Network diagnosis: bad network card. Jesus... my webpage loads slow. Need to remedy that. In other news... oh, fuck it.

Shit. My access to the internet was significantly crippled over the last few days. I finally said "fuck it" and grabbed every networking component I had lying around and replaced everything until it worked again. So... now you get a blog other than my self-congratulatory bouncing moment caught on tape.

Ashlee Simpson? I'd have thought nothing of it until she blamed the band, which makes her a total, graceless, no talent bitch. I actually dig the "Pieces of Me" song, secretly singing along with my windows rolled up as I drive down the street. Don't tell anyone... that's just between you and me. With all of the stories being generated by her publicity camp this late after the event, I'd have to assume that it's all bullshit. Ashlee: redeem yourself and pose for Playboy. It's the next logical career move. I've got one word for you: Tiffany. Give me a call, Ashlee. My number is in all 4318 fan letters I've sent you, including the ones where I enclosed a pair of my boxers.

Okay, Gooch, now you're just being a sick fuck.

Sweet.

gooch:OUT