Last night I actually watched the presidential address. It was not my fault. No decent hockey games were on, our DVR was empty and Jeopardy was not showing due to the speech. I will take "Apathetic American" for $400, Alex. Obama is a great orator. He is take your panties off smooth. I am so used to Bush tripping over words and fumbling around at the podium for the past eight years that it is refreshing. My love for Obama ends there, however. Aside from appreciating the historical context of his presidency, I think Obama is all spectacle, no substance. Case and point the public relations sweetness of giving a military-themed speech at West Point. Here is my rundown of what Obama said last night:

We are pulling out of Iraq and re-mobilizing to Afghanistan. This should excite you as I have talked with generals and advisers who told me this what we need to do. Here is an exact date of when I will bring home the troops. Yes, I think war is timed like a football game and America just entered the fourth quarter. Go Bears! Here is a comparison of me to FDR. Please ignore the irony that New Deal programs failed miserably and/or saddled future generations of Americans with the burden of contributing to programs that will go bankrupt in their lifetime (Social Security). Something about liberty. We like Muslims now. Support your troops. It is all Bush's fault.

Who needs a drink? And some Obama Jesus gear? And some Hope Is Fading Fast gear?

Labels: america, history, politics, pop culture, war

• Sarah Palin is MILF-tastic. I could care less about her politics or shitting developmentally disabled babies out of her old dried-up uterus when she has that slutty soccer mom thing working for her.
  
• Foreign policy lessons for America from the Byzantine Empire. Very Art of War with guerrilla warfare sprinkles on top. I agree with most of these points, however, the United States has the tremendous advantage of geographic isolation which the Byzantine Empire did not. This means we can wage wars on six continents with a slim a chance of the conflicts spilling over into our Motherland. So unless we drop bombs on Canada or Mexico, I am guessing Americans will flourish historically a lot longer than the Byzantines.
• The more I see of Ice-T's wife Coco, the happier with him as a person I become. Continue to Peel Their Caps Back with your cave bitch, good sir.

Labels: america, boobs, chicks, history, music, politics, pop culture, war

I have to give credit where credit is due: this kid has a fantastic idea for a Halloween costume. He does not need a double amputee to pull it off, however. Roll behind a Kohl's and look for some discarded mannequin parts in the dumpsters. Piece together a torso and some arms and legs. Pick up some gold spray paint and you have yourself a rudimentary (yet light) C3P0. Imagine the logistics of having a double amputee strapped to your back all night. What happens if you (or the amputee) has to take a shit? Even without legs I am assuming a double amputee weighs 75 pounds (if not more). That is a lot of weight to be huffing around sober let alone with your veins pumping Jack Daniels. What if there is a slut dressed as Slave Leia at the party? Are you prepared for that menage-a-trois?

I think my idea for a Halloween costume is better than what this kid is attempting to pull of, anyway. Me as the "host body" and my infant son strapped to my mid-section as the alien Kuato from the movie Total Recall. I may have to hold out until next year for when the boy is talking so he can quip "Open your mind" upon presentation.

Labels: drinking, geekery, halloween, movies, pop culture, the boy, tomfoolery

The Bodhizoffa is no more. Unlike most celebrity deaths, this one takes the wind out of my sails. I grew up on the Swayze. Outsiders. Red Dawn. Youngblood. Point Break. And his masterpiece opus; Roadhouse. I even sat through multiple viewings of Dirty Dancing because it taught me that a) spoiled bitches should get credit for carrying watermelons and b) nobody puts Baby in a corner. Nobody. 11:14 made me realize how much I missed the Swayze in cinema. Fucking cancer. Both my grandfathers and Patrick Swayze? I guess it is your way or the highway, cancer. I cannot help think that if cancer manifested itself in the form of a human fighting opponent the Swayze would have torn its throat out with his bare hands and thrown its lifeless body into a backwoods lake and then scream, "Cancer! Cancer! Fuck you!" Sounds about right to me.

Labels: death, disease, pop culture

After reviewing this list, I would have to say 1984 was hands down the best year for movies. I can quote countless lines of dialogue from memory on most of those films. My dad really let me watch some inappropriate films during my impressionable years. He took me to see Ghostbusters, Gremlins, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (the very first movie rated PG-13) and Police Academy in the theaters. Terminator, Red Dawn, Revenge of the Nerds, Nightmare On Elm Street and Sixteen Candles found their way to me via HBO with my dad's standard caveat, "Don't let your mother know I let you watch this." There was some excellent gratuitous nudity in those films; Police Academy, Purple Rain (Apollonia jumping into Lake Minnetonka), Revenge of the Nerds (full frontal), The Terminator (right before Sarah Connor's roommate gets "terminated") and Sixteen Candles (Caroline in the locker room shower). Sadly, there will probably never be a year of cinema packed full of winners like that again. Unless someone decides to resurrect Steve Guttenberg and Ralph Macchio's careers.

Labels: boobs, chicks, dad, glory days, movies, pop culture

My mom called this morning to inform me that the boy was exposed to some form of a coughing disease a few weekends ago at her house (my young nephew being the little monkey from Outbreak in this scenario). I told my mom that this weekend the boy was exposed to the drunken stupidity of my sixteenth annual fantasy football draft, his dad repeatedly calling the Rockies a "bunch of dirty ball sacks" for getting swept in San Francisco and the assorted programming of the History Channel including Gangland and one very disappointing show about prison tattoos that mostly focused on the Aryan Brotherhood of Texas. She said I should get him get him "checked out" just to be safe.

Labels: disease, drinking, family, pop culture, sg crew, sports, tattoos, the boy

• Olympic gender-bending scandals.
• A history of modern art in three paragraphs. Marcel Duchamp did change art forever. As for the Dadaists being radically opposed to rational thought? That does not make them punk rock. It just makes them rebellious.
• Ted Kennedy is sleeping with Jesus. It has been a bad month for the Kennedys. I think Dennis Leary had it right: "They shot JFK, they shot RFK and when it came down to Ted they just said, 'Leave him be. He will fuck it all up on his own.'"
  

Labels: america, art, death, link goodness, politics, pop culture, sports

Mark: Have you heard of Art Brut? Euro-Indie rock band. Not bad. That would also be a good name for your next child other than Spilly.
Me: Did you stay up for the game and watch the grand slam?
Mark: I did not. Although I was there for Tulo's unassisted triple play and that was dope.
Me: This was ... doper? More dope? Dopest?
Mark: Unsure.

Labels: /mark, denver, im convos, music, pop culture, sports

• Ten things we do not understand about humans. I love how pubic hair made the list and I love even more that some scientist has studied pubic hair back to prehistory. For the record: we do not need explanations for why women prefer to go hairless.
  
• With the recent retirement of NHL star Jeremy Roenick, Greg Wyshynski compiled a list of his top ten pop culture moments on Yahoo! Sports. Of course the mention of him in the movie Swingers was high on the list (#2). In reference to Roenick being a video game hall of famer I could not agree more. He was without a doubt the most dominant players on NHL '94. I averaged a hat trick with him each time I played as the Blackhawks. Note to my wife: with my birthday impending I urge you to make this happen.
• The thirty five worst celebrity tattoos. Fred Durst: thank you for confirming you are the biggest douchebag in a group douchebags. And Reggie Miller? Seriously?
  

