A good way to people watch without actually watching people is through online personals. There's a pretty good spectrum of folk on there. The pictures people put up are also sometimes very interesting. I once saw a girl with a photo of her in a wedding dress. She said in her profile something like, "Don't be thrown off by the dress! I just think I look good in that photo. (And the marriage was a disaster!)"

Are you telling me that you have no better photos than of one from your failed wedding day?! Isn't there one of you at your gynecologist, perhaps? Maybe you have one of when you got issued that restraining order. One of you at the park with your 11 year old daughter? How about a publicity photo from when you were on the Maury Povich show -- "I Ain't Your Baby's Daddy; Paternity Tests Revealed."

I'll stop now.

I am off to Colorado for a few days, so no updates for a little bit. When I come back, I might go all John Denver on you without all of the singing and building my own plane in which I will die. I'll just move to the mountains and get high all the time, and be like, "John Denver's my fucking hero. His music is queer and all, but man, he could get high."

I'm hoping my lungs don't explode out there. It's up there. Peace out!

Some thugs stole two parts off of my car the other day. If I was going to steal a part, I would think this would be a part way down on the list. I don't even know what they'd be called. It runs below the door from the front tire to the back tire. A runner, maybe? I don't know. They stole it from both sides. It's just a strip of whatever it is cars are made out of these days. I hope these guys don't plan on stealing my car a couple of pieces at a time. "Hmmm, that's odd. I could have sworn I had more than three tires yesterday. And I'm almost positive I had doors. Yes, I definitely had doors."

Here's a quick story about Bob Hope. Sort of.

I was once watching MTV late at night when they had this show in Afghanistan where they were doing a USO special entertaining the troops. Kid Rock was there, along with J.Lo, Ja Rule, and Carson Daly as the host. So just as everyone was getting used to Carson Daly as the next Dick Clark, he was now trying to claim the throne as the next Bob Hope, bringing the troops some of that Carson charm. His first joke was something like, "So I guess I'm kind of like Bob Hope now. Except I don't think Bob Hope ever had J.Lo on his speed dial." Oh, Carson, stop it you hilarious bitch! The first thing I thought when I heard him say that was, Bob Hope must be rolling over in his bed. Now he can roll over in his grave. On behalf of the crappy generation after me, I apologize to you Bob. I never found you to be that funny (generation gap and all), but you were way cooler than Carson Daly could ever imagine.

I sure hope Heaven has Internet access.

This whole show they did was really funny. Unintentionally funny, but still funny. They showed a quick clip of J.Lo saying, "This is so great. I just can't believe how great these guys are and I'm so flattered that they are so excited to see me." Don't flatter yourself there too much, J.Lo. They are in the middle of Afghanistan where they haven't seen a woman so much as show a chin, then you come in there with your halter top. These soldiers just want to stick their Yankee Doodles in your Dandy.

Then Kid Rock got up there and before he ripped into song, he screeched, "I just got one thing to say to Osama bin Laden... Are you scared now, motherfucker?!"

Scared by what? A rousing rendition of "Bawitdaba"? And do you think Osama gets cable in his cave? And would he be watching MTV? He doesn't really strike me as a TRL fan. "Hey, What's up? My name is Osama from Afghanistan and I just wanted to request Beyonce "Crazy in Love" with Jay-Z because I think she is so hot! WOOO, praise be Allah!"

If I was from North Dakota and I was responsible for coming up with something for the state quarter, I'd just make one to mess with blind people. Rather than put antyhing of interest from the state on it, I'd have it say in Braille: This is a nickel.

I curse a little too much. I am aware of it. But I just can't fucking help it. I love to curse (or swear as some may say). The only time I won't curse is when children are within earshot. Any other times, all bets are off. I curse at work, I curse when I'm talking to my doctor, and I even curse when I pray. "Dear God. I could really use some of that fucking salvation I've been hearing about. Get on that, Bitch."

I blame my potty mouth on Kevin Staub. I went to grammar school with Kevin and I've known him since kindergarten. We fell out of touch in middle school, as he became a smoker and I did not.

