Getting all sorts of props from Gregster's blog. Sweet.

Verbal Exchange of the Week:
Girl: I think I'm going to get a kitten.
Me: Why?
Girl: I just want something soft and cuddly to hold on to and love.
Me: Maybe you should get a soft and cuddly counselor.
Girl: I did. We were working on my abandonment issues and he keeps rescheduling our appointments.
Me: [laughing at the irony]

I've managed to catch the first two episodes of South Park this season. Holy shit. It's still the funniest fucking thing on TV. Ever.

We've got Sirius Satellite radio here in Greg's office, but I've rigged my computer to the Sirius boom box so that I can listen to Dr. Laura. Two guys in the office walked up behind me and heard the radio; I felt like I got caught doing something dirty. I would have rather they caught me looking at porn.

All I've done this week is work, sleep, work out. All work and no play. Actually, all work has got me no play. The saying should be "all work means no lay."

goochout.

NYC restaurant offers $1000 pizza.

They should make all pizzas $1000. All hamburgers, too. Maybe that will combat the obesity problem we face in this country. Free apples and carrots, but $500 for an order of of fries.

I'm like one of those fat doctors that tells people to lose weight. Heh!

Free vodka, too. And Red Bull. I mean, if I'm calling the shots that is.

Shout out to Wolfe. Hope I didn't besmirch the office of the DJ Presidency at Montego's.

I just walked into the door from a job. I did good for being tired. A happy customer means that I'll sleep well tonight. It sucks that my mood is directly corellated to my own job performance.

I'm tired. I made my bed, but there's something wrong with my pillows. I tried out some others a week or so ago and they're so much better than what I have now:















What's more shocking about this picture: The bulbousness of my face or the size of the wedding ring?

I've got nothing witty to say. My brain is fried. I'm going to quit wasting your time.

goochout.

I think I could start a collection of pictures of me passed out on a couch. I like this pic because you can just see the top of an offending beer bottle at the bottom of the frame. I crashed at Greg's house last night so that we could get in to the office at 7:30am this morning to field any DST 2007 computer issues.

Issues fielded: 0

Mad props to Greg for patching the shit out of everything in this office so that everything worked okay. Meanwhile, my Blackberry is in the throngs of a web based updater. If things get screwed up, you'll call me and my phone will ring an hour later.

I'm kidding.

gooch:out

Dignity... self control... self respect... a Jedi seeks not these things.

So... another great strip club DJ night last night. The girls were intoxicating... and intoxicated. I was fucked up as well. A lot of my friends came out, which was totally cool. I needed the backup, also, because the club's bouncer seemed to be guarding the Megatouch machine more than anything involving the club.

But fortunately, I got to work with Ryan the bartender with whom I've been friends since the age of six. Some other neighborhood guys were at the bar and we thoroughly broke each other's balls for the duration of their visit.

I can still taste vodka and Red Bull. It tastes like headache. I think I'm still drunk. I'm hung over. My favorite thing to do when I'm hungover is go to the hair salon and have cold water sprayed on my head and face in the hair washing station. There's nothing better for a hangover than a cold water bukkake.

gooch:out

Wait... "it tastes like headache?" What the fuck does that even mean?

I more or less worked twelve hours yesterday. I went home and watched my DVRed "Dateline NBC: To Catch a Predator," which kicked ass as always. Can you imagine being Chris Hansen' son or daughter? Can you imagine getting in trouble and having that interrogative style tear you up? You come home late from school and you tell him you were studying and he comes at you with this:

"Why don't you have a seat... keep on drinking the sweet tea if you want... you say you were studying but I know that you were in detention. I have copies of the referral paperwork and transcripts of your cell phone's text messages to your friends complaining about your punishment. Before we go any further, you should know that I'm Chris Hansen with Dateline NBC..."

"Dad, I know who you are. This is fucking weird. What are those cameras doing here... I hate you."

Can you tell I'm procrastinating going to the gym? Put in a 12 hour day yesterday and while computer work isn't as taxing as, say, ditch digging. It is mentally grueling, however. Plus, throw in an actual meeting, which I attended yesterday (I was one of three people, so it's not like I could fake paying attention) and my brain was fried.

I love this woman:






















Law and Order: SEU (Small Erect Unit)

The Great Union Returns...

I'm working at Montego's this Friday night with my friend Ryan. Fun as usual and... hey: I'll drink this time so that people won't have to deal with the sober, sullen Gooch.

Montego's Tavern
15826 S.E. Division St.
Portland, OR
(503)761-7293
Dancers: Nude
Types Of Dancing: Stage And Table
Hours: Seven Days a Week, 11 AM-2:30 AM
Cover Charge: None
Dress Code: Casual
Food Service: Yes
Bar Service: Beer And Wine