Gooch-Pourri

Happy New Year.

Anyone interested in reading another blog on the "BSC Incident," as it is now remembered, can click HERE.





I'm acknowledging publicly on this website that I need to drop some pounds. The arctic blast didn't help, but I don't want another 'X' on my tags. This is bullshit. I keep thinking I'm a loser when, in fact, I'm constantly gaining.


Found this while googling something else: Oregon Woman Sets DUI Record... .72!


I received a request last night that I should post less pictures of my cat, and more of strippers. This request came from a girl. Apparently my life has become a little dull for some of you. I'll be sure to try to make shit happen.





I'm forgoing the gym this morning (yeah... great move) in an effort to get to a customer's office early this morning; as soon as they open. I'm trying to get my day done early today to that I can get my hair cut and then take a nap in my office. It's all I want for the day. Oh, and to make out with a random chick at midnight tonight. Not even because it's New Year's... I just like making out with random chicks. True story; look it up on Wikipedia.

My New Year's resolution? To live my life like it's a Girls Gone Wild commercial without all of the logos covering up the good stuff. My diet will be 40% protein, 25% carbs, 10% fats, and 35% alcohol. By the end of the year I want women to want me, men to want to be me, and of course, suckers to fear me. My life should be an early nineties 2 Live Crew video. I want to start one non-computer related business. Something with its own corporation, bank account, etc. I might even want a girlfriend. I've made it 10 months since I told someone that I loved them (and meant it). That's low priority stuff though. Oh... and I want to get the fuck out of East County. Yo.

goochout.

Lunch Time

I found this to be bad ass. It starts off with really shitty acting and a script that could have been punched up a little bit more. I haven't seen acting this bad since I heard the phrase "F*** me with that big d**k." You can imagine the scenario... it was almost convincing, except she was reading a People Magazine at the time.

Fortunately, the human setup quickly makes way for an awesome "Mac vs. PC" show. What... no CTRL-ALT-DEL or 'Sad Mac' jokes?

Who took the 'O' out of Country?

Picture this: Me in a home built stripper pole room lit only by black lights and a disco ball. I'm cowering in a corner, sitting on a pillow on the ground. A girl I used to date (non-stripper) is in a killer stripper outfit because, it's Christmas time and there's a brass pole in the vicinity. Another girl I used to date comes in the room and unleashes a misguided fury toward me, the other girl, and the homeowner (who later entered the room) so advanced in its venom that I was literally hiding behind my SOLO cup of Hefeweizen. She was eventually escorted out of the house

Here's a link to the non yelling "girl I used to date" blog on the situation. HERE

It was sort of pathetic, me sitting in the corner of a dark room, getting yelled at. It was an awful, awful moment. Lots of "fuck you." Lots of hurtful things said. It's an episode that I, on one hand, would like to forget. At the same time, I wish that the camcorder nearby was on because it would have been KICK ASS YOUTUBE FODDER! Anyone else with me? Holla!

Wow... it's a winter morning, but it's feeling a bit like a summer's eve.

After she left, I ended up on a couch, talking to my beer as though it was Jesus appearing in the form of foam in an attempt at cheap laughs from the remaining people at the party. The cup of beer and I had something in common: both of us ended up 'solo' that night.

I find myself without compassion on this one.

I hate it when people talk during a movie. It's the most annoying, arrogant, prick thing to do. Sometimes it makes me want to stand up, shoot the offender in front of his kid, then sit down and continue watching the movie.

Wait... someone just did that... on Christmas!

TMZ: Benjamin Button Rated 'R' for Violence.

CNN: Man Shoots Talker at Movie

I'll bet you the victim's kid cried really, really quietly.

Heh. I suck.

goochout.

R.I.P. Johnny Cakes

John Costelloe, the actor who played Jim "Johnny Cakes" Witowski on The Sopranos killed himself.

Sopranos "Johnny Cakes" Dead of Apparent Suicide (E Online)

Merry Christmas. Love Gooch.
2008

I woke up this morning with a splitting headache. I walked downstairs and found a stripper underneath my tree. Don't worry... she's dead. Fortunately the snow is really soft because I only have one of those little portable shovels. I don't know how she got there or how I got these scratch marks on my face and arms. Great, I wake up in the morning and instead of presents, I get a chore? Maybe instead of coal, Santa is putting dead strippers under trees? Oh... the wonders, mystery, and majesty of the Christmas Season!

P.S. Thanks to everyone who puts me in their bulk "Merry Christmas" texts. It makes me feel good that you clicked a check box next to my name and included me in the same text you sent 80 other people. Really heart felt. It's like spam from friends.

Oh, and how insecure are people in their lives that they send these self adoring and aggrandizing letters. You can tell people have been waiting all year for an excuse to write a letter to everyone telling the world how awesome their lives are. Do people know that they've become cliches? Are they comfortable with that knowledge?

"John... why are you late getting to my house for Christmas brunch?"

"Sorry, Mom, I got caught up writing dead stripper jokes."

goochout.

Open Letter to KPTV...

I sent this to KPTV, a local television station in Portland:

I think you'd better serve the public by referring them to tripcheck.com
(or other sites directly) rather than this obnoxiously ad-filled website. It
really seems the sole purpose of your newscasts is to promote this site. One
could make a drinking game of taking a shot whenever you plug your site or say
"first live local." It's a bit much, even for a local television newscast.

goochout.

When Sustainability Goes Wrong...

"It's tough going. I won't argue with you on that," he said. But here in Seattle, "we're sensitive about everything we do that impacts the environment."

Seattle roads are FUCKED apparently as they choose not to use salt, but rather they LET the ice form and then "sprinkle" gravel on the ice to give drivers traction.

Seattle Times: Seattle refuses to use salt; snow "packed" by design.

Gooch: A Party of One.

I've had a triple bloody mary, three beers, and the last beer is getting mighty fucking nervous at this point. For those who haven't kept up, I'm on day four of being cooped up in my house. The weather has been relentless in its snow dumping/car burying. I haven't shaved in days. I may just finish growing a beard. It's itchy though. It's like I've got a wool sweater pushed against my face. A sexy wool sweater.

No, seriously, it's hideous.

I've even lost the will to jerk off, which I didn't think would happen until seconds before my imminent death. This has not boded well for my mental health.

I played Grand Theft Auto IV tonight. I'm not a gamer, unfortunately. What you've got is a guy that merely steals cars and starts fights with random people. So, I'm pretty much playing a video game that illustrates a Russian version of me, when I'm drunk.

Which would be right the fuck now. I should carjack a car with chains. It's easy... I've carjacked 30-something cars on a video game tonight alone. I think I'm ready for the majors!

Why is the "Little House on the Prairie" theme song stuck in my head. I need an excorcism.

Or another drink.

