Am I seeing things???

Or are they actually showing the Simpsons where Homer goes to the World Trade Center?

They are.

I remember thinking (and keep in mind, I'm not proud of this), but one of the first thoughts I had when I saw those planes hit the towers is "they'll never show that episode of the Simpsons where Homer goes to the World Trade Center again!"

And for four years, I was right. As far as I know, anyway. I never really checked. I'm lazy.

I mean, c'mon, this is "the day that everything changed". They didn't show Saturday Night Live for a whole month! And I have to admit, watching this episode is more than just a little weird.

First of all, it's all about Homer's anti-NYC views. Which he espouses loudly, throughout the whole episode. New York is shown as an uncaring city of horrible bureaucrats looking to screw the taxpayer out of his hard-earned money at the drop of a hat. That tax money was used to pay the salaries of firemen and policemen who died! Their widows and children need that money!

And if that isn't bad enough, it contains the line, "They stick all the jerks in Tower 1!"

All the jerks? Weren't these people supposed to be heroes? Did I mention this is regular tv I'm watching this on, it's not a DVD!

Am I the only one who thinks this is crazy?

Does anyone care?

No? OK, I guess it's just me. Nevermind. My bad.

I got heckled!

Check it out, someone totally burned me!

I say "someone" cuz they didn't feel it was necessary to leave their name or anything like that, oddly enough.

See, I put up a picture showing that the aol instant message name "Jesus" was more popular than my own instant message name, "p1mpb0t". Then this person, let's just call him or her "anonymous", said "Gosh, you're so deep."

Now, I know what you're thinking, "nice compliment!" but I think this person was actually using what is known in the business as "sarcasm". The implications of this statement are actually quite contrary to what one may first surmise. This person, I am presuming, is actually saying that I am, in fact, not deep at all!

I know, I can't believe it either! If anybody knows me or as has read my blog at all, they know that my primary concerns are a.) being deep and 2.) being perceived as such. So this was quite a wake-up call for me to find out that I am failing miserably in my endeavor! LOL! From now on I am totally going to change the direction of this blog and my life as a whole and instead focus on being humorous in the stupidest way possible.

No, don't try and stop me. The old, deep, serious-minded Eric you know is gone! Hello to the new, wacky and shallow Eric! Like Celine Dion says, "A new day has come"!

Thank you, mysterious stranger, for putting me in my place and allowing me to be reborn as a total goofball who doesn't take anything seriously! I may even make fun of people who are different than me. Perhaps I shall take a cue from your hilarious post and start utilizing sarcasm and irony.

No, that's going too far.

Jesus kicked my ass!

Pickles the dog (for T's dad)

I think things really took a turn for the worse between Allison and I when I offered to pay her 37 dollars to make out with her brother, Steve, for ten seconds at my twenty-seventh birthday party. I don’t think it would have been so bad, if everyone else hadn’t agreed to chip in and raise the pot with such good spirit. Five hundred and eleven dollars wouldn’t buy her pride and she left the room quietly ten minutes later. There was no scene. No going off in a huff. I didn’t even notice her leaving, because there was a quarrel over the reimbursement of the funds from the failed venture. Once things were settled and the apologies accepted, I finally realized she had left me.

I’m not going to psycho-analyze my reasons for doing the awful things I did. I think it’s pretty safe to say self-hatred played a part. I loved Allison very much and it killed me inside to see other people hurt her. The problem was, she seemed to almost beg for it by her own passivity. Once, she and I had been eating lunch in a diner when she ran into an old boyfriend of hers. As they embraced, his suspicious girlfriend, who had been spying on him, witnessed this scene of events and jumped to all the wrong conclusions. We all stood there, motionless, while the girlfriend unleashed her seething, spit-fueled expletives for the better part of five minutes. All the while, poor Allison said nothing. Her expressionless face, flecked with spittle, only provoked more intense fury. Since it wasn’t my place, I didn’t think it would be right for me to intervene. Finally, out of exhaustion, the girl just stopped, threw her arms up and walked out. The ex-boyfriend muttered some sort of lame apology and ran off to catch up with her.

I think I could have forgiven her if only I had caught her crying just once. Her own mother once told her she was too ugly to pass as a transvestite. Not a whimper. No trace of tears welling up in her eyes. Nothing. That night, she went home and read a Tom Clancy paperback in bed. She even giggled at what I’m assuming were the sex parts. If only once I had seen her show any hint of sadness, I feel I would have been able to be nicer to her. Or at the least, much less horrible. It was clearly some sort of fated punishment that the day she finally did coincided with her realization that she no longer wanted anything to do with me.

Never one to dwell on the past, I went out the next day and adopted a dog. He was the largest Great Dane I had ever seen and I named him Pickles. He was completely out of control from the get-go. He broke free from his leash, ran into the street and was hit by a man on a bicycle, the impact killing him instantly. Pickles ran off unhurt and I never saw him again. As he was now somewhat of an accessory to a man’s death, I was in no hurry to be reunited. Luckily for me, I hadn’t gone through an official adoption agency or animal shelter, I had merely stolen Pickles from the yard of a large brick house I had passed on the way to the pet store to buy a cat.

So with no girlfriend, no cat and no way to tie me to the death of an innocent bicycle enthusiast, I started the week clean of commitments. It was such an exhilarating feeling, I briefly considered enlisting in the armed forces in a fit of self re-invention, but fortunately this passed before I made any written declarations of intent. Instead, I purchased a case of cheap domestic beer and headed home to become inebriated. As I watched the evening news in a near-hallucinogenic stupor, I was amazed to find out that the deceased man on the bicycle was none other than Allison’s brother, Steve. It was quite a shock to see her tear-stained face on my television, pleading for help in finding the owner of the medium-sized quadruped, which the police believed to be a small wild horse of some sort.

I couldn’t help but feel overcome with newfound feelings for Allison, seeing her so in touch with her sadness, as she was. I resolved to give things between us another chance, whether she wanted to or not. I put on some pants, shoved a whole pack of gum in my mouth and drove over to her house. When I walked in, her immediate family was there, crying and holding hands. It was kind of depressing, so I grabbed her and took her into the bedroom so we could be alone. She seemed to have forgotten our earlier troubles as she put her arms around me and began sobbing into my chest. I held her tight and softly kissed the top of her head.

