Problem solved:

You ask me "Which came first, the chicken or the egg" and I'll ask you "which one was the top and which one was the bottom?"

And there's another tweet that didn't make it.

I'm fucking fascinated by this flight 3407 crash in Buffalo. It happened a few months ago but I read the transcript of the cabin banter and it really humanized the situation; I no longer felt the distance that one normally does from a news event.

The captain had supplemented his income at one point by working at a grocery store and the co pilot was a 24 year old who made $23/hour in the air. The pilot failed a bunch of flying related tests and failed to report this on his application for employment. She was on very little sleep as she'd just flew in from Washington State to New York to get to work.

Holy Shit. I wouldn't want to road trip with them, much less have them fly a plane.

Here's a morbid site, but sort of interesting:

http://www.planecrashinfo.com/lastwords.htm

And at the 11:11...

From relationship column "The Frisky:"

I'm friends with all my exes.

Translated: I need the ego boost that can only come from surrounding myself with people I've seen naked. You will see this as a positive marker of my maturity at first, but when the only friends I introduce you to are people I used to have sex with, it will quickly start to grate on your nerves.

Fuck me.

gooch:out

I can't get enough of these...

Captain Janx prank call to CNN. Classic.

At the 11:11...

Here's a blast from the past. It's an excerpt from a column I wrote regarding Air Travel. You know, because I flew so much that I had to bitch about it. It's a letter to a fictional little boy that apparently was kicking my chair:

Billy? Was that you’re name? You probably remember me. I was sitting in front of you and was one of the nice people that were trying to find your teddy bear, “Woofie.” Yes, we looked, and we looked, and no one could findyour bear. You got off of the plane, crying, like a six-year-old often does when he or she loses a prized toy. Funny thing? Woofie was in my backpack the whole time. That’s right! You see, when I have to get up at 5am, I get grouchy… Like Oscar the Grouch from Sesame Street. In adult terms, it’s best not to fuck with me. So when you kicked the back of my seat eight or nine thousand times, I got really grouchy. In adult terms, fucking pissed. During your fourth mid-flight “potty break,” I took woofie from your seat, leaving only the blanket in which you covered him. Woofie got to ride home with me in my “Goochmobile.” Can you say “Goochmobile?” I knew you could! Can you say “cigarette lighter?“ I knew youcould… you seemed like a smart kid. Do you know what a “car cigarettelighter is?” Ask your Mom… ‘cause that’s what I torched your fucking bear with, you little bastard.

Classic Gooch.

out.

Bank to Victoria: You Gotti Go!

Ha! It's fun writing stupid headlines. This is so worth it, though. Apparently that skank starfucker Victoria Gotti and her douchebag tan in a can and hair product loving greasy guinea kids' house is being foreclosed on.

NYP: Now She's Evict-oria Gotti

Keep your friends close and your enemas closer... because she's full of shit.

goochout

A glimpse into my future...

She probably left him because he's still using a beige keyboard and a housekey from 1973.

Jeopardy Style:

He's out.

Who is Gooch?

Tweet that didn't make it:

A 20 minute mile? What's so special about these Olympics?

This has been another installment of "Tweet that didn't make it."

Behind the Green Gooch.

I'm sitting at home, it's still light out, and I want it to be 9pm so I can drink my one (cut back from 3) glasses of wine, take my Tylenol PM, and go to bed. I've got shit on my mind, so I think I'll write:

I have several hot platonic female friends that I hang out with on a regular basis. The original idea, was that these hot platonic female friends had other friends that ultimately would get drunk and have sex with me. That's the plan. It was fucking foolproof, except it wasn't really fucking foolproof. Fast forward, and I'm just a dude that looks like he's somehow dating hot chicks.

But I'm not. What does this mean? It means that I'm perpetually cockblocking myself by surrounding myself with these broads. It's like being a straight priest or a sober NASCAR fan... it doesn't make fucking sense.

But why? Why have I let myself enter the friend zone with so many girls? What is it about my psyche that makes it okay to just "be friends" with a girl? Why am I able to maintain close friendships with girls that I used to be in a relationship with? One reason:

I'm gay.

I've known it since I was 12 years-old. I didn't want to come out of the closet so publicly, but this is so liberating and Fuck you. Fuck you for believing that shit for a fucking second. How dare you?

I'm all man. Enough said.

However, I believe that I'm horrified by relationships, or more so rejection. Any girl that's nice, doesn't earn her living in tips, attractive, and independent scares the shit out of me. I feel inferior. These same chicks date and ultimately support unemployed douchebags and I'm intimidated? It's somewhat stupid, but we'll except it for now and move on. It's my own fault. I clearly can't handle a normal girl being attracted to me and even if they give me all of the signs that they're interested, I'll recede back into self loathing and convince myself that they couldn't possibly be interested in me. Give me a girl with issues and I'll be just fine...

...Unless, I'm drunk. I can meet and charm the hottest most normal chicks when I'm wasted. Unfortunately, I don't want to do that anymore. Result: Not really a date for the last few months. No biggie, I've saved money, gone to the gym more, and got to hang out with my friends. Even, yes, my platonic female friends.

I mean, I guess I used to think "platonic" was Greek for "hand job giving." Wow, was I wrong (in most cases, heh.). It's not a bad deal. Nowadays I'm relying on their friends' friends to hook me up. It's a work in progress, but we'll see. I dig being single. It's the only time you can truly masturbate whenever you want (married guys know what I'm walking about). I can burn a porn DVD, label it "PORN" in bright colored letters and leave it on the coffee table for easy access. I wake up when I want, go to sleep when I want. Do you know how awesome this is? I have the mentality/maturity of a 15 year old, and I have no adult supervision. I'm like Children of the Corn with a cat, some cash, and HDTV.

I've got some figuring out to do. Maybe I'll see a shrink. Maybe I'll grow a moustache - everyone in the history of television with a moustache seemed to have all of the answers. Maybe I'll wash those Tylenol PM down with a glass of wine earlier than planned. Maybe two glasses. After all, who's going to stop me?

Peace.

goochout

Baba Blewit!

This will probably get taken down by MLB, like they've done with all of the other videos posted. This is Gary Del'Abate's first pitch at a Met's game. It's the most belabored, discussed pitch (before and after the event) as it's been (and now will continue to be) discussed at great length on the Howard Stern Show (Sirius 100 and 101). The shit that Gary took today was hilarious, it fueled Artie into his funniest off-the-cuff comments ever on the show.

goochout.

City Slickers 2: The Hunt for Gooch's Gold

Every morning, I take some pep pills in order to keep my fat ass on the elliptical for my prescribed 40 minutes. Yesterday, I took the pills but at the last minute decided to clean the house and schedule the workout for after Mother's Day lunch with Mom. I don't recommend taking pep pills before housework. Suffice it to say, and I am a bit proud, I have the best vacuumed walls in my condo complex.

I went to two barbecues this weekend. I could do barbecues all summer long. I love eating food and getting drunk in the comfort of someone else's home. I mean, the cost of admission is a half-rack of beer and you're chowing/drinking away in front of a fire pit. Good fucking times.

Peace.

goochout