Coming... Up!

Gooch...Out!

Every Gooch has its thorn.

I'm stuck at home again. I found out that my Amazon orders for the most part are not getting here by Christmas. I'm pissed.

A bright spot is that Marty was driving around last night and picked me up for a field trip of sorts. I got to go shopping and I bought some decent food. My kitchen is like Auschwitz for shrimp. Shrimp cocktail, shrimp omelettes, sauteed shrimp. So good. Shrimp is, after all, the black man's lobster.

I'm out of my mind.

I did start a new blog:

fuckgeeksquad.com

goochout.

No Gooch is an Island

I'm not saying that I've run out of ways to jerk off, but if someone is in the Wood Village area, could you help me get this belt from around my neck? My fingers keep slipping off of the zipper of the leather mask.

Thanks!

gooch

The Diabolical Gooch-Markie

I'm stir crazy. I've run out of fun shit to do. I've eaten everything in the house that's good and I've even started a new website. Click HERE to check it out.

I've been meticulously caretaking my music collection: deleting duplicates, correcting ID3 tag errors and typos. Quite frankly, one should not spend this much time in front of a computer. I'm getting a headache.

This isn't a winter wonderland. This is Apocalypse Now... on Ice!

I'm getting depressed. I need human contact.

Okay, maybe I just need a drink.

goochout.

The Goochman Cometh. Often Too Sooneth.

Ha! I decided that I'm still a virgin. I've just been masturbating with vaginas for the last 17 years. Hell, they're better than banana peels. Not always as good for conversation, though.



It's blustery out. I'm an island. I've used the lure of copious amounts of alcohol and, you know, gems of jokes like the last paragraph to get people over, but things like the possibility of property and/or physical damage are thwarting my efforts. Even the cat is paying me little attention. I have to walk in the snow to clean her litter box. The least she could do is walk around and do cute little cat things. Bat at a ball of yarn... rub her face against things... do SOMETHING besides eat, fill the litterbox, and sleep.



With slight variations due to species, I haven't done much else myself.



I found my only high school girlfriend on Facebook. It's strange, someone I dated is married with five kids and I'm sitting in a condo writing vagina jokes and trying to decide what cocktail I want to start my evening with. It's not even 6pm!



Ah, but I'm happy.



: )



goochout.

Christmas at the Condo

I forgot I took this picture. It's also the vantage point from where I've spent most of the last week. I have a tree up. It's fake, fyi.

Somebody asked me what I was up to. I'm making ice. I wait for the ice maker to drop ice, then I move each batch into the fridge.

Someone kill me.

Cocktails... coming... up.

Merry Christmas.

Lunch Time...

Let's unagi it out, bitch:

Jeremy Piven's doctor blames high mercury levels on twice a day sushi habit.

Apparently there's trace amounts of mercury in sushi. This is why pregnant women shouldn't eat it. This story only settled one thing for me. I'm on my way to eat sushi right after I publish this post.

Update: I just broke open a thermometer and found trace amounts of sushi in the mercury. True story.

Customer happiness: Job #1.

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

The weather outside is... ah... fuck it.

View from my home office window

Missy the Cat, sleeping.

I'm chilling at the crib. Nothing critically due at my office or the shop for whom I work. I'm looking at some pretty snow outside. Gonna do some chores, bookkeeping, nap.

goochout.

Separated at birth?

Jeffrey Dean Morgan (Top) and Javier Bardem (Bottom).

I'm camped out in an undisclosed location as I endure what the local news has entitled "Arctic Blast 2008." I'm watching network television shows that my friend has on DVR. Typical chick stuff: Grey's Anatomy (which I've never watched until now), Chuck (a computer tech who works with the Feds... seems like a too familiar storyline).

I've had a couple of bloody marys and a beer. Wait on it... wait on it... second beer opened. Did Katherine Hiegl get her teeth fixed? Nice.

I'm out.

I'm Gooch.

At the Goochonline Annex

View from my office window.

Down the hall from a tattoo parlor and across the street from a 7-11. It's my Batcave. It's my Fortress of Solitude. It's my Neverland Ranch. It's fucking freezing.

I don't know how radiators work. I think this building has the last working radiator system in the north west United States. I think it's working, it's less cold in here then in the hallway. I can only tell because my testicles reside in my chest in the hall and only in my gut in the office.

If you haven't been keeping up, Portland, Oregon has been swept up in a snow/ice storm. I didn't leave the condo yesterday. I had to leave this morning. An office for whom I work part time said to stay home, so I'm capitalizing on the free time by getting stuff done at my office. I have three machines here in different stages of completion - all of them are overdue.

My only source of entertainment while working in the office is my Sirius radio and the Howard Stern show. I bought some ramen noodle bowls from the 7-11 and used the hot water from my water cooler to prepare it. This is as far into "roughing it" as I care to endure. I'm not a good campter. I have two computers catering to my every whim and I feel like I'm one of the pioneers. I'm truly a pussy. I did find a full bottle of DayQuil, which I've used to maintain a sorta legal buzz during my work here. I pretty much have mouthwash and DayQuil stashed throughout the city. Gregster can attest to my DayQuil stash, as I have a bottle stashed within 10 feet of his desk.

And God bless it: My 4x4 Ford Escape is not into starting smoothly in the cold. It does start and once its warmed up it runs fine. It has nearly 160,000 miles. I bought it with 26,000 miles. Keep in mind that 160,000 miles on an American vehicle is like 800,000 miles on a Japanese car. You just don't see it. Especially on a Ford.

You'll notice that I completed another Podcast. If you've listened to the Audioblogs that I've posted on this site, the Podcast would seem redundant. I have a couple of ideas for a full on podcast that's scripted and, well, funny. I'll have to do that on my next snow day. I need to break out my phone and interview some more strippers. That was good podcasting.

Back to the progress bars.

Goochout.

Bababooey.

gooch: the podcast #7

Holed up in his condo due to a snow storm, Gooch kicks out a digest of phoned-in audio blogs.

Feels like? Feels like my balls are sitting in my chest.

What's funny is that last night I went shopping in an attempt to "prepare" for being shut in. Of course, I only needed to get some frozen dinners, meat for the George Foreman grill, cat food, and beer. I already have enough alcohol to stave off the DTs. You'd think I was Will Smith's character in "I Am Legend." I should get a little treadmill for the cat.

goochout

Dial 'M' for Moblog. Or Meh.

Another brain purge while on the way to breakfast this morning. It's typical stand-up fodder, really. Not sure what brought it on. I explain in the post that shit pops in my head and won't go away until I, you know publish it. Enjoy:

Eenie Meenie Miney... whatever.

From a girl's blog:

"my attempts at dating non-rednecks haven't gone that well. One seemed to be slightly manic-depressive and the other was a worthless alcoholic that couldn't handle responsibility."

