys' bedrooms.

Yellow Swarm pills (fka: Yellow Jackets): the last venerable source of Ephedrine.

The two-for-$1.89 hot dogs at 7-11.

State unemployment checks that pay for the beer.

My server for staying online for the last 1.5 years.

Portland bands.

Girls who are heavy sleepers.

My tech support client base that pays the mortgage.

Megatouch video games in bars, and my girlfriend who plays them with me.

KaZaa and the free music (and porn) it provides me.

Silicon based lubricant.

My website and the people who visit it. All four or five of them.

Beer and the people who pour it for me.

The Skyland Pub for supplying me with employment, friends, and booze.

Pub 181, Roadhouse, and Pal Joey's (Gresham, Oregon bars) for doing the same minus employment.

Febreeze for getting the smoke smell out of my clothes without the hassle of Laundry.

Laura (aka: Miss White Trash) at Bella Tocca for cutting my hair.

Reddi Whip.

Alcohol, for giving me an excuse for every stupid thing I've done since January.

And I'll keep updating until you and I both get sick of it. Happy Thanksgiving... GOOCH!

As I grow older, wiser, and fucking older, I've started learning life lessons that I feel I can pass down to the younger readers of this site. Recent news articles and personal experience has dictated that it's really a good idea to:

Never allow yourself to be photograhed or filmed while naked or having sex.

It will always come back to haunt you.

Ask Paris Hilton and Jessica Lynch

Oh, Friday night my friends and I got a limo to celebrate my friend Ryan's birthday. Ryan is a bartender at Pallas Club in Portland.

In other news, this Paris Hilton sex movie scandal thing is intriguing the hell out of me. What do you want to bet that she was fucking Shannen Doherty's husband in a room at the Ramada? Four Seasons? Funny.

First off: I wouldn't bang either one of the Hilton sisters. If I wanted to, I'd just put a blonde wig on a twelve-year-old boy and, well. I can't get into the waif thing. Never could. The Hilton parents are mad that the video is being released and vow to "vigorously" prosecute the "criminal" responsible for the footage shot three years ago. I'm desperately trying to get a copy of this video off KaZaa, but KaZaa has sucked lately.

November 2003 marks year four of the existence of this website. From it's humble beginnings as a blog (before the term "blog" existed) on some free web space (the original URL was http://www.teleport.com/~gooch) to having it's own domain name: gooch-1.com, to it's current status as a 117MB website residing on the goochonline.net server at URL http://www.goochonline.com, it's been a journey that has spanned three residences, two girlfriends, graduation from college, a home purchase, a hiring and a layoff, the rise and fall of Jam Magazine, appearances on cable access, 9-11, internet dating... and this run-on sentence (in no particular order). I've almost killed the site more than once. I think that would be mistake. It's been an anchor, a focal point for me. I've always felt a low pressure necessity to keep it running if only to give myself a journal with which to look back and reflect. I've taken the time to write thoughtful columns and blogs, and sometimes I write something and don't even bother with the spell check. As far as commitments go, however, this is as good as it gets with me.

Every now and then I put up a link to some "blogs" from the genesis of this site - before I used the blogger service. HERE IT IS.

With my personal and professional lives seemingly in a continuous state of change, this site has been one of the few reliable constants.

BLOG UPDATE: Here's the picture I referred to in the November 7 blog:

I'd typed a fat blog recently and blogger crapped out and lost it. Bouts of genius should be harnessed and blogged, not wasted by a login glitch. I'm getting really frustrated with KaZaa in that 95% of my requested downloads result in a "more sources needed" error message. Meanwhile, people are uploading files from me and I'm seeing people requesting files that I didn't know I had. I've got a porn collection that would make Ron Jeremy blush and hard drive manufacturers feel more secure. Did anyone see the picture of Mike Tyson holding the "Free Kobe" signs at a Laker game? I'm sure Kobe's legal team was ecstatic about that image circulating the press. That's like Christian Longo cheering for Scott Peterson. Did Tyson think that (being a convicted rapist himself) he would have some power of swaying public opinion in Kobe Bryant's favor? It's the most disturbing picture I've seen this year (Tyson holding the 'Free Kobe' signs) and I can't find a copy of it on Google anywhere. God, I'd love to post that picture. Later, yo.

I just heard that my last post looks like a rip-off of a specific Seinfeld episode. It's not one that I've seen, but George tries to combine eating and sex at some point during the show. Normally, I'd delete the post, but it's an honest coincidence.

I love sex. I also love prime rib. In the same fashion that a chick has to smoke after sex, I truly enjoy post-sex prime rib. I guess it's not really post sex, rather it's post sex and post-chick leaving my house/me leaving her house. Either way, as soon as the obligatory hugs, kisses, good-byes, and/or payment is taken care of, I can't wait to get to the Skyland and order up some prime rib.

It's probably a fat-kid thing to say, but I'd venture that it's possible that sheer bliss could be felt by me if I could convince a girl to let me eat prime rib while I'm having sex with her. I can't imagine a relationship where you're so comfortable that you'd feel free to try to introduce red meat into the bedroom. You could ask, even if only to make any future requests seem normal by comparison.

Honey, would you mind if I set these prime rib pieces on your back and eat them while we make love?

Are you out of your fucking mind? Get the fuck away from me!

Okay, well then how about some anal?

Sure, whatever, just get that hot plate out of here.

I had sex this morning, then I had prime rib, now I want to have sex again. It's a vicious cycle. I'm going to have a heart attack by noon tomorrow.

Meg: click on the "Columns" section on the menu above for more suggested reading.

I wore a shirt, tie, backpack, and bicycle helmet as a costume last night [mormon].

Happy birthday John Barr.

Gooch: Out.

I was illin' in need of penicillin but now I'm chillin' like a villain with a bouncer gig as a fill in but last night I was drink spillin' today I'm sharp like a porcupine quill an' filled up on Hydroxycut so now I'm able and willin' did a lot of work so now I'm billin'...

Shake it like a Polaroid picture: I dig the new Outkast track "Hey Ya." The first time I heard it I knew it'd be some funky hit. I've had it on the mp3 player for a while now. Can't get sick of it.

Stop the planet... I want off: Macho Man Randy Savage, aging wrestler, has released a CD titled "Be a Man." OH YEAH, indeed. Machoman.com

Embrace the wife beater: I've gotten back into the T-shirt wearing world with a purchase of the wife-beater styled, or "Athletic cut" T-shirt. Combined with the bad-ass shirts on which I maxed out my Meier and Frank card and my gold chain, I look like a bloated Ricky Martin.

