I was reading a story in the Oregonian about an 18 year old girl who was allegedly killed by her 37 year old boyfriend. The girl is named Emily Egan and the Man is Paul Frizzelle. It's kind of creepy, but I searched and found a MySpace page obscurely referenced in the article. The dead girl has left comments on his page and is the first friend on his "top eight." Her page is set to "private," so I've submitted a friend request. I'm assuming it won't be answered. Her mood is set in perpetuity to "tired." I'm a dick for even pointing that out.


Oregonian Story: Videographer is Arraigned in Teenager's Death

Local News Daily Story: Body found in Southwest apartment has been identified

MySpace Page for Pettygrove Productions

Emily Egan's Private MySpace Page

I'm tapping this. No, really... even I'm a step up from Chris Robinson. I don't know, maybe she has glaucoma. Fuck it. Did I mention that I'm tapping this? (Old picture, dated caption)

Hi, I'm Owen Wilson. I'm known as the "Butterscotch Stallion" because of my hair and complexion, plus I'm reputed in Hollywood as having a big dick. This public knowledge has enabled me to fuck the hell out of tons of movie stars (like Kate Hudson) and normal chicks alike; despite the fact that my nose looks like a kid's Play-Doh creation and I have a voice that melts concrete. Every movie I'm in is fucking funny and has made me a ton of money. Oh, yeah... I'm rich too.

So, I decided to try to end it this week. Cut my wrist, took some pills, called it good.

Fuck him. If Owen Wilson tries to kill himself, then I should find a way to go back in time and off myself right after high school. That was the time that my potential was greatest. At my funeral, people would comment that "he was taken from us so young... he could have been a doctor or a lawyer."

In reality and ironically, those are the two professions I've required most since I graduated high school.

Bite me, Owen Wilson. Sorry life was so fucking good for you. Try not to get a blow job in the recovery ward... wouldn't want you to slip deeper into depression.

Where's my xanax?

goochout.

I recently went through a period of time where I felt like I had experienced an epiphany in which I learned that maybe I am not always right and that I had a lot to learn when it comes to dealing with people (and not writing run-on sentences).

I've determined that I'm right more often than previously thought.

Check out Greg's new radio show on his blog.

Check out AtariAge.com

goochout.

What I did over the weekend:

Played a drinking game, drank hot sauce out of a bottle on a dare, sang "Don't You Want Me Baby" on karaoke... badly, played drums in a drum circle, sold bread, biscotti, and coffee at the Festa Italiana, accidentally threw my new Treo 700wx cell phone into a garbage can and poured water on top of it, emailed, Drank my weight in wine, vodka, and whiskey, wrote checks, ignored responsibilities, laundry, watched Entourage, blogged...