I'm sorry, but I keep hearing talk about how Anna Nicole and her son Daniel can "finally be together again in Heaven." I was literally five years old when my paternal Grandfather died and my Mom picked me up and set me on the workbench in the basement where I was playing to tell me what Heaven was that my Grandpa had gone there.

So how many pills do you have to pop and how promiscuous do you have to be before God revokes your Heaven priveledges? If Anna Nicole Smith gets a peaceful afterlife then what's keeping me from getting fucked up every goddammed night (as opposed to three times a week, I guess)? I can see her son Daniel getting there... God owes him that for placing him in the womb of ANS.

Anna Nicole Smith is not in the same Heaven as Grandpa. They might play against each other in a pickup game of softball, but not on the same team. Maybe she's in an annex or something.

What's the proper form? Do I pour some Vicodin on the curb for the fallen?

I love that they're speculating "natural causes" while the autopsy is currently underway. How does a 39-year-old die of natural causes? I guess 39 is 117 in whore years. She had a full life then, I guess. She died so that I may blog.

I've already blogged twice, returned some emails, rubbed one out, done an hour of cardio, half hour of lifting weights, tanned, eaten breakfast, and showered before 8am. I am the picture of self discipline and health.

Heh.

goochout

It stared back at me... the microwave pizza pulled from the microwave only seconds earlier. I could barely hold it in my hand and hadn't even bothered to sit down to have my hot, piping meal. I began to bite down on the pizza but realized that such an act would burn the living shit out of my mouth. I was hungry, but wasn't so hungry that I would sacrifice the well being of my hard palate. Or was I? I bit down on the pizza and, as expected, blistered the roof of my mouth right behind my front teeth. "Thuck," I exclaimed. I was trying to say "fuck." I walked around the kitchen and thought about what had just occured: That my fat-bastard instinct overrode my self-preservation instinct and like a stupid animal I burned myself trying to eat in an irrational manner.

I suck.

goochout.

Holy fucking shit!

Anna Nicole Smith dies in Florida hospital

I probably jerked off to her more than anyone else in the nineties. Maybe Elton John will release another version of Candle in the Wind. As I type this I'm pushing a popsicle stick down my throat trying to vomit the Trimspa I just swallowed.

I wanted only one thing when I got home today: Fire up the DVR and watch last night's To Catch a Predator. I plopped down on the couch and hit the power button on the remote.

Nothing.

After seven minutes on the couch with the remote, I finally got up and hit the power button on the digital cable receiver/DVR.

Nothing.

Goddammit. Not only am I unable to watch television but the taped TCAP is on a hard drive in the receiver. My only recourse (and the first fucking thing I'm doing in the morning) is to exchange the receiver for a new one. I'm contemplating asking the people at Comcast to let me swap the hard drives so that I can keep the fruit of my DVR loins.

I actually bid on this: Jerry Seinfeld Chewed Gum

Had a great weekend. I actually met my weight loss goal I'd set for Friday, so I indulged in the prime rib at Roadhouse. I hadn't gone back there since the gay guy incident (see last blog), but I couldn't let an event like that leave a bad taste in my mouth.


So I had a slow draining sink and on Sunday, while driving to a Super Bowl party, I turned my car around because I was paranoid that I'd left that sink running and that I'd come home to a flooding house. When I got back home, of course, there was no flooding. I went to the party without incident.

Yesterday (Monday) I brushed my teeth and hopped in the shower in my upstairs bathroom (as opposed to the downstairs bathroom, which doesn't exist - it's important to the story later). I turned off the shower and grabbed a towel to dry. Even though the shower was off, I heard running water. I opened the shower curtain to reveal my worst fucking fear: I'd left the sink on when I brushed my teeth and water was in fact cascading over the sink and onto the floor where an inch of water stood. I quickly said a bad word and grabbed a bunch of towels I've stolen from various Vegas and Reno hotels and threw them on the small pool that had formed (after, of course, turning the faucet off).

I'd soaked up the water from the bathroom floor. Instead of silence, however, I was met with - the sound of running water. It was coming from downstairs.

I said another bad word. I went down to the kitchen, which is right below the bathroom, and found water flowing through my flourescent light fixture and half into the sink and half onto the floor. I turned the light off, as nothing makes your balls shrink faster than a watching water flow through an electrified device connected to your place of residence. I put more towels (two from the Monte Carlo and one from the Bellagio, as I recall) down to soak up that water and a pot to catch the water still coming through the ceiling.

I'd simply kept forgetting to buy Drano or some similar product because I haven't used a list to go shopping since 2002 and the urgency for such an item was diminished by the idea that leaving a faucet running was a concept I'd left behind when I was three and flooded the family home (unfortunately a true story that my Dad readily mentions whenever money or emergency home repairs or large purchases of carpet comes into the conversation). Alas, I didn't have the Drano, didn't unclog the sink, and the events transpired.

So I went to the store yesterday after work and bought drano. I went home to what appeared to be a refugee camp for wet towels and poured the caustic solution into the offending drain. I opened the cabinet to put the bottle away for future use and couldn't believe what was facing me:

A nearly full bottle of Drano purchased six months ago when, as I recall, this happened before (without the flooding). I said a bad word.

I think it was "fuck."