OUR FOUNDER, CIRCA 2003

I think the clock is slowwwwww.... After enough Jack Daniels to sedate, well, me, I sang Van Halen's "Hot for Teacher" at a Karaoke bar last night. The second I finished, you could hear crickets chirping following by some pity applause. Fuck all 'yall: I kicked ass. I know when I suck at karaoke and I can honestly say I knocked it out... made the song my own... oh fuck it.

Yo, I'm sick. If I haven't returned calls, it's because my throat hurts so, so fucking bad.

The Captain of the Staten Island ferry that crashed today tried to kill himself with razor blades and a BB gun? That totally reminds me of a friend of mine who tried to kill himself with fluoride pills.

True story, unfortunately. I still laugh at him for it, 15 years later.

I promised to give someone a computer and two nights before I was to deliver said computer, it crapped out. What the fuck? Now I'm scrambling through my computer graveyard for another Pentium II (Pentium IIIs are reserved only for those who have performed fellatio on me. You don't want to ask about the Pentium IVs) and what's cool (or sad, depending on your view of geeks with offices filled with computers) is I found one. Sweet!

I now have Five (5) neon signs up in the office. Now I'll feel more natural when I drink while I work. I'll put on my bouncer shirt and if a customer gives me shit, I'll throw him down the fucking stairs. Unless he or she is bigger than me, then I'll crawl under my work table and cry until they leave. Then I'll do the honorable thing and put a BB gun in my mouth. What happened to going down with the ship? Anyway, it's a strange world out there.

Feng Shui? Feng Shit.

I've recently gotten the urge to start making improvements on the condo. All the 70s era overhead lights have been replaced with brushed nickel fixtures. Holy shit, brushed nickel is sexy as fuck. I got a sweet deal on a hanging light fixture for over the kitchen table. It's in and it's on. I turned the wrong breaker off at one point and unwittingly jammed an all metal screwdriver into a wire-release in a light switch and CHRIST, that sucked. I think the thing about my house is that no matter what I do to it, it'll always look like I live there. Bottles of booze, tacky movie memorabilia, a television mounted on the wall of my bedroom, and neon beer signs in the office. The TV on the bedroom wall makes my bedroom look like some hospital room. Chicks LOVE to tell me that. One girl told me to get a Craftmatic adjustable bed to complete the hospital theme. They're so cute at seventeen.

Rush Limbaugh is addicted to pain-killers? How liberal of him. I've been living on a diet of Viagra, whisky, Diet Coke, and Xanax for eleven months. I'm not blaming anyone. Although, it's amazing how easy it is to get prescription pills over the internet. I've done it. A little disturbing. Heading for the coast tomorrow. Very excited. It's nice to go on a vacation, even though my life closely resembles most people's vacations. Gotta go; I've got to get up at 11am tomorrow.

It's 5:30am and I just woke up with an intense urge to play dodge-ball. God damn. Dodge-ball? As the fat kid in middle school, I hated that game. I knew I was going to be, like, THE FIRST FUCKING TARGET. I hated dodge-ball. Ten-seconds into the game I'd get hit and spend the next twenty-minutes watching my classmates have fun while I sat on the bleachers. Eating a candy bar. And now I want to play it? I should be like a dodge ball assassin. Fuck yeah. I should find all of the kids that used to throw the ball at me first during a game. They're grown up, many married with children. I wonder how they'd feel when they woke up and saw at the foot of their bed a silhouette of me holding a red, rubber dodge ball. WHAM! I'd hit them in the head with the 35 psi overinflated rubber ball. WHAM! I'd hit their spouse, too. Fuck 'em. Fomer class chums pushing a grocery cart through a Safeway and SMACK! I've struck again. Don't think you're safe in church either, you bitches. I'll smack the yamulka or the communion bread off your heads and right out of your mouths (respectively). Who's out now, motherfuckers? The game didn't end at the lunch bell. It's on, cocksuckers.

Dating tips for men from Gooch: Don't talk during sex. Nothing you will say will enhance the moment. I don't care what happens or what you hear in porn movies. Just shut the fuck up.

Own a piece of history: My previously owned cell phone. Fully accessorized and ready for action. Baby.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

I was a half-second away from becoming a part of this story. The men with the "mullet" haircuts skidded right in front of me while I was travelling on Burnside. I hit the brakes so hard that I almost spilled my white Russian. The assailants stared at me and I stared at them; they peeled off and away as the cops were on their tail. I drove around to see where the chase went off to and I saw the truck on its side - the result of a collision, as the Oregonian story explains. The following is an article that ran in the Oregonian. What's sad is that Glisan is in northeast Portland. It's painful to read for anyone that lives in Portland.

CLICK HERE FOR THE STORY

Whoa... so much going on with me yet I'm not compelled to share. I'll think of something funny soon. Bought a new cell phone. Sweet. I'll get myself into some bizarre situation soon and I'll share it with you when it happens.

I have nothing to say. I was just sick of seeing those two mugs below. Someone asked me recently as to how I got my face superimposed onto the pictures with the porn stars. She thought that I had used Photoshop or something to get my face onto those pictures. It really was me, baby. Click "PICS" above and select "porn star era..." to see what I'm talking about.

Joyce Dewitt and Michael Jackson: Separated at birth?

TV Commercial with me in it is available for stream on GoochRadio.com
[I'll write more about this later.]

Porcupines have their quills. Skunks have their musk. Humans? Human men have liquor dick. Liquor Dick: The body's natural defense against fucking ugly chicks.

I just had one person in a two hour time frame tell me via text message, instant message, and over the phone that I'm a loser that drinks too much. Like my self esteem needs to be taxed to that extreme. The fact that I'm hung over right now doesn't help either.

My commercial is out. I filmed a TV commercial in February and it has finally been released to the local market. It might be in Seattle and Michigan, too. I'll get a video capture and stream it as soon as I can.

Come and knock on our... whoa I don't feel so good.

Actor John Ritter: dead at 54.
Hollywood breathes a sigh of relief as the "8 Simple Rules" star rounds out the "death in threes" superstition. Others who fell within the last week or so are Charles Bronson and Johnny Cash.