I tried to tell her that I was sorry for the way I had acted and I desperately needed her back, but all she wanted to talk about was how much she missed her brother. I began to get annoyed that she could be so wrapped up in herself. It’s like she wasn’t even listening to me and what I had to say. This was important. It was me and her and our future together, but my words seemed to go right through her. It was just “Steve this” and “Steve that”.

Suddenly, something clicked and I pulled away from her. She reached out for me, but the thought of her touch was sickening. Before that moment, it had never really made any sense to me why she would have been so offended at my hilarious offer to pay her to make out with her brother. Then, I realized that the only times I had ever seen her upset had both involved Steve. How could I have been so blind? There were so many things I wanted to say to her at that moment. Mostly, I wanted to put her in her place. I wanted to tell her that she may have fooled everyone else, but this little Indian knew the truth about her disgusting lifestyle choice. Luckily, reason got the best of me and I decided the classy thing to do was express my condolences at the loss of her lover and walk out.

The worst thing I ever did

Well OK, who am I kidding, it's not the worst, but it's up there.

You guys remember my friend, Tucker McGrath? Well Tucker has never been what you would call "strong-willed". In fact, you could practically get him to do anything. "Anything" included convincing him it would be really funny if he came out of the closet to his family, even though he's not gay.

I got a couple of other people to play along and convince him that this would be a really hilarious prank. Especially if he kept it up for a few years. And he did. Three years, in fact.

Basically, it tore his whole family apart. His dad did the whole "I have no son" thing when he broke the news, but good 'ol Tucker kept his cool and didn't confess. Even when his mom would secretly call him, crying and begging him to get help at one of those gay deprogramming places, he kept up the joke.

I'll be honest, when his grandmother found out and died of a heart attack, I felt like things may have gone a little too far. I even felt a little bit responsible for a little while. I came forward and told him so, but he just wouldn't drop it. I even went to his parents and tried to tell them it was all a big goof but it wasn't any use. Whatever he did to convince them otherwise must have been pretty persuasive because they just wouldn't listen to me. I think they thought I was his boyfriend or something like that, lying to them to try and patch things up.

Anyway, his parents probably would have gone to their graves thinking he was gay except that they had a big breakthrough in therapy and decided to accept Tucker and his alternative lifestyle. Having "won" (in his mind), Tucker came clean and told them it was all just for laughs. I think they were mad at first, because he had put them through so much pain in those three years, but they eventually came to see it was a pretty awesome joke.

And that's the story of how I reunited a gay kid and his family.

Metal sucks

Have you ever heard Vince Neil or one of those guys bitch about how Nirvana ruined their careers? They can't understand why anyone would want to listen to depressing music like that. Music is about escape and having a great time!

To that, I give you:

"Unskinny Bop"

Remember that song? It was right toward the end of Poison's career. What the hell does that even mean? My brother and I used to assume it meant "fat bop". Mystery solved, I guess.

You want a music career? You want people to listen to you? Stop writting about nonsense. This isn't even nonsense. It's gibberish. It must have taken all of seventeen seconds to write that song.

"Let's just randomly put two words together that don't even make sense and make a song about it."

You know why hair metal died? Cuz it sucks. Except for Mr. Big. Those guys were great. I only heard that one song they had, but I'm eagerly awaiting the follow up. They had an album called "Bump ahead". And it had a picture of a head in the middle of the road. A human head! And I think it was like the lead singer's head, too.

So in summation, all hair metal sucks. Except for Mr. Big, which rules all.

Just call me "Party Pooper, M.D."

My friend Bordo sent me a link to ashtonhacked.com which claims to have hacked into Ashton Kutcher's private voicemail. I admit I fell for it for a few seconds (probably because I wanted it to be true) but I see that it's clearly a fake.

Here are my reasons why:

1.) Why isn't the number up there? They say they took it due down to "assholery" but if you're the one posting someone's voicemail messages on a website, what exactly qualifies as "assholery"? The number was never actually up there to "take down".

2.) This is another glaring ommission: where's his outgoing voicemail message? Why not record that and put that up? That would provide definitive proof that your prank was legit. Its absence is "suspicious" to say the least. Never explained or even mentioned.

3.) The link to his mom's voicemail message just happens to be "down". Why? Because you could probably find some E! True Hollywood Story about him where you hear his mom's voice and that could be verified. What a coincidence that the one voicemail "here" that could do that isn't working. That's weird huh? I'm sure it'll be back up real soon though.

4.) Where are the voicemails from his celebrity friends? P. Diddy, excuse me, Diddy never called? His girlfriend never called and left a message? You know, his girlfriend? Demi Moore? But then again, why would she call his cell phone, that would never happen. But wait, you say, maybe this is his "secret other cell phone" that he gives out to chicks he cheats on with? Right, because that's the number you'd definitely give your mother.

5.) "Wrong number - idiot has no idea he's talking to ASHTON KUTCHER" This is a total red herring. If you call it, the guy is looking for "Chris", but any teenage girl (and apparently me) who's watched that MTV bio show or looked it up on imdb knows that Ashton Kutcher's real first name is "Christopher". This, again, is just another cheesy ploy to convince people of the authenticity of this prank by feigning ignorance of certain details so that their "accidental" inclusion adds validity to the story. "Who's the idiot now? This stupid website guy didn't even realize that the caller doesn't have the wrong number! Ashton's real name is Chris! So that proves this is real!!! Yay! Let's go to the mall!" - Teenage Idiot Who Buys This Shit.

6.) The overall amateur-hour feel of this page. The hacky back story going into length about trying to figure out the right four-digit combination. Total bullshit. These guys must be sitcom writers because this all feels really unnatural.

7.) Finally, the fact that this website is still up. If it was legit, you'd think his lawyers would have it taken down considering it insuates that he does drugs, cheats on his girlfriend and is possibly gay too.

