And at the 11:11...

My soccer team, SW Ham Strung.

Gooch:Out

Look at the sweat that's soaked into my jersey. Holy shit.

gooch: the podcast #4

Gooch discusses his favorite show, "Cheaters." He does so from bed, via his phone. Twice. Both audio posts are consolidated to this podcast.

Morning Audio Blogs From Bed

Update: It's not saying much... I'm trying to improve on my recorded-speaking skills and understand that I'm a novice. That said, this is the best shit I've laid out to date.

Audio Blog from bed (via my phone)...

Part 1


A post I made during a commercial break of one of my favorite shows... Cheaters.

UPDATE: A second post I made during a commercial break of Cheaters...

Part 2


Here's a video segment where the host of Cheaters, Joey Greco, gets stabbed.

gooch:out

Sad news to wake up to...

Bernie Mac Dead at Age 50

Goal!!!!!!

"He's a bigger guy. He's a good defender, but he looks like he belongs on the
football field rather than a soccer field."

I scored a goal tonight. Took the ball down the field and scored. It was as if I knew how to play the game. The goal keeper was the one who made the statement above. He wasn't being malicious - hell, I agree with him.



My goal, as reenacted by Pele.

In "I'm the last to know" news, PC Club stores have all closed. They closed in May. I used to go there all the time, but the lack of common computing items, apathetic excuses about labor, and quite frankly a hideous looking cross dressing manager at one store caused me to stop going. I guess the writing was on the wall. If you care, here's some discussion.

gooch:out

Goochpourri

CNN: Military Jury Convicts Bin Laden's Driver On Some Charges

Bin Laden's Putter and Sand Wedge are still presumed to be at large.

******
Stayed in last night. It was tough because I forgoed a few opportunities to go out. Everyone knows, however, that I live a life of disciprine and self control.

******

Fox News: Jenna Jameson Pregnant
Who's her gynecologist... the crew from Discovery Channel's Coal? "Put on the mining helmets... she's having contractions!" I mean, this kid's going to walk out of that womb with an 8-ball in one hand and a reality show contract in the other. That's right... hop-skip-jump right out of there looking like Ron Jeremy and haunted by the souls of the billions of unborn babies spilled into socks and tissues thanks to Jameson's movies.

Gooch: All my sex... Jenna (1998)

She lied to me... the bitch LIED! Obviously I wasn't going to be the recipient of all her sex. I wasn't the recipient of any of her sex. Clearly a breach of contract. I demand prostitution!

Restitution... I meant restitution.

wakka wakka... indeed.

gooch:out

The Hangover Part 2

It's actually uncomfortable to read my drunken posts. It's like a window into my soul. It's creepy.

I think it's a therapeutic exercise, or it could be, to get blackout drunk and just start typing. Therapists could look at the uninhibited writings and use it as a road map in treating the depressed.

I don't even want to think about what my writings would lead a therapist to think. Except maybe "get this fucking asshole out of my office."

Is that Absenthe coming out of my pores?

goochout

The Hangover Part 1

Update: I don't remember writing that last post. "Treat my penis like a crack pipe?" I think I had a concept for an ironic twist. I remember an idea popping into my head mid day yesterday. Without the grace of a sober writer, it turned into a plea for oral sex.

I'm sweating a smell of Jack Daniels with the tang of Red Bull.

Hmmm... Have to get to work.

fuck.

goochout

The Bender

UPDATE: I'm raiding Marty's fridge again and passing out.

UPDATE: eating a chicken melt sandwich out of Marty's microwave. I sat with Marty and his girlfriend while they had cigarettes. The girlfriend understood the shit I said better than Marty. I called him a drunk; appreciating the irony that I too, am drunk.

Update: Does anyone just want to blow me? I mean, is there someone willing to come to my house and fellate me? Let's say I'm sitting on my couch watching Scarface while drinking a Red Bull/Vodka. Would someone just knock on the door and ask to blow me? It would make me the happiest person on the planet. Wouldn't it bring you joy to make a pathetic individual like myself happy by treating my penis like a crack pipe? What am I doing? sitting at home, crying, watching South Park and gangster films. Could really use a blow job. Just saying.

Females only.

Update: partied with marty tonight.

Update: Happy birthday, Stephanie.

Update: Tonight I drank: Jack Daniels, Absenthe, Red Bull/Vodka, Coors Light.

Update: Watching Marty's TV right now. Thank God we have the same cable plan. I don't know if I could stand not knowing what channels are where.

Update: Tell me I'm lovable.

out

Nancy Grace On The Case

Nancy Grace: More pictures of Casey Anthony surface

When Nancy Grace is on the case, you're fucked.

Megyn Kelly, my fiance, with a news story explaining the back story. Explaining it in the key... of sexy.

goochout.


Key of sexy? that doesn't make any sense. Once again, gooch... you've managed to write in the key... of suck.

Trip to The Dalles

View from the house I stayed in at The Dalles Friday night

Partied in The Dalles Friday night. It's a town about 90 miles east of Portland, OR. I don't know what "Dalles" are. I was there 24 hours and haven't seen any. I saw a lot of drunk people. I drank half a bottle of Cuervo (My friend Amanda drank the other half, I guess). I walked into a bar Friday and I guess they don't see too many new faces in town. It's like the town in Footloose. I was afraid someone was going to get a ticket for dancing. I remember a dance club with the temperature set at 52 degrees. What the fuck? Was everyone on ecstasy? I've never seen people on a dance floor in parkas.

Whoever took this picture was 7 feet tall, it would seem. I think this is after the first three shots of Cuervo. My glasses are still on, eyes are focused. Hair looks somewhat managed. Pictured with me is Michelle, a girl who used to live in my area and with whom I used to work at a bar in Trouttucky.


Here's me and Amanda. We were drinking Cuervo all night and its effects are evident in this photo. Note the one eye not fully opened, glasses gone, hair disheveled. I'd also painted my fingernail earlier with a french-manicure pen. This led to endless hours of enjoyment by myself and almost guaranteed someone in a cowboy hat would kick my ass.

And at the 11:11...

Murder suspect Tremayne Durham travelled from New York to Oregon (by bus... that's seriously pissed off) to kill a guy who wouldn't refund a deposit on a custom ice cream truck that he'd ordered. Then...

Last week, as part of a plea deal, he got it. Two kinds. Circuit Court Judge Eric Bergstrom agreed to the unusual arrangement.

Shortly after pleading guilty, Durham sat down to a feast of KFC chicken, Popeye’s fried chicken, mashed potatoes, coleslaw, carrot cake and Hagen-Dazs ice cream.
[Associated Press]

Durham is a black guy. He chose the food, but could you imagine if a prosecutor sat down and offered KFC and Popeye's chicken to him? When I first heard the story I thought that was the case and, well, thought "holy shit. This could set race relations back to the forties."

The story continues:

And when he is sentenced next month, he’ll dine on calzones, pizza, lasagna and ice cream.

Italian food... so he's Sicilian? I like that both meals include ice cream since the murder was over an ice cream truck negotiation. If I was the prosecutor, I'd be like "no deal on the ice cream, you sick fuck." I guess the negotiation saved a lot of money on court costs.

goochout.