Check out the last (tragic) blog. Whoa... typos and everything. That's just from three Jack Daniels and Diet Cokes in a one hour period. I guess all I had was a chef salad seven hours earlier, so it could be expected that I wasn't operating at full capacity. How could I type "absofuckinglutely" correctly, but "me" couldn't get out without the peripheral '3' getting hit? Anyway, I'm fucking bummed that Johnny Cash is gone. I'm sure the jukebox at the pub where I work will be playing "Ring of Fire" all night. Rest in peace, John R. Cash.

I'm absofuckinglutely shitfaced drunk. That will not ekeep me3 from bringing you the following news:

Johnny Cash dead at 71

Man ships himself in a crate via air cargo from New York to Dallas

Says: "It was actually more comfortable than flying United"
Click HERE for the comeplete MSNBC story.

I had a FAT fucking blog ready to post. It was all written, hand crafted, brewed, martinized, and sonuvabitch... Blogger ate it! On the plus side, Blogger did upgrade me to an ad free blog for free. Kudos and much thanks to Blogger.com.

I'm a big fan of classic gaming. I still have working Atari 2600s, Commodore 64s, Vic 20s, Pongs, and others housed in the crib. This story (which happened in 1999) caught my attention when it was featured on an MTV show:

PERFECT GAME IN PAC MAN

MAMEWORLD.NET: PAC MAN GUIDE

I seldom ever, ever talk about my real dating life (usually just bullshit about Ali Landry stalking me or some shit like that) but I actually took a girl out recently and upon returning to my house, I realized that I'd locked my house keys in the house. This resulted in me having to climb onto my patio and through my open window (this situation would not have boded well, should it have happened during the winter). A minor setback that could have been a lot worse. However, I thought I'd throw a little embarrassing tidbit about me out there because as the saying goes: Laugh and the world laughs at you.

I wasn't sure how the date went until she text messaged me after leaving, asking if I wanted to go out the next weekend. Text messaged me?

This is the first summer I've been single in six (6) years. I've never dated in the world of email, text messaging, websites, and other ecrap. I'm still trying to assimilate my love for technology with my apathy for dating. So far, my casual sex and porn have come from the same source: my bitchin' computer.

It's a strange world my friends. It's best when viewed through the eyes of a child. Maybe that's why I haven't dated anyone over 23 recently.

I gotta go... my future wife is being born right now.

Every time someone mentions coming over to the crib, it results in a three hour cleaning spree. That's where I'm at right now. While I clean, check this out:

NAPSTER BITS

Unless Jesus Christ himself is hired as a consultant, I'm not sure how Napster is going to resurrect themselves into prominence. Napster is owned by the Germans, who have historically pulled themselves out of bad public relations flaps. Regardless, Napster Bits has some good animation about the second coming of itself.

Charles Bronson: Dead at 81.

Chicago Sun-Times: Tough-guy actor Charles Bronson dies

Charles Bronson website

...blahblahblah...worked last night...blahblahblah...got drunk afterwards...blahblahblah...didn't get laid...blahblahblah...should've...blahblahblah...Chinese food at 4am...blahblahblah...woke up with heartburn...blahblahblah...woke up feeling okay...blahblahblah...watched Mystery Science Theater 3000...blahblahblah...going to do it all again tonight, yo...blahblahblah...It's 10:32...blahblahblah...time for a nap.

...blahblahblah...

CNN: Feds arrest teen in 'Blaster' Internet attack

REMEMBER, THE CAMERA ADDS 50 POUNDS.
GOOCHONLINE EXCLUSIVE (SORT OF)
CONTACT INFO:
Jeff Parson
603 8th Ave S.
Hopkins, Minnesota 55343 US

Actual quote from the CNN story linked at the top of this blog:

The site, which the FBI says used to list the code for at least one virus, appeared not to contain no content Friday.

A glimpse into my world (MSN).

Saw DFiVE9 tonight as it was YMiKE's last show. Good times. Drank a shitpot full of Coors Light, Jager, and one Red Bull and Vodka. Farewell, YMike. I won't view local music the same without you in it.

I'm drunk. Coors Lights were flowing tonight like the water they emulate.

20,000 hits. Yo.

I went right back into the gym after a week off due to illness. I was going to go light, but I said "fuck it, it's only been a week." I even did squats which resulted in a popping sound in my back that yielded some discomfort, but nothing to keep me from the rest of my workout.

This morning, I couldn't get out of bed - a situation compounded by the fact that I had to take a piss. I almost panicked... the only form of communication to the outside world was my laptop computer (my phones were all charging in their respective cradles away from my bedroom). I was going to blog a plea for help, or post the number of my friend with a key to my place. I finally fell out of bed and crawled to the bathroom. It was a portrait of courage as I pulled myself up by the counter.

Not only did I not win Oregon Lottery's Powerball last night, but not one single one of my numbers from all five of my picks came up last night. The odds of that happening are higher than winning, I think. It wasn't my lucky day. I feel like a Kennedy.

Shit... my back hurts. I'm going to have to start drinking EARLY tonight. Or today. Fuck it... I'll pour some Jack Daniels into my Cheerios.

There's a fine line between "good workout" and "holy fucking shit... call 911." I walk that line every day.

Current hit counter as I write this is . My own hits don't count. Whoever hits it, right-click on the counter, save the image, and email it to me. I had people do this when I hit 11111. I'm gonna pop Vicodin like they're Tic-Tacs today. I can't even concentrate.

Ahhh... The Dixie Chicks. I would bang the liberalism right out of them. I would pump them so
full of Republican hate juice that they'd... Oh, shit, is this thing on?

Bullshit or Not: I woke up last night at 8:26pm. That's 11 minutes later than I was supposed to start my shift last night. Fucking oops.

Met a chick last night that works for The Hemp & Cannibis Foundation (www.thc-foundation.org). I'd call her, but I rolled up her business card and smoked it early this morning. I didn't get high, but there was the possibility, I guess.

My cold is subsiding. I need to get back in the gym. Some fat guy that I was trying to throw out of the bar on Thursday called me fat. Obviously that cocksucker doesn't know that my problem is glandular. Fucking dick.

I was watching the E! True Hollywood Story this morning on "The Last Days of John F. Kennedy Jr." this morning. Luck of the Irish... my ass. If you wrote a sitcom about a rich family that always has bad shit happen to them, it would be deemed "unbelievable." Yet in real life the Kennedys routinely amaze us with their string of mishaps and misfortunes. Do you think that at this point, every remaining Kennedy is telecommuting from an isobaric chamber on a liquid diet inside of a missile proof bunker? Holy shit. I'd love to see a Kennedy family vacation in Vegas. "Wow... lost again... I guess luck isn't on my side this trip."