Labels: geekery, hockey, movies, music, pop culture, science, sports, tattoos, vajayjay

Fatherhood has yet to provide me with any kind of spiritual awakening. After speaking to the other expectant fathers in my various babying classes, I was expecting angels to descend from heaven and play a harp rendition of "MMMBop" while I recognized the kinship of all living things when my son was born. Instead, I was relieved that the boy arrived with no serious health/birth defects and his mother did not go all 19th Century on me and bleed to death during childbirth and leave me and the boy to resent our stations in life and grow bitter over the years while tending to the family farm. It is cool to have an entire life dependent on you. It is also scary as hell. I think the true measure of whether or not I was a successful parent will come when it is time for me to go into a nursing home. If I did well? The boy will come visit me with his family on a semi-regular basis and take me out for a steak on occasion while tolerating my rants at the waitress for being too slow with the side order of gravy. If I did not do well? I will suffer in a multi-level town house in Thornton and eat Alpo out of the can and call my son "a fucking pussy" when he makes his annual call to wish me a happy birthday. Right now the boy is much like a zombie army; singularly focused on food, growing at an exponential rate and adverse to any kind of a rest. I am debating the Boggins Window Crib to make nap time more interesting. Not sure if that will get me the steak dinner or the Alpo. Only time will tell.

Labels: bad parents, family, l-i-v-i-n, music, pop culture, the boy, tomfoolery, wife

• The world's strongest vagina. It can lift 14 kilos? Whatever. I would like to see what it could do with ping pong balls. Seriously. I would really like to see that.
• A father and son that kill and bury hookers together stay together.
• I could not agree more, John Niven. Because you record some awesome shit like Dirty Diana you get a free pass of the kiddie-touchin'? Not on my watch you dead, twisted, clown-looking freak. It is not like you revolutionized industry and tried to get us to hate on some Jews. You fingered little boys in the ass and should be vilified accordingly; especially posthumously.
  

Labels: death, history, killing, link goodness, music, pop culture, vajayjay, whores

I am somewhat indifferent about MJ's passing as the King of Pop has been dead to me since 1993. On one hand, I owned Thriller on vinyl and am able to sing most of its songs from memory. On the other hand, kiddie-touchin'? Dude was always weird. But I would have been weird, too, if I were raised by a devout Jehovah's Witness that had a penchant for regular beatings and mental anguish. Still, weirdness and amazing talent should not give you a free pass on the kiddie-touchin'. The complete entertainment package that MJ was will be unmatched for years to come. The world is now left to ponder who the most talented Jackson alive is. Most will argue Janet, but I am calling Jermaine.

Labels: death, music, pop culture

• I cannot wait to have another baby only to see my kids do this to each other.
• "Yes, Jimmy. There is such thing as the freshman fifteen."
• Ed McMahon is sleeping with Jesus. Ed was most famous for being the Lancelot to Johnny Carson's King Arthur, hosting Star Search and giving old ladies heart attacks via Publisher's Clearinghouse. I was unaware that Ed was a retired Colonel and accomplished pilot in WWII and Korea.

Labels: babies, college, death, gluttony, link goodness, pop culture, tomfoolery

• I love my son but I do not love him this much.
• Shipwreck map of Sable Island (a.k.a. the Graveyard of the Atlantic). The island is also famous for its ponies. Good to know.
  
• No matter what former Playboy centerfolds with huge fake cans tell me, I am vaccinating the boy. Much like Roald Dahl, I still take the Measles seriously.
  

Labels: babies, disease, family, history, link goodness, pop culture, random, science, stupidity

Me: Go suck a bag of dicks. One by one. In order of smallest to largest.
Candee: So as I get tired of sucking dicks, the dicks keep getting bigger and bigger making it even more gay and more painful? Is the last one in that bag a real choker? Like Mike Tyson's dick?
Me: Well, if it were Mike Tyson's dick it would rape you and then beat your head in before you sucked it. I was thinking more along the lines of John Holmes's dick. It is enormous and then gives you AIDS when it is all over. Because that is what you get for sucking a bag of dicks.
Candee: Nice.

Labels: candee, gay, im convos, pop culture, sex

• Timberlake absolutely killed Saturday Night Live over the weekend. I am loving the Color Me Badd personas he and Samberg take on. Acid-washed jeans? Christ.
  
• The Denver Nuggets have been rolling through the first two rounds of the NBA playoffs. The main reason? Homegrown talent Chauncey Billups. I remember watching Chauncey eat my high school alive in the state basketball tournament back in '94. If the Nugs win it all, there is no player more deserving of MVP honors.
  
• Rwanda, fifteen years after the genocide. The new government granted Get Out Of Jail Free Cards to most participants of the single largest mass murder in African history. Good times.
  

Labels: death, denver, history, link goodness, music, pop culture, sports, war

• Unicorn madness brought to you by my wife's childhood needlepoint "Unicorn Jumping Over A Rainbow" project.
• Best. Jon Mayer. Fan. Ever.
• I need to order business cards for Broz Design and beef jerky is now officially under consideration.
  

Labels: broz design, link goodness, music, pop culture, tomfoolery, wife

• Elena Basescu, daughter of Romanian president Traian Basescu, looks like an Eastern-bloc Wynne Cooper, is running for European Parliament and likes to mount fallen horses to pose for pictures.
• The saddest and happiest headstone I have ever seen.
  
• The Sears Tower is getting renamed the Willis Tower. Nice work, Sears. I can just hear my dead grandfather Broz renouncing his brand loyalty to all Craftsmen products on the other side.

Labels: chicks, family, history, link goodness, politics, pop culture, tomfoolery

My love for the Terminator franchise began in 1985 when my dad let me stay up late with him and watch the James Cameron joint on HBO. The movie had everything a ten year-old boy could want; violence, cyborgs, sex and boobs! I was hooked. In 1991, early CGI technology, a ripped Linda Hamilton and a Guns N' Roses-laden soundtrack made for a sequel that was much better than the original. When T3: Rise Against The Machines came out, I took my wife on our first date to watch it in the theater (I am a hopeless romantic). I thought I would have to keep her informed with back story through out the film, but she quickly interrupted me mid-Skynet dissertation with, "I know what Skynet is. Please shut up," and thereby proved her worthiness as a mate (this date was the very reason I engraved 'NO FATE' on the inner-band of my wedding ring in reference to Linda Hamilton's bowie knife table-carving in T2). I even went so far as to tune into the first full season of the Sarah Connor Chronicles only to tune out once Brian Austin Green joined the cast (thanks to long-time reader of the MB, Bryan Candee, who pointed out that Brian Austin Green's initials are BAG for a reason). Sadly, the television series has resorted to this for viewership. Summer Glau has a nice little frame, but her eyes are so far apart she looks like a cutthroat trout. Cutthroat trout are delicious when sauteed in butter, but are not sexually arousing. I can only hope T4: Salvation with Christian Bale will renew my faith in the franchise. At least they cast Christian Bale. He alone will get my wife out to the theater with me. She would watch that guy read the paper.

Labels: dad, movies, pop culture, wife

Wil: You ever want to just generally fuck yourself up? Watch CNN World for two hours. The human race is not long for this planet.
Me: Agreed. Hopefully my unborn child will get something out of it all before it blows up.
Wil: I am kind of counting on him/her to fix it all, actually. Is that not going to happen?
Me: If he/she takes after the wife, yes. After me? We are doomed.
Wil: Your spawn has been spoken of in countless Nostradamus prophecies. "And she who kicketh ass in softball shall breed with he who has odd hair of the face, and together the savior is born."
Me: Wow. Thanks? Let us hope said spawn makes the animals go bonkers at the zoo ala The Omen. The original with Gregory Peck. Not that bag of dicks remake with Julia Styles.
Wil: Well played, sir. Going to go get some dinner here in Barcelona. If I can find a place with an early bird special at 8:30 PM, that is. The Spaniards do not like to sleep.
Me: Save for the daily siesta?
Wil: Right. Adios.