Anyway, one day in fourth grade, Kevin and I left school together. We were walking behind good ol' Harmony School when Kevin said to me, "Mike, I noticed that you don't curse." I like to think that the kids who did curse had a meeting after kickball one day to discuss who they could recruit into cursing.

Kevin Staub: Greetings gentlemen. We've recently noticed that there are some among us who currently don't curse. We've narrowed the list down to a few that we will approach and welcome them into the world of saying things like "ass" and "shit", and in some cases, "shitass". Should that be hyphenated? Billy, can you look into that please?

Anyway, Kevin approached me about my ultra-clean language. He then told me to say "shit." At first I was reluctant. I thought, Why should I start cursing now? I haven't up until this point and there have not been any negative effects from not doing it. Being that I was a pushover, I then quietly said "shit." We were walking very close to some windows to classrooms. God forbid a teacher hear me. But I said it and realized it wasn't so bad. Then Kevin said, "Now say 'fuck'." Whoa. That's the big one, I thought. Do I dare say it? You will find out after this quick break.

Here are some side stories on the word "fuck":

-- The first time I heard it (or at least heard it and recognized it was bad) was when Steven Repsher came into my first grade class, threw his lunch box into his cubby hole and said, "Aw fuck." One of the girls in my class, Karen Nedostup, I believe, gasped and said, "Steven! That's a bad word!" He was obviously unaware of it and probably heard one of his parents use the word. The teacher wasn't in the classroom yet, so he got away with it. I then went home later that day and began writing it on a piece of paper in front of my sister and her friend. I wrote the F and then the U, as my sister and her friend watched in anticipation. I then wrote the C and it was clear where I was going with this. My sister then gasped (lots of gasping on this day), threatened to tell my dad, while her friend said, "Well, he didn't really spell it." Good point, I thought. So I closed the deal and penned the K. My sister ran downstairs with my brand new essay and told my dad. I don't remember if he gave me a talking to or not, but I do remember being nervous. I think he probably just threw it in the fireplace and then beat the shit out of me with his bong.

-- The first time I heard my dad say the word was when Joe Theismann broke his leg. He would say every other curse in the book (the big book of curses of course), but not that one. But seeing that dude's leg snap in half set him off. He let out a big "Oh, fuck!" I then went and watched them show the replay fifteen times, and I thought, Man, dad was right. That definitely deserved an "Oh, fuck!" I forget what age I hit when my dad started to say it in front of me on a regular basis, but he's no longer shy about it.

Anyway, back to me and Kevin Staub.

I think at first I told Kevin I wasn't going to say it (I was such a pussy!). But after some more peer pressure, I said it very quietly. He then told me to say it louder. So I said it a little bit louder. Then he said, "No, yell it. Just go, 'FUCK!'" He then yelled it a few more times consecutively like "FUCK FUCK FUCK!", when our art teacher peeked her head out of window to take a gander at what all the "fuck"ing was about. Then I think we ran.

So that day, I never did yell the word. But rest assured that set me on a path of cursing. The following year I was in my fifth grade class and some kid said something to me, and I said something back which was very clever like, "Fuck you." Rather than being upset, he said, "Mike, you curse a lot now. You never used to." That made me feel pretty good. I never realized kids paid such close attention to the linguistic habits of others.

So I thank you, Kevin Staub, where ever you might be, ya piece of shit.

There is a common miss-conception that chicks aren't funny. Get it? Miss-conception? Huh? Get it? Yeah, you get it. Anyway, when I say chicks, I mean bitches. And by bitches, I mean women. And by women, I mean chicks.

I will be out of the blogging loop for a couple of days, so in the meantime, I recommend the following: Lisa and her sister, Tricia. I think they are two of the funniest bitches I've ever read. You must read Tricia's posting about the characters she likes to make up.

So the next time some chauvinist says, "Dude, chicks are not funny" you can say, "Maybe so, but I know these two bitches that are fucking hilarious."

I'm sorry, you have WHAT coming out of your penis?

That article is a must-read.

I'm glad that kid was smart enough to speak up. I'd probably be in my 8th grade health class asking, "So Mr. Gym Teacher, I've got the hair down there and all that other stuff you spoke about, but I was just curious, when do the flies normally start flying out of the penis? I don't know if we just haven't gotten to that chapter yet or not, so I was thinking that maybe I was an early bloomer, you know, as far as the flies coming out of the penis goes."