Now, I'll admit, I had another idea that didn't really pan out. The number that "Michele" gives out is an area code in South Carolina or something. I didn't bother to call it. I'm guessing it's out of service by now or something along those lines. What I was thinking (and what I would have done) would be to give out a number to one of those Carribean countries that charges you like 75 bucks a minute in those phone scams. Because, if you're gonna be a dick and make it seem (like I said) that someone is rampantly cheating on his single mother girlfriend with both women and men, you might as well go all the way.

Maybe I spent a little too much time on this post, but hey, I'm bored. I don't have a problem "Punk'ing" celebrities, especially one who does it to others for a living, but just do a good job. This is sloppy. In spite of that, people are going to believe this is real. So hey, I just thought I'd throw this out there.

The Fish Who Couldn't Swim

(This is a repost, by request of Joe. If you want to read the original story with all the pictures I drew, go here.)

Tommy the fish was not like other fish. Oh, he looked the part with the tail, the fins, the gills and whatnot, but unlike most fish, Tommy couldn't swim. See, it's bad enough when a person can't swim, but Tommy was a fish and therefore spent his whole life underwater. So basically, he was screwed.

While all the other fish would swim around and have a good time, poor Tommy would just flop around at the bottom of the tank. All the other fish would tease Tommy and call him a retard. They all suspected he was a little crybaby about it too, but luckily for Tommy, it's really hard to tell if someone is crying underwater.

It's not that Tommy was retarded, no, not at all. He was actually quite smart, he was just woefully uncoordinated. No matter how much he practiced, he couldn't quite get the hang of that swimming thing. Tommy finally gave up and had just accepted his fate as the world's only non-swimming fish when he was struck by a brilliant idea. He immediately set about dismantling the tank's bubbler and filter and using some pebbles and other items, he started constructing a crude submarine. Given his limited mobility, this was no easy task, but Tommy stuck to it.

Finally, after several days, his creation was ready for a test run. Tommy managed to flop himself into the hatch and he shuddered with anticipation as he slowly put the submarine into 'forward.' Tommy was pleasantly surprised to find the submarine worked great. Soon he was zooming all around the tank with ease, passing the other fish as if they were standing still. They no longer had witty comments to make at his expense, they just sat there looking perplexed as the strange contraption motored past them. His test run complete, Tommy brought his submarine to a picture perfect landing on the bottom of the tank. The other fish crowded around the submarine to get a better look as Tommy clumsily emerged from the hatch.

"Holy shit, it's Tommy!" said Pez, one of the more popular fish. They all moved in closer to pat Tommy on the back with their fins.

"Say, buddy," said Pete, a large goldfish with unusual markings, "mind if I go for a spin with you since we're such good friends and all?"

"No way, Tommy," said Pez, "he told everyone that you're gay, take me instead, I always stuck up for you."

Soon there was quite a mob scene as all the fish tried to get a ride in Tommy's fantastic new submarine. "Friends, friends," said Tommy in a cocky voice, clearly enjoying his newfound popularity, "You'll all get your turn, but be patient, there's only room for one passenger at a time. And this time that passenger is Molly, the prettiest girl fish in the whole tank."

Molly blushed and gracefully swam through the hatch, into the submarine. The other fish were green with envy, or maybe it was algae, but they could hardly blame Tommy for picking Molly, they would have done the same. They watched with jealous awe as the submarine sped off around the tank with ease, but then Tommy seemed to run into some trouble as the sub began to move erratically and then briefly came to a stop. But then it started up again and resumed it's graceful trip.

When the sub again touched down on the bottom of the tank, everyone cheered, but this quickly stopped when Molly emerged from the hatch, sobbing and looking disheveled. She swam past the crowd into the murky water without saying a word. As Tommy emerged from the submarine, he also looked disheveled. He sheepishly told the crowd, "Broads, right? Go figure." But the crowd wasn't buying it.

Tommy was hauled off to fish jail to face charges of sexual assault. His court date was set for later that day, but sadly, Tommy was never brought to justice or even sodomized in his jail cell, since all the fish died because the bubbler was no longer running.

The work of god

I didn't even bother to read this article. The headline says it all.

"Down's Syndrome Recreated in Mice"

OK, I lied, here's an excerpt:

Scientists have been able to introduce most of a human chromosome into mice, producing the most successful recreation of Down's syndrome so far.

Most successful? Down's Syndrome?

Look, like I said, I didn't read this so I'm not really sure why the scientists would do this. Perhaps it's so the mice can remain sweet and innocent their entire lives and not grow up to be bitter and jaded? These retarded mice will remind the other mice to take the time to enjoy the little things in life. Because really, is there anything more pure and beautiful than the smile of a mouse with Down's Syndrome?

Do you ever get the feeling that maybe we shouldn't be fucking with Mother Nature like this? I'm sure these people had good intentions but just because we can do something, does it necessarily mean we should?

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe this will lead to some huge breakthrough, but I'm sure this must have been millions and millions of dollars of research to do... what?

Wouldn't a hammer have worked just as good?

Tim Jennings: Worse than Hitler?

You know, a lot of people throw around the phrase "worse than Hitler" these days. Personally, I don't think they stop and think about what it means before they do. As an example, I will ask the question: Is my friend, Tim Jennings, worse than Hitler?

Let's look at the facts.

Hitler, or "Adolf", as he was known to friends, was born sometime in the late 1800's, I think. He was like the president of Germany or something. He killed ten million people in concentration camps, six million of those died just because they were Jewish. He also didn't like gay people or handicapped people or Pollocks. He is rumored to have had one testicle.

On the other hand, Tim Jennings is between twenty five and thirty or something and as far as I know, he's never killed anyone. He isn't the President of Germany, I think he works on a TV show or something. I've never heard him speak ill of Jews or gays or handicapped people and the only Pollock he hates is me. I'm not sure about his balls, but I'd guess he's got both of them.

So in summation: NO. My friend, Tim Jennings, is not worse than Hitler. It's really not even close. So maybe you should think of my friend, Tim Jennings, next time you want to go around saying something is "worse than Hitler". Be it George Bush, Martha Stewart or that little kid from "Jerry Maguire", chances are, they're not as bad as Hitler, because he was pretty bad.

Scooby Doo? More like "Scooby Don't"!!!