I'm one of the people she's writing about... but which one?

gooch:out

Word to the wise. And to your mother.

Have I mentioned that the one thing I hate most about being a computer tech (aside from pursuing past due accounts and having to perpetually be a fucking nerd) is telling people that their pictures, documents, anything precious, is GONE due to a hard drive failure. People need to realize that hard drives are like goldfish and Kennedies: They die.

Please remember to put anything important to you on two separate types of media, whether it be a hard drive and a thumb drive, hard drive and a burned CD/DVD... always pretend as if your hard drive is going to die that evening.

I have to tell someone that their stuff is lost today and I dread the conversation. I wish I could be like a doctor on TV: Put my hand on someone's shoulder, look them in the eye, and tell them "I'm sorry, I did all I could." Then walk away.

But no... it'll be somehow my fault. I may take some shit; and I'm really not in a shit taking mood. I'm still high as a goddamned kite from an energy drink I did this morning. I think it's like cocaine but without the bad conversation at 4am. I'm just amped. I should jog home.

"Gooch" you ask: "Because you're so amped up?"

No, because I'm fat. It was a non-sequitur. Keep up.

I gotta go. Peace, fuckers.

goochout.

Lunch Time

Asteroids record still unbeaten

My favorite part of the story:

Bill Carlton, of Oregon, attempted to beat the record in 2004, but he failed miserably when the arcade cabinet malfunctioned after 27 hours of solid gameplay. His score reached over 15 million points.

I love classic arcade games and their history. Found this interesting. Can you imagine playing a game for 81 hours straight? I mean, without the aid of cocaine? I'm just saying...

My friend Shane sent this Craigslist posting for a personal assistant job. Good stuff:

http://portland.craigslist.org/mlt/ofc/947116345.html

I'm a Party of One.

Jenna Von Oy from "Blossom." I'm pretty sure I'd give Six my three.

I drank a little too much wine last night during my own Monday night movie, um, night last, geez, night.

I watched "Saving Sarah Marshall" last night, at the recommendation of a friend. Good flick. When I wasn't thinking about who I wanted to just absolutely plow into (Kristen Bell or Mila Kunis) I thought about the situation of the protagonist, a guy whose girlfriend just broke up with him. I've been in the situation a few times. I think it, despite the tears, may be the most liberating experience one can experience. If you get dumped, you can do whatever you want. You can drink too much, get into a bar fight, fuck random sluts, and maybe wrap your rental car around a telephone. Why?

"Oh, he's going through a tough time right now."

Ha. That's bullshit. Sure, the overwhelming feeling of rejection and sorrow may cause you to want to wash down your Jack Daniels with a shot of .38. However, you can embrace the situation by using it as a free pass at life. If only for a short while.

Okay, Kristen, now it's your turn to hold the camcorder. Mila! Get off of the trapeze. Now be honest, does this diaper make me look fat?

As my wine-buzz settled in, I thought about something I did last week when I was sober. I immediately thought to myself "Oh, my God... I can't believe I did that." My drunk side is appalled with the shit my sober side is doing. On the other hand, Sober Gooch is pleased with how Drunk Gooch has handled himself lately.

The economy and my brain are completely fucked up at this point. It ain't my job to fuck you on your birthday. Think about that.

What ever happened to my podcast?

Message on my phone alarm: 6:00am: Work out you fat fuck

Guess that's my cue. Goochout.

Xanadon't

If it was possible, I would wake up every morning to Olivia Newton-John and Electric Light Orchestra's collaborative "Xanadu." It's the theme song to the 1980 movie of the same name. OL-J's perfect pop delivery accompanied by ELO's harmonics and synthesized musical accompaniment causes me to transcend the worries of the day. Is it the perfect pop song? No. It's up there, though.

I successfully duplicated my music drive last night. It took six hours and I immediately transported the original drive to a safe place. Perhaps it's on a plane to Switzerland. Perhaps the drive is being transported via armored truck to my Compound outside of Ontario, OR. Maybe it's encased in a concrete time capsule to show people in the future what our music was like, and how truly easy it was to pirate a shit ton full of music in a short period of time.

Maybe it's in the little safe that Cheryl bought me six years ago.

I'll never tell.

Gooch:Out

Case of the Mondays

Woke up late this morning. I couldn't understand why, then I remembered the vodka, sake, and Advil PM from the night before. This would also explain my missing pants and why dollar bills were stuffed in my G-string.

I work part time for a computer shop owned by a Muslim. Some of the employees are also Muslim. This is a good thing until a communal lunch, like pizza, occurs. Options are limited as the Muslims don't dig on swine. Pepperoni, ham, and sausage are out.

Barbecue pizza, is in however. It's also really good. I'm getting my grub on.

I have a bunch of accounting work to do tonight. You think this is creative? You should see my Quickbooks file. A masterpiece of fiction. In some entries, science fiction.

Shalom.

goochout.

December: 31 excuses for a party.

I went to a Christmas party last night. The good news is that I was able to wear the same slacks and jacket I wore to the same company's party two years ago. The bad news is that the slacks weren't that comfortable. As in, snug.

I'm working in a dental office right now. I'm doing what I do best, watching task bars move slowly from left to right. The office manager is sitting next to me, on YouTube. She reads this site and was disappointed to find that I hadn't updated in 48 hours.

So, you know, I'm updating. I haven't collected my thoughts of the weekend to produce a decent post. A lot happened the last 72 hours. I busted some balls, I had my balls busted. I learned a little and loved a lot. Okay, I liked a lot.

Back to the task bars. They're green with a gray background. Pretty.

goochout

Canned Juice, anyone? - HA!

OJ, the guy from the Isotoner ads, got sentenced to between nine and 33 years today in Las Vegas. I sat in my car, listening to the sentencing today and remembered 13 years ago doing the same thing for his criminal verdict. I was sitting in my 1978 Ford F-100 on a residential street near Portland State. Some people are destined for jail. OJ's acquittal in the nineties was merely a "snooze button" for his incarceration.

Las Vegas Review Journal story

Lunch Time

From TMZ:

Hockey Fun Fact: You can punch the hell out of an opposing player on the ice, but when you refer to his girlfriend as your "sloppy seconds" -- that's where the NHL draws the line.

The NHL suspended hockey's most hated player, Sean Avery, for talking trash to the new player dating his ex girlfriend Elisha Cuthbert.

Here's the deal -- Cuthbert's new boyfriend, Dion Phaneuf, plays for the Calgary Flames -- and during a practice session in Calgary today, Avery got the media's attention and said the following:

"I just want to comment on how it's become like a common thing in the NHL for guys to fall in love with my sloppy seconds. I don't know what that's about. Enjoy the game tonight."

Avery is out pending a hearing with NHL Commissioner Gary Bettman.