Labels: babies, death, im convos, movies, pop culture, wife, wil

I have heard that Mickey Rourke's portrayal of Randy "The Ram" Robinson in the Wrestler was incredible but not enough to net him a best actor Oscar (Sean Penn won it last night for his performance in Milk). I am guessing his Spirit Award acceptance speech had something to do with it. Wow. Mickey Rourke may be my new hero. He sort of reminds me of myself after a half bottle of bourbon; rude, obnoxious and dropping f-bombs as if he were cleaning a latrine on an aircraft carrier. My favorite parts of his speech are his references to "banging chicks in the ass" and repeatedly calling Marisa Tomei "Melissa."

Labels: movies, pop culture

This past weekend the wife and I celebrated our final Valentine's Day sans children. Next year, we will be up to our elbows in shitty diapers, crying babies and "dress-up" clothes covered in baby vomit (or so I am told). We were told by many to savor our final Valentine's Day out which we semi-scoffed at because we have never really been "Valentine's Day people." I am of the opinion that greeting card companies have inflated Valentine's Day's importance and think overpriced flowers, chocolates and/or stuffed trinkets sent to a lover are fleeting (if not ridiculous). I tend to buy the wife flowers on a semi-frequent basis and remind her I love her everyday and she, in turn, keeps me happy by accepting whatever career path I may be on that particular week and consistently makes me cookies, banana bread and blueberry muffins. So when Valentine's Day rolls around, we tend to do what we did this past Saturday; grab a steak early in the afternoon with the blue-hairs and catch a matinee at the local movie theater. Nothing says "I love you" like Clint Eastwood slinging some racism ala the late Grandpa Broz.

Labels: babies, family, movies, pop culture, valentines day, wife

I do not feel sorry for A-Rod (I think he is serving punishment enough for having coital relations with the Crypt Keeper) and am indifferent over this professional baseball steroid issue. I could care less if a guy is injecting himself with elephant hormones and the back fat of an aborted pig fetus. Pick up a goddamn bat and hit that baseball to China. Nobody (except maybe Wil and DJ) watch baseball to see guys hit singles and bunt in winning runs. Professional baseball should embrace steroid abuse. Not only should players be allowed to do steroids, they should be allowed to use aluminum bats, too. Who will be brave enough to play third base when a juiced meathead three times the size of Mark McGwire digs in at the dish? Let pitchers inject performance enhancing drugs until their fastball is touching 110 mph and their arm vaporizes on the mound. That is something I would pay money to see. Most baseball purists argue that the steroid era has sullied the sanctity of the game and has ruined professional baseball's image. To them I say Pete Rose, Marge Schott, John Rocker and the Black Sox Scandal. Does taking performance enhancing drugs make you a cheater? Probably. But fans like me will only take steroid abuse seriously when professional baseball starts to taking it seriously.

Labels: dj, pop culture, sports, wil

Last night, after a home-cooked Italian feast courtesy of my mother, we settled on my parent's couch to catch the 2009 Grammy Awards. Some highlights:

• I now remember why I have not watched a Grammy Awards show since 2005. Its called Coldplay.
• Enough with the onstage collaborations. Seriously. I doubt anyone in America has been dripping in anticipation for a Paul McCartney and Foo Fighters jam session. There is a reason why two Beatles are dead; God does not want the surviving members to play their songs anymore.
• I cannot count how many times Dean Martin must have turned over in his grave after seeing this. Being as his next of kin were in the audience watching, I believe they were legally within their rights to kill one (if not all) of the performers that took a shit on Dino's memory and then wiped their asses with it. Except maybe MIA's unborn child. That kid is innocent. My rage spares the unborn.
• Jennifer Hudson: Look, I understand your family was murdered just a short while ago, but could you have at least sent your assistant out to find a dress that did not look like you you just ate a plate of crab legs at a seafood restaurant?
• Alison Krauss and Robert Plant recorded music together? I thought Robert Plant was dead. At least he has been dead to me after the Honeydrippers fiasco.
• Is there anything left for Kanye West to not bitch about? Even the Commish is with me on this one.
• Stevie Wonder. Sigh. You just make me sad.

Labels: music, pop culture, rage

Nice work, Johnny Trombones. However, you are only true of heart if you owned The Final Countdown on vinyl. Or obnoxiously sing "Carrie" to every woman you know with the same handle twenty five years after the fact. For the former members of my design team, here is your point of reference. May I remind you that in 1986 a man could be pretty and awesome at the same time.

Labels: music, nostalgia, pop culture

Winning the lottery is sometimes the worst thing to happen to people. Take Kiddie Touchin' McGee, for example. Despite claims he will donate a portion of his winnings to assorted sexual abuse charities, people are still beating him down with lead pipes and cola bottles. That is what I call some sound mob justice. Rotten.com has an excellent page on people whose lives were destroyed by winning the lottery and provides a guide on what to do if one were to win the lottery. The first rule about winning the lottery is you do not talk about winning the lottery.

Labels: crime, pop culture, sex

Jake: The ShamWow guy sues Scientology.
Me: I am debating the purchase of ShamWows.
Jake: Ha! Check this one out. "You are gonna love my nuts."
Me: He is right, that tuna does look boring. "If I can do it with one finger, you can do it with one hand."
Jake: The guy is a genius.
Me: Indeed.
Jake: He is like a sideshow magician, throwing around some Three-Card Monte.
Me: You are getting the Slap Chop for your birthday.
Jake: Excellent.

Labels: im convos, jake, pop culture, religion, tomfoolery

• The year 2008 in photographs.
• Does this generation of middle-school kids even know who Wynne Cooper is? Did they lust after her 13 year-old frame and fantasize about making out with her in Paul Pfieffer's basement after the Sadie Hawkins dance like the pubescent Matt Brozovich did?
• Mr. Belding rocks the karaoke and is releasing a DVD/CD called Karaoke With Your Favorite Principal Dennis Haskins, aka Mr. Belding. I enjoyed his duet rendition of "Mustang Sally" with the ever-vapid Brook Hogan. Someone should have told Mr. B about Brooke's cock before he dropped all those sexual innuendos.
  

Labels: chicks, link goodness, music, pop culture

• How hot dogs are made. Just look at that delicious vat of leftover blended meat pastes dipped in smoke flavor!
• 8-Bit Jesus is a Christmas album that features classic tracks done in the style of different Nintendo game's soundtrack. My personal favorite is "The Legend Of Noel."
• Face. Just. Melted.

Labels: chicks, food, geekery, music, pop culture, tomfoolery, xmas

"Your friend just posted the video: I have a video of you looking like a princess, darling." Really? Who is going to click on that link Facebook Virus, an 11 year-old girl? A flamboyant homosexual man who thinks he is a fashion model? At least entice me to click on a link that will infect my computer, Facebook Virus. Something like "Your friend just posted the video: Watch Me Kill This Hooker" or "Your friend just posted the video: Carlos Mencia Steals Bill Cosby's Material" or maybe even "Your friend just posted the video: People Getting Hit In The Face In Slow Motion." You have to want it, Facebook Virus. You have to want it.

Labels: geekery, killing, pop culture, tomfoolery, whores

• My pregnant wife has not taken her crazy hormonal levels out on me. Yet.
• My pregnant wife and unborn child are in good health.
• The 20 stupidest GI Joe vehicles ever.
  
• I am living the pants-free dream again and no longer working in Design Purgatory.
• My lower back is no longer destroyed.
• Learning about this before the wife dragged me to see Twilight tonight (yes, the crowd was rife with loser-tastic Emo kids. And for the love of God, Edward, just turn Bella into a vampire).
  
• Rachel Ray and Ann Coulter with be silenced through the month of December.

Labels: babies, career, health, injury, movies, pants-free, pop culture, thanksgiving, wife

DC Comics has decided to end Bruce Wayne's run as Batman. I know killing off an iconic character got geeks and lukewarm comic fans alike to buy your graphic novel last time, DC Comics, but this is reeking of desperation. Take a page from Marvel Comics playbook and ditch marketing your printed books altogether and instead throw all your capital towards mediocre movies about second-tier characters. Another Batman movie has got to be better than Ghost Rider or Daredevil, right?