You know that children's cartoon from the 80's? Scooby Doo? I was thinking about that recently and I realized something quite shocking: It's all about smoking pot!

I know what you're thinking: too crazy to be true. But consider this: "Shaggy" is a beatnik-looking fella with long hair and a goatee who's best friend is a talking dog. That's right, you heard me: a talking dog. And they drive around in a van. A van. And what's with those "Scooby Snacks"? Why is a grown man so excited about getting fed dog food?

Because it's not dog food, it's pot!

This is all a thinly veiled metaphor for drug use. Am I the first person to make this connection? I think I am as I've yet to hear this theory from anyone else.

Look, I'm "hip". I've got nothing against marajuana. If you want to go and "light up" on your own free time, that's your business. Just as long as you don't bring that shit around here and sell it to my kids. But that said, you're making a choice as an adult. A choice that a dog isn't capable of making. I don't care if it's a talking dog, because in real life there are no talking dogs. The fact that they would give drugs to their dog is disgusting.

That's their pet. They're supposed to take care of it. I don't even give my cat regular cat food because the "ash" from ground up bones and stuff can get caught in his urethra and give him kidney problems. I certainly wouldn't go and give Mr. Whiskers a joint! Imagine what must be going through the mind of that poor animal as he starts to "freak out" from the "weed" that was given to him by the very people who are supposed to watch out for his best interest.

And this is a cartoon show directed at KIDS!!! Someone should start some sort of petition to get this taken off the air immediately. Not to mention the fact that I think the blonde guy and the bitch with the glasses seem to be the types to lead "alternative lifestyles".

Where the hell is Pat Robertson when you need him?

The time I went camping with my dad

My dad hated that I was in the Boy Scouts. He said it was a "fascist organization". He also said that no son of his was going to go marching around, saluting people and wearing a brown uniform. I guess he had a point.

I was in scouts for three years, every year they had a "father/son campout", but I only went one year. Actually, I went all three years, but the other two I tagged along with my friend Todd Morgan and his dad.

That first year, my father and I spent a long, sleepless night in that tent together. I had never camped out before and I have to say, as a first impression, I wasn't too enamored of having a big, hard tree root under my back instead of a nice, soft mattress, but that's just me.

Now I said we both had a sleepless night, but that's not actually true. My dad would sleep in fifteen minute bursts of loud, horrendous snoring. I believe they call it "sleep apnea" now. The earth would literally shake from the sound. Then he's go and wake up. I knew he was waking up because he'd make that horrible dry mouth "smacking" noise. You know the one some people get in the morning right as they wake up and the various parts of their mouth stick together and make a sound as they are pulled apart? That one. Every fifteen minutes. Then the snoring would begin again.

So then around five a.m. he wakes up and decides he wants to leave early. He decided to "bribe" me with the prospect of getting breakfast sandwiches at McDonald's. Little did he know, I wanted to get the hell out of there just as much as he did. But then again, I love bacon, egg and cheese biscuit sandwiches, so I wasn't about to tell him that.

Like I said, I went camping the next two years with my friend and his dad but it wasn't much better. I haven't gone since. The irony of this is that my brother loves this shit. He can sleep on anything. He goes camping all the time. I don't know if he even has a bed. He has a saying:

Let the earth and the leaves underfoot be my mattress
And the stars and the sky above shall be all I need for a blanket
And this dead beaver I found in the woods shall be my pillow.

Makes you think, huh?

My note to the Tooth Fairy

This is a note my mother found from when I was a kid. Apparently I am telling the Tooth Fairy I want her to "add" (that's add, not 92) more quarters when I sell her a tooth. That's right: quarters.

What a cheap bitch. The Tooth Fairy must be fucking rich and all she could afford to give me was a few quarters? That's ridiculous, I mean--

Wait a minute... I left that note for the Tooth Fairy, how the hell did my mom get it?

Unless...

No, it couldn't be. Could it?

Those fucking liars!

Excuse me, I have to go yell at my mom now.

No, just kidding, of course I know the Tooth Fairy isn't real.

The story of how I found out is pretty interesting though...

I had this little weasel friend who used to ruin everything for me: Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, Jesus... Anyway, the Tooth Fairy was like the last piece of pure, childhood innocence I still possessed, but sure enough, good ol' Tucker McGrath had to go and spoil that too.

This little bastard told me how he rigged up a string to a bell so when "The Tooth Fairy" moved his pillow, the bell would ring and wake him up. Only, he told me, it wasn't the Tooth Fairy, it was his mom who was reaching for the tooth under his pillow, clutching a crisp five dollar bill in her hand (yeah, that shithead got five bucks!).

I thought he might have been bullshitting me so I decided to find out for myself. I rigged up a similiar contraption, only this time, I had set up a spring-loaded hypodermic needle I had found on my family vacation to Jones Beach under my pillow. I had been saving that fucker up for just the perfect occasion and this seemed appropriate.

Sure enough, that night I was awoken by the screams of my mother as she desperately tried to yank the dirty needle from her leg. If her yelling, "I've got AIDS!" over and over hadn't done it, the sound of those two measly quarters she dropped falling on the ground would have woken me up anyway.

So that's the true story of how I learned there was no Tooth Fairy and my parents are a bunch of liars who deserved to get whatever horrible bacteria or virus was lurking in that needle.

Oh and by the way, my mom only ended up getting a pretty bad staph infection that cleared up in a few months anyway, so relax.

The time I won a ventriloquism contest

When I was a kid I was really into ventriloquism. I still have my dummy, Rob Wagman. I would put on little shows for friends and family, anyone who would watch.
I got so good at it, people told me I should enter a ventriloquism contest.

When my seventh birthday rolled around, that's what I told my mom I wanted: to enter a ventriloquism contest. So a few weeks later we flew out to Juneau, Alaska for the Alaska Junior Ventriloquism Contest. We stayed at the Juneau Marriott and I prepared every night of that week, after our full day of pre-contest activities. I still correspond via email with some of the nice people i met at the "Meet My Dummy" social mixer.

Anyway, on contest day, I was super nervous. I remember sitting in my makeup chair, practicing drinking water while Rob Wagman would speak. Usually you don't actually drink the water (that's a little trade secret, don't tell anyone!) but I did cuz my mouth was so dry. Anyway, I took the stage and became somewhat of a media darling as I charmed the judges and the nationally televised audience.