Ted Kennedy Forever!

Gooch... for a little while longer.

I'm amused by the Best Buy, Office Max, Car Toys, and Lowe's (and others) commercials where the "sales associate" is really, really, overfuckingly helpful. The TV salespeople all follow the customers around, willing to help and they know everything about every product. I have never seen a group more apathetic than the salespeople at the aforementioned stores. The term "can't give a shit" never rang more true then when I've dealt with the employees at those stores.

Thanks to Nicky J. and the KNRK Street Team for the schwag bestowed upon me last night during my shift at Skyland Pub. Nick even pretended to remember me from my appearance with Perfect in Plastic on Gustav and Daria's show November 15th of last year.

Update your virus definitions every day. These are bad, bad times for computer users. We should think of ourselves as VERY fortunate that these latest viruses haven't been more malicious to our computers themselves. The Melissa virus physically damaged computers. Read my column about that HERE.

Whoa... I'm about to make 20,000 hits on this site. This is a landmark in that I managed to get four people to hit the refresh button 5000 times each. Actually, the counter doesn't allow the same IP address to count more than once a day. Or something, I have no idea. Kudos to me, I guess. This site is coming up on four years of existence. Holy crap.

GOOCH: FAIR AND BALANCED

OK, Fox, maybe you should sue me.

What really sucks about this mass emailing worm, the Sobig.FU.whatever, is that my cell phone has an email address and is beeping every few seconds with a new message telling me to "see the attached document." What a nuisance. If you have a computer and value your data, I can only recommend that you visit the Symantec Antivirus Resource Center every day.

You've gotta be putting me on with this shit...

A SMALL SAMPLE OF THE VIRII FILLED EMAILS THAT HAVE FLOODED MY INBOX.
I ESTIMATE CLOSE TO 200 OF THESE HAVE COME INTO MY MAILBOX TODAY ALONE

See yesterday's log regarding the SoBig virus to download the fix from Symantec. I resume my bouncing responsibilities tomorrow night. I haven't had a drink since 2am Sunday morning (due to illness). I ordered a stein of Widmer Hefeweizen tonight with dinner and only finished half. I asked for a doggy bag but the fucking OLCC (Oregon Liquor Control Commission) has fucking rules against me leaving with fucking beer.

Whoa... it's almost 9pm. That's been my bedtime this week, with the help of NyQuil.

P.S.

If you are getting emails that say "see the attached file for details" DON'T FUCKING DOUBLE-CLICK THE ATTACHMENT. It's a new worm that won't be caught unless you have the latest Symantec Antivirus definitions dated 8/19/2003 Rev. 3. I thought it was an old virus and I (in an effort to see which virus it was and because I've been couped up in bed and because I'm really, really, really fucking bored) did double click the attachment (this is before Symantec put anything about it on their site) and found it odd that my webserver and workstation didn't detect a virus. I manually updated my virus definitions and once I had the latest that Symantec had to offer, My AV software started going nuts. If you think you're infected, like I was, click the following link from SARC and run this puppy.

http://securityresponse.symantec.com/avcenter/FixSbigF.exe

Gooch: Disinfected and out.

Imitation is the greatest form of plagiarism.

-gooch

I'm writing this blog from the pillowtop comfort of my bed as I've come down with some wicked flu action. I've been sick on and off for the last month as the battle between healthy eating and exercise vs. four day benders and working in a smoky bar raged on. Finally I'm crazy sick, emerging from bed only to do service calls on two houses and a business. Now I'm watching People's Court and I've found that generic NyQuil is a great substitute for the booze I usually pound on Tuesday nights (taco night at the Skyland Pub).

Is anyone else getting emails with "see the attached file for details" in every other message they receive?

I guess I'll watch sit-coms tonight.

Technical notes: The Goochonline.net server has a new router which should all but eliminate the outages that have occurred recently.

Anyone playing GTA: Vice City know what to do after you've acquired all of the properties? I'm stuck. Shoot me an email.

Gooch: out.

Today is my friend Lee's birthday. He's older than me but he's young at heart. Actually, his heart, liver, and lungs have probably aged quicker than his youthful appearance would make it seem. So, he's young at heart but only figuratively speaking. Tonight I will guzzle an Irish Car Bomb in his honor and I request that everyone reading this do the same. He's a good pool player, a better drinking buddy, and the best friend a guy could have.

In Meridian, Idaho, anyways.

Just fucking with you, Lee. Happy Birthday, bud.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BOBBY D. SIXTY YEARS TODAY.

FUCKED UP STORY OF THE WEEK RIGHT HERE.

I've been spending more time trying to hide this site than telling people about it. I get emails from people that I've just met (read: girls) asking if I'm "really that drunk and angry?" The answer: absofuckinglutely. Not really, though. I'm a fun loving guy. Not a lot of responsibilities and I party a bit too much. Don't forget... I lost my job and my girlfriend broke up with me within a short span of each other. I say that when life deals you a bad hand, make lemonade.

So I've made lemonade. Actually, lemon juice, and squeezed it into a pint or fifteen of Widmer Hefeweizen. I'll grow up (again) soon, but in the meantime I'm going to party like the rock star that you aren't.

YMIKE LEAVING THE GAME:Michael Yatabe of DFiVE9 fame has announced that he is leaving the music scene. Mike was the one who got me hooked up with Jam Magazine back when I graduated from college and he's still a good friend of mine today. Good luck to him in his future endeavors. His last show with DFiVE9 will be August 22nd at the Ash Street Saloon. Attendance is required, yo.

DFIVE9 IS... L TO R: YMIKE, WILL, NIC, KRUM.

Oh, yeah... back to me.

GOOCH WITH PARROT BAY GIRLS 8.14.03. HOLY CHRIST, THE DRINK IN MY HAND (A "PARROT BAY BREEZE") GAVE
ME THE WORST FUCKING HANGOVER. I SHOULD HAVE PUT THAT DRINK DOWN
AND HELD THE GIRLS. LIKE A STRAIGHT GUY WOULD.

I watched Unfaithful last night. I can't figure out which lesson I learned: To never bang a married chick or to never get married at all. Either way, I'm locking up my snow globes from now on.

