The Sorceror's Gooch

Predicates:

I know we're between my birthday and Jesus' birthday. However, if someone could get me this shirt, I will wear it and fly to wherever to attend multiple services at that church that Mel Gibson owns.

Not since "We Are the World" and "Give Peace a Chance" has a mantra moved a nation. A planet, if you will.And you will, because I'm writing this shit.

I'm out.

gooch.

Dynamite Vests: One Size Fits Allah

This is why the terrorists hate us. Mega burgers and Miley Cyrus are the reason the taliban are at Men's Wearhouse Afghanistan getting fitted for dynamite vests and dropping out of flight school before they get to the chapter on landing.

Seriously, MSN is going to have one of their pictorials titled "shitty burger ideas" and lead it with this and the Double Decker.

Having said all of this, I'm sure my next drunken 2am foodquest will have me in a parking lot leaning against a dumpster wondering just how to eat this thing (answer: quickly, before I pass out).

The Last Cokebender

What's wrong with this picture? See within this post for the answer.

Schlubs:

Ha! How's that for a movie title. I guess "The Last Airbender," the once pedestaled and plot twist expert M. Night Shyamalan's latest contribution to cinema was a catasfuckingtrophic failure. I mean, apparently it was a turd, and then he tried to polish said turd with post production 3D. Roger Ebert described it as watching a movie through a dirty towel. Maybe M. Night's next plot twist should be "It was a shitty movie, and then in the last 10 minutes it became awesome."

I got a bought a coffee maker last night. He's a Colombian gentleman. I picked him up at the labor camp last night. His donkey shitting on my front porch gets annoying, but otherwise, damn... great coffee. It should be, he picks the beans by hand.

I'm kidding, I wouldn't waste a labor camp acquisition on my fucking java. I've got a rock garden sprouting weeds and a water feature that's pumping an 80/20 ratio of water/dirt. I've got bigger fish to fry. Namely Tilapia. The Hispanics love that shit.

I did get a coffee maker and what I thought was a killer coffee mug. A stainless job with a handle - completely utilitarian. Cost about $3. Then this morning, I saw a Starbucks ceramic cup that looks like a standard-Starbucks-issue normal cardboard cup and lid. It was ceramic! And it was $13. I wanted it. It is to my cup as an iPod is to a normal MP3 player. It does the same thing, but I fucking want it. How amazingly gay is it that I covet a coffee mug solely because of its appearance? Answer: super gay.

Speaking of answers, the answer to the "What's wrong with this picture" at the beginning of this post: Everything.

I'm thinking of doing another podcast. I had some notes written down and I think I lost them during the course of my purging of stuff out of my house. I'm going to use my DJ mixing board to record it. I've gotta come up with a game plan, but if I actually put some effort into it, I'd have a sweet podcast.

Note: People that are using @someonesname and #hashtags in not Twitter generated Facebook posts are fucking douchebags, masters in the art of douchebaggery. Why does this bother me so much? I have no idea. I'm an angry person that gets set off at the oddest things and lives primarily inside my own head dwelling on things that are trivial yet bothersome for hours on end. Like run on sentences.

I've got to get to work.

Brokedown Phallous

Degenerates:

I can't tell if my ambition to change every aspect of my life (except for my weight, apparently [throws saltwater taffy wrappers into wastebasket]) is fueled by a genuine desire for change, or sheer panic and anxiety. I've been having the heart palpitations that used to only occur after my fourth Red Bull in a sitting. I don't get boners when I should and I get them when I shouldn't. I'm a fucking wreck. Either way, when I'm done with all of my projects, life should be better. Or I'll kill myself. It's a draw. If I did kill myself, I'd do it in some sort of hilarious fashion. I'd jump off of a building and shoot myself in the head while I fell. I'd suicide bomb Mel Gibson if I could find him. My self inflicted death would be my last joke, but would likely be received like all of my other jokes: Shocking, uncomfortable, and people would laugh knowing that they really shouldn't.

But I digress. I'm on week three of not having expanded cable. My choices of shit to watch is certainly limited, but that's fine. I just have to wait for my shows to hit Hulu or for my Torrent client to bring me my "Entourage" and I'm knuckle deep into whatever I really want to watch. Other than being able to rewind live television, I'm not missing shit. Fuck Comcast. Fuck 'em. $100 a month to watch a bunch of infomercials? Why am I paying to watch shit that people are getting paid to show? It's a scam. Other than On Demand, there's nothing of value there. For $9.95/month, Netflix can give you all of the "on demand" you could ever want. Of course, you need Comcast internet for that to work really well. Damn.

I'm still contemplating my "low dough" budget wedding service. Something like $399 for officiating a wedding and DJing the reception. I DJed a wedding (my first) last Friday for some friends and think I worked out the bugs. Biggest mistake: forgetting to turn on my awesome disco ball during the dance part of the event.

Back to the Grill. Yo.

goochout