Here it is. I haven't actually heard the audio (long story), but is there anything worse way to fuck with another guy? It almost makes me not want to fuck Elisha Cuthbert:

Almost.

Almost, as in I would tap that under even the most extreme no-tap situations. None of which I can think of at this moment.

Still, "Sloppy Seconds" is a low blow phrase and should only used sparingly. For example, in front of the media in a hockey team's locker room.

Ridin' Dirty

Ride along with me as I drive to work this morning. Discussed: Fake cell phone anntenas and real GPS systems:



goochout

Ear Candy...

My Cousin turned me on to this YouTube post. It's David Lee Roth's isolated vocal track for "Running With the Devil." Check it out:

I want to do a reverse-karaoke where I play my Casio SK-1 keyboard and have DLR sing over my awesome instrumental.

This reminded me of something I heard on Howard Stern a while back. It's Linda McCartney's isolated voice while singing in a 1990 concert. This, my friends, is funny:

Thanks to Micah for the post idea.

I'm out.

I'm... Gooch

Leave? But I'm not Drunk Yet...

Drinking at home... then going out... not the way to go.

Woke up this morning and watched Sopranos. I'm pretty sure that Sopranos is the North Pole to my moral compass. I got out of bed, collected my thoughts, shopped at Wal-Mart, looked at the CD section, picked out some CDs, left them there, went home, and downloaded them from a torrent site, and am listening to them now. My awesome music collection is growing:

From the "News of the Fucked Up" department:

Murder Victim's Son, 11, Denied Death Benefits

An employee of the Dollar Tree was killed while on the job. The insurance carrier refuses to pay death benefits because it was a "hate crime" and not, say, a robbery. [thanks, k.g.]

I'm still intrigued about the Wal-Mart employee who was trampled to death. People, in an effort to get a good deal on a DVD player or some shit, killed a guy who stood between them and a $41.00 George Foreman grill. I would have put a bunch of treadmills at the door so when the crowd came through, they would all unwittingly be running in place. "It's taking forever to get to the tacky housewares shit section" they would yell. I am a clever motherfucker.

Also in the stampede, a pregnant woman was trampled causing a miscarriage. There was also a shooting at a Toys R Us. Check it out.

Killed in the name of low prices. Damn.

I just steal music.

Moral Relativism: 1
RIAA: 0
gooch:out

Fuck it.

Meh.

Unfortunately, there's a gauntlet of bars between anywhere I'm at, and my house. So I stopped in to a couple. Let's go down my to-do list:

Eat too much: check
Drink too much: check
Send angry drunken texts to an ex girlfriend: check
Wake up with hangover and nausea: check
Apology phone calls: check

It's all pretty standard. Really.

Mad props to Q-Ball for sending me home before I got too wasted.

goochout




I have to get out of Troutucky. I've had enough of it. It's a cess pool. It's a tourist town with no tourist attractions. It's just a bunch of bars and people that work in bars. The people that don't work in the bars spend 8 hours a day at a bar and brag about the fact that they know the owner/bartender/cocktail waitress/bus boy and that the bar is, in a sense, "theirs." Fucking douchey. Sorry I don't want to sit in a bar for a full work shift's worth of time listening to someone brag about how much they spend on alcohol. I don't trust anyone with whom I speak. I have never known a place where so many people have fucked over so many other people. Just know that if you live in Troutdale and you're talking to me that I will believe that half of what you say is bullshit and the other half is a douchestravaganza. Oh, and that it's very likely that I hate you.

Happy Thanksgiving.

HOW... are you doing?

Thanksgiving: It's the one day of the year that I can completely gorge myself with food. Correction: it's the one day of the year that I can completely gorge myself with food while not feeling guilty about it.

But I will anyways. Because I'm Catholic. And fat.

Nonetheless, the true meaning of the day is not lost on me. Sure it's the day that families come together just long enough to remind us why we were happy to move out on our own. Sure it's the day that drinking champagne at noon is not okay, but almost a requirement for sanity. Sure it's the day that everyone with a cell phone has broadcast a "Happy Thanksgiving" message in some form or another to everyone in their address book (I'm up to 13 received texts as I write this).

But it's also important to remember your American history. Remember that Christopher Columbus and the Pilgrims came to this country in 1492, trying to get the Indians to sign their part of the Declaration of Independence and to put their initials near each one of the amendments (they had to push hard due to the primitive carbon copy paper used back then).

Unexpectedly, the Indians didn't sign or initial anything and instead replied with the battle cry of "Umgawa" and attacked the peaceful Pilgrims as they were still holding the paperwork, plates of turkey and assorted appetizers/dessert spreads. The Pilgrims scrambled to their Mayflower ship and grabbed their buckled hats and guns that looked like horns. The Indians, meanwhile, ran back to their village of tents, known by the Indian term Casino, and grabbed their bows, arrows, illicit drugs, and fire-water (freshly brewed by Chief Beatshiswife). Thus, the battle for freedom between the Pilgrims, led by Columbus, and the Indians, led by a genetic predisposition for alcoholism, began.

This great battle, fought on what we now know as the First Thanksgiving, lasted only a couple of hours. Of course you know, that Team Pilgrims (as they called themselves at the time) emerged the victors. At battle's end, the Pigrims and Columbus feasted on turkey, potatoes, pasta, stuffing, and gnocchi. Some surviving Indians approached the feast and asked if there were any seats available for them. A pilgrim looked up from his plate, paused, and asked:

"Do you have a reservation?"

The Indians and the Pilgrims all laughed and laughed and then the frame froze and the end credits started rolling up the screen.

******

I like a happy ending. Speaking of which, I got a massage yesterday. No happy ending, but I think I fell in love. I always fall in love, though, when a woman sees me half naked and doesn't immediately vomit. I also got a hair cut yesterday. Shit, I'm starting to look human again.

******

I watched "No Country for Old Men" on Blu-Ray this week and realized that the film is, more or less, Terminator meets True Romance. The parallels are uncanny. I love all three movies, by the way. Blu-Ray, also btw, is awesome.

******

Alright, off to my pre-dinner nap.

Happy Thanksgiving.

gooch:out

Tales from the Help Desk...

LiLo Lesbo. Nice.

"What's your password?" I asked, as I needed to log into a customer's QuickBooks file and she was off to a meeting.

"Um, well, it's sort of embarrassing" she stuttered. I assured her that I'd heard plenty of bad passwords during the course of my career. It was true, and it's usually women with the offending p-dubs: "mensuck," "fuckmen," and "hatemyjob" have been a few that I can recall.

She divulged her password to me: "cock."

"cock?" I asked, more so to clarify if there were any capitalizations, numbers, or other variations of, um, "cock."