I slipped a Xanax into my applesauce last night. I tricked myself into taking a pill. Next time I'm on a date that isn't going so well, I'm going to dump some Rohypnol into my own drink.

This msblast.exe worm/virus is a motherfucker. I've been putting out those flames lately. Make sure your virus software is up to date and if you don't have some sort of firewall, get one (Windows XP has one built in). You can hire me to fix the problem, if you get infected. I'm dirt cheap and seldom drink while working.

Blogger, who hosts these log pages, is having a planned server outage tonight. I had an unplanned server outage today. I regret any inconvenience.

What's really sad is that I don't remember writing that last blog at all. I know that in January I did some heavy drinking and every morning I'd visit this site to see if I'd written anything new. I think I've returned to that M.O. again. Jesus, what a whining bitch I've become. I can spell damned good, apparently, when I'm shit faced. I like the bumper sticker idea. I wonder if I produced that sticker if my drunk self would file a copyright infringement suit against my sober self?

Hmmm... Gooch: drunk: again. Hey, if anyone needs advice on how to run their lives, shoot me an email. My life is so fucked up that I'd cheerfully email you advice on how to run your life. Go ahead... ask me shit. I've just decided that dating could be worse than a full blown girlfriend. I'm not sure. At times of uncertainty, I sleep on the couch all day and watch whatever fucking marathon they throw at me (today was the Rocky movies on TNT). Because I get so lonely, I'll take any chance I can for social interaction, which usually involves drinking with friends until 3am, which is why I'm writing now. I still think I'll look back on these days in ten years and think that these are truly the best days of my life. I guess. I don't know. I'm drunk off Red Bull and vodka for Chrissakes. I feel like I'm not accomplishing anything with my life. This was cool for the first six months of unemployment, but now I'm starting to get bummed. If I could just find the cure for AIDS or cancer or some shit, I'd feel a lot better about my incessant drinking, partying, and jerking off. until then I'm a piss stain on the urinal of life.

The worst day single is better than the best day with a girlfriend. I'm going to make that into a bumper sticker.

Confidential from Gooch to John Gallucci: QUIT BEING A FUCKING PUSSY.

There. Now if I read my own site, I might get the message.

Had an angry, drunken night last night. Fortunately, I have a Windows 2000 workstation to put together. It's like therapy, perusing HCLs, migrating data, customizing shit. I woke up early... hungover/still drunk, and started in. I'm calming down now. Ready to rock.

QUALITY WORK PERFORMED BY SKILLED, CERTIFIED, HUNGOVER TECHNICIANS.

Correction: It has been brought to our attention that an error was made in the log dated August 6, 2003. "While drinking for twelve hours straight on Saturday" should actually read "While drinking for fourteen hours straight on Saturday." GoochOnline.com regrets the error.

Fo shizzo, my Nizzos.

"Cameron is genuinely paranoid and stressed out about this girl that's stalking him. As his friend, it's my job to exploit that." --My friend Lee, in Idaho.

While in Idaho visiting my friend Lee, I met Cameron with whom Lee hangs out. I also met Deb, Cameron's stalker. She follows him around, asks people about him, mails him letters, etc. Lee and I (while drinking for twelve hours straight on Saturday) wrote love letters, sent flowers, and made prank phone calls in an effort to torment the shit out of this guy. He was really freaking out, and that made us smile. We pranked this guy for twelve hours for no reason other than to see that "oh... fuck" look on his face. "How come the really hot chicks never stalk people?" Cameron asked while holding a rose we had a waitress deliver to him. Juvenile? Yes. Stupid? Probably. However, when you're drunk and in Idaho... it's the right thing to do.

On Monday I was doing cannonballs into a five-foot deep pool, slamming my ass into the bottom of the pool each time. I'm sore as hell. Maybe fat, drunk, and stupid is the way to go through life.

My barbecue skills are on point... I've mastered the hell out of my cheapo gas grill. I get up, grill, eat, sleep, play Grand Theft Auto: Vice City, and maybe slang some tech support here and there to pay for it all.

Got a nice email from a girl who liked the latest column (the one about breakups). Between that column and the pictorial of me snorting Jello shots, I've had more people contact me out of the blue. Only when I faked my death did more people contact me (actually my parents) to see if I was still alive.

New hat in the Merch section of the site. It's one of those retro-trucker hats that are so popular now. I couldn't stand them until I saw that all the cool people are wearing them, now I want to wear one.

Is Hunting for Bambi bullshit or not? Who fucking cares (if you don't know what I'm talking about, click HERE)? $6000 to shoot a stripper with a paint ball gun? Give me $1000 and I'll drive you to a strip club and you can shoot a stripper in the parking lot. I'll provide the paintball gun. This is Portland, baby. We have more strip clubs per capita than anyone else in the world. Shoot a paintball gun into a crowd in downtown Portland and you'll likely hit a stripper and save yourself $6000.

Going out of town this weekend and likely the next weekend as well. It's hard to go on vacation when your life is a vacation.

On paper I operate at an income deficit every month, yet I was approved for like a grand in credit at a retail store. I felt like I pulled a rabbit out of a hat.

I'm going back to bed.

THIS IS FUCKING FUNNY. I LOVE HOAXES:

HUNTING FOR BULLSHIT

Last week was a record breaking one with regard to the number of hits to the site. Here's some other personal web pages hosted on the goochonline.net server:

http://www.superkenn.com

http://www.tyfloyd.com

When I'm not snorting Jello shots up my nose, I work security at a bar. It's like John Wayne Gacy being hired to work at a day care center.

I've all but cut cardio from my sessions at the gym, opting to lift heavier. I've lost four pounds since I gave up the treadmill. Cardio sucks. I'm stronger now than I was in high school. That would mean something if I was, say, 29 years-old trying to make varsity.

Gooch: A legend in the Jello snorting community.

WORD!!!!

It's 2am and I'm pretty fucked up right now. That did NOT keep me from posting some pictures showing how I got this way. Click on the PICS link above and check out my Jello shot antics. Also some gratuitous cleavage shots because I'm a fucking pervert. Actually, my friend taking the pictures is. However, I'm pretty fuckin' sick, too. Check it out, yo. Click PICS above.

FAT, DRUNK, AND STUPID IS NO WAY TO GO THROUGH LIFE, SON.

Also... don't miss the new column if you haven't read it yet. Good times.

NEW COLUMN!