Labels: comics, death, geekery, movies, pop culture

• Fetal Bites: America's number one fetus cookie cutter. Upon purchase I foresee Scottish Shortbread fetus cookies in my future.
  
• A giant pregnant anaconda is slain. Seeing all those dead anaconda babies strewn about gave me a Temple of Doom vibe as opposed to a JLo/Ice Cube vibe.
• A preview of Steven Colbert's "Another Christmas Song." Colbert has a decent voice and I am guessing the album will kitschy and mildly entertaining ranking somewhere between Mr. Hankey's Christmas Classics and The Star Wars Christmas Album (the latter of which I owned on vinyl in my youth).
  

Labels: america, babies, dead babies, food, geekery, link goodness, movies, music, nostalgia, pop culture, wife, xmas

• The Zombie Survival Guide by Max Brooks.
• Zombie attacks from antiquity.
• "I Love Shotgunning Zombies" shirt from Threadless.
• You Tube of the Cranberries song "Zombie."
• The guide to zombie fornication.
• How zombies work.
• Zombie pinup girls; beauty and braaains!
  

Labels: books, halloween, link goodness, music, pop culture, zombies

• Confessions of a naked sushi model. Surprisingly, combining nudity and sushi do not make my balls rise in the least.
• RoboCop on a Unicorn. Dig the Flickr gallery. One of the best things I have linked to since Johanna's Art Inspired by Stevie Nicks.
• A list of Manic Pixie Dream Girl characters from popular culture. I may have married Manic Pixie Dream Girl. Read this description and judge for yourself: The Manic Pixie Dream Girl is stunningly attractive, high on life, full of wacky quirks and idiosyncrasies, and inexplicably obsessed with our stuffed-shirt hero, on whom she will focus her antics until he learns to live and love.

Labels: chicks, food, link goodness, pop culture, wife

• An online video collection of every It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia episode (in my opinion, the greatest show on television). I recommend starting with The Gang Finds A Dumpster Baby.
• The end of Iceland? When your country's currency is valued just above Zimbabwes then you have some serious problems. I hope Iceland has more viable exports than just a batshit crazy musician and volcanic ash to pull them out of their current economic crunch.
• A man rides an adult-sized tricycle intoxicated. Hijinks ensue.
  

Labels: drinking, history, link goodness, politics, pop culture, tomfoolery

As my seed festers in my wife's baby maker, I have been laying awake at nights and pondering life's important questions. Will I turn into the cold, unforgiving man my father was growing up when my unborn child arrives? Will I be able to afford diapers and a college fund? Will the wife and I stay happily married with the added stress of a newborn baby? Could DJ and I get away with beating Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt to death? I keep coming back to one nagging query; do I hate my job or do I hate my career? While I acknowledge I do not have the worst professional life by a long shot (I could be languishing in data sales, for example), I cannot say that I am satisfied with where I am currently at career-wise (nor, for that matter, have I ever been satisfied). I love what I do but I am finally acknowledging that I am running on creative fumes. A new job may be the answer. A full-time stab at freelance may be the answer. Writing the book I told myself I would write a long time ago may be the answer. In short; I am dealing with a lot of shit. Confucius once said "By three methods we may learn wisdom: first, by reflection, which is noblest; second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest." F'in A, Confucius. F'in A.

Labels: babies, career, death, dj, feelings, l-i-v-i-n, pop culture, wife

Before my wife, the only time I lit candles was when I was sitting closest to the cake at a birthday party. She exposed me to a world of scented lotions, methods for doing laundry that did not include sorting clothing into two piles; "whites" and "everything else" and of course, candles. Now I have candles everywhere. I never knew one needed scented candles for bathrooms, offices, living rooms, family rooms, spare bedrooms and laundry rooms. Every odor issue in our house is solved by lighting a candle. "God you stink, Matty. We should light a candle!" Maybe I could take a shower? My wife has corrupted me. I now find myself debating the aromatic pleasures in the Yankee Candle area at Bed, Bath & Beyond. Do I want Pumpkin Pie or Clean Cotton? Cucumber Melon or Beach Walk? Finally, there is a candle company that appeals to my male sensibilities; Hot Wicks. They carry scents that smell of urinal cakes, campfires and strippers. Hot Wicks describes the stripper scent as, "the perfume counter at your local department store times a thousand ... then add some glitter." I think a more accurate description is "bitter desperation mixed with the hint of ass sweat, stale bourbon and broken dreams."

Labels: l-i-v-i-n, pop culture, strippers, the greens, wife

I have been consumed with Olympics viewing all week and thereby disturbing my normal sleep and freelance design routines to watch riveting "sports" such as synchronized diving. The thing I did know about synchronized diving is that synchronized showering and synchronized hot-tubbing are a major part of the "sport." The first week of the 2008 Beijing Olympics has shown the world that at least one female Chinese gymnast is underage, sportsmanship is not necessarily alive and well in Olympiad and Michael Phelps is kind of good. Maybe Michael Phelps can teach Carmelo Anthony work ethic before the next summer games so Melo shows up ready to compete on the world stage instead of spending his entire first game on the bench after going 0 for 3 from the field.

Labels: america, denver, pop culture, sports

• A 5.4 magnitude earthquake hit Los Angeles earlier today and yielded no deaths with minor damage. Where are those celebrity upskirts when you need them most?
  
• Some Island of Dr.Moreau shit washed ashore in Montauk, Long Island. Crazy genetic mutant that escaped from Plum Island or a dried up sea turtle missing its shell? You decide.
  
• Mr.Belding cuts a rug with some hot chicks in Vegas.

Labels: chicks, link goodness, pop culture, science, tomfoolery, vegas

As a youngster I would go for dinner at my grandparents house at least once a week. My Italian grandmother was an amazing cook and made some of the most glorious feasts (her lentil soup and pot roast can never be duplicated). After dinner we would retire to the family room to watch some Golden Girls. I recall my grandmother laughing hysterically at Sophia on a regular basis. Maybe it was because they had similar personalities. Or that they were both Italian. Or they were both five feet tall, one hundred pounds and intimidating as hell. Whatever it was, Estelle Getty will always hold a special place in my heart for being able to continually crack my grandmother's iron resolve.

Labels: death, family, nostalgia, pop culture

The Women of Starbucks I supported because we all have a barista in our lives that make our mornings bearable with a cute smile and fantastic breasts. The Women of Enron I rallied behind because Enron screwed a lot of its employees out of their retirement savings and, hey; nude business chicks! The Women of Home Depot I half-heartedly accepted as I once saw a semi-attractive female working in the lumber department at my neighborhood store and I may have been interested in seeing her naked if liquored up properly and nothing good was on television. The Women of Olive Garden I cannot and will not get behind due to the fact I have never seen an attractive female employee in my limited experience with the chain. An overweight, single mother with bad hair and a marinara-stained shirt maybe.

Labels: boobs, chicks, coffee, pop culture, porn

The pussy collective has developed into two well-honed killing machines. In the past three weeks I have disposed of three birds which has brought the kitty's confirmed kill tally to seven and a half (I received credit for two assists on the birds I had to close out with the back end of a shovel). Our cats have now re-focused their murderous rampage on newer victims; bunnies. The past two evenings, the pussy collective has brought a bunny to the back door squirming in each one of their mouths. Have you ever heard a cute and timid bunny rabbit scream in agony? Much like the Madonna song La Isla Bonita, it is something you can never un-hear. The pussy collective has established their dominance in the wilds of our suburban neighborhood via the Way of Chuck Darwin. I will keep disposing of bodies, my sweet kittens, as long as you keep those rabbits from grazing on the freshly-seeded patch of lawn in the corner of the yard.

