NEWS UPDATE 04.18.06:
Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes spawn. Seven pounds, seven ounces, 20 inches. Have Katie Holmes parents filed an Amber Alert yet?
"Hey Honey... our daughter and our turkey baster is missing!"
So Cruise and Holmes... okay, who are we kidding. So Tom Cruise named his first biologically born child Suri which means "princess" in Hebrew and "red rose" in Persian. a little Goochonline research reveals that Suri also means "pickpocket" in Japanese, which is probably a roundabout yet accurate term for say... the entire relig-cult of Scientology.
Free personality assessment? I've got one for you, Tom: You're fucking nuts. Take a brochure.
Mission Impossible? Try Tom Cruise getting a hard-on in front of a chick.
My Birthday "Party" is this Saturday:
Montego's Strip Club.
21 and over.
15826 SE Division - Portland
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Tuesday, April 18, 2006:
8:15am: awaken in (presumably) the clothes in which I slept. It's daylight and I'm at home. I do the obligatory check out the window to make sure my car is in place (an observation I've had to make since the Subaru I drove in high school). All's well. I smell like an ashtray but not like strippers, which is good because I have a girlfriend now. Need to be a good boy.... fuck I'm nauseous.
8:30am: I know my friend Alicia needs a ride home from the auto detail shop and has been waiting for me for ten minutes, but I take the time to jerk off anyway. Gagging porn. Downloaded last week. Pretty good stuff. I fire off some knuckle babies into the nearest receptacle I can find (an empty wine glass - why don't I ever think about this important step prior to jerking off?).
8:53am: Get Alicia and her youngest son who resembles Cartman in so many ways and take them out for doughnuts. As I eat a cream filled I flash back to last night... I ate two double cheeseburgers from McDonald's on my way home from the bar.
Gooch.... you fat fuck.
9:14am: I decide to actually go to work today and hit the freeway. Get this: My friend Marty found one of my car alarm remotes while cleaning out his car. He saw my car ahead of him today, sped up to get close enough to me and started pushing buttons on the remote to fuck with my car. It didn't work, but mad props because it would have been funny as hell if it did.
9:38am: I get a call from a friend to whom I gave a Viagra for his, um, special weekend with his girlfriend. He had never taken vitamin V before and he bitched about the headache and the exacerbated hangovern- shit I forgot to mention. It did the job, though. It always does.
Sweet.
So now I sit in a semi cubicle. Greg needs to get his ass back here so we can eat. While I wait, here's the deal:
My Birthday "Party" is this Saturday:
Montego's Strip Club.
21 and over.
15826 SE Division - Portland
My shift starts at 8pm. Special girls have been ordered for the evening. I'll have the wireless mic, so I'll walk among you. Like Jesus, but with bad hair. Email with questions.
goochout.
8:15am: awaken in (presumably) the clothes in which I slept. It's daylight and I'm at home. I do the obligatory check out the window to make sure my car is in place (an observation I've had to make since the Subaru I drove in high school). All's well. I smell like an ashtray but not like strippers, which is good because I have a girlfriend now. Need to be a good boy.... fuck I'm nauseous.
8:30am: I know my friend Alicia needs a ride home from the auto detail shop and has been waiting for me for ten minutes, but I take the time to jerk off anyway. Gagging porn. Downloaded last week. Pretty good stuff. I fire off some knuckle babies into the nearest receptacle I can find (an empty wine glass - why don't I ever think about this important step prior to jerking off?).
8:53am: Get Alicia and her youngest son who resembles Cartman in so many ways and take them out for doughnuts. As I eat a cream filled I flash back to last night... I ate two double cheeseburgers from McDonald's on my way home from the bar.
Gooch.... you fat fuck.
9:14am: I decide to actually go to work today and hit the freeway. Get this: My friend Marty found one of my car alarm remotes while cleaning out his car. He saw my car ahead of him today, sped up to get close enough to me and started pushing buttons on the remote to fuck with my car. It didn't work, but mad props because it would have been funny as hell if it did.
9:38am: I get a call from a friend to whom I gave a Viagra for his, um, special weekend with his girlfriend. He had never taken vitamin V before and he bitched about the headache and the exacerbated hangovern- shit I forgot to mention. It did the job, though. It always does.