It had to happen sometime. Nearly five months after the last column. Hard to believe that I used to churn this shit out once a week for a college paper, eh. The new column: Good stuff but a lot of F-bombs, so keep it out of the reach of children. You can access the new column by clicking on the "Columns" button above, or by clicking HERE.

Quote of the week: Good Night Portland! - singer Jackson Browne during a show in Vancouver, Washington.

A possible ending to the Biography of John "Gooch" Gallucci: Click HERE

You wouldn't know it, but I have a lot of fans. Three of them and they're all cooling off my fat ass in the sauna that is the upstairs of my condo.

IRISH CAR BOMBS: The greatest drink ever invented; I'm going to start having them for breakfast. Fill half a pint glass with Guinness beer and fill a shot glass with half Irish cream and half Irish whiskey. Drop the shot glass into the Guinness and guzzle it all, making sure that the shot glass touches your nose. That's good drinking!

T-Shirt of the Week:

I swear I didn't know she was only three

From the blog of MSK, here's the best news item this month:

HUNTING FOR BAMBI

The website that you'll want to go to after checking out the above story is: http://www.hungtingforbambi.com

I want to make a new movie called "Video Pirates of the Carribean." My main character would just run around with a laptop yelling "KaZaaarghhh."

I'm also working on scripts for a series of porn movies I'd like to produce. Here's some of the working titles:

Black Cock Down.
Womb Raider.
Privates of the Carribean.

My ex girlfriend called me and told me that she just watched "How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days." She did it in about ten minutes.

I was dancing at an after hours club last night and I saw some guy steal some of my moves. It was as pathetic as watching someone steal blood out of an AIDS treatment facility. It's a bad idea. I can't dance.

Guys shouldn't dance. There's no way to look cool doing it. Sometimes you can't get out of it. The best thing to do is to go out on the dance floor, watch the moves that some other guy is doing (like the guy mentioned above), repeat observed move while adding some variation, and make your face look as though you've been drinking since 10am that morning. This way, when someone is watching you wondering if you're dancing or having a seizure, they'll just think you're plastered.

I hung out with some long distance runners this weekend. They talk about doing "quick 20-mile runs" with the same passivity as I talk about crawling out of bed in the morning. They say shit like "I woke up at 4am this morning, which almost didn't give me time to run 50 miles before work" or "I just had both of my legs amputated, so I was only able to do a 10-mile sprint."

I lost my check card again. Somehow I've managed to hemorrhage cash despite my lack of access to it. I haven't slept in four days. The party ends today, I'm going to bed early.

Open letter to porn movie script writers: I can't believe that, in this day and age, porn movies still attempt to maintain a plot line. Some even go so far as to throw in plot twists and character development.

Character development? If I don't need to know a girl in order to have sex with her, I sure as fuck don't need to know her to jerk off to her. I think the Fast-Forward Button manufacturing industry is throwing money at porn film makers to keep the weak plots and bad dialog from the cutting room floor. Christ... I was watching some smut last night and this couple was throwing out quotes from Confucious, Socrates, etc... just stop it. Don't insult my intelligence. Or my fast-forward button

I'm meeting some people for happy hour this afternoon. My entire life is one big happy hour. Happy hour is a phenomenon in existence as an excuse for the working person to drink before going home to the spouse and kids. I remember the good old days when a spouse and kids were reason enough to drink.

My Mom just had her gall bladder removed using a laprescopic procedure. This means that instead of a large incision and two days in the hospital, I'm going to be picking her up seven hours after her surgery.

I, on the other hand, had my appendix removed and instead of getting one of those progressive doctors I got the Black Hand of Death with his fucking scalpel likely sanitized over an open flame. I've got a scar on my gut that increases and decreases in its enormity as I gain and lose weight and I spent two nights in misery at the hospital.

Opinions are like people... they're all assholes.

- Michael P. Henry

Before there was GoochOnline, there was Gooch and Mike: The Column. Mike Henry is in town from Vice City and we're tearing up Portland the only way we know how: Losing at pool and picking up on the chicks that beat us at pool. It's the most fun I've had in a long time, dammit.

Next stop for me is Idaho where I'm going to continue to get my ass kicked at pool.

Get your "I [club] baby seals" sticker today! In the Merch section above

You... Dumb... Fuck...
Damon Stoudamire arrested for drug possession

...[Metal] Detector set off [by] Stoudamire [as he] was preparing to board a plane for New Orleans when he placed a plastic bag wrapped in aluminum foil and other personal belongings into a tray after they set off an airport metal detector.

Security officials summoned police, who asked Stoudamire what was in the aluminum foil. He responded: "You know what it is," the report states...

Yeah, they'd know what it is Damon because you've surpassed Isiah Rider as the KING OF ALL POT SMOKERS in Portland. Congratufuckinglations. You know what's dumber than taking illegal drugs wrapped in ALUMINUM FOIL through a metal detector? The Blazers are going to send Damon to rehab. The concept of going to rehab for marijuana "addiction" was a joke in the movie Friday but is real life in the Blazers organization. Maybe I should go to jerking-off rehab or Grand Theft Auto rehab? Is there a stupidity rehab? Damon graduated out of the same high school system that I did. I guess marijuana addiction is one of the unavoidable pitfalls of athletic success. I haven't even smoked marijuana since becoming unemployed because I DON'T WANT TO BE AN UNEMPLOYED GUY SMOKING POT. Now... last weekend was an absolute fucking alcohol bender. Morning, day, noon, night.... beer, beer, beer, Bacardi. And I loved every minute of it, baby.

Speaking of a healthy lifestyle... I've gotten a couple of sessions at Colin Hoobler Physical Training in northwest Portland. Good stuff, great trainers. Tell them that John Gallucci (that's me) sent you so I can get free sessions.

Gooch: back online.

I actually built a server to host my ever growing logs. However, I've given up on the godforsaken Unix emulator shell solution that the people at Blogger threw at me and have resorted to hosting this site on their server and not mine.

I've got to get the fuck out of this house and into the gym. I'll get into character and throw up a blog tonight. It'll be almost as funny as what I threw up this weekend.

Gooch.

test from blogger.com

Test

I'm back from Reno.

The Blogger service (through which this website's blogs are managed) was down for a while. Sorry for the lack of updates. First off: "Odin," the dog discussed in June 17th's blog, was found alive and is now happy to be home with his family. After eight days, his owners had all but given up when they got a call from someone who found him.