Labels: killing, kitty, pop culture, science, the greens

It is videos such as these that make me long for a time when MTV actually played music videos. A time when the Participation Ribbon Generation was not responsible for subjugating creative video ingenuity to an ancillary channel on digital cable in lieu of reality programming that long ago withered and died on the vine (please give me yet another reality show about former reality stars competing in the ultimate reality competition in order to win fabulous prizes that said former reality stars do not deserve). A time when Downtown Julie Brown and Kari Wuhrer filled my adolescent brain with impure desires. A time when one could easily cross the cultural void by watching Yo! MTV Raps and the Headbangers Ball in the same sitting. MTV sold out long ago and nothing short of a topless Audrina Partridge doing the Ed Lover Dance atop Spencer Pratt's dead body will make me cool with it.

Labels: music, nostalgia, pop culture

• Hannah Montana penis candy.
• "Raised to be tough" guy also not raised to lose drinking contests.
• Some scientists are claiming that for the first time in human history, the North Pole will be free of ice of this summer. If we can retroactively measure the North Pole ice pack back through Prehistory, then we should be able to stop Tila Tequila.
  

Labels: drinking, link goodness, music, pop culture, science, stupidity

While on a conference call with a client who spent the majority of the time figuring out an easy content management system who dropped the following phrase numerous times, "Okay. Hold on just a second ...5 minutes of silence... Ohhhhhhhhhhh. That is easy!" I was left with time to ponder important Art Director decisions. Decisions like who the hottest bitches of 2008 are. According to Maxim, it is Sports Illustrated Swimsuit cover model Marissa Miller. Well played, Maxim. I do, however, have to take exception with your placement of Britney at 19. Seriously? 19? Did you not look at this before making your list? FHM gave the hot chick medal of honor to Megan Fox. Even though Jake is gay and has no love for her, she is slutty delicious and I look forward to seeing her rack in more overly-hyped, big budgeted, acting-anemic Michael Bay joints. Then there are the lesbians. Apparently they are all about Tina Fey. Look, I get it. She is smart, cute, has that trashy librarian vibe and is funny on 30 Rock. But number 1? You disappoint me, lesbians. Her face scar alone should drop her out of the top ten (strictly from a comparison standpoint). Lastly, I take extreme exception with Gwen Stefani not being mentioned on any of these lists (and I know from personal experience that the lesbians love Gwen Stefani). Please review this Maxim, FHM and lesbians. That is all.

Labels: boobs, career, chicks, jake, lesbians, pop culture, swimsuit issue, taxi dev

Friday. The wife and I attend a homemade rib bonanza at Team Muff's house where we drain shitty Mexican beer and play a rousing game of Trivial Pursuit 90s Edition. Proof that we have all turned into our parents: we began questioning the "correctness" of card answers and commenting on how staying up until 11:30 seemed "late."

Saturday. The wife and I attend a barbecue at DJs which we learn upon walking into his house is actually his birthday party. The wife gets angry at me for not knowing it was his birthday (even though it was on the Evite) and I explain to her that knowing when your guy friends birthday is is totally gay, and if I bought a gift for him we would have to move in together and begin re-decorating his house in the finest tapestries and velvets. I down a homemade chili beer that I regret four hours later, eat some swine and watch some UFC fighting. The wife and I decided to duck out early to get some sleep. When we arrive back at home, Team Hofkamp stops over with a twelve pack of shitty Mexican beer and cigarettes. We hang out in our backyard for an hour until my neighbor invites us over the fence to share in his raging backyard chimenea fire and more shitty Mexican beers and cigarettes. Four hours and eight beers later, we go to bed.

Sunday. The wife and I walk over to the movie multiplex to catch the new Indiana Jones joint. On the way, we stop to view the recently dedicated (but unfinished) Armed Forces Tribute Garden. We grab a burger and some Lumpy Dogs at the Rock Bottom Brewery before watching yet another abortion written by George Lucas. Why do you hate me George Lucas? Aliens and UFOs? Shia LaBeouf as some sort of 1950s hood with a Pompadour and switchblade swinging on vines with monkeys? Next thing you know, you will be telling me that the force is some kind of blood disorder. Oh. Right.

Monday. The wife, myself and 52,000 other people run the Bolder Boulder under the cover of cool mist and fog. My back (almost fully healed from the bulged disc) feels great and I finish in just over an hour. We retire to the homestead for a much needed shower and nap. Later we attend two more Memorial Day barbecues that feel like autumn barbecues due to the inclement weather. I play ping pong. I play foosball. I play 3-square with a beer in my hand. I go to sleep wishing I celebrated three day weekends more often.

Labels: chili dog, dj, drinking, family, food, gluttony, health, kaye, l-i-v-i-n, movies, pop culture, the greens, weekend that was, wife

• Hulkamania is apparently not about lifting your weights and eating your vitamins but slathering baby oil inappropriately all over your daughter's ass.
• Bill Geerhart wrote letters to some of the most infamous figures in the country posing as a ten year-old boy named Billy. Hijinks ensue.
• Just when I thought Tyra Banks was in another stratosphere with her insanity she proves that there are others even more crazy than her. The best (saddest) part of the feature? When Summer's dad hands her a bottle of lube for her first day of whoring.

Labels: bad parents, link goodness, perversion, pop culture

• Another reason besides gambling payouts to enjoy college athletics. Note to YouTube video collage guy: Have enough respect for your craft to at least have the images of your obsession sync with the music. And Jimi Hendrix's "Foxy Lady"? Come on. Think it through.
• Jackie Warner, attractive lesbian fitness trainer, is apparently the apple of every straight girl's eye.
• Sleeve tattoos are officially played out. Ho do I know? Because of this.

Labels: chicks, health, lesbians, link goodness, music, pop culture, sports, tattoos

• Analytics according to Captain Kirk. In short, the survival rate of a red-shirted crew person on the USS Enterprise is akin to that of a Russian infantryman during WWII.
• A timeline of Black Flag's hair.
• The Montana Meth Project. Gritty, jarring and perfect.

Labels: drugs, link goodness, music, pop culture, war

DJ: The Elliot Spitzer prostitute flow chart.
Me: See, now this is why I hate society. I mean, who cares if he buys a whore? Aside from killing her I am cool with it. Even then, it is circumstances such as these that killing a hooker seems acceptable.
DJ: So basically you just want a class of disposable people?
Me: Have you ever been inside a Wal-Mart Super Center on a weekend? I would say we are already there.
DJ: Nice.

Labels: death, dj, im convos, pop culture, whores

• The comics deal that put Mile High Comics and Charles Rozanski on the map.
  
• The 20 biggest record company screw-ups of all time. Number one? The killing of Napster. Also ridiculous yet notable; the selling of Motown for peanuts, letting Bob Dylan go for a thousand bucks and the Guns N' Roses Chinese Democracy debacle.
• An image gallery of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue covers from 1964-2008.

Labels: boobs, chicks, comics, link goodness, music, pop culture, swimsuit issue

• George Clooney is a bitch. All the deviants on my Thursday night ice hockey team judged me a few weeks ago for not having seen Two Girls And 1 Cup. So I gave into peer pressure and watched the scat sickness unfold before me. I am convinced the two girls were eating chocolate soft serve ice cream and not engaging in actual corpophilia. I need footage of the poop in question being shat into the cup, not the cup going off camera and than magically re-entering the frame filled with poop. Who are you judging now, Thursday night ice hockey team?
  
• In California, science dorks are getting their panties in a twist over the first substantiated wolverine sighting since the 1920s. Yee-haw! It is a large, ferocious weasel!
• Erotic Falconry is a great idea with poor execution (Read: birds of prey Photshopped into pictures of hot chicks). I was expecting topless shots of hot chicks with falconers gloves and assorted raptors affixed to them. I guess my standards are just too high. You disappoint me yet again, internet.