I love how his parents at first didn't believe him. It's the old, "Boy who cried flies coming out of his penis" tale. "Sure son. First it was 'I don't feel so good', then it was a stomach ache, now it's the flies coming out of the penis. You've got to wake up pretty early in the morning if you want to get one over on us there, buddy boy. Now go get your books and get ready for school."

I just can't get over this. He has FLIES coming out of his PENIS.

Eventually this guy will probably have a girlfriend and she's going to ask him about his past history and whatnot. He won't want to tell her at first but she'll be all girly like and say, "Come on, you can tell me. I don't care. What's important is what we have together now." He'll say, "Well, there was this one time I had flies coming out of my penis." She'll change her tune pretty quickly. "OoooK. Um. Remember when I said all that crap about how now is important? Yeah, what's really important now is that once you had flies coming out of your penis. I'm going to leave now. Please don't call me. Ever."

I just keep saying "flies coming out of his penis" because it is so much fun.

Flies coming out of his penis. His penis has flies coming out of it. When he pees, flies come out. It's like a urine waterslide. A urineslide. His urinary tract is like Wet 'N Wild. For flies. His name should now be FlyPenis. In school when he raises his hand, teachers should say, "Yes FlyPenis, do you know the answer? Very good, FlyPenis."

FlyPenis.

I bet his favorite song is "Come Fly With Me" by Frank Sinatra.

Thanks to Anise, I just got an idea for the most boring video game ever, "The Tour de France." I imagine it would just be hitting one button over and over again in the longest bike race ever, and no matter what you do, Lance Armstrong always wins, unless you put it on the easiest level, which is the year he didn't race because he had cancer.

They should make a Special Olympics video game. I'm not saying this to be funny (well, maybe a little), but I think it would be really cool, because it must be so hard for the athletes in the Special Olympics since they are not so gifted (athletically). It would probably be the hardest game ever. The only event that would be easy is the shot put, because if there is anything I've learned by watching retarded people do stuff, they can throw heavy shit real far.

I recently spoke about being really drunk. One of the things I actually did recall from that day was some guy I exchanged words with and really wanted to punch. I don't remember the specifics of the dialogue, but I do know that the word "asshole" was used quite a bit. The whole thing started when I noticed this kid, and I had to do a double take because from far away, he looked exactly like a friend of mine. Later (and drunker) on in the day, he moved closer to the group I was with and I thought it'd be a good idea to get a photo with him to show my friend and say, "Hey look! This guy looks sort of like you!"

I will now present two conversations the same way Dateline NBC would do it. At first you will totally be on my side, and then you will change your mind.

Me: Hey dude. You mind if I take a picture of you? You look exactly like a friend of mine.
Dude: (camera clicks) You're an asshole.
Me: What? You're an asshole, you asshole.
Dude: Whatever asshole.

This guy is a total dick, right? I mean, I did nothing wrong and he calls me an asshole. If someone told me I looked like a friend I'd say something like, "Oh yeah, he must be some hot piece of ass, huh?"

But before you jump to any conclusions, I learned today that this is a more accurate portrayal.

Me: Hey dude. You mind if I take a picture of you? You look exactly like a friend of mine.
Dude: Ok.
Me: And my friend looks exactly like a troll. (camera clicks)
Dude: You're an asshole.

OK, so maybe I should not have said that.

Now that I've seen a picture of the guy, he really only slightly resembles my friend. They both have good tans. I was drunk.