And now, Reno. I did go to Fantasy Girls (a strip club) in Reno. I even bought a couch dance which allowed me to spend two songs (and $40) in pre-ejaculatory bliss. My jeans will never look the same under a black light again. My wallet and balls both almost got emptied that night.

The next night, my friend Erik and I (this was our reunion tour; see The Reno Column for a summary of the last time he and I went to Reno in 1999) went drinking at Rumbullions at the Silver Legacy and the to the famous Shooters, as featured in Comedy Central's "Insomniac with Dave Attel." We closed down Shooters, ending what was later discovered to be a seven-hour bender of Jack Daniels and Cokes.

Now I'm home, where the only towels I can steal are my own.

GOOCH: THE RENO INDEX

Amount of money I won playing Blackjack:
$55

Commission a brothel pays a cabby for bringing in clients:
20%

Price of a hot dog and a pint of draft domestic beer at Cal Neva:
$1.50

Amount of time spent in sound check before the "pool party" at the Sands Regency:
5 hours

Percentage of speakers working during the pool party:
87.5

Number of push-ups I did during entire trip:
60

Number of peel & eat shrimp I ate at the Harrah's buffet
39

Number of emails in my inbox when I got home:
368

Number of non-spam messages:
14

I was informed today that my really good friends' dog has gone missing. It's hard to talk in past-tense about a dog that could be still alive, or about a dog that you really, really hope is still alive, so I'll stick with the present tense. Odin is a good dog. Odin wants attention, like all dogs, but when he's told "no" he (often) obeys. He's good with his "little sister," baby Kara-Lee. One of the coolest things I've seen a dog do (besides play poker in that painting) is when Odin carefully positions a rubber ball on the top step of the patio stairs, and races down the steps in time to catch the ball as it rolls off the side of the steps. Effectively, he was playing fetch by himself as I looked on while drinking a Bud Light (the drink of choice at his owners' house). Odin is a much cared for, much loved dog... truly a member of its family, and I hope he returns home safely.

"From Justin to Kelly," eh?

I guess it was pretty handy that the winner and runner-up of American Idol 1 were an attractive girl and an attractive (albeit a Sideshow Bob looking motherfucker) guy. The movie rollout was handy. So, what's coming up for the winners of American Idol 2?

Clay Aiken and Ruben Studdard from American Idol.

How about a remake of Tommy Boy? The song and performance of "Fat Guy in a Little Coat" could be a full on musical performance. If interracial relationships are still taboo in cinema and television, why not really break some barriers (so to speak) with "From Ruben to Clay." It's Ruben... It's Clay... it's gay!. I think that'd be super.

Fuck, I hate reality television. We used to watch TV to escape reality. Now it's reality variety shows? Do you think variety shows, a staple of the sixties and seventies, are really going to make a comeback? I've got five words for you: "The Brady Bunch Variety Hour."

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It's been 11 days since my last update.

"Gooch, where you been?"

I've been chillin' in the lab. Resting on the laurels of my sweet-ass bumper stickers (see the last blog). I've been putting together a marketing package for a networking company. I've been lifting weights and guzzling creatine. I've been bouncing at the Skyland Pub. Essentially, I've been hustling up cash any way I can. I'm going to keep doing that, too. At least until the strippaz learn how to tip themselves.

Below is a snapshop of the office (uncensored):

WORKING UNTIL THE WEE HOURS UNDER NEON LIGHT. IT'S LIKE BEING IN A BAR, BUT I WON'T GET CUT OFF UNTIL I RUN OUT OF BEER.

THE SERVER RACK. FUNCTIONAL CHAOS.

VIRUS REMOVAL IN PROGRESS.

Word. New bumper sticker in the MERCH section, yo:

Click HERE to buy several.

YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING WITH ME.

(Click HERE to see why I HATE the movie industry).The other news item I read today: Buffalo 66 director booed at Cannes for latest endeavor: Brown Bunny.

I used to get high on life, but my dealer got busted.

Fred Durst did it all for the nookie.
Han Solo did it all for the wookie.
Cookie Monster did it all for the cookie.
Garfield did it all for the Pookie.
Pete Rose did it all for the bookie.

I was going to take my Ford Escape SUV camping this weekend; Long story short: Dealer fucked up and now they have my Escape while they generously kicked in the ends for me to have a Ford Escort over the weekend. Ironically, I may take the opportunity of driving a car without vanity plates to cruise for an escort. Escort... escort... if the cops want to impound the car... fuck it. I sort of wanted to hear for the first time "No Gooch... I should be paying you" to be in the confines of my own car.

"Gooch," you ask, "what if she instead says 'say hello to my little friend?'"

You're so fucking funny, aren't you?

Be obscene, baby, and not heard.

Steve-O arrested on drug charges in Sweden (MSN Entertainment).

Did you know that The Matrix star Carrie Anne Moss starred in a TV show in 1993 called "Matrix"? Did you know that in 1993 I was using a dot-matrix printer? The show and my printer statement are unrelated to the movie.

Everyone jokes about how MacGyver was able to make a bomb out of a tampon and bubble gum (or some variation of ingredients), why not a joke about a pacifist female MacGyver who can make a tampon and bubble gum from a bomb? Hmmm...

Here's a glimpse into my crib, yo. As soon as the office is complete, I'm going to do a picture gallery. It'll be like MTV Cribs, but more on the ghetto-fabulous tip. Living room, TV view; the computer at the lower left portion of the picture is on a wireless network and pulls music from my workstation computer upstairs, and streams music into the stereo. They make audio components that do the same thing now, so I might save up and get the computer out of my living room. The Yoda cardboard cutout came from a good friend who worked at Hollywood Video. The lava lamp was what I used to look at while I listened to the radio and went to sleep. I've had that entertainment center longer than I've had most of my friends. It's more reliable, too. I couldn't get rid of it.The Star Wars poster at top center was given to me by an ex-girlfriend (not the last one, the one before). It's a reprint of a Ralph McQuarrie concept painting for Star Wars.

YODA: GOOD TASTE YOU HAVE NOT.

The movie Scarface uses the word "fuck" 206 times, a record in 1983. It has since been surpassed by Goodfellas (1990), which uses it 246 times, and Pulp Fiction (1994), which uses it 257 times. In the movie Casino (1995), the word "fuck" is said 362 times, 2.05 times per minute on average. - Compiled from the Internet Movie Database.