I got to the finals and I was up against some pretty big names, believe me. I didn't expect to win, it was an honor just to be there. But that year, me and Rob Wagman got lucky cuz we took home the gold medal after three of the finalists' dummies failed their drug tests (if you give crack to a dummy, it comes alive for a few minutes) and the fifth contestant turned out to actually be a midget in a plastic mask.

So, having conquered the world of ventriloquism, Rob Wagman and I decided to give up the spotlight and lucrative endorsement deals for the simple life. Now we still perform together, but we do it for the love of performing, which is the best gold medal in the world.

My rich, vivid dream life

Here is my dream retold as accurately as I can remember:

So I was at a bike shop in Norwich, CT. The bike shop was located where I think there is actually a bar or restaurant. And you had to go down like 4 stairs to get there, which isn't true in real life. So I went down there and there was this green bmx bike, which for some reason I was interested in. so then I go and just 'take' the bike. I rode it around for a while and then started to panic that they would think I was stealing it or something so I rode back and sure enough, there was some sort of flack over it. I remember at one point, I was riding it and then I put my leg back towards the wheel and felt in the air for pegs. and sure enough, there were pegs and that made me happy.

THEN for some reason I was suddenly in a music store. I was waiting around for them to get a shipment of bass guitar amps. I wanted the smaller one that was cheaper and they only had the bigger ones. when the small amp finally arrived I was really disappointed how small it was. it was about the size of a car stereo. I also think it was made by "G.I. Joe" for some reason. Then I was like, I need a bass guitar too. So I start walking over to the bass guitars. there seemed to be a whole bunch of them, but then when I got over there and was going down the line of them, they were either really fragile or stupid looking. I wanted just a regular-looking one. they were like pastel green and intricately designed and looked like they were made out of porcelain or something. there was also a whole bunch of boxed up drum sets that I hadn't noticed before. so FINALLY I find a bass guitar I like but when I pick it up, it's suddenly too small. it was like slightly smaller than a regular guitar in length. so I "slap" the strings, which is a way of playing bass and it just sounds like crap. I'm disappointed but then I decide to "pluck" the strings and the first note is that bass note from "running with the devil" from van halen. then I play a few more bass notes from that song. it sounds like the guitar is suddenly plugged into a large amp too. but then instead of rocking out, I just put the bass guitar back.

And then I think I woke up.

Pretty spooky huh? I must be a really imaginative guy.

Um, really, Madonna?

The first time I saw this I thought I had taken too much ativan, but I guess it's actually real. I am referring to this Motorola commercial for their new phone, the "Rockr". It's the one that comes preloaded with iTunes so you can listen to music on your phone. I know, what a relief that someone finally invented that, huh?

Anyway, it features various music stars like Madonna and some other people, I can't remember the others right now and it doesn't matter anyway. They all walk into this phone booth and the joke is like "uh oh, they're all squished in there and now it's crowded".

LOL! Hilarious.

But it gets even better/worse.

At the end, they show this big fat black guy from the back and he's walking towards this phone booth already jam-packed with music star sellouts (there's no more room!)and then Madonna yells, "Biggie, no!"

That's right. Biggie Smalls. The Notorious BIG. The one who's dead. He's been resurrected via a generic look-a-like to sell Motorola cell phones. You thought it was bad when Fred Astaire danced with that Dirt Devil or whatever, but as I remember it, Fred Astaire was never violently gunned down in his car. But now that's all been erased from history. It never happened, he's ok.

Seriously, what if you saw Tupac pushing Chicken Selects in a McDonald's commercial? Here's Yitzhak Rabin selling the new Ford Mustang. Why not a Huggies commercial starring Laci Peterson?

Oh, that's going too far? My point is, this guy was MURDERED. He didn't die of old age in some rest home 50 years ago. How long has it been? Not long enough, in my opinion. Plus I think you should take into account the way someone died.

I know someone was probably like "This is great, cuz it shows that he lives on through his music!" but that's bullshit. They did this to sell phones. Plain and simple. You couldn't get any other music stars who are fat? He was the only one?

Someone said, "wouldn't it be cool if suddenly Biggie Smalls shows up and walks towards the phone booth and then Madonna delivers the punchline, which is essentially that he's too fat!!!"

Am I wrong or is this fucked up? What's next, a commercial where Christopher Reeve gets up and walks?

Look what I found

If you know me in real life, then doubtless, you know about my intense hatred for my boss and arch-nemesis, Chad Robuckle. Chad is a fucking dick in every possible sense of the word. He's a racist, sexist, homophobic asshole who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and has never worked an honest day in his life. Luckily for him, his dad owns the company I work for, Bordocom Industries. Anyway, I was looking through his desk after work and I came across this gem:

FROM THE DESK OF CHAD ROBUCKLE

Dear Mythbusters,

I am a huge fan of your show, especially of that red-head chick, what the hell is that bitch's name? Karen? Carol? Carrie? Whatever, I think she's a lesbian anyway. So I've seen like every single episode of your show but there seems to be some very obvious myths you've yet to tackle.

First up, I would like to see you show everyone that this idea that women have some inalienable right to vote and drive is bullshit. Rights should be assigned according to abilities. I don't claim the 'right' to cook dinner, clean the house or be a pain in the ass for four days every month, do I?

Second, the goddam liberal media is a fucking hipocrit (sic). On the one hand, they love to lambaste people like me for being "racist", yet their own footage backs up my point of view 90% of the time. I am, of course, referring to this idea that some black people aren't bad. Even the Associated Press pointed out this double standard that when black people steal food it's "looting" yet when white people do it, they're "finding food". I'm not saying "double standard" in the sense that it's bad, I'm all for it.

Finally, speaking of the liberal media, I'm sure they'd never let you do this last one because of the International Jewish Conspiracy, but I think someone needs to definitavely rebuke "the Holocaust". I'm not saying there weren't camps but even the Germans admitted they were just work camps. Why would the Germans lie? If six million people died, how come they still control the banks and the media and all those pro-Baby Killing groups? There wouldn't be enough of them left. It's just simple, common sense.

