Spoiler Alert!!!

I'm not shaving today. Fuck it.

goochout.

Sherlock Gooch

Still recovering from whatever neck issue is affecting me. I am still working on the Masturbation Column.

I haven't been sleeping well, trying to decide if I can get away with not shaving today. Or showering. I did hook up the remote modules to the lights in my bedroom and living room. So, now, you need the remote to turn on the lights. Not a lot of thinking ahead on my part. Still cool, though.

I am Gooch.

The World's Most Dangerous Gooch

I'm a motor boating son of a bitch.

Shalom, fuckers.

So I didn't write the anticipated "masturbation" column last night. I got invited to Flying Pie Pizza, where the party of my second favorite pie led to a lower intestinal hangover that kept me away from the keyboard.

Tylenol PM and 8oz of vino put me into a coma last night. Slept well. Staying home tonight to do some chores. Was doing so well with the staying in and not drinking. Letting myself slip this week because I'm entering a weight loss contest at my gym before February 1st. I think it's like $1200 for first prize. Maybe some incentive will make me drop some lbs. and therefore be able to be loved by someone who doesn't have daddy issues, or didn't get hugged enough before she turned 18.

Or both.

Found out that "Snookie" from Jersey shore isn't Italian... she's adoped from Chile. She's as fake as that fucking tan of her's.

I'm out.

gooch

J-Woww.

Because I like fake tits and faker girls just as much as the next degenerate asshole:

Found some notes on an entire column dedicated to masturbation. Should jerk that one out tonight.

goochout.

Oh... Monday... you came and you gave without taking.

Does John Gallucci strike you as the type of guy that would sleep with your wife?

Um... he strikes me as the type of guy that would sleep with pretty much anyone.

Conversation that really happened? You betcha! I need to happen upon a burning orphanage and pull something like 100 babies out of it so that I might find myself on the short list to Heaven.

I've actually been a good person. I'm trying my best to comfort the afflicted, as opposed to afflicting the comforted. I do good things. Dammit.

I've still got a shit-ton full of "I [club] Baby Seals" bumper stickers, should anyone want one, just let me know.

I drank this last weekend, but I haven't been drinking a lot lately. I was talking to this girl and I could tell that every god damned thing coming out of my mouth sounded stupid with a hint of slurring. It's weird when you become drunkenly self aware of things that are happening. Like, I've known when I'm talking a lot of shit and fully deserving of the inevitable ass kicking that I'll be receiving. My body, and more specifically, my mouth keep moving while my brain is screaming from the inside: "shut the fuck up, asshole!"

Work summons me. Out.