Sweet.
So now I sit in a semi cubicle. Greg needs to get his ass back here so we can eat. While I wait, here's the deal:
My Birthday "Party" is this Saturday:
Montego's Strip Club.
21 and over.
15826 SE Division - Portland
My shift starts at 8pm. Special girls have been ordered for the evening. I'll have the wireless mic, so I'll walk among you. Like Jesus, but with bad hair. Email with questions.
goochout.
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Instead of drinking last night while DJing at the strip club I took a stripper supplied anti-anxiety pill which sucked all personality out of me. I hurried home after my shift, took a xanax and had a blissful nine-hour sleep.
Today is Easter where we celebrate the resurrection of Christ. You see, the Jews killed Jesus and then a little while later he woke up, said "what the fuck am I doing in this tomb," and moved the big rock sealing him in with the strength only associated with an adrenaline rushed pissed off 33 year old messiah.
I turn 32 this Wednesday. I woke up this Easter morning and didn't really think about getting up because there is no reason, other than to work out. Instead of being kept captive by a large rock, I have a wall mounted TV/VCR/DVD combo unit filled with South Park and porn to keep me safely in bed.
Happy Easter. I'm going back to bed. goochout
Today is Easter where we celebrate the resurrection of Christ. You see, the Jews killed Jesus and then a little while later he woke up, said "what the fuck am I doing in this tomb," and moved the big rock sealing him in with the strength only associated with an adrenaline rushed pissed off 33 year old messiah.
I turn 32 this Wednesday. I woke up this Easter morning and didn't really think about getting up because there is no reason, other than to work out. Instead of being kept captive by a large rock, I have a wall mounted TV/VCR/DVD combo unit filled with South Park and porn to keep me safely in bed.
Happy Easter. I'm going back to bed. goochout
Thursday, April 13, 2006
There are two people that do not look at this website: My Mother and my girlfriend. My Mom, I assume, just forgot about it over time and my girlfriend thinks it's best that she doesn't read it.
Truth of the matter is, I'm going to break out of character for a moment and discuss relationships honestly for one blog. This is it; read closely.
I've had four girlfriends now since the conception of this website. The last two years were spent in a relationship that was, at best, truly fucked up. At the time I didn't realize how bad it was, but now I see that you shouldn't have to work so hard to keep your girlfriend from fucking other guys. After that relationship ended I stayed as far away from "girlfriends" as possible: passing myself off as a strip club DJ since November of last year. It's been a lot of fun and I still work on Saturdays playing music, announcing dancers, and drinking drinks (my Mother does not know that I work at a strip club).
Unexpectedly, as these things happen, I met a girl. Not in a sleazy way, but in a "long no sex courtship can't stop thinking about her" way. We've dated solidly for a short while and today I came home from work to my house that she cleaned while I was gone. She took a nap in my bed and was asleep when I walked upstairs to see her. I kneeled next to the bed and watched her sleep, knowing that at any moment she's probably wake up, smile, and kiss me on the cheek. It was a moment in which I never, ever thought I'd find myself, yet was so happy to be in. I can't watch a television show (besides cartoons) for more than five minutes yet I watched this girl sleep for ten.
I then realized that I was starting to feel and act like a giant pussy. I looked around even though it was impossible for anyone to see me. This is the exact type of feeling that I've been trying to avoid. Vulnerability is frightening as fuck.
Blogs about blow jobs from strippers are awesome.
Blogs about holding hands with a girl during a scary movie suck.
But I'm happy. It's scary, but cool. It's funny that it's harder to write about loving someone than it is to write about wanting to fuck the shit out of Katie Couric. I guess my writing style is skewed but solid. Dammit.
I'm working Friday and Saturday at Montego's: 158th and Division. Call me a pussy there and I'll buy you a drink. Fuckers.
goochout.
Truth of the matter is, I'm going to break out of character for a moment and discuss relationships honestly for one blog. This is it; read closely.