"Nope, that's it." She explained, as though she felt she had to, that "Cocke" was her last name growing up and that she always hated it. During the Womens' Movement, she announced (jokingly) at a family dinner that she wanted to change her name to "Cunte."

"That didn't go over well at all," she recalled.

Later in life, she changed her name to her Mother's Father's name.

With all of the explanation she had given, I was sort of stuck on the fact that her name used to be "Cocke" and yet she's a lesbian. A real-life-honest flannel-wearing honest to goodness lesbian. Can you imagine having the last name of something you hate? That'd be like my last name somehow being "Sobriety," "Exercise," or "Nutrition."

******

Big day for me today. First haircut in a while, first massage in a while, and soccer tonight. I vegged out last night. Despite my declaration that I only drink wine at home by myself, I fired up the Margarita factory in my cocina and watched the second half of "No Country for Old Men" while simultaneously playing one-way-fetch with my cat and a miniature tennis ball.

Woke up refreshed this morning. Off to work. Looking forward to the weekend and getting my bird-on.

goochout

Good Mninrog Enoyreve!

If it's on a Post-It, then it must be true.

I spent my blogging time commenting on Gregster's (Greg Moore) blog that I ran out of time doing my own posting. So, I figured I'd just post what transpired on the blogosphere this morning.

From Greg's post this morning:

Why am I still up? Oh, right - Cool Runnings is on TBS. I love that movie. Makes me cry every time they walk across the finish line, carrying their sled. John Candy being dead makes me sad, too.

Looking for some kleenex...

Gregsta Mon'

My comment regarding his post:

John Candy is dead, but he lives in all of us. He is alive when we watch too much hockey, drink too much booze, eat too much, and bang too many hookers.
Wait, the last one was Chris Farley.

The point is, John Candy's last name did him in. If you're named after something bad for you, you're already in trouble. This is why John Lee Hooker had sex with so many prostitutes*, Johnny Cash and Eddie Money had decent incomes, and Billy Prime Rib died of a heart attack at age 17.

And don't get me started on Lou Gehrig.

And don't get me started on Bill Gates who has an amazing home security
system, but his OS "Windows" (as in 'open') doesn't.

Don't be sad about John Candy. Grab a steak and an eight-ball** (wait, that was Belushi) and live the way you were meant to.

In your case... Mo(o)re.

*Completely made up

**An 1/8th ounce of cocaine

******

Here's what I worked on into the evening last night. It looks like a Dell opened up and vomited an extra hard drive and power supply. I'm actually cloning hard drives for an employee lottery of used office computers.

******

Have a wonderful day!

goochout.

Plum sauce, my favorite medium (dirty Thai food plates, circa this week).

Because you had a bad day...

Sing It!

Here's a story from the TMZ, click HERE

The Lord taketh, and then the Lord taketh away. Ha!

goochout

Good Morning, Sunshine!

Chilling at the crib this morning while getting some stuff done.

Got to sleep late last night. I did watch Entourage. Last night's episode featured Gus Van Sant. Eric goes to GVS's office and if you look closely, you can see that GVS is wearing a "Mary's Club" jacket. Mary's Club is the oldest strip club in Portland (Oregon) and Van Sant is from Portland. A little tribute from a Portland native. Nice.

goochout

Douchemaster Flex... in the hizzle.

I'm working on a computer owned by a gentleman who works in a forensics lab for a local law enforcement agency. On the work order, it says to "be sure to back up the data. " I'm not too stressed out because, well, he'd be the guy to call if I didn't back up his data.

Going to watch an OSU Beavers game today with some friends. Finally! An excuse to watch television and drink beer before 4pm. I remember when I didn't need an excuse; it just needed to be the weekend. Hell, I remember when I didn't need an excuse, it just needed to be a Thursday.

I am getting old. I remember back when "sustainability" was the criteria with which I rated my beer buzz.

Shit, I need a drink now.

UPDATE: I just spent way more than I earned today while shopping on Amazon.com. I bought Artie Lange's new book, and an automatic feeder for Missy (the cat). I also bought the Blu-Ray version of Transformers, Iron Man, and preordered Dark Knight. What an impulse purchasing bender.

I need a shower.

goochout.

Tales From the Dumbside...

I burned the shit out of my fingers this morning. Listen and find out how!



goochout

These walls are a nice shade of padded...

At lunch today, I thought of writing something called "Napoleon Dolemite." Others beat me to the punch, but I thought it was a funny idea.

Wrapping up my time working with Gregster. Haven't had time to make posts.

goochout.

Interesting Gooch Facts:

My favorite radio personalities (and the only ones I ever listen to) are Dr. Laura and Howard Stern.

I work down the hall from a tattoo parlor, yet I have no tattoos.

My penis isn't as small as I say it is.

I have perform weddings and DJed strip clubs.

I've worked as a bouncer in three different bars, but I've never punched anyone in my life.

I'm not as shallow as most people think.

In 1999 I publicly declared email "useless" and "stupid" and purchased my own domain name [gooch-1.com] within two months of each other.

I secretly own a Macintosh.

I have an archive of the three deleted posts from this website.

I'm happier than most people think.

I don't drink anything but wine when I'm home alone.

******

I'm freaking tired and I have a 9:40pm soccer game tonight. Ugh. Need a nap.

goochout.

4:25 - Time to "go to the restroom" (and not come back).

Ah... office culture. The art of clocking in and crunching work on a computer between loading refreshed pages of TMZ and thesuperficial. It's strange that a source of entertainment more distracting than a television is an integral part of the common workplace environment. Even more strange is the indignation of employees should their internet be taken away. Like it's some God-given right to check gmail and update your Facebook status.

I'm on the clock as I write this right now. Typing a blog on a computer looks almost exactly like typing an important email on a computer. I even have a serious-determined Tom Cruise intense orgasm face, like every word I type is really super important. It's not. It's this crap.

But you read it. Why? Because those who don't have the ambition to write while on the clock will often read while on the clock.

This is it. The highlight of my work day. I might leave early... but to do what? Go to work at another office? I used to want to travel for work, but I think I'll leave the travelling to vacation. A girl I'm dating has travelled a few times for work recently. She's actually going to China soon. I'll miss her, but I take comfort in knowing that she's going to a country where 90% of the men have a smaller penis than I do.

If she was going to Uganda, well I'd have tears rolling down my face as I write this.

Heh.

Anyways, no more pretending, back to the grill.

goochout.

p.s.: I miss you Theresa.

p.p.s.: Call me Julie.

P.p.p.s.: Um, I forgot.

Afternoon Wood (why not?)...

Last night's Entourage was fantastic. Vince is fired from the set then the whole movie is shut down... Turtle's tapping Jamie Lynn-Sigler... Ari's in full 'helicopter entrance' mode. Fuck, I'm sounding like a goddamned fanboy. I love this show and I seldom stay awake (or sober) past 10pm on Sunday (when the HD version airs... I won't watch the SD west coast feed because I need to see Constance Zimmer (Dana Gordon) in full HD).

