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.