I've had four girlfriends now since the conception of this website. The last two years were spent in a relationship that was, at best, truly fucked up. At the time I didn't realize how bad it was, but now I see that you shouldn't have to work so hard to keep your girlfriend from fucking other guys. After that relationship ended I stayed as far away from "girlfriends" as possible: passing myself off as a strip club DJ since November of last year. It's been a lot of fun and I still work on Saturdays playing music, announcing dancers, and drinking drinks (my Mother does not know that I work at a strip club).
Unexpectedly, as these things happen, I met a girl. Not in a sleazy way, but in a "long no sex courtship can't stop thinking about her" way. We've dated solidly for a short while and today I came home from work to my house that she cleaned while I was gone. She took a nap in my bed and was asleep when I walked upstairs to see her. I kneeled next to the bed and watched her sleep, knowing that at any moment she's probably wake up, smile, and kiss me on the cheek. It was a moment in which I never, ever thought I'd find myself, yet was so happy to be in. I can't watch a television show (besides cartoons) for more than five minutes yet I watched this girl sleep for ten.
I then realized that I was starting to feel and act like a giant pussy. I looked around even though it was impossible for anyone to see me. This is the exact type of feeling that I've been trying to avoid. Vulnerability is frightening as fuck.
Blogs about blow jobs from strippers are awesome.
Blogs about holding hands with a girl during a scary movie suck.
But I'm happy. It's scary, but cool. It's funny that it's harder to write about loving someone than it is to write about wanting to fuck the shit out of Katie Couric. I guess my writing style is skewed but solid. Dammit.
I'm working Friday and Saturday at Montego's: 158th and Division. Call me a pussy there and I'll buy you a drink. Fuckers.
goochout.
Friday, April 07, 2006
Mind of Mencia: It's not even clever observational comedy. Oh... he's so outrageous and so controversial; No Holds Barred! Yeah... political correctness movement happened around the turn of the nineties and burned out around, say '96. Denis Leary led the anti PC comedic movement and quite frankly I burned out on it. So Carlos Mencia spends 1/2 his show telling old minority jokes and the other 1/2 talking about how offensive he is. When he makes fun of audience members you can tell when he's setting up and you're just waiting for him to get to the predictable punchline. And don't tell me it isn't annoying that he looks so fucking proud of himself when he gets a joke off. Pursing his lips together and raising his arms to his side... yeah Carlos, you've opened our eyes to the everyday atrocities imposed on minorities. You're a Mexican telling Mexican jokes. I give it another season, tops.
I haven't jerked off in three days. Maybe I'm a little bit edgy, but what i say is true.
In other news, I'm hopefully off to the coast today. Happy birthday Greg (4/5).
Audi 5000. G.
goochout
I haven't jerked off in three days. Maybe I'm a little bit edgy, but what i say is true.
In other news, I'm hopefully off to the coast today. Happy birthday Greg (4/5).
Audi 5000. G.
goochout
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
A blast from the past since I haven't got shit to write about tonight. Peace.
It's Better to Have Loved and Lost Than to Have Never Loved At All.
(And Other Crocks of Shit)
by John "Gooch" Gallucci
07.23.03
So your girlfriend broke up with you. What did she tell you? She needed "me space?" She needs to find herself? It's a crock of shit. Trust me. Every man has had a woman shove her fist up his ass, grab his heart, pull it out, and hold it in front of his sobbing face.
Women get dumped, too. They get hurt. However, they've got a support group. They have friends. They have Dr. Laura, Dr. Phil, and Oprah. Men have Budweiser, PlayStation 2, and porn. Your guy friends will make fun of you if you're torn up over a failed relationship. You're better off suffering in private.
Suffer in private, but don't suffer alone. I'm always here for you. Not in person (I honestly don't want to meet you), but through my writings you will learn how to cope. I've artificially inseminated this column with enough tips to help even the most jilted of hearts get through the tough times.
Don't return to the scene of the crime. Don't go back and visit the Ex. Don't call, don't write, don't email. Everyone either knows someone who got so drunk and sick off of a type of alcohol (tequila, for example, comes to mind) or done so themselves to the point that they cannot even smell the offending spirit without decorating a toilet with their lunch. Treat the Ex in the same manner that you would treat the booze. It already hurt you once, don't fucking let it hurt you again.