Anyway, I don't expect you to do all these because nothing ever goes right for me. In fact, fuck you, don't do any of these. Keep dropping your crash test dummy out of windows and stupid shit like that. And tell that whore with the red hair to go to hell.

Suck it,
Chad Robuckle.

What a dick, huh? The weird thing is, he's also got a fully addressed and stamped envelope ready to go, post-marked from 2 months ago. I don't know if he's been debating whether to send this or if he just forgot or what. All I know is, when I show the head of the company this, Chad will get fired for sure. Oh wait, the head of the company is his dad who probably believes all this crap too and will just give him another raise.

Won't someone out there give me a job?

Here's what I think

I think they should change the name of the planet Uranus to something less suggestive so people will stop making stupid space jokes about it. I can't think of any specific examples, but you know what I mean. They're always doing that shit on tv.

"Look through this telescope, Billy. I can see Uranus!"

"Shut up, Grandma, let's go do some extreme sports, astronomy is boring."

Stuff like that. See, the joke is that "Uranus" is a pun on the words "your anus". Which means "your butthole". So people in the joke are like "I am looking at your butthole through this telescope". Which doesn't make any fucking sense, if you think about it.

Actually, I don't know if it's a pun or if it's a homophone or what, but it's stupid and childish. Just rename it to something tasteful and simple that nobody can make jokes about and be done with it.

I suggest "Yourvagina".

I love video games!

My favorite game ever was Super Mario World for Super Nintendo. I would play that game for hours on end! I'd sit there in front of the TV every spare minute I had. I remember one time my mom went grocery shopping and was yelling for me to help her cuz it was raining or something. I pretended I didn't hear her but I guess she knew I could cuz she ran upstairs and that bitch unplugged my SNES in the middle of my fucking game!

So I go down and get the groceries, swearing under my breath all the time and wishing I would over-extend my arm lifting the bags and have to go to the emergency room or something and then my mom would feel bad that she made me help her but no such luck. But as I picked up one of the bags, it had fallen over on its side in the trunk, a frozen chicken rolled out and I got an idea.

I tucked the chicken way in the back of the trunk underneath some old blankets and then took the rest of the groceries up and acted like nothing happened.

"What are you smiling about? What happened to Mr. Sourpuss?"

"I'm just happy that the groceries are done and now I can go play my game. I love you, mom. I'm sorry I complained about having to bring the groceries up."

Then we hugged.

A little later, my mom again interrupted me to ask me if I knew where the chicken was. I told her that I had already put it away in the downstairs refrigerator for her. This seemed to satisfy her and she went away and it was back to Super Mario World! Seriously, people, this game has all the elements, even if the graphics may seem quaint or outdated today. The gameplay is what matters, the graphics are just window dressing.

So anyway, my mom forgot all about that chicken until a few days later when her car started to smell. At first she thought maybe a skunk or racoon had been sleeping in there and then got caught up in the engine when she started the car in the morning but she checked under the hood and found nothing. When she finally wisened up and looked in the trunk, the chicken had totally decayed and was covered with maggots. I guess it was so gross it made her throw up.

She stormed up to the living room, she made for my SNES again, but this time, I was ready for her.

"I wouldn't touch that if I were you?"

"What did you say to me, you little brat? You're paying to get my car detailed, you know that right?"

"No I'm not. And I'm going to keep playing my video game too... Unless you want me to tell Dad about you and Mr. Kilwecki."

Silence.

"Now go clean it up, we've got carpool tomorrow!" I yelled.

So in summation, while many games today might have lots of fancy bells and whistles, for pure enjoyment, you just can't be the good ol' fashioned side scrolling adventures of an Italian Plumber in a land of giant mushrooms and vicious turtles.

While I'm on a roll...

Have you seen these "text hook up" cell phone chat lines? It's not really a 'chat' line. You see, you send a text message (usually "hot" or "fun") to a five digit number (usually with a 6 and a 9 in it) and then someone texts you back. that's it. and it's like a buck every time. and I guess you talk about sex. I'm not making this up. I'm up late and these commercials are always on comedy central. I thought it was a joke, but it's not. as if phone sex wasn't lame enough, now you're even taking the 'voice' out of the equation. at least with phone sex you can be reasonably sure you're talking to a (most likely enormous) woman but with this, I'm sure it's just some dude sitting in a room with like ten cell phones tapping out "oh yeah baby, thatz hot 4 sure".

And why the fuck is "Ski Patrol" not out on DVD by now??? Sure, I've got the copy Pickles burned off of tivo for me, but it's just not the same. I want the extras with Roger Rose, TK Carter and Ray Walston! What? Oh, not Ray Walston, I guess. There's not even a soundtrack you can buy with all those awful 80's songs. Jeez, I just looked it up, this movie actually came out in 1990. It must have been delayed, cuz this has "1986" written all over it.

Has the whole world been molested?

Seriously, is it just me or is everyone fucking crazy? A while ago, I noticed that people started reading my blog and posting on it. At first I was like, "oh cool". Then I realized it wasn't "people", it was this big giant clique of renaissance faire rejects.

Yeah that's right, if you're one of the normal ones, take a look around, follow the links of the people you don't know who are posting comments on here and if you're not one of the normal ones, yes, I am talking about you.

What you will find is tales of "sensuality" starring people who are not attractive. Bisexual married 30-somethings who have "internet affairs" and like to write terrible poetry about it. That would be really trendy if it was 1994.

Do I need this shit in my life? Is the lifetime of material I'm giving up by not engaging in conversation with these people worth dealing with the horrible sensation of coolness leaving my body forever? Can you catch "molestation victim" just from typing a comment on someone's blog?

In summation, I am better than all of you.

Sure, maybe I'm bitter, but at least my dad never had sex with me. Yes, I keep bringing that up. And yes, that's why you are this way now.

Just kidding, I love everybody.

What a jerk

Take a look at this, isn't this disgusting? That striped bass is well under the limit of 28 inches long. They should both be thrown in jail. I guess fishing regulations don't matter when you're the leader of the free world. Shame on you, President Bush!

So you don't think monsters are real?