Turns out, Turtle tappin' the Soprano broad might not simply be fiction. In an accomplishment that will advance the cause of fat guys who bang hot chicks (or fat guys who'll bang anyone but only brag about the hot ones... quit staring at me) Jerry Ferarra is dating Jamie Lynn-Sigler. In real life. Nice. Here's an article.

******

I did a favor for an old friend and removed a post. I've only once in the 1582 (since 2001) posts deleted a blog entry. I feel like a part of me died. Oh well, sometimes other people's feelings are more important than mine. I can't believe I just wrote that. I'm becoming... human.

(?)

Slept for seven hours last night. Shit. Advil PM = coma. Feel good today, though.

Gotta go.

goochout

goochout.

And at the 11:11...

Here's an interesting set of articles. A lot of this looks familiar to me... on both sides of the fence.

Friendship vs. Emotional Affairs

The Dangers of Emotional Affairs

Danger? What's the danger of any affair? Getting caught?

Here's a site for people who want to cheat: AshleyMadison

Heh. It's not 11:11 as I write this. I wonder if I'll be drinking or sleeping as this gets published tonight.

Hint: Drinking.

Gooch:Out

No, I won't go to Nebraska with you, Mom!

I love that parents are taking their teenagers to Nebraska, the dumping ground for kids, to get rid of them. Hell, the 16 and 17 year olds can drive themselves: "Just drive yourself to a hospital in Nebraska and leave the keys in the cupholder. I'll get the car later, after I sleep off my coke binge."

Ha!

CNN: Nebraska fears rush to drop off kids before haven law change

"Of the 34 kids dropped off, none has been an infant; 28 have been older than 10"

Wow... 34 chances of another school shooting prompted by the overt acts of non-love from shitty parents. It's like aborting a fetus in the 48th trimester. A fetus that can crive a car and almost legally vote.

Heh.

The world is batshit fucking crazy.

goochout.

Finally, it's fucking Friday.

After all the bitching about long hours is done, I like that I ended up getting a lot of stuff done. It's a sense of accomplishment. Surviving a long work week is like giving a girl an orgasm. The only difference is that I'm only really capable of doing the former. And I don't really care about the latter.

So two differences.

Second cup of coffee... down the hatch.

Back to work.

goochout.

Eh...

Worked until 10pm last night. There were painters in my building, painting walls. They were very nice and warned me not to bump into certain walls. This warning undoubtedly ensured my fate as to the streaks of paint on the sleeves of my shirt.

Something like that happens and your instinct is to be pissed off at someone. I laughed at myself for thinking that I should be mad at someone for painting in an office at 9pm and not only asking my permission to paint a door jamb, but again reminding me that it was wet before he left.

Heh, I'm a prick.

Back to the grill this afternoon. Solved some major crises this morning, now I'm chilling with Gregster at his office while he does, you know, important shit.

goochout.

Yo...

Hey.

Happy Birthday to my Mother, who I'm sure doesn't know about this site.

Thank God.

Busy week.

Maybe blog tonight. Sorry for the lack of content. Not inspired lately.

Eh.

goochout.

Only 45 days, 11 hours, and 25 minutes until XMAS...

On my list this year:

Darth Vader Toaster:

Morning Wood...

Emmanuelle Chriqui

I woke up this morning and watched last night's Entourage. Emmanuelle Chriqui made a guest appearance giving me, that's right, morning wood. I would have rubbed one out, too, except that little troll Kevin Connolly was in the scene, ruining the moment I so desperately wanted to share with Emmanuelle.

People say that relationships are an opportunity to grow, learn about yourself, learn about other people, and as a way to share experiences with someone that you truly care for. I think that every relationship I've had from 2003 to present has been an opportunity to be punished for every shitty thing I did during my relationships previous to 2003.

At the end of the evening, I almost want to get into my car and call someone and say "sorry I didn't make enough time for you" or one of many "sorries" I should have doled out during the late nineties/early 2000s. It's like a reverse "My Name is Earl" except instead of a list of sins to atone, I'm pretty much getting my list handed to me.

Along with my ass.

But I digest. I'm up early. I'm pumped about getting some projects done at work. I'm thankful for everything that I have, and everything that I hope to have in the future.

That's a better way to start the morning, right?

That, and maybe a tug to Emmanuelle Chriqui.

Heh.

gooch:out

This is what it's like when worlds collide...

I'm at a girl's house on her computer, writing this blog. She knows it exists, but I've kept it hidden through my technical prowess. She uses Internet Explorer and I'm rocking Firefox. CTRL+SHIFT+DEL clears the private data. I'm a ninja. A big fat ninja that knows how to type.

Obviously, I'm having trouble concentrating. I need home turf advantage. I can't think while sitting on the floor feeling my ass fall asleep. We both deserve better.

Olive Garden commercial. Olive Garden sucks.

Speaking of home turf advantage, I'm actively looking to get the fuck out of Troutdale. There's nothing there for me, except for Marty.

Note: That blonde chick on CSI Miami is the worst actress in the history of acting. I just saw a promo where she dared to act in a dramatic fashion.

Maybe it's the television watching. I can't type with someone's big TV in front of me.

I'm going to publish this as a reminder to not... whatever.

goochout

That time of year... again.

gooch & q-ball, early 2008


Last night was the celebration of Ryan "Q-Ball" White's birthday. He's called "Q-Ball" because of his bald head. I knew him back when we were seven-year-olds, and we just called him a "prick" (pretty advanced language for seven-year-olds... heh.)

Ryan's birthday is one of those events where everyone from the old neighborhood gets together. We all see each other get older, balder, and fatter in one year increments. We all drink too much and talk about how we should get together more often, but never do. It's always a good time, however - even if it's once a year.

I had to bail out early so that I could get up this morning to go to work at a computer shop downtown. I stayed at a girl's house close to where I'd be working, but my drunken logic didn't take into account the need for a shower and to feed/care for the cat. So I've driven 40 miles (Tigard to Troutdale to downtown) before I started earning a paycheck this morning. My entire morning was planned some time around midnight last night by my vodka soaked penis.

I gave a toast last night for Ryan while we were at Montego's. Neither he or our friends heard it, but the seven strangers close to the DJ booth did, and they laughed. Thank God. Transcript available on request. Except for Ryan, because he should have heard it the first time.

That prick.

Heh, just like old times.

Happy Birthday, Ryan.

gooch:out.

The Gooch. The Gooch. The Gooch is on Fire.

