Gooch Lives.

Sorry for the lack of updates. I sort of shut down last week. All outward means of communication were shut off. Forgetting Facebook, barely blogging, tacit tweeting, absence of alliteration... these are all ways you could describe my writing last week.


If, you know, you're a fucking douchebag.


I have a friend sleeping on the couch. Last night we celebrated her birthday. It was a grand affair. I got to have a conversation that began with "I'm not a lesbian, I'm just dating a girl" and I almost started to explain my "creative process." An explanation which, if I had completed, would have gotten me indicted by the douche court and thrown into douche prison.


"Wow, Gooch... using 'douche' for all it's worth, eh? Need a thesaurus... or a creative mind?"


I'm still writing this blog as if no one reads it. The numbers state that this is not true, but numbers don't mean a lot to me as I seem to recall failing Math 241 twice in college.

Ah... my best friends. Why is Britta blurry? It's like in Final Destination where the blurry people in pictures end up dead a few hours later.


Or just sick:

[PICTURE OF BRITTA VOMITING REMOVED BY REQUEST]

So, I like Facebook in that everyone that I bumped into in the last 30 years is now my "friend." Instead of people having to go to this site, I simply post an "Update" or use my Twitter account (which ultimately posts an update to Facebook). I like the exercise of trying to come up with something funny in 140 or 160 (depending on my means of posting) characters. Unfortunately, some people can't recognize tone or don't know me well enough to understand my humor. Humor which is drawn from depression, alcoholism, catholicism, and endless hours of watching "To Catch a Predator." Here's something that didn't make it to Twitter, but made it to Facebook:

Officer... unless there's a law stating that i can't have a shovel, zip ties, and a bag of lime in the trunk of my car, I politely ask that you let me go. I'm late meeting up with a girl I found on Craigslist.

Ah... topical and offensive. How do I do it? I have a birth defect (besides my entire face) where I was born without shame. Or rhythm (but that occurs in about 97 out of 100 white babies born, in my defense).

******
And now it's time for...

Shit I've Actually Said in Real Life:

[a girl, immediatly after sex, asking about the writing, wedding officiating, DJing]

Girl: "Is there anything you don't do?"

Me: "Um... apparently last longer than two minutes."

And that concludes this episode of...

Shit I've Actually Said in Real Life.
******

Happy Fathers day. I'm sure you're expecting one of my tired "paternity suit" jokes, but I already used it on Facebook.

Desperately seeking approval since 1983.

Gooch:Out