"We were impressed at how many times he was able to use the 'F' word in a conversation." -The parents of the bride from last weekend's wedding (where I stole a golf cart), commenting on my behavior during a post-reception party in a hotel room. Fortunately, someone pulled the bottle of Cristal out of my hand, otherwise I would have gotten offensive.

Went to a wedding at a golf resort last night. Got drunk. Stole a golf cart. Drove it to a bar. Almost crashed it. Drank more. Passed out. Woke up. Drove to 7-11. Drank Red Bull. Went home. Feeling okay now.

TYPO ALERT: (MSN)

SUGAR HILL WITH SPECIAL GUESTS: THE SUGAR RAY GANG?

Sugar Ray: Contemporary pop/rock act releasing a new album this month.
Sugar Hill Gang: Turn of the decade (70s to 80s) hiphop act responsible for the song "Rappers Delight" (the song the old lady sings in "The Wedding Singer").

I think MTV and VH1's appeal to viewers is that if you don't like the commercial that you're watching, you know a different one will show in another five minutes.

Open letter to Brandon the dog:

Hello, Brandon. You may remember me, I was the fat guy running on the Wood Village "exercise track" that you attacked. The name Brandon suggests that you're a male dog but trust me:

You're my bitch.

I knew there was trouble brewing when you and your owner walked past the "All dogs must be leashed" sign at the park and she unleashed you anyway. Born free you were. Running in the field, jumping through the grass. Was it my heavy breathing or the near explosion of my seldom-exercised heart that caused you to leave your serene environment and start barking at and chasing me? Did I look like that easy of a target?

You little fucker.

I watched Scarface three times last week, the Godfather over the weekend, and Casino last night. The next time I go running, I'm going to have an aluminum baseball bat in one hand, a chainsaw in the other, and a ball-peen hammer in my back pocket.

Say hello to my little friend, motherfucker.

I'm going to distract that fat bitch owner of yours with a cheesburger and lure you in with a steak. I'll tie you up and let my neighbor's gay dog sodomize you. I've even got a dog sized ball gag so it'll look like that scene in Pulp Fiction. Wanna go for a walk?

Condo Update:When I'm not ridding the world of its technical difficulties, I've been working on the condo. I'm running a cable from the office to the bedroom where I've installed a 20" DVD/VCR/TV combo. I hate attics, and I hate crawl spaces, so this cable running project should be fun.

I swear to God: Last night I had a dream that I was drinking a bunch of beer in my kitchen, went to bed, and woke up with a hangover. When I woke up for real, I was fine. I called my shrink to ask him what he thinks the dream might mean... if he could analyze it. He said: "Any dream involving a series of events that take place in one setting, such as your condo, suggests that you feel confined, or trapped in some way. It could also mean that your a fat fucking alcoholic that should look for a fucking job and quit calling me."

Gotta go, happy hour starts in a few hours.

I was working security at a bar tonight and we cut a guy off. He was the tall, quiet type. I'm guessing he plays Dungeons and Dragons on his weeknights. Anyway, he gets cut off and the first thing he does is go to another server and ask for a piece of paper. He then spends 20 minutes writing some drunken manifesto about how he shouldn't have been cut off and how other people should have been cut off first.

He wrote a letter. I watched him write it, edit it, proofread it. He just lingered at his table with a (complimentary) glass of water and wrote this thing out. As many times as I've been cut off and as much as I like to write, I've never pissed away bar time writing a sternly worded letter. I've simply driven to another bar. This guy made me think "this is what the Unabomber looks like at a bar."

Otherwise, an uneventful evening. I cracked open a Coors Light for an early morning snack, which I'm sipping right now. I'm thinking that I might watch some excerpts of Scarface as I drift off to sleep.

Happy Mother's Day.

I screwed up and landed a job interview for tomorrow.

From the movie Jackie Brown:
Ordell Robbie:[to Melanie, who's smoking pot] That shit'll rob you of your ambitions

Melanie: Not if your ambition is to get high and watch TV.

I've met a ton of chicks in Troutdale. Two of them, and they weighed about 1000 pounds each.

Can someone tell me what the fuck VH1 is doing playing the movie City Slickers? All of the niche stations such as MTV, VH1, TNN, TLC, etc., have all homogenized into what I like to call "A CESSPOOL OF SHITTY FUCKING PROGRAMMING." If I want to watch a movie, I'll watch a movie channel, If I want to watch videos, I'd like to watch MTV or VH1. However, cable television has degregated into an unwatchable potpourri of mediocrity.

That's why I'm so incredibly happy that my friend bought me a Malaysian import DVD of the movie Scarface. It arrived sealed in plastic, the sweat of the six-year-old Malaysian factory workers fresh on the cover. It's the best thing on my TV.

MUSIC FIRST? MY ASS.

GOOCH: Photo Flashback!

1995: THE BIRTH OF "BIG PERM." I GOT A PERM FOR MY BIRTHDAY ONE YEAR. IT WAS QUITE THE DEPARTURE FROM THE "NUMBER ONE CLIPPER ON THE SIDES AND BACK; LONG ENOUGH TO COMB OVER ON TOP" HAIRCUT THAT I HAD SINCE HIGH SCHOOL (THE CUT THAT I CURRENTLY SPORT). I DIDN'T GET LAID ONCE WITH THAT PERM. THAT'S ALL I REMEMBER ABOUT IT. IT WAS A $40 PROPHYLACTIC.

GOOCH: Flashback!

I got reviewed by Net Surfer Digest in December of 2000. Here's a reprint:

The Gooch
John "Gooch" Gallucci is a journalist/columnist. He uses his Web site as a forum for his daily rants and to archive almost all his published work. His discussion is lively, with some gossip and shameless slurring and the odd pitching of ideas such as his gay version of "Survivor" called "The Real Gay World". You can even hire him to get your band/event up and pumping. All things considered, the site is considerably more entertaining than you'd expect from someone who willingly uses the nickname "Gooch".

I BRING YOU CONTENT!

Okay, they're not the best pictures, but I happened to grab a disposable camera on my way to the Maxim/Bud Light party at the Crystal Ballroom last night and took some pictures. I didn't capture the magnitude of this kickass event, but I post them for your perusal. Click on PICS in the menu to access my scans.

HEY, LOOK: FIVE BIG BOOBS.

IF MONICA BELLUCCI AND I GOT MARRIED AND SHE HYPHENATED HER NAME,
SHE'D BE MONICA BELLUCCI-GALLUCCI.
SHE'D ALSO HAVE TO BE REALLY DRUNK.