I've got nothing to write about today. Contemplating purchasing a new Swatch to replace the one I had stolen two years ago. Need to be in better shape for soccer. Need to pay attention to my other customers. Dating is going well. I've met some nice women with whom I'll end up having awkard friendships with down the road. My goal is to be a pain in the ass of anyone they date after me.

Working with Gregster. Next on the agenda: Lunch. The most important meal of the day.


goochout.

Morning Wood...

I apparently forgot to set my alarm clock in the bedroom back. I don't use the alarm, rather I rely on anxiety, fear, hangover induced headache/nausea, and depression to wake me up in the wee hours of the morning. I should have known it wasn't quite 5:30 when my penis wasn't at it's fully priapismatic erect 2.5 inches. My penis gets up around 5:30 every morning. I myself prefer 6:00 as the time to start my day. It's an ongoing struggle.





I saw it was 6am and I got up, started to get ready. I started to check my email and... it's 5:20. Fuck.





I thought John McCain's concession speech was excellent. The text of it is on Meghan McCain's website: McCainBlogette.com





goochout.

McCain Wins*

*A little known election (as opposed to the little known erection... heh) occured in my pants and Meghan McCain came out the victor.

The actual election? It's tough, because I'm trying to have sex with more Republican chicks these days, so I'll stay neutral on this site. Who'd I vote for? I voted for change!

Heh.

gooch:out

Apparently there is a feature on Dish DVR systems that have a Tivo-ish "skip forward" button that bumps ahead 30 seconds to allow you to easily skip commercials.

I was searching for codes for my Comcast remote and I found this trick.

I tried this out and tested it (on someone else's remote, I'm not stupid) and it works.

Check it out:

1. Press the "cable" button at the top of the remote to put it into Cable Box control mode.

2. Press and hold the "Setup" button until the "Cable" button blinks twice.

3. Type in the code 994. The "Cable" button will blink twice.

4. Press (do not hold) the "Setup" button.

5. Type in the code 00173 for the 30 second skip.

6. Press whatever button on the remote you want to map the skip function to. (I used the "A - lock button).

7. Try it. It changed my life.

******

John McCain says "Mac is back!"

Barack Obama should get up on the podium at a rally and say "Black is back!" God, that would be sweet.

It'd be funny as hell if Barack Obama won the election, then got really, really black. How hilarious would it be if Obama put spinners on the presidential limo, made Air Force One looks like Soul Plane, divorced Michelle and married a white chick, put a Scarface poster in the oval office, and put together a group of political advisors consisting of Chuck D., Ice Cube, MC Lyte, and KRS-1?

Next time I get on a bus, I'm moving straight to the back.

"You crackers can call me Payback Barack!" President Elect Barack Obama, 11/5/2008

gooch:out




MC Lyte? is she really political? I mean... why her and not, say, Lady of Rage?

I don't know, I wrote it kind of hastily, so MC Lyte was the first female rapper that popped in my head.

And why didn't you put the (moderately) funny yet (questionably) racist bit at the beginning of this post. Are you really trying to appeal to your three readers that subscribe to Comcast?

I just thought it was cool. I guess I could have made that the secondary post.

You should spend more time on this site. What, one post a day at most and not even a lot of pictures? You don't get laid enough to justify this kind of neglect.

I do go on dates...

Fuck that. Go back to the strippers and give yourself some real shit to write about. Your sluttiness has always improved your subject matter. You're boring these days. I mean, when's the last time someone threatened to kill you?

It's been a while...

Whatever. God bestowed upon you a decent sense of humor and a fantastic ability to type. You are slapping God in the face by not paying more attention to this site.

I'll try...

No! Do or do not, there is no try.

Who the fuck are you, Yoda?

Actually, I got it from my horoscope a couple weeks ago.

Wait, are you an Aries? So am I.

Of course, you idiot. I am you.

If you're me, then why are you constantly giving me shit for everything?

Because you suck. I'm the part of your brain that acknowledges this fact.

I could do without you...

No, you need me.

I'm not comfortable with this conversation.

Then quit typing, moron.

...The name calling needs to stop.

Then, again, stop typing.

Okay. Gooch:Out

Me:Too

Ugh.

hey, how's it going?

Happy Halloween...

Before computers and the internet, would we ever have gotten a chance to produce and view things such as, you know, this? We used to have to read books, talk to our families, and maintain healthy relationships. Fuck that! Look what free time, talent, and skill can do to help you steal time away from your employer.

gooch:out

Lunch Time...

This sign is at the Lucky Labrador in Multnomah Village (Portland, OR).

Heh.

This week sucks. Every aspect of it blows goats. I want it to be over. I don't want to go to any parties. I want to sit at home with my cat and watch the latest Entourage and South Park episodes. Because they're awesome lately.

goochout.

Lunch Time...

Ashley Van Dyke

I only noticed her because TMZ reported on her getting a DUII. I like hot girls with little self control. They are often the type of hot girls who will have sex with me and then blame their actions on the amount they drank earlier in the evening.

Awww:Yeah.

gooch:out

Audio Moblog

Ride with me to work...



I got cut off by a car with a McCain/Palin bumper sticker. Had to vent right then.

goochout.

Lunch Time...

Day two of salads. I hate ignoring that second tub of dressing. What a waste. Here's some inspiration for me. Artie Lange: The only difference between me and him is that he's rich. And funny.

Lunch Time...

Curb Your Enthusiasm to Begin Shooting Seventh Season

I would say end it with the last one, should you risk jumping the shark. But hell, I like the show a lot and even when the episode isn't so great, it's still amusing.

Wrapping up lunch with Greg. This week is "health week" for me, so I'm grubbing on salads. It'll be okay.

Here's something fun to read while you're eating lunch at your desk:

First Date Stories

Morning Wood...

Constance Zimmer - "Dana Gordon" from Entourage.

Just watched tonight's "Entourage." They've finally resolved the "down on his luck" arc and we can get back to the glorious excesses that made the first season so awesome.

Had a great weekend. Romantic evening at the coast with a friend on Friday. Then Saturday evening was a birthday party for the same friend at her friend's house. It was more of a "get together" consisting of four women and one other male besides myself.

He happened to be a 33-year-old doctor in residency at OHSU.

Motherfucker.

"You brought me to a party where the only other guy is a fucking doctor?" I asked my friend while grabbing for a mini quiche.

"What's wrong" she replied. "It's not a competition"

"Bullshit," I mumbled, glancing back and forth as I often do in the midst of a social anxiety induced panic attack." I decided to brave it and enter the conversation. My fear was that I would look like such a fucking tool in comparison to this other guy. My insecurities completely overwhelmed my personality and senses. On the other hand, how bad could it be?

I sat back and let the good doctor speak: "I before I went into med school, I spent time in the Peace Corps administering medical aid to third world countries."

I immediately grabbed another beer.