Labels: chicks, link goodness, perversion, poop, pop culture, porn, science

I was saddened to learn today that Patrick Swayze has pancreatic cancer and may not have much time left. Damn. Some of my favorite films include the be-mulleted Mr. Swayze. Whether he was waging a guerrilla war versus the Soviets in Red Dawn, kicking some drunk redneck ass in Road House, robbing banks and surfing the edge in Point Break or pulling Baby out of her corner in Dirty Dancing, Patrick Swayze taught a generation American boys how to be men. So, in order to honor his struggle to beat cancer, I have created some Save Swayze gear. Fuck you, Patrick Swayze's pancreatic cancer.

Labels: disease, movies, pop culture

Moses was tripping balls? That explains the whole wandering in the desert, Egyptian army is chasing us, parting the Red Sea, Burning Bush, Mount Sinai/Ten Commandments and Golden Calf business. That right there describes a fairly strong yet garden variety acid trip. Granted, the Exodus story is not as twisted and psychedelic as Fantasia what with the dancing elephants and hippos, but it definitely ranks up there.

Labels: drugs, pop culture, religion

• The man who quipped "The name is Dalton..." after his set/bar fight at the Double Deuce is no more. Godspeed, Mr. Healey. I thought you would be bigger.
• Bacon cups. I may have the wife whip me up some bacon cups so I can pack them full of bacon bits and have a heart attack upon consumption.
  
• A photo essay about Uncle Dirty (NSFW). Uncle Dirty has a hog, friends. Enjoy the thong photo (near the bottom) which displays Uncle Dirty's skid marks are welcome.

Labels: bacon, death, link goodness, movies, perversion, pop culture, wife

• Click here to see the reason why I am hooked on A&E's Intervention (pun intended). Naked meth whore's journals are eerily reminiscent of a former coworker of mine who was rumored to be on the pipe. She used to sketch magical spirals and write "NO" repeatedly in her notebooks during board meetings.
• Michael Jackson may be losing the Happy Pedophile Ranch due to some back taxes.
• The Colorado Avalanche made some big moves before the trading deadline netting them Peter Forsberg, Adam Foote and Ruslan Salei. In other 1999 news, American Beauty wins the Oscar for Best Picture and folks are starting to get serious about this Y2K thing.

Labels: colorado, drugs, hockey, link goodness, pop culture, sports

• Kate Beckinsale. Meow. I have been a fan ever since she started fighting werewolves and vampires in a tight, black jumpsuit and bustier.
• Lindsay Lohan. Doing the Marilyn thing (NSFW). Whatever. Everyone has seen her cash and prizes (NSFW) before, so getting an unobstructed view of her bare chest is not all that exciting. Regardless, the pictures are tastefully done and my maleness caused me to pause and acknowledge her befreckled fun bags. It is still too difficult to tell if the carpet matches the drapes due to her clean, close shave.
  
• Scarlett Johansson and Natalie Portman. It is a strange moment when Natalie Portman becomes the grenade in any scenario, but she is standing next to Scarlett Johansson's tits. Those things are like attractive friend Kryptonite; their glory weakens any hotness within their immediate vicinity.

Labels: boobs, chicks, link goodness, pop culture, vajayjay

There are degrees of physical attractiveness in this world. While Jessica Biel is "Girl Next Door" hot and Diane Lane is "Cougar" hot, this specimen is the classic example of "Fucked Up" hot. Cute yet embattled face, rock hard abs, horrible tattoos and a penchant for living on the wrong side of the law. Did daddy not hug you enough, fucked-up hot girl? Or did he hug you too much? Does the weed and the booze numb you enough to emotionally handle collecting all the dollar bills from the stage at the end of your dance? Do your three illegitimate children live with your mom or are they being raised by television in a trailer park somewhere? The world may never know what drives you, fucked-up hot girl, but we will keep trying to learn through future arrests and tribal yin-yang tattoos.

Labels: chicks, pop culture, strippers, whores

Me: Interesting.
Jake: Meh. She does not stun me. Who cares if she can play some golf?
Me: I guess it is nice to know that she is not just a useless hot bitch. She can hit the shit out of a golf ball, too.
Jake: Give me Heidi Klum playing with her tits any day.
Me: Well, duh. Her tits are fantastic.
Jake: "Great knockers!"
Me: The Seal thing baffles me. I bet she is a size queen. It is the only explanation.
Jake: Never thought of that.
Me: Him and Edward James Olmos could be brothers with all that shit on their faces.
Jake: Ha! Seal had lupus. Cut the guy a break. He is just trying to get by.
Me: I do not call banging Heidi Klum "Getting By." I call that "Out Punting Your Coverage." "Getting By" is laying wood to someone like Britney Spears.
Jake: That is not "Getting By" that is "Giving Up."
Me: Nice.

Labels: boobs, chicks, im convos, jake, music, pop culture, sports

The Writers Guild of America is only in the second day of their strike and production is now being halted on The New Adventures of Old Christine (aka "The Death of Elaine Benes"), Two and a Half Men (aka "Charlie Sheen Makes Promiscuity Unfunny") and Desperate Housewives (aka "Skag Central"). So how long do these motherfuckers have to stay on the picket line before they shut down ER? Cockroaches have a shorter life span than that show.

Labels: pop culture

Thanks to Frodo Baggins, I now have a new dance move to throw in my repertoire: The Puppet Master. I especially enjoy Elijah materializing to and from the netherworld of corporate sellout in the video.

Labels: pop culture, tomfoolery

• Jake got more ink over the weekend. Two words: fucking huge. At least something will be able to take the attention away from cock dagger now.
• DMX loves dogs like Mike Vick.
• Congratulations to 2007 Miss Teen USA Hilary Cruz (from Colorado; represent). I trust your response during the question and answer segment was not anything like this.

Labels: colorado, jake, link goodness, music, pop culture, sports, stupidity, tattoos

First and foremost; it's called lotion. Look into getting yourself some. The skin on your legs looks like the leather on a catchers mitt that hasn't been oiled in twenty years. Your knees are more dry and calloused than a constructions worker's hands. Aren't all women supposed to be moisturizing themselves with fervor? My wife has at least twenty five tubes of lotion spread around in strategic locations. There must be five alone in her purse. After you are done stuffing your cake chute with that sandwich, walk down to the Walgreens and pick up some Jergens. Preferably with Aloe. That leads me into my next issue; your mouth. Are you hearing the shit that is coming out of it? Seriously. You live in Wash Park. I get it. The entire lunch crowd on 16th Street gets it. You loudly proclaimed it three times in casual conversation to your coworker as if it was a badge of honor. Congratulations. You live in an awesome neighborhood in a house that is one hundred years old, has shitty square footage, no garage, rusty plumbing and bad wiring that you cannot afford to update because you spend all your income on a ridiculous mortgage. I am really proud of you. What's that you say? You need to get out and run around the park to lose some weight so you look good in a bikini this summer? You have child bearing hips and a sperm bag, honey. Even with a stringent exercise routine and a crash diet that does not allow you to eat your coworker's leftover Reuben, nothing short of cutting your head off and putting it atop Jessica Alba's body would make you look good in a bikini. Even then. Your mouth would still be attached to the head. I suppose we could sew your mouth shut. That would definitely make you more attractive. Still, it is your head. Your thoughts, opinions and twisted views on reality are still in there. That settles it, then. Even with your head atop Jessica Alba's body, you still would not look good in a bikini. Finally, I direct this parting shot to the clueless gentleman sitting across from you. Please do not encourage her anymore. Your leading questions and weak compliments are only exacerbating the situation. Do you need a slump buster this bad? Just pay for sex with a transvestite hooker and get it over with. Nobody will fault you, man. Especially a guy just trying to read the paper and enjoy his Italian sub.