*** UPDATE: It turns out that a friend took advantage of the fact that I didn't recall anything and thought it would be amusing to tell me I said that. I have since found out that I did not say that and I am no longer the asshole. I can now safely say that the other guy is the asshole. And he looks like a troll. I was going to delete this post, but hey, even if it's bullplop, it's still pretty funny. ***

You know what's awesome about God? He never has to ask for directions. He can never get lost. That'd be sweet. I wish I was fucking God. Well, not actually fucking God. I imagine that would be way too intense. And He'd probably want to be the one to fuck me, you know? I don't think God would want to be on the receiving end. Anyway, what I should have said was, I fucking wish I was God. Or perhaps I should have just left the "fucking" out altogether. I mean, I am talking about God. He might find me one day and be like, "Toole. Hey, listen. I enjoy the blogging, but all that cursing. Is it really necessary? Just a thought. I think your humor stands well enough on its own without all that foul language. Especially that part about you having relations with Me. No offense, man, but I wouldn't fuck you with Buddha's dick. Just jokes, dude. Keep up the cursing, you asshole. But seriously, I would never fuck you."

Anyway, back to my original point. It would be nice to never have to ask for directions. God knows where everything is. I was just thinking about this because I saw a ton of people lost on my lunch break. I helped none of them. Someone actually asked me recently where this dive bar was and I knew where it was. It's not a popular bar at all, so the fact that they asked someone who knew was pretty impressive and lucky. I guess I have that "He must know where a lot of dive bars are" kind of look. I hate when people ask me where something is that I should absolutely know, like the Empire State Building. The last time I was asked that I actually looked up at the buildings, as if these tourists wouldn't have thought of that. I had no idea what street it was on. So I thought I'd look up, assuming it'd be right there. You'd be amazed how often you can't see that big bastard. You'd also be amazed at how stupid I looked when I did that. I should have just said "Me no speak English" and ran away. But I just kept babbling. I was like, "I know it's around here somewhere. I just saw it." It was like I was looking for my keys. I pointed them in a general direction and wished them the best. I was afraid I was going to see the cover of the NY Post the next day with the headline, "TOURISTS MURDERED WHILE LOOKING FOR EMPIRE STATE BUILDING" with the subhead, "Local Idiot Responsible."

I still have nothing to talk about. I wish Bonnie Raitt was here so she could give me something to talk about. I've been sleeping a lot lately, which has made for some weird ass dreams. There was one where I was kidnapped by this Victorian family that turned out to be a bunch of cannibals. They were all dressed up in these big fancy dresses and suits, but they were totally fucking crazy and kept eating each other. I eventually escaped. I forget exactly how.

OK. I'll talk about dreams.

There was a period of my life where every night there was a celebrity in my dreams. One of my favorites was when I went bowling with the Beastie Boys. MCA is a really cool guy, at least in dream form. And Mike D is an excellent bowler. There was some random guy in the bowling alley who kept trying to impress the Beastie Boys by playing License to Ill on the jukebox. We all concluded that guy was incredibly lame.

Another favorite was when I had dinner at Tony Danza's house. We, of course, had pasta. I don't really remember much of it, except tomato sauce was everywhere and Tony Danza's mom was insane.

I should start a gossip column, based solely on my dreams. "And rumor has it, Jennifer Aniston absolutely loves having sex with me, and she thinks Brad Pitt is a gigantic fag!"

My favorite dream of all time has to be one I had with OJ Simpson. It happened during the trial (OJ's trial, in case you were thinking it was recently during the shoe-bomber trial).

In the dream I was watching the trial on TV (even in my dreams I watch too much TV) and right in the middle of it, OJ stands up and yells out, "That's it! I did it! I'm guilty! I killed my wife!" So everyone gets really happy that the trial is finally over and they all start dancing. Judge Ito and Marcia Clark are doing a jig. But what no one notices is that while the celebration is going on, OJ slips out the side door. No one notices... except me!

All of the sudden I am sitting in my car in these woods that are near my house (whoever was in charge of continuity in my dream did not do a very good job). I see OJ Simpson talking to some guy, except OJ has turned into my cat, but it is still OJ, get it? And the thing is, I know it's OJ, and he knows that I know it's him and he sees me. So he walks over to me and jumps on my car door (the window was down). He starts telling me what's going on, and he says he really needs me to help him out and not tell anyone about where he is. So me, being amazed at the fact that I am getting the chance to meet OJ Simpson, while at the same time, my fucking cat is talking to me, I say, "Yeah, sure OJ. No problem."