"What kind of medicine do you practice?" I asked with the mouth of the beer never far from my mouth.

"OB Gyn. Primarily, I like the fact that I get to help deliver babies."

I immediately grabbed for another beer. Wait... he's a vagina doctor? Holy shit.

I then went on the attack, asking interesting questions, following up with better questions, throwing in a few funny jokes but not being (too distasteful). People laughed and I looked smart in the process. Some people call this the act of having a personality and being yourself. Whatever.

He did often responded to my comments and questions with "I'm surprised you know that." Did he mean he's surprised that a layman knew the subject matter, or should I take it personally as that he's surprised that I knew that? You see how my mind works? Isn't it just fucked?

I guess I really felt the insecurity of being "the loser" at a party and therefore strategized/executed my survival.

Believe it or not, I had a wonderful time. The entire weekend was relaxing. I slept at the coast better than I've slept in a long time. I'm so relaxed right now that I'm going to fall asleep before 9pm tonight.

gooch:out.

Phoning this one in...

It's not every day you see a Gallucci in the obits (Gallucci is my real last name, should you think it's Gooch). Irving "Harvey" Gallucci (wait... he got "Harvey" and I got "Gooch?") is barely related to me. He founded Gallucci's Pizzaria in Lincoln City. I will have a moment of silence when I drive by there this weekend. Maybe I'll spill some of my beer onto the street when I drive by there this weekend.

Heh.

Oregonian Obituary for Irving Gallucci.

Also in the Oregonian today was my Horoscope for Aries which opened with the following: "Do or do not, there is no try." Who the fuck is the Astrologer... Yoda?

Lunch Time...

Man arrested for screwing a car wash vacuum.

I once cheated on my Oreck with a Dyson. I'd like to say that it didn't mean anything, but I know it did. The Oreck and I had been together for years. Sure, we were like ships passing in the night, but we were happy being complacent. One day, I'm at Bed Bath, and Beyond and I see the Dyson. Let's just say we skipped the "Bath" and just went to "Bed and Beyond." My God, it was amazing. The Dyson, as claimed in television ads, Does not lose it's suction.

After that encounter, I stayed at a friend's house out of state. Not to say that I overstayed my welcome, but my friend had to pop the breaker on their Vacuflo before I would unlock my bedroom door and come out.

Heh, I wish I could have seen him empty the canister.

Shop Vacs: The indiscriminate sluts of the vacuum-sex world.

goochout.

Morning Wood...

Mrs. Stern

I woke up at 3:15 this morning. This, as I often say, is bullshit. I need more sleep.

Fuck.

Back to soccer tonight. I'm two weeks out from any exercise, so tonight's match is going to suck.

See how I learned to call a soccer "game" a "match?" I'm so Euro.

I guess I'll get to work early, or (God forbid) work out.

goochout.

And at the 11:11...

Me getting my hair washed. Oh yeah... everything I do is fucking riveting shit:

From the department of "who gives a shit..."

Well, my house is clean. Exact quote from the housekeeper: "I like the challenge." My house is like Mount Everest to house cleaners. She actually has to come back tomorrow. Hourly rates tend to make that happen. Laundry got done, even.

It's not even 9pm and I'm beat. Just got home from working. Going to grab some sake with a friend and then I am out.

I mean...

gooch:out

And at the 11:11...

Sad picture...

(Publicity Still from "Soul Men")

goochout.

Morning Wood...

Kellie Maines.

Have a house keeper coming in for the first time in a while. Apparently my house is considered a crime scene to more domesticated people. It's just been my experience that the entrepreneurial spirit of someone that starts their own house keeping business is overshadowed by their batshit craziness. We'll see.

Worked all weekend with Gregster. Going to work all week with him this week. How do two people spend that much time together without homicidal thoughts?

Alcohol. And sushi.

goochout.

You've got to be fucking kidding me...

I can't believe that Oprah is actually excusing the cooking of a child through simple neglect. If a poor black person did this to her kid, it would have been considered child abuse and someone would have been arrested. A rich white woman gets celebrated on Oprah. Cook your kid, get a free trip to Chicago.

An Overwhelmed Mom's Deadly Mistake

Overwhelmed? Fuck you. Overwhelmed by choice, maybe. Take care of your kids. Maybe the second income isn't more important than the safety of your children. Truth is, if it was the family dog that died from being left in the car, there may have been some legal ramifications. No one's getting on Oprah for killing a dog, just for killing their kids. Michael Vick is in jail for fucking up a bunch of dogs, and Oprah's hugging a baby killer.

'the fuck?

goochout.

All Groweds Up!

Jessie Itzler used to be known as rapper Jesse Jaymes. "Shake It Like a White Girl" and "College Girls Are Easy" were his two hits that landed on MTV and on a Cassette Single that I bought a long time ago (yes, I'm old). Apparently he's doing well for himself as an airline entrepreneur:

Forty Under 40: Jesse Itzler

Jesse Jaymes' music video for "College Girls are Easy:"

R.I.P.

Frank "Lefty" Rosenthal dead at 79 (LA Times)

Frank "Lefty" Rosenthal, the onetime Chicago bookmaker who ran four Las Vegas casinos in the 1970s and whose turbulent life and near-death experience with a car bomb inspired the movie "Casino," has died. He was 79.

Speaking of gambling (shitty segue, I'm aware), Here's a picture of me and my cousin, April, at the roulette table in Reno. Guess which one of us is winning:

After lunch...

Gregster and I were talking about phone pranks when I remembered this gem:

Taking Over The Fred Meyer Phone System.

Fun stuff.

goochout

Almost quitting time...

I was looking for this clip when I found the previous Kyra Phillips clip. This one, which you may have already seen, has her calling a guest a C-Bomb. Check it out:

Totally reminds me of a scene in South Park where Jimmy tries to tell Wendy that she's "a continuing source of inspiration" to Stan, but keeps repeating "a cont... a cont... a cont..."

I quote South Park the way some people quote the bible. I'm a big bundle of maturity.

Here's a Letterman Top Ten with regards to the bathroom incident:

gooch:out

Lunch Time...

I'm totally grubbing on overpriced downtown cuisine right now. I'm eating a "poor boy" sandwich ironically priced at $6. Add chips and a soda and I've spent 5 times what I spent on cooking dinner for myself last night.

Purchased 12 bottles of wine for the wine fridge last night. Also vacuumed the top layer of soil off of the carpet. Needs another couple of runs to go for sure. My carpet is like an archaeological expedition into the partying of the last five years. Each stain, spot, and inexplicable discoloration has a story behind it.

I've got a podcast brewing in my gut. Need to get it out there; maybe after soccer tonight.

Hi Theresa! I'm doing fine. Love you!

Here's something funny: CNN's Kyra Phillips leaves her microphone on during a Bush speech.