The greatest cartoon... Ever.

My God... worth every second of viewing.

Portlander by birth. And now, by choice.

Gooch:Out

P.S.: In addition to getting fortyouncer.com back into my domain stable, I just reacquired goochradio.com. Fucking sweet.

Gooch: The Podcast 06.26.2010

Script free (because that's always a good idea) reentry into the Podcast arena. New music, same drivel.

Tweet That Didn't Make It

If they're still looking for ideas, perhaps BP can plug the hole with dead sea animals.

[Didn't post because it's a bit irrelevant by now and the subject matter doesn't elicit laughter and I'm not generally a "speak for the cause" kind of dude.]

The spelling Nazi had a typo on the logo of his own blog.

I discovered the misspelling of "Achievers" on my logo this morning. I'd seen the word on a poster in an office that said something about "Striving to Achieve" or some shit like that. I thought that "achieve" was misspelled, much to my joy. I then came home and grew suspicious of my own spelling of "achievers" on my site: Big pile of smelly fail. Immediately opened Photoshop and fixed the problem.

I think it'd been up there forever. Me, the sultan of spelling. The Shah of semantics. The purveyor of paragraphs. The leader in literary, um literarynous. Bringing you subjects and predicates for 10 years. I was sixth place spelling champion in the City of Portland in 1986 for chrissakes.

I mean, I'll excuse typos in posts because these witticisms are machine gunned so fast that I have to type damned quickly to keep up. Sometimes I slip up and I, keeping with my anti self-disciplinary tendencies, will let that slide. You know, sometimes I type faster than I think. I've actually forgotten what website I was about to go to and yet I'll have typed out the correct URL. I've even meant to type one word but then another, better one appeared. It's odd.

If these updates seem infrequent for you, remember the tweets on the right. I'm also going to do more audio because I actually pay monthly for that service. I was going to do a phone post from bed this morning but couldn't even remember the name of the service to which I should call.

Peace.

Gooch

Gooch in the Air

Disciples:

One of my friends drew that jester and I had to absorb it into this site because that original picture was a goofy outtake and quite frankly should have stayed that way.

Somehow I lost an hour already today. I have to be somewhere in half an hour and I'm barbecuing breakfast and lunch at the moment. Nothing accelerates barbecue; it finishes when it finishes.

I put in a new toilet seat last night. Made me want to finish my bathroom. I'm having a glory hole put in this weekend. I've got the same contractor that installed my tissue and lotion dispensing headboard doing it.

Weekends mean nothing to me. I work/don't work in a fashion that's spread evenly throughout the week. I'm as likely to put on a Netflix on a Saturday as I am to drink too much on a Wednesday. It's the way of my people.

I'm going to follow this Al Gore Happy Ending story to closely. I love this shit. Two Clinton administration sexual scandals based in Portland? Come on! You cant beat that! Or, like Gore's cock, you're not supposed to if you're an LMT.

Shit. Have to get to work. Salaam, bitches.

out.

Nothing to Say

Slouches:

I've accomplished a little bit during the course of the last couple of weeks. A broken rib has robbed me of my precious sleep and with that the energy to stay out late and be a fucking degenerate. Liquor sales are down, strippers are having to go back to parking lot handjobs to make up for the dollah bill deficit my strip club absence has caused.

Who has benefited from my sidelininess? Fast food vendors, Netflix, any place that sells hand lotion and tissues within a close proximity of each other (I don't like to shop), and my cat.

For some reason, the place where I work the most has the bitchiest little fucking web content filter.  I can read my blog, but I can't post new content. The only way to change this is to ask the head A.I.C. (Arab in Charge) to change things (not happening). This of course means I can't post the slutty pictures of whoever I decided to Google when I posted whatever I decided to post. I've bypassed this by remembering my old email-to-post email address. That's how you're reading this.

Oh, I refuse to let that Katy Perry (picture may show up, probably won't) and her awful, awful, "California Girls" song be my "Summer Theme Song." I love pop music as much as the next hetero, but this is truly a manufactured piece of crap. Snoop Dogg couldn't save this. Perry's going to have to wear even tighter rubber dresses to sell this piece of shit.

Of course, I thought "Boom Boom Pow" was atrocious as well. God, I hate the music industry. I wish that large groups of people could exchange music in such a large movement that it hurt the music industry financially.

Shouts out to LJP, RH, and RW.

Mahalo, fuckers.

goochout

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