Then I think, Wait a second. I can't let him do this. That's OJ right there and he is guilty of killing two people. I can not let a murderer go free. So I deduce the following (that's right... I deduced this. I deduced the shit out of it.) -- There is OJ Simpson crossed with my cat, possibly two of the stupidest beings on the face of the earth. So I say, "Hey Sam, er, I mean OJ. Come here. I'll help you get away." He jumps in my car and I start driving him to the police station. Then the dream all of the sudden turned into another dream that I won't detail here. But I'm assuming that I did the right thing and eventually got OJ to the cops, and he is now serving nine life sentences in the Middletown jail as a cat. Why nine life sentences, you ask? Because he's a cat, you fucking jagoff. They get nine lives. Don't question me.

Just kidding. You are not a jagoff. I don't even know what that is. I just like that way it sounds. Jagoff.

I was skipping past the Fox News Network the other day and they were about to go to commercial when they said, "Coming up: Is the media focusing too much on the negative of the situation in Iraq?"

You know what? They are right. Sure, it's easy to focus on the soldiers that get killed every day, but just think of all the soldiers who are living. There are so many more of them. Thank God Fox News is here to be our beacon towards positivity.

You know how sitcoms usually have one flashback show a year? Well, I've got nothing new to say, so I will present a best-of the tooleblog. This is a best-of according to what other people have told me is funny, and some of my personal favorites that you might think are not very good at all.

First Ever
Alternate War Names
Scott Peterson interview
Burnt mouth and bacon
Slept like a baby
Kite
Mother Nature and God
Mermaids
Paul, the roommate
Fox News
911 roommate
JellyBucket
Dung beetles

Lisa's sister wrote about people being strangely obsessed with Marilyn Monroe, which reminded me of seeing this Cher concert that was recently on NBC. Yes, that is correct. I found myself watching a Cher concert on NBC.

I was just wondering, who on God's green earth actually is into Cher? (Well, Sonny used to be into her, if you know what I mean, heh heh heh. But then he got divorced from her, if you know what I mean. Then he hit a tree while skiing and died, if you know what I mean.) I'm curious because I've never known anybody to really like her, and I've known lots of moms and gay guys. But there were tons of people at this show singing every word of every song and just going batty when she'd sing, say something, flash a nipple or two... pretty much anything.

Cher: You know what I love? Oxygen and puppies.
Audience: WAAAAAAAHHH WOOOOO! So do we! We love you Cher! We fucking love you! We would all gladly die for you! If this theater was taken hostage by Chechen rebels right now, we would not care, even if our government then gassed us and killed us in an attempt to rescue us!

What surprised me most about this concert was the audience, while made up mostly of extremely gay men (not surprising), also had a lot of young women in their 20s and 30s (surprising). Who likes Cher? Who? Answer me! If you are not gay and you actually like Cher and would buy a Cher album, please email me. This is bothering me. She freaks me out.

It's got to be so cool to be a rock star or some sort of musical performer for a live audience. No matter what you say up there, people will think it is hilarious. This is annoying because most of the time it is never funny. I saw a Wilco show recently where Sonic Youth opened up for them in Central Park and Jeff Tweedy said at one point, "This is cool. It's like a barbecue. You know, a uh, barbecue that's like, uh, with Sonic Youth." People laughed like crazy. But there was this sort of ending to the laughter where I think everyone realized, "Hey, that's not very funny or clever."

I'm also not a big fan of when performers curse just to get applause. I once saw U2 where Bono said, "You are the loudest bunch of motherfuckers I've ever heard." Of course every motherfucker in the place went nuts. They were like, "Woo! That's right! We are motherfuckers and we are loud! The loudest, according to Bono!" Yes, we all said that. Everyone in the audience replied in unison. If someone else said that at their job, it's likely they'd be fired. If a substitute teacher said to a class of first graders, "You are the loudest bunch of motherfuckers I've ever heard," there's a good chance that would be the last day for that teacher. What pissed me off about the U2 comment is that I saw a video of another show where they were in like, Cleveland, and he said the same exact thing to the Cleveland audience. I know there is no way that some motherfuckers in motherfucking Ohio are motherfucking louder than some motherfuckers in motherfucking New York.

Bono is a motherfucking liar.

I've got nothing to talk about today.

