Will he make it, Doc?

A comeback so dramatic and intense, only Keifer Sutherland could pull it off


Do you believe in an after-life? Reincarnation? Ever seen the movie Flatliners?
Lying dormant for almost two years, I am now going to attempt to revive this once beloved blog... Let's see how shit goes.

Did You Miss Me? I Know I Missed You...

I know I haven't written for months and months. I know you're angry. I know that in the highest likelihood you won't even want to read me anymore; but I've got to give it a shot. Everybody needs a second chance, right?? Or so the song goes.


Whenever I'm feeling confused in life I draw philosophical insights from Loverboy song lyrics

So why now? What could possibly inspire a blog reawakening after all this time? Well, in order to answer that question we'll have to go back to the beginning, and in the beginning there was......

Tom Cruise.

That's right. Some of you may remember that my first ever blog entry was one dedicated solely to how much I fucking hate Tom Cruise, and now that hatred has resurfaced anew (and possibly stronger). Now we all have a shiny new reason to mock and despise him... and we're going to do it too.

Voila! The most recent news story concerning our old friend, Tom:

"Though the general public is now fully privy to Tom Cruise's penchant for bizarre behavior, the late baseball great Joe DiMaggio may have been one of the first to know. A report this morning suggests that the actor followed Joltin' Joe all over the place, spooking him and nearly prompting him to call the cops.In the mid-'90s, when Cruise had already ascended to the top of the Tinseltown heap, he would, according to a source cited by Rush & Molloy, show up unbidden at baseball-signing shows and wait for DiMaggio to appear, and even waited outside a restaurant for him once for three hours. But the famous Yankee – once married to Marilyn Monroe – wasn't impressed, and instead, according to the source, referred to Cruise as "a short little guy" who scared him a little. "This guy is following me around everywhere I go," said DiMaggio to R&M's source. "Next time, I'm going to call the cops."Cruise's reps didn't respond to the story, and it's perfectly possible that Tom was trying to get DiMaggio's story made into a film: The "Mission: Impossible" star and father of Suri has been known to go to great lengths to get projects made, like showing up on a motorcycle in the middle of the night at director JJ Abrams' house to convince him to direct "M:I-3."

I think the second article written by Rush & Molloy wins prize for most amusing sentence: "..But Joltin' Joe felt there was madness in his [Cruise's] method." Also... showing up at some guy's house in the middle of the night on a motorcycle? Did he have a boom box too? You know what I think? I think he just wanted him to join his biker club.

When a Can Loves a Woman

Pshaw - that is sooooo 1997.

Raping your date just got easier, cheaper--and overall less illegal:

'Banned' Aphrodisiac Soda To Be Sold In Stores

I know that I, for one, have never been known to turn down a cherry soda. *wink, wink*

Ha ha, hee hee, ho ho. Oh, desperation. Now let's see what this producer of happy endings, if you will, looks like... shall we?




Well, that doesn't really look like much. Just a plain, ol' soda can. I mean, not that it's not attractive or anything, but c'mon. Why all the fuss?



Well, I mean, when you look at it that way... I guess I can see the attraction. Nothing too wild... but I mean, I suppose it's something to build on.


Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait. one. minute. --what's that guy doing? Seriously guys... what's that guy doing? Really. Whoa, I think we're getting a bit crazy here.... and I dunno if.....



JEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESUS. FuCK. Christ, that is sexxxy!



I just don't know what it does to me.... OH OH OOHIOSDFJASDJFSDFNOHOHOHOHODIFUSDFHGW099997653EDFGTUKIBCVBNDS678IIYTSDKFKFGHUI98888888888888888888888888888888888SDWERWE9DF


*Heavy breathing* Oh my God. Will you call me ?


and scene.

All In a Day's Work

As I've mentioned several times before, I work in retail. Men's clothing, to be exact. I have become so blatantly disenchanted with my current employment situation that most of my workdays are spent zoned out in a corner, self-narrating the mediocre events of my shifts--that, and discovering new and better ways in which security tags can be used as tools for self-mutilation.

So the other day, while I'm standing by the Tommy Hilfiger ties, stabbing myself in the ear with a ticketing gun, a youngish, slightly overweight gentleman walks up beside me. He feels it needs to be said, in all of his articulate glory, that "It's daym hot in herre. Why those people you werk fer act like it's freggin' twunty dugrees outside? I ullready get dizzy; it don't need to be so daym hot." I shrug my shoulders, nod in agreement, and ask if he needs help finding anything in particular. He relays that he has to try a few items on before making any final decisions, and so I point to the nearest fitting room. Now, at just that slight complaint, I already get the feeling that my sweaty friend just might be a hypochondriac, a complainer, or just a plain, out and out, giant baby. I forget about him after a moment and, for one reason or another, make my way over to a register located directly beside the fitting room our friend now finds himself in. He emerges finally, most likely sweatier than before, and finds me once again. He would like to purchase these pants, please, but also:
"Who cleans y'all's fittin' rooms?"
"I do. I'm sorry if there was a mess; I haven't been able to..."
"I mean, they'rr prrtty clean, but they's tons o' needles all ov'r the place in 'em."

He's referring to shirt pins. You see, we use shirt pins to keep our finer-made dress shirts nice and neat. These pins find their way all over the floor when careless customers ravage a shirt's packaging. Ravenous dogs, those ones be.

I look at his face and can tell that he feels as though he just escaped from a torture chamber coffin full of spikes.

"I see. Yes, well... those are shirt pins, not needles. The janitors don't vacuum."

Again, he was obviously well perturbed and made nervous at this point... He didn't like him no needleses.

"Well, they's all overr the place. I was tryin' not to step anywheres much."

That is all I can take. They can have my job. They can execute me, if that's what it takes: I am going to subtly mock this man and there is nothing anyone can do to steal this last hope of self-amusement away from me.

"Well, we're extremely lucky that pins don't know how to jump, eh?"
A well thought out "Yeah" was his response.

I continue my sales clerk duties and begin bagging his pants.

"What in the HELL is THAT?!" he cries distressedly as he bends over to pick something up from the floor nearby, and then hands me the new object of his vexation.

I look down to see what we in the biz' refer to as a 'Henry hanger'. This is a shirt hanger that has two wire sides, one on each shoulder end, to allow a place to hold both a shirt and a pair of pants. We put these on the fronts of racks in order to display outfits. I laugh when he hands it to me in such a manner.

"That's just a hanger."
"Somebody's gunna get hert with that jus' layin' arround ontha floor! Look at how sharp that dang thing is!"
"Yes; you're right. It's really quite dangerous; I don't know who on earth would have left that there. Thank you; I'll put it away before somebody hurts themselves."

As he walked down the escalator I half-expected him to begin wailing in fear. No such luck, however. He was a big boy for at least that long.

This is my life; you're welcome to it.

Thank You, Captain Obvious...

Aka National Geographic scientists.

King Kong Island Home Is Pure Fantasy, Ecology Experts Say

Awesomeness Abounds

Movie: Full House outtakes

Enjoy.

Alternate Trailer for "Big"