Check this out.

(CNN) -- Police in northern Ohio on Monday rescued eight children whose parents told authorities they kept the kids in locked cages for their own protection.

Why the hell would anyone keep a child in a cage? What kind of monster would do that?

I think you're asking the wrong question. The monsters aren't the ones locking children in cages. The monsters are the ones in the cages. These people are going to be vilified for what they've done, but to me, they're heroes.

Think I'm crazy? Think I'm an awful person for calling children "monsters"? Well maybe that's true, but suck on this, jerks:

"They thought there was circumstances with these children that warranted the cages at night," Sommers added, but he would not go into details of what those circumstances were.

"Would not go into details of what those circumstances were."

I'll tell you what those "circumsntances" were. Werewolves. That's right: werewolves.

Think about it, why would you need to lock a child up in a cage? At night? When the moon comes out? Children are harmless, unless they've been bitten by the unholy lords of the darkness. A child werewolf is still a werewolf and is capable of causing much damage, believe me, I know.

"Basically, the parents thought they were providing for the protection of the children from themselves and from each other."

C'mon, open your eyes, people. The writing is on the wall. These aren't social animals, cuddly little puppies who sit on your lap and give old ladies a boner. These are werewolves. And their parents were just trying to protect them. And protect us.

That's right; you and me. Because if these little monsters get out and wreak havoc on the world, they will destroy society. Once again man will be forced to huddle around the fires at night, wearing furs and carrying clubs, afraid of what lies beyond... in the darkness.

hooray for terrorism!

So I get home from my big trip out to Wal-Mart and my dad announces that there's no power in LA. Can you see where this is going? Cuz I could.

"The terrorists have bombed LA!"

Right... You should have seen the boner Fox News had over the mere thought that this could possibly be terrorism. It was disgusting.

"Well, now, nobody wants to jump to any conclusions [except us] but we can't rule out that this could be a terrorist attack."

They must have used the T-word probably 100 times in the 20 minutes I watched. The news copter zoomed in on some smoke in the distance and even though it was explained as smoke from the oil refineries, der newscaster said something like "Oh that's too much smoke, that looks like it's from a fire, it must be a fire".

I guess cuz things are finally starting to go well in New Orleans (no fair!) they need a new news story to help them churn out 23 hours of bullshit with. I can just see all the terrorism experts who were pulling out their fancy sweaters getting pissed off cuz now they won't get to go on TV and pretend to know what they're talking about.

And speaking of New Orleans, where are all the corpses they said would be floating in the streets from the above ground grave sites? I wanted to see that.

Bitter? Yes, but only because I hate everyone.

Just kidding, I love everyone!

Dear Grandma

I found this letter that I wrote to my grandmother when I was nine. Normally I don't post this cutesy, adorable stuff but I couldn't resist. This is just too precious!

Dear Grandma,

I had to send you this letter at school because my mom took away the first one. She said she wanted to "spare your feelings" and I'm a terrible grandsom and all that nonsense.

After receiving your last letter, I felt the need to address some issues. I think people don't bring this shit up with you because they think "Oh, grandma's an old lady, we shouldn't upset her". The result is you end up living in a bubble, protected from reality.

Well, I, your grandson, am here to tell you how it is. Nobody cares about your neighbor's cat. Also, a dollar can't buy shit these days, send twenties. Don't tell us about the terrible gas you got from the pickled herring you ate, that's gross. I know you come from a different time but when they taught us about the civil war in school, I don't remember George Washington talking about his farts.

Most importantly, I wanted to discuss your English skills. I know you grew up in Switzerland or wherever, but that's no excuse. Lots of foreigners learn English. The Mexican guy who does our garden for instance or Ping Wu at the Chinese restaurant. If they can learn English, why can't you? It's bad enough talking to you on the phone, I can barely understand you with that goddam accent of yours. But you would think when you take the time to sit down and write me a letter, you could at least consult a dictionary, if not "The Elements of Style".

Contrary to what mother said, I'm not a monster. I'm not going to sit here and point out all your spelling and grammar mistakes, but trust me, they're there. I know you probably think "Oh, I'm old, why should I bother improving myself at my age?" Sure, you don't have to work cuz the government gives your lazy ass money for doing nothing but don't you want to at least come across as a reasonably coherent person? At least on par with an intelligent ape or parrot?

If I have yet to convince you to do this for yourself, won't you think of your family and the embarassment you cause us? Oh sure, the staff of the Olive Garden might think it's "cute" when you want to order "Pisghetti with meaty bowls" but we don't. It's fucking humiliating. So crack open a fucking book or shut your goddam mouth, got it?

Love,
Eric

PS, my birthday is coming up soon. I want Voltron. Not a sweater.

Way to go, Google Adsense!

OK, keep in mind that I didn't make this up and I'm not lying. Google Adsense is a program that scans your blog and delivers ads to your website and when people click on them you get like 3 cents. this is what the ads said today:

New Orleans Excursion Fun
Excursions in New Orleans. Get the flavor of the Big Easy real easy.

Tours of New Orleans
A Sips, Sight, Sound & Story Tour! Wally Will Take You To Local Places.

OK, first of all, who's "Wally"? Second of all, why does he capitalize every word of his ad? I'm not allowed to click on my own ads cuz then Google gets mad at you for inflating your monthly adsense bill (woohoo, 24 cents). But someone click on these and tell me if they're still giving tours.

My friend Karl told me there was a rerun of "The Price is Right" yesterday where the grand prize was a trip to New Orleans and a speedboat. CBS had to apologize. I want an apology. And sixty three dollars. And a dunkin donuts breakfast sandwich.

Oh, so this is why hurricanes happen!

Forget about high and low pressure, jet streams and all that "science" mumbo jumbo. Hurricanes happen because of gay people and abortions. And "Girls Gone Wild". It's so simple!

That's right. A group calling itself "Repent America" has pinpointed the cause of hurricane Katrina and the resulting damage to the city of New Orleans. Apparently there was supposed to be some big gay celebration just a few days after the hurricane but God decided to cancel it.