Why would you even consider it in the first place? Do you think that there's a chance you'll get back together again? It's not going to happen. She broke up with you because she couldn't bear to spend another second with you. Her cat pukes in the kitchen. Her dog shits on the carpet. They're still around. You're not. Think about it.
Another thing to think about when you're dropping dollars on bouquets with notes like "glad we're still friends:" SHE'S FUCKING EVERYONE THAT SHE CAN. The aerobics instructor, her boss, her Rabbi. They're all getting a piece of your ex and using condoms that you paid for and left at her place. She's making up for lost time, my friend. Oh, and your best friend? He's using foreign objects on your old flame, taking pictures of it, and emailing the pictures to all of your other friends so that they can all laugh at you. Here's a good rule of thumb when it comes to breakups: Imagine the worst possible scenario and know that it's happening in real life.
Have sex with as many people you can. The mercy fuck is your friend. So is the pity fuck and the "I can't believe I got so drunk that I fucked that guy" fuck. Embrace it and show no shame. These are likely one night stands, so don't even bother asking for a phone number. They don't want to see you again. They don't want to have dinner with you. They want you out of their apartment or they want to get out of your van. When I was in high school, I was so distraught over my girlfriend breaking up with me right up to the point that some 24 year-old (I was 17 at the time) told me to get in her car and drove me to a hotel room. I gave her 10 minutes of the worst sex of her life and the next morning the despair over my ex and my virginity were gone.
As you get older, it takes more than one orgasm less session of humping to rid you of the depression. It could take up to ten girls and by the time you lay ten chicks, Holmes, time will have healed your wounded heart anyway.
Be aware that there are people you shouldn't bang. Any girl that has ever had so much as dinner with one of your friends is off limits. Don't even bother asking for permission from your friend to see about dating one of his exes. It's a stupid move that opens up a can of worms. You get attached to the girl, start dating her, and your friend will say something like "You mean you haven't fucked her in the ass yet?" No one wants to compare notes on a chick that they really, really like.
Objectify women as often as necessary. If you find yourself crying in a fetal position in the middle of your living room, longing for days past filled with companionship; fuck you. Don't be such a pussy. Watch porn, listen to rap music, buy as many table dances as you can afford, and shoot the heads off random females while playing Grand Theft Auto III or Vice City. When you watch a video of Rocco Siffredi sodomizing a girl while holding her head in a toilet (I'd love to meet the director of that flick), you start to realize that women are in fact objects not worthy of your affection. Once this occurs, the healing process can truly begin.
Jerk off as much as possible. Sixty-fucking dollars you used to pay for lobster dinners in an effort to get laid. You can get the same result for the cost of a video rental, lotion (I like Vaseline Intensive Care), a paper towel, and a little elbow grease. Do it, roll over, go to sleep. No stupid conversations. No "where do you think our relationship is going" bullshit. You change your car's oil yourself in an effort to save money. This is no different.
Oh, you're going to want to be in the company of a woman again. It's instinct. It's like eating meat, driving fast, and sleeping in. You have to do it eventually. If you meet a girl, have your guard up, do background checks over the internet, and maybe the girl passed out on your bathroom floor can be the next future ex-girlfriend.
Dating is not the fun and glitz you see in television and movies. It's a lot of hard work and who wants to do that. Marriage is like a stripper: It falls in your lap unexpectedly and eventually takes all of your money. I say that I'll never date again... that I'll never get married. I know I will, though. And if you're in a position where you're in pain over something like a breakup, remember that time is the best healer.
Time and smut.
It's Better to Have Loved and Lost Than to Have Never Loved At All.
(And Other Crocks of Shit)
by John "Gooch" Gallucci
07.23.03
So your girlfriend broke up with you. What did she tell you? She needed "me space?" She needs to find herself? It's a crock of shit. Trust me. Every man has had a woman shove her fist up his ass, grab his heart, pull it out, and hold it in front of his sobbing face.
Women get dumped, too. They get hurt. However, they've got a support group. They have friends. They have Dr. Laura, Dr. Phil, and Oprah. Men have Budweiser, PlayStation 2, and porn. Your guy friends will make fun of you if you're torn up over a failed relationship. You're better off suffering in private.