Well, wait a second. I just thought of something. Child pornography. I'm not surprised at what seems to be an influx of child porn and things like that Marine guy running off with a little girl. Vanity Fair recently had a photo shoot with some hot young teens of the moment. You know, Amanda Bynes, the chick from The Gilmore Girls and some others. Some of them were scantilly clad, but I think most of them were at least 18, or somewhere in the vicinity. But then they had a photo of the girl from Spy Kids, who was born in 1988. She was sort of bent over with a tiny little skirt on that looked like it was being lifted up by a breeze. If I had not known who she was and just happened to see the photo, I'd be like, Whoa, who is this hot piece?

In case you are not good at math, she is 15.

I'm not blaming society's ills on Vanity Fair, but come on. That's not helping.

I really have no point. I just think it's amusing that parents let their kids get all slutted up, then they're surprised when they get PID from some 28 year old pervert living at home with his grandma.

Helen Lovejoy said it best: Won't someone please think of the children!?

I heard someone on TV last night describe their relationship with someone as a roller coaster -- lots of ups and downs. This is a bad metaphor. On a roller coaster, the downs are the parts that are the most fun, which is not true in a relationship. The ups, while not bad on a roller coaster can't compare to the downs. And of course, the ups in a relationship are the best. Because of this shoddy cliché, if you ever say to me that your relationship is like a roller coaster, I will assume the following.

-- You had to wait in line for 30 minutes to get on your relationship.
-- You were wearing a shoulder harness and a lap belt the entire time.
-- When you went upside down, change fell out of your pocket.
-- You put your arms up and screamed during the downs.
-- When it was over, you were either incredibly happy, or you got a little nauseous (which is really the only thing roller coasters and relationships have in common).

The thing about Saddam buying uranium from Africa not turning out to be true -- this reminds me of when Susan Smith killed her two kids, but said there were some black guys that stole her babies and her car, and everyone took her word for it. This is like the same thing. They had no proof, so they were like, "Hey, let's just blame it on Africa. The white people that we are trying to convince will have no trouble believing that. Just say that Saddam was trying to by uranium from black guys."

Speaking of Susan Smith, she put a personal ad out to get some virtual lovin'. In it, she says, "I have grown and matured alot since my incarceration, but I will always hurt for the pain I've caused so many, especially my children."

She may have matured but she still doesn't know that "a lot" is two words. Huge pet peeve of mine. I'm more upset over the fact that she can't spell, rather than her heinous deed.

Anyway, my conclusion is that Southerners, whether they be crazy white trash or the President of the United States, blame black people for everything.

Up until about four months ago, my neighbor on one side of my apartment had been a vacant lot. They are now putting up a new building there and the only thing I can really say about these construction workers is that they sure do wake up early. Luckily, Monday through Thursday, I am up and out of the house before they get there, but on my days off, Friday and Saturday, they are there at 07:30 and not a minute later. I'm pretty sure this is the schedule that is posted on their bulletin board:

07:30 -- Arrive on time and talk insanely loud. When possible, yell at each other.
07:45 -- Open up shed. Do NOT open door slowly. Swing open as fast as possible, ensuring the door will bang into the side of the shed, causing a metallic echo throughout the neighborhood.
08:00 -- Begin emptying shed. Drop lots of shit. Make sure it's heavy and loud when you drop it.
08:15 -- Turn on all power tools. Even if you don't need to use them, use them. If you see a drill laying around doing nothing, just turn it on and drill into the air.
08:20 -- Remember all that heavy shit you dropped about twenty minutes ago? Pick up a hammer and bang on it.
08:30 -- By now, the guy in the apartment next door should be awake. If you see him walking out of his room, through the kitchen and into the bathroom, you have done your job. Be as quiet as possible for the rest of the day. This should really piss him off.

I was really drunk yesterday. Not your normal run of the mill every day kind of drunk. I was really fucking drunk. I don't recall a lot past 5:00. That's right. I was black out drunk at 5:00 in the evening.