"Although the loss of lives is deeply saddening, this act of God destroyed a wicked city," stated Repent America director Michael Marcavage. "From 'Girls Gone Wild' to 'Southern Decadence,' New Orleans was a city that had its doors wide open to the public celebration of sin. From the devastation may a city full of righteousness emerge," he continued.

I guess all those people outside of New Orleans in Louisiana and Mississippi must have eaten meat on Friday or worn clothes made out of flax or something.

I feel weird parodying this website because it's so out there, I think it might actually be a goof itself. I mean c'mon, how many times does your dad have to fuck you before you believe something like this? I'm guessing at least three.

"We must help and pray for those ravaged by this disaster, but let us not forget that the citizens of New Orleans tolerated and welcomed the wickedness in their city for so long," Marcavage said. "May this act of God cause us all to think about what we tolerate in our city limits, and bring us trembling before the throne of Almighty God," Marcavage concluded.

See, it's not even saying "God is punishing the gay people" or "God is giving Joe Francis herpes", it's saying that if you simply allow these people to exist, you too could be wiped out by the worst national disaster in the history of the United States of America. You have to actively try and be an asshole in order to save yourself. Is it enough to protest or do you actually have to shoot someone to escape punishment? I wish this website would be more clear. And the Bible? That's no help. Which part are you supposed to believe? Apparently not the part about "love thy neighbor" and all that.

Just to be safe, I'm gonna find a guy in a wheelchair and punch him in the face.

the man in the mirror

So I, like everyone else, has watched hopelessy the news from New Orleans, the rest of Louisiana and Mississippi. I actually started watching before the storm, when people in New Orleans were saying there would be no storm and they were going to stay in their homes. I remember thinking sadly that those people would probably be dead soon. Looking at the destruction, it's hard to understand how anybody could survive.

Now I'm wondering, what can I do? You think about going down there and helping. I don't know, drive a truck or something, pass out supplies, whatever. Certainly something tangible like that would be more rewarding, seeing your hard work pay off in real ways, affecting real lives right before your eyes.

But unfortunately, that's not me. As much as I'd like it to be. I could blame it on having heart surgery, but that's just a cop out. I'm just not one to get off his ass and do something heroic like that. But I don't think I have to be punished, it doesn't mean I'm a bad person. People can give in different ways. I'm not rich, but I figured a couple hundred bucks might do a little help. It reminds me of the pictures of the helicopter dumping sandbags into the breach of the levee. It looks like nothing's happening, like they'll never fill the void - but eventually they will. And that's how you have to feel about donating money. Those little bits will add up and soon be a huge sum of money to help these people rebuild their lives.

But then I had another idea. I had set aside $300 to donate to the Red Cross but in spite of the 'every little bit counts' theory, it just seemed like if I could give more, it would bring just that much more hope.

So today I took my $300 to Foxwoods Casino, in Ledyard, CT with plans to hit it big and donate all the money I made to the relief effort. I was planning on doubling it, at least.

I lost it all. So now the Red Cross gets nothing. I feel like shit. I feel like a fucking dumbass because I should have known. I never win. I have the worst luck in the world. $300. Gone in under an hour. I couldn't hit anything. Pathetic.

$300 worth of blankets, canned foods, flashlights, cots, who knows what.

Now? Nothing.

The only consolation I thought of was that it went to the Mashantucket Pequot Indian Tribe who have had their share of hardships in the past. Of course, now they're loaded, so fuck it.

Rock School? More like "Rip-off School!!!"

no, rock school is better. but still, am I the only one wondering why the people who did the movie "school of rock" aren't suing vh1 and the makers of this show? it's exactly like the goddam movie. he picks out a band, shows them how to 'rock' and then the rest of the kids get to be the manager and stylist and stuff. that's basically exactly the same plot as the movie. are they connected? do I just not know it? then how come they wouldn't call it "Gene Simmons' School of Rock" to make the connection with the movie? is there a big lawsuit going on that I'm not aware of? does anyone else care? is anyone even reading this? where the fuck am I anyway? I hate the internet.

Look at me, I'm making fun of the hurricane!

Look at how edgy I am! See, cuz everyone's really upset (and rightly so, LOL!!!), but here I've gone and made inappropriate comments about this tragedy! It's genius, really! This is sure to garner me plenty of controversy! Then readership of my blog will spike from all the angry comments! Then my dad will finally love me again!

Disneyworld trip: Revised!

I wrote before about my plans for a trip to Disneyworld. Well the marked improvement in my health situation has caused me to re-evaluate the situation.

Don't worry, pickles will still have to push the igloo around - only now I won't be in it! I figure we can put a dummy or some concrete blocks in there to simulate a real person.

If I'm well enough to walk around on my own now, why the igloo? It's simple, pickles doesn't deserve to have a good time. This way, he'll get hot and even sweatier pushing this thing around. There's also the added humiliation of it now being a pointless task. Most importantly, he won't be able to endanger anyones' lives by riding on rides. His considerable mass could comprimise the metal substructure of a ride like space mountain and then tragedy strikes.

No, it's better this way. He'll be there, but he'll be wearing a backpack with all our supplies while pushing the igloo around. Maybe if he's lucky, we'll let him leave the igloo for a few minutes and ride one of the rides. But not a good one. Maybe the snow white kiddie ride or something.

So, who's up for a trip to Disneyworld? We're going Dec. 15-22 and we'll probably be staying at the Polynesian Resort, but that's not final yet. This is a good time to go because the park is decorated for christmas but it's a relatively slow time of year right before the holiday so the lines aren't too bad. Let me know.

I want to be crazy

Everything is easy and great when you're crazy. Nobody bugs you or talks to you and you get free sweaters from most stores. I think I'm gonna do it. Fuck it, right? For 29 years I've been not crazy and what has it gotten me? Heart surgery? You can only go up from there.

I think I'm gonna be one of those crazy people who accuses people on tv of stealing their ideas. That's a classy way to, I think. I'm not sure if I'm actually going to think my tv has a secret microphone and video camera in it or if people on tv can just read my brain waves. If I go with the first, I'll probably throw my tv out the window once I'm sure everyone's looking. If i do the second, I'll get to wear a cool hat I will make out of aluminum foil so I think I'm leaning towards the second.

Wish me luck!