Suffer in private, but don't suffer alone. I'm always here for you. Not in person (I honestly don't want to meet you), but through my writings you will learn how to cope. I've artificially inseminated this column with enough tips to help even the most jilted of hearts get through the tough times.
Don't return to the scene of the crime. Don't go back and visit the Ex. Don't call, don't write, don't email. Everyone either knows someone who got so drunk and sick off of a type of alcohol (tequila, for example, comes to mind) or done so themselves to the point that they cannot even smell the offending spirit without decorating a toilet with their lunch. Treat the Ex in the same manner that you would treat the booze. It already hurt you once, don't fucking let it hurt you again.
Why would you even consider it in the first place? Do you think that there's a chance you'll get back together again? It's not going to happen. She broke up with you because she couldn't bear to spend another second with you. Her cat pukes in the kitchen. Her dog shits on the carpet. They're still around. You're not. Think about it.
Another thing to think about when you're dropping dollars on bouquets with notes like "glad we're still friends:" SHE'S FUCKING EVERYONE THAT SHE CAN. The aerobics instructor, her boss, her Rabbi. They're all getting a piece of your ex and using condoms that you paid for and left at her place. She's making up for lost time, my friend. Oh, and your best friend? He's using foreign objects on your old flame, taking pictures of it, and emailing the pictures to all of your other friends so that they can all laugh at you. Here's a good rule of thumb when it comes to breakups: Imagine the worst possible scenario and know that it's happening in real life.
Have sex with as many people you can. The mercy fuck is your friend. So is the pity fuck and the "I can't believe I got so drunk that I fucked that guy" fuck. Embrace it and show no shame. These are likely one night stands, so don't even bother asking for a phone number. They don't want to see you again. They don't want to have dinner with you. They want you out of their apartment or they want to get out of your van. When I was in high school, I was so distraught over my girlfriend breaking up with me right up to the point that some 24 year-old (I was 17 at the time) told me to get in her car and drove me to a hotel room. I gave her 10 minutes of the worst sex of her life and the next morning the despair over my ex and my virginity were gone.
As you get older, it takes more than one orgasm less session of humping to rid you of the depression. It could take up to ten girls and by the time you lay ten chicks, Holmes, time will have healed your wounded heart anyway.
Be aware that there are people you shouldn't bang. Any girl that has ever had so much as dinner with one of your friends is off limits. Don't even bother asking for permission from your friend to see about dating one of his exes. It's a stupid move that opens up a can of worms. You get attached to the girl, start dating her, and your friend will say something like "You mean you haven't fucked her in the ass yet?" No one wants to compare notes on a chick that they really, really like.
Objectify women as often as necessary. If you find yourself crying in a fetal position in the middle of your living room, longing for days past filled with companionship; fuck you. Don't be such a pussy. Watch porn, listen to rap music, buy as many table dances as you can afford, and shoot the heads off random females while playing Grand Theft Auto III or Vice City. When you watch a video of Rocco Siffredi sodomizing a girl while holding her head in a toilet (I'd love to meet the director of that flick), you start to realize that women are in fact objects not worthy of your affection. Once this occurs, the healing process can truly begin.
Jerk off as much as possible. Sixty-fucking dollars you used to pay for lobster dinners in an effort to get laid. You can get the same result for the cost of a video rental, lotion (I like Vaseline Intensive Care), a paper towel, and a little elbow grease. Do it, roll over, go to sleep. No stupid conversations. No "where do you think our relationship is going" bullshit. You change your car's oil yourself in an effort to save money. This is no different.
Oh, you're going to want to be in the company of a woman again. It's instinct. It's like eating meat, driving fast, and sleeping in. You have to do it eventually. If you meet a girl, have your guard up, do background checks over the internet, and maybe the girl passed out on your bathroom floor can be the next future ex-girlfriend.
Dating is not the fun and glitz you see in television and movies. It's a lot of hard work and who wants to do that. Marriage is like a stripper: It falls in your lap unexpectedly and eventually takes all of your money. I say that I'll never date again... that I'll never get married. I know I will, though. And if you're in a position where you're in pain over something like a breakup, remember that time is the best healer.
Time and smut.