Here is a conversation I expect to have later today with one of the people I was out with last night:

Bill: Hello?
Me: Hey Bill. It's Mike. What's going on?
B: Oh, hey. I'm surprised to hear from you.
Me: Why? Because I never call you?
B: Um, no actually. I thought you'd be dead.
Me: Oh, unfortunately I'm alive right now. I guess that's kind of why I'm calling. What did I do last night? What happened?
B: Well, what's the last thing you remember?
Me: I remember that guy who wanted to fight me.
B: You mean the guy that you wanted to fight.
Me: Yeah. That sounds right.
B: OK. you remember fucking that donkey, right?
Me: I fucked a donkey?
B: Oh yeah. Big time.
Me: When you say donkey, that's some kind of euphemism for "Ugly Girl", right?
B: No. I mean a real live donkey.
Me: I don't remember that. I guess that would explain why my clothes look like they were chewed through.
B: Actually, that was something unrelated to the donkey.
Me: Whoa.
B: And I think goats are the animals more known for chewing on clothes. Look, I guess I've got a lot to tell you. You'd better get a pen.

I didn't realize until yesterday that the Iranian twins went to law school. What?! How did anyone let them try this surgery? This should have been a sitcom. They would have rivaled the Olsen twins in the Most Popular Twin Contest.

Here's the premise for the sitcom. One of the twins, we'll say Ladan, is a high profile, high priced defense attorney who represents the biggest and most controversial clients. She's like Johnnie Cochran, only she's Iranian and has her sister attached to her. Meanwhile, Laleh is a crusading District Attorney, who tries her damndest (on a minimal salary) to bring justice into a world where she sees none. Every episode features a case where the sisters are pitted against each other.

Laleh is incredibly sweet and kind-hearted to everyone. Ladan is a total bitch. Their different personalities bring laughter to every episode. While Ladan loves classical music, Laleh is in to hip-hop and gangsta rap. She always tells Ladan to "chill the fuck out." Even though she is so kind-hearted, she curses a blue streak.

As for their love life, they are dating twins who are joined at the pinky. Their names are Stanley and Frederick. Or Stanny and Freddy, but everyone calls them Pinky. These characters are still being developed. I would like it if they could be played by two former child stars, Chip from Kate & Allie, and Ben Seaver from Growing Pains.

At the end of every episode, the twins will learn a valuable lesson about the true meaning of Rhamadan.

The title of this show will be called "Sharin' a Noggin."

Here is the last thing I will say about the twins.

If God has a sense of humor and a hidden camera show, I think when the conjoined twins get up to Heaven and are given their Angel status, He would make it so they were joined at the halo. They'd be all angry at St. Peter, you know, because he's the receptionist and he's the first one they will see. "Why are we joined at the halo? Can't we be our own angels?" He'd say stuff like, "It's God's rule. If you'd like to file a complaint, feel free, but He reads prayers first and rarely has time for complaints. It's not that big of a deal. Didn't you two already live like this?" They'd then show God in the control room laughing His Ass off. After about ten minutes, He'd come out and try to calm them down, because now they are really pissed. God comes out and says something like, "You know if you don't like it, you can always go to Hell. This is My after-life and as long as you are going to live under My sky, you'll obey My rules."

After a while, He finally says to them, "Do you like being on TV?" They'd be confused. He'd say, "Look over there. You see that cloud? There's a camera in there. You've been Punk'd!"

This is funny -- from MLB.com.

"Pittsburgh first baseman Randall Simon was interrogated by the Milwaukee County Sheriff's Department after a strange incident in which he struck a participant in the popular sausage race during Wednesday's game between the Brewers and Pirates."

So this player wacks some fan dressed up as a sausage during a race. Pretty stupid thing to do. His teammate, Reggie Sanders said, "It's very strange -- live and learn. Unfortunately, that's what life is all about."

Yes, Reggie, that is unfortunate, but that is what life is all about. I remember when I was a younger lad and I hit a lady dressed up like an Italian sausage with a baseball bat. I definitely learned from that experience and I know I would never do it again. I was a pretty bratty kid and my mother would always say, "One day you will learn a good lesson about what life is all about." And I'd be like, "Oh yeah? What is it old lady?!" And she'd say, "You just remember this: One day when you are older, perhaps when you are in high school or maybe when you are a Pittsburgh Pirate, you will hit an Italian sