It's a caption!

Japanese open casket funerals are fucked up.

Morning Wouldn't...

If you think I'm sexy and you really want me come on baby let me know.

Silverton Oregon, home of the $2 drinks and the last place I performed a wedding, has a transgendered mayor. Apparently, because every fucking person on the planet requires a reality show, they're filming something around the goings on of the first transgendered mayor in the country. I'm sure there will be lots of twists and turns. The last interesting thing that happened in Silverton was that some fat dude in a tuxedo passed out on a park bench at 2am and had to be helped to his hotel room.

Oh, wait... that was me?

Fuck.

Trangendered Silverton Man May Appear in Reality Show

gooch:out

If I stay buzzed, the hangover won't appear.

If I pay for it, I should use it.



Here I talk about working at the strip club last night, my desire to prove to my ex that I'm not a complete waste of skin, and the fact that my blinds are open and it's keeping me from going back to sleep at 10am.

Well Hello There...

...I didn't see you come in. I trust you slept well? Can I offer you a bagel, or a croissant?

Good morning, bitches. Last night I dreamt about the most mundane shit. It's like... I've already lived today in a dream and now I have to live it in real life. You know when you have a nightmare about something awful happening and you wake up relieved to find that nothing happened? I woke up several times during the night somewhat relieved that little annoying things didn't take place. They were things not worth waking up for, but I did so anyway.

Lame. And the cat hasn't figured out yet that a machine governs when she gets fed, not me. I've got that furry alarm clock going off at 5:00am (the machine with its Pavlovian tumbling of the kibble doesn't dispense until 6:45).

My weight loss continues, but it's hard fucking work. There's so much fucking food out there to eat and the cheaper it is, the worse it is for you. Can you imagine being a fat compulsive eater, a cheap fuck, and trying to lose weight? It's hell. I mean, I want a choice of three types of nachos for under a buck each. I want a choice of three different sandwiches at Wendy's for a buck each. I want to spend $7 at the dollar menu and then ask the person in the passenger seat what they want. I want to eat so much nigiri and sashimi at the sushi carousel that it takes two attendants to count my plates. Ichi Nee Son Shee... motherfuckers!

Ima nanji des ka? I've got to go.





Gooch:Konichiwa

Interesting Article

Gratuitous. Totally gratuitous. Anatomically correct, I'm sure, as I didn't know women had faces until 1998.

As I fight off the inevitable diabetic coma and my subsequent death, I've looked up things to read. Here's an interesting article... I can blame my health and behavior on genetics. Thanks God!

Were you born to cheat?

What the fuck is this shit?

I've been trying to avoid writing too much about my personal business; my thoughts evolving to the point that yes: believing that other people are really interested in what I'm doing day to day is pretty douchey. Douchie? Whatever.

However, in my bid to get healthy this year, I went to a doctor for a routine physical. My cholesterol is 204 and my fasting blood sugar is 101. The total combined equals my last score on Frogger.

Wow... my last two sentences reveal that I'm fat and old.

The cholesterol wasn't a surprise (I think I had a cholesterol high score of 240 or 280 in high school... there was no place to put my initials, unfortunately), but the blood sugar... well, wasn't really a surprise either.

I'd noticed in the last six years that sugary cocktails made me feel sick and flush. I'd since limited my drink arsenal to vodka sodas, Jack and diet, and vodka with my beloved sugar-free Red Bull (Red Bull gives you wings, but vodka and Red Bull... well... it'll make you a God-damned sexual tyrannosaurus*). I once (a few years ago) woke up in the morning, drank a sugar laden Slim Fast and suddenly went back to sleep for another hour. That shit ain't normal. That shit did get ignored.

What's sad is that I'd lost 10 pounds in the two weeks prior to the physical. I should have been a bit healthier. I've lost six pounds since then. Ignorant to my health maladies before last night; I just was looking to look better to ultimately, you know, get laid.

I'm coming to revelations in these early minutes of reading the report. This is why (in the early 2000s) Atkins worked for me, but not Weight Watchers (you can sugar the fuck up on WW and not exceed your 'points.'). This is why I was feeling good this morning until I ate those two kiwi fruits, as if I didn't just read that I have high blood sugar. As if my routine and behaviors can't just immediately be changed by the fact that I just read something that indicates I should fucking do so.

So what does this mean to the future of me? I shudder to think. "Lifestyle change?" Perhaps. I have such a phobia of needles that I can't imagine shooting myself up with anything, should dia... diab... that shit comes around.

"Sugar? No... I'm sweet enough already. Literally. I think I'm bleeding corn syrup."

I gotta go.

My Birthday is coming up soon.

goochout.


*Props to Jesse Ventura. And Ryan White.