Labels: 16th street mall, denver, downtown, open letter, pop culture, rage

• A camouflage "fuck" hat with "fuck" written in Old English lettering; its says your are classy but you also know how to party.
• A cartoon about Mormon Theology. I am going to teach my kids that they owe it to the world to defile at least one Latter Day Saint in their lifetime.
• Spiders crawl into boy's ear. Hijinks ensue.

Labels: link goodness, mormons, pop culture, tomfoolery

Tonight the wife and I will be attending the Gwen Stefani concert at the Pepsi Center and joining throngs of anorexic sorority sisters whacked out on Dexatrim, underage girls adorned in midriff shirts and flaming homosexual men badly singing, "This shit is bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S!" I bought her the tickets for Valentines Day after scoring a sweet deal on StubHub that will put us in the fifteenth row. This should be a close enough to turn the wife into a blubbering mess of drunken fan girl as well as fill my masturbatory database for a solid year after catching shots of dew and early morning fur from the Pussycat Dolls.

Post-Concert Update: A Gwen Stefani fan demographic I completely overlooked yesterday: lesbians. Namely, hardcore, golf coaching, femullet sporting, hardware store lesbians. We were lucky enough to sit next to a fun couple that fit into this aforementioned classification. Not only were they friendly, half drunk and had a great sense of humor; they enjoyed making out during most of Gwen's ballads. I was saddened to learn the Pussycat Dolls were not opening (I was fed misinformation) and instead had to listen to the verbal abortion that is Lady Sovereign. Akon took the stage next and was solid all around save for the ten minutes he gave the mic to some Beyonce-wannabe hack signed to his label that sucked the life out of the crowd. Akon sang about the ghetto and being in love with strippers and made countless inquires to the female audience members while taking off a shirt saying, "Ladies are you ready for this?" Eventually he got rid of the shirt all together and informed us it was alright to do so because he goes to the gym and gets "his fitness right." Gwen took the stage amid the piercing shrieks of thousands of middle school girls and proceeded to dominate the set. She was at her best when the show antics were at a minimum (she had a troupe of break dancers and Japanese girls doing all sorts of shit behind her) and did one song in the middle of the crowd (much to delight of the folks sitting in general admission). She accidentally called Colorado "Utah" in the middle of a song, but she made up for it by mocking herself for the slip up afterward and displaying her naked, shredded midriff and scantily-covered "mom" boobs for the rest of the night. Overall I would say it was a great performance. Walking out of the venue we ran into my best friend growing up and his girlfriend (he also bought her the tickets for Valentines Day) and we decided to stop into Brooklyn's for "a drink." After downing six beers each we then headed home.

Labels: denver, drinking, l-i-v-i-n, lesbians, music, pop culture, wife

Kurt Vonnegut died late last in Manhattan. He was 84. He is one of my favorite writers and I know the world will miss him. He witnessed the firebombing of Dresden firsthand and based parts of his most famous work Slaughterhouse-Five on the experience. He wrote many books, but in my opinion, A Man Without A Country was one of his best. He ends the book with this fitting poem:

When the last living thing
has died on account of us,
how poetical it would be
if Earth could say,
in a voice floating up
perhaps
from the floor
of the Grand Canyon,
"It is done."
People did not like it here.

I'm sure Kurt is up in heaven now.

Labels: books, death, pop culture

The working from home experiment officially ends on April 24 as I have accepted an Art Director position for a consulting firm in downtown Denver for a ridiculous amount of money. I learned many things during the home office endeavor:

• When not physically interacting with society on a regular basis I will not change my shorts until I squat down to pick something up and smell the essence of my own ass.
• When not physically interacting with society on a regular basis I will not shower until I squat down to pick something up and smell the essence of my own ass.
• When Divorce Court is on I will not turn it off. Preach on, Judge Toler. Preach on.
• There are times in life when porn is your enemy.
• I do not hate society as much as once initially thought.
• Conference calls are just as worthless as face to face meetings.
• Clients cannot tell when you are calling them from the bathroom.
• Clients cannot tell when you are surfing your RSS feeds instead of taking notes.
• Clients will not take you seriously if your "team" consists of anyone from India or the Philippines.
• Total hours (per week) put in at an office job during a normal work week: 42. Total hours (per week) put in at a home office job during a normal work week: 55.
• Working from home is a lot like bedding a really hot girl and then finding out that she is a lousy lay; at first you cannot believe its happening to you and then you realize its just a means to an end.

Labels: career, denver, funk, pants-free, pop culture, porn, the fairways

• Miss Tennessee Rachel Smith was crowned Miss USA recently. Methinks it had much to do with her prominent camel toe during the swimsuit competition.
• The 10 worst rap album covers ever made. Sadly, I used to own one of them. I can only wish it were M$ Tee Having Thing$ or Tec-9 Straight From Tha Ramp.
• After the move this weekend the wife and I will be within spitting distance of the best liquor store and mini-golf in Colorado.
  

Labels: camel toe, link goodness, liquor, music, pop culture, the greens, vajayjay, wife

• A multi-tasking rapist. I think rape etiquette should tell you to set a cell phone on 'Airplane Mode' or at least leave it in the getaway car.
  
• A mutant skin disease from the Eastern bloc. I usually pride myself on sniffing out photo manipulation of any sort and this seems to be legit. The only red flag is Wikipedia not having an entry for Lewandowsky-Lutz Dysplasia.
• Her boobs, her boobs, her boobs are okay. Her sweater puppies are beyond okay; they are fantastic.

Labels: boobs, crime, disease, link goodness, pop culture, rape

• Mr. Belding (Dennis Haskins) and Tony Romo singing a cover of Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" with Metal Skool. Good times. I think I will email Metal Skool and offer to redesign their site. Yeesh. What they got there now looks like an aborted fetus.
  
• Behold the model index of the 2007 Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue. Enjoy wasting the rest of your day, boys. (Except for you, Gay Joe. Go find a homosexual site where dudes are dressed in SS uniforms and whipping each other or something).
  
• Jake's half sister is a transient pervert that likes to tie people up and drink their blood.

Labels: boobs, jake, link goodness, pop culture, swimsuit issue

Anna Nicole Smith is dead from popping a handful of sedatives and choking on her own vomit. Glamorous. Is anyone shocked? Anyone besides other drugged out bitches with balloons surgically implanted in their chest cavity? It was just a matter of time before Anna Nicole's major organs exploded due to heavy narcotic intake. I am done with the major news outlets already; especially those comparing her to Marilyn Monroe. Marilyn was a smoking hot sexpot and had talent. Anna Nicole had a big rack and a penchant slurring her way through interviews. Marilyn had a stable that was the envy of most straight women of her era: JFK, RFK, Joey D and Arthur Miller. Anna Nicole's stable included a billionaire that looked like an exhumed corpse, a Jewish lawyer that weighs a buck twelve and random strip club patrons that paid her $200 for a champagne room hand job.

Labels: boobs, death, drugs, pop culture, whores

• An astronaut love triangle sponsored by Depends brand adult diapers. Because when hunting down crazy bitches that look suggestively at your man, there is no time for a bathroom break.
• In Malcolm X's auto-biography, he wrote about taking large doses of nutmeg to get high in prison. While its not as glamorous as hand sanitizer, it does the trick all the same (read firsthand accounts of nutmeg highs here, here and here).
• Ron Jeremy gets some behind-the-dumpster action from a random skank at a Saddle Ranch Steakhouse. All this while said random skank's date waited patiently for her to return. And she did. With cum in her hair.

Labels: books, drugs, history, link goodness, pop culture, porn

The wife and I spent the Christian New Year within stumbling distance from the house by slogging it to a party in a foot and half of ice, slush and snow with a backpack full of booze. We welcomed in 2007 with burnt pizza, shots of Jack Daniels, warm Squirt chasers and countless games of Guitar Hero (Kaye and I rocked in 2007 with a head-to-head ax battle of Cheap Trick's "Surrender" neither of us caring that it was past midnight). On New Year's Day we invited the in-laws over to watch the Fiesta Bowl in High Definition and eat sweetened swine. Three native Idahoans were in the house as Boise State upset Oklahoma in overtime to go undefeated on the season and wreak havoc on BCS voting. Swept up in the heat of the win, famed running back and crochet master knitter Ian Johnson proposed to his girlfriend. In other news, Jessica Alba throws a football in a bikini.

Labels: drinking, geekery, kaye, l-i-v-i-n, new years, pop culture, sports, tomfoolery, wife

One of my all time favorite comics is Archie because it is pure cliche, white bread Americana. I enjoy the simple artwork, the light-hearted story lines and the homoerotic undertones. With each issue I rooted for Archie to either come out of the closet to Jughead or grow some testicles and score with Betty or Veronica (or both). I definitely think Archie could have been the meat of a Riverdale love sandwich if he played his cards right (at the very least he could have pitted Betty and Veronica against one another for more entertaining story lines. I am talking about hot oil bikini wrestling matches, foxy boxing, pudding throwing and latex fashion shows). I even watched the made for TV movie Archie: To Riverdale and Back Again starring Lauren Holly a few years ago. It was terrific in its awfulness and its portrayal of Veronica as a turbo slut vying for Archie's affections by showing up at his house in nothing but a trench coat and lingerie was awesome. Artist Steven Butler is giving the gang from Riverdale a facelift in 2007. I may have to pick up a Double Digest at the grocery store and get reacquainted with the kids when I am laying some foam ropes in the New Year.

Labels: comics, geekery, movies, poop, pop culture

• A man argues that he cannot be prosecuted for having sex with a deer because the animal was dead at the time of said bestial necrophiliac coitus.
• A cargo container loaded with the Doritos washes ashore after falling off a ship. Fattys riot for the sloppy seconds.
  
• A killer whale acting like a killer whale (save for the act of eating its prey).
• Gingerbread Tie-Fighter.
• Google Video of a limber octopus.
• Awesome architecture, installment one: hotcakes housing project.

Labels: bestiality, gluttony, link goodness, perversion, pop culture, science, unemployment

• Paparazzi shots of Britney's cash and prizes (very un-work safe). Five years ago this link might have melted my face, but now her nether regions are about as interesting to me as an introductory to statistics college course. Bonus: C-Section scars!
  
• Wikipedia for Encierro.
• Snow reports for local ski areas. With an intense Arctic storm moving in, ski areas could be getting upwards of two feet of snow and I could be spending the next couple of days on the slopes reveling in soft, champagne powder while you jerks are stuck in a cubicle at work.
• Selections from the notebooks of Max Roosevelt, 15-year-old socialist.
• Big local news (so big in fact, they interrupted an episode of Judge Joe Brown for the press conference yesterday): Jake Plummer gets benched and Jay Cutler will start as the Broncos quarterback on Sunday. I am officially nicknaming Cutler "The Paperboy" because he bears striking resemblance to a chubby neighborhood kid that slings the daily news and not because he looks like the one-hit rap wonder of the early 90s.
  
• Wikipedia for GG Allin. Specifically, the "Death" heading.

Labels: colorado, history, link goodness, music, pop culture, snow, sports, unemployment, vajayjay

• Wikipedia for Halloween.
• Halloween costumes for sluts. My personal favorites: Teacher's Pet, Alice In Wonderland, Whore Ballerina, Herpes Care Bear and Bondage Whip Cat Woman. Disturbing items: Homo-erotic Roman Warrior costume and the sexy plus-size costume section (note the complete lack of realistic models that could adorn the "three-man tent tarp" size). A note to sexy costume manufacturers everywhere: Your plus-size section should consist of one costume; a king-size white sheet with eye holes cut out labeled "Sexy Ghost That Eats Too Much."
• Anna Nicole Smith is facing the possibility of exhuming her son's dead body.
• Wikipedia for Samhain (the festival, not the bag of assholes band Glenn Danzig fronted after the dissolution of the Misfits).
• Outsiders soliloquy performed by a talentless hack for the now dead Stanley Kubrick.

Labels: death, halloween, link goodness, movies, music, pop culture, whores

A snowstorm is dumping a blanket of thick wetness across the Denver metro area today. I'm sitting in the warmth that is a firing furnace and blown out slippers, sucking down a tall mug of coffee that could strip paint, gazing out out the back door and watching vintage Ricardo Montalban Chrysler commercials. It's a good day to be alive and unemployed.

Labels: colorado, pop culture, snow, tomfoolery, unemployment

Today I reached the "30 Resumes Sent" benchmark and I plan on celebrating by taking a nap immediately after posting this. Thus far I have heard back on six resumes and have a phone interview this afternoon with a company who's identity I will protect until I either get a job offer or am denied employment based on my affinity for the movie Road House. (On a related note, I ordered Road House 2: Last Call through Netflix and it will be arriving via mail tomorrow. I am hoping it has much of the same goodness as the first installment: mullets, fighting, boobs and a human throat being violently torn out with somebody's bare hands. I will be sure to keep you posted). All things considered, a 20% contact rate on my resumes is not bad. Granted, 80% of the 20% are "I just want to be friends" rejection emails (which hearkens me back to my freshman year of college) but that is not important right now. What is important is that I do not have to shave for a phone interview. The time is nigh for an unemployment nap. Have fun at work, suckers.

Labels: boobs, career, fighting, movies, pop culture, unemployment

Today I am 31 years old and will be celebrating another year of life by watching Judge Judy, sending off ten resumes, having a lunch plate of spaghetti with my mom and entertaining numerous offers for well paying and exciting design jobs. The wife has some big plans for me tonight. She still feels guilt over last year's birthday when she was sick and fell asleep on the couch early in the evening while I drowned the passing of my third decade in cheap, domestic beer at the local watering hole with a jackass named Tyler.

Labels: birthday, l-i-v-i-n, pop culture, sg crew, unemployment, wife

• Punter stabbed by back-up punter.
• Wikipedia for Bauhaus.
• YouTube of Rachel Bilson as Wonder Woman.
• T-ball coach offers one of his players $25 to bean an autistic kid.
• YouTube of a hot girl on LSD.
• Dwarf planet that caused Pluto's downgrade named Eris after the Greek goddess of discord.
• Jessica Biel: Kissing chicks with her meaty tongue.
• Google results for "stabbing someone in the back of the head."

Labels: art, link goodness, pop culture, science, sports, tomfoolery, unemployment

The Germans are an odd and perplexing people; with their dreams of world domination, love for the Hasselhoff, Coprophilia obsession and pubic hair print panties.

Labels: panties, perversion, pop culture, tomfoolery

If you want Whitney, you can have her. Seriously. Is that all it will take for you to call off the jihad and let us run that oil pipeline through Central Asia? We will whack up the petroleum profits with you and allow you free reign to run smack through our inner cities. Compared to meth, we do not mind the heroin so much. We would rather have our kids chasing the dragon in a tenement somewhere and performing oral sex on a balding, middle-aged accountant in an Arby's bathroom for their next fix as opposed to setting up a combustible meth lab in a middle American neighborhood where they could blow up an innocent, blue collar family scraping by on a meager salary provided by the local concrete factory. We could lure Whitney onto a plane filled with cocaine and economically deprived children. Can we send you Bobby Brown, too? He has not given us anything since Don't Be Cruel and his musical future does not look too bright with his constant illegal proclivities and all. We will not even care if you cut his head on Al Jazera as a warning to other Western infidels that you are not be fucked with. Consider it. An offer this good only comes along once in a lifetime.

Labels: open letter, politics, pop culture