Breaking Balls the Most Chicken-Shit Way Possible

Somehow, in a world where sights and sounds and logic and common sense don't follow conventional/earthly norms, a Portland Police Officer accidentally shot a guy with real shotgun pellets instead of a less lethal beanbag round (as was instended).

Oregonian: Man accidentally shot by Portland officer struggled with mental illness

I understand that human error exists and that no one is immune from it. I'm proud of our Portland Police and think that overall they do a great job. However, I drive 3000 miles a month and I haven't had an officer take that into account when I get a photo radar ticket for running a yellow light. In fact, it's starting to become a criminal activity to film officers while on duty. So, all we have to hold Police accountable is their immediate public word after the fact (usually disparaging the victim and not disclosing specifics about the officers' activities during an incident) and the secret Grad Jury findings that always find in favor of the Police.

So when this recent event occurred, shit popped into my head and I posted tweets with the @MayorSamAdams modifier so that the Mayor/Police Commissioner would see them. I was trying to be funny more than be a dick. Hopefully I accomplished both. If you've paid attention to the news of the Portland Police during the last year, you'll get some of the references.

I'm cutting this post short so that I can go outside and bask in the glory of all that is sunshine and bicycling. Salaam.

• @MayorSamAdams Just say it was a "pellet delivery device with a six inch handle." #rosiecoloredglasses 
• @MayorSamAdams Can citizens get their own PIOs to dispute the erroneous public claims made by the PPD about them?
• @MayorSamAdams Don't worry about it. I'm sure a Grand Jury will make it all better.

I'm John Gallucci and this is the 11:11...

Best joke ever (with regards to the drunk driving event that killed the Jackass star and his passenger):

"I'm Ryan Dunn and this is Drunk Driving"

I wish I'd written that line. I didn't, I merely reposted it on Twitter. I should have thought of it. I suck at comedy. I mean, such an obvious gem of a joke and I'm thinking of bullshit like "Ryan Dunn's middle name was "Iswell." I never posted that because it was too stupid even for here.

I need a vacation. Bottom line. The obviousness of life's jokes are passing me by.

goochout.

It's the new style...

Indescribables:

I'm working from a new setup in my "will-work-for-a-desk-downtown" office space. My Hackintosh netbook combined with an external monitor and I'm working remarkably well. I've provided ad-hoc remote support, interfaced with the corporate email, and joined a non-filtered wireless network so smut will flow freely through my workspace. I'm sure the Muslim Arabs from whose bandwidth I'm using would be happy to hear that.

I'm trying to run more. I'm clearly the fattest person to ever attempt any sort of running with any sort of distance in mind. I ran for 20 minutes on Monday which, at my rate of speed, translates to about a quarter-mile. I've signed up for an actual organized 5K run. An organized 5K run was one of my goals for the New Year. Also on the list was:


Compete in an MMA match
Get published in print somewhere/anywhere.

I don't remember what the other ones were. These are ambitious enough.

Back to the grind.

goochout.

DJ Priapism... lives

Suckers.

This site is now optimized for mobile devices. You know, for when Angry Birds gets boring.

I just purchased the new DJ laptop. I've even purchased the professional version of the DJ software I've grown accustomed to using. I have two gigs for DJing and one for officiating lined up. I have to fit into my suit(s); yet I sit here at my office doing office things. My checkbooks are balanced; my diet and exercise are not.

But my desk is wonderful. I can sit in my drafter's stool and while the cat claws at my ankles I can remote into people's workstations and fix problems  without intruding on their work days. I can balance my business and personal banking accounts. Manage my calendar. Listen to Sirius XM online. Watch Netflix on one screen while I do the aforementioned tasks. I sit down at this desk and shit will get done.

I'm trying to eat better... as always. Avoiding carbs as if I was a dick and simple sugars were herpes. I try to cut back on Rock Stars/energy drinks. But, my God, they're so good. I mean, have you had the Rock Star "Recovery" drinks? They're non carbonated so you can leave the can in your car and drink throughout the day. It may get a little warm but the caffeine remains constant. And the thirst quenching remains quenchant.

I found a show that I love, which means it'll probably be cancelled. "The League" is awesome. I don't know anything about fantasy football, or real football for that matter (the macguffin of the show). This show is up there with Blue Mountain State, Archer, Curb Your Enthusiasm, and the other shows that warm the cockles of my funny bone.

I sleep now.

goochout.

PDX MUGSHOTS DOT COM

I love http://www.pdxmugshots.com/ . I look at it way too much. It's good to see what my friends are up to and it's like a yellow pages of drug dealers if I ever wanted to hit a new low in bender-ology.

Here's a couple faves:

Presumably was cited for riding a motorcycle without a helmet.

Sorry officer, I didn't know that eating leaves from low hanging branches was a crime.

This is the land of contusion...

Kim Kardashian proving that not everything that goes into her mouth gets swallowed. Just almost everything.

Yesterday I was getting my drill on. Dentist was drilling out a filling but first he had to inject me with an anesthetic.

I fucking hate needles. Anything that goes into my body for the purpose of drawing blood freaks me the fuck out. I've survived bungee jumps, car accidents, a cracked skull, some MMA training, and even a couple of toothy blow jobs. Needles, however, make me cower away from the instrument of torture. Kind of like a wounded kitten. Albeit a fat, thirty-seven year old wounded kitten.

But over the years, as I started going to the doctor without my Mother (read: STD clinics during my twenties) I overcame my fear of needles. I mean, it's apparent to anyone in the phlebotomy field that I don't like needles. I still lose a few shades of fake tan in my face whenever I sit in a chair anticipating a needle poke. However, I'm functional.

"I hit a bullseye."

 So I'm laying in the dentist's chair: sunglasses on, eyes closed, white knuckling the chair's arms.The needle goes in with the sensation of the pinch I was forewarned about. Then something weird happened. An electric shock went through my jaw and tongue. It was like sticking my tongue on a battery except I was sober when it happened.

And then he immediately says something like "did I shock you?" And I genuinely thought, since he described the sensation accurately, that I had in fact been shocked by something. Was he using an electric syringe with a frayed extension cord plugged into an outlet partially submerged in water? This is truly what I imagined had happened. My imagination has never been a substitute for a thoughfully crafted question:

"What the fuck was that?" I inquired.

"I hit a bullseye" the doctor explained. Essentially, while trying to inject anesthesia near the nerve, he got a little too close and hit the actual nerve. Something that happens all of the time and I really quit telling this story to anyone because everyone I spoke to had a far more sympathy evoking story than mine. My Mom's, for example, involved an injection into her back prior to a spinal tap to determine if she had meningitis (which she did).

Anyway, the procedure proceeded once I calmed down from a mini anxiety attack. I'm such a pussy.

So instead of telling anyone else about this, I'm posting it here. Peace.

goochout.








Gooch, have you ever had a dental dam used on you?

Once, but he told me he loved me.

Yo

It was twelve days between posts. Crazy. I'm getting domesticated lately. I'm vacuuming regularly. I'm cleaning the litterbox sometimes up to twice a month now. I have a girlfriend. I balance my checkbook(s). I just started eating healthier. The GF has me eating at places that don't feature happy hours. You know, cheese plates served on marble, wines that aren't fortified or have the same name as an indie rock band. I shoot at a gun range. I make my bed. I'm starting to wind down on the media piracy. At least from my own house. Two letters from Comcast might have helped me with that decision. Speaking of letters, I'm into sending birthday cards and thank you notes. I got a new electric toothbrush and I'm wildly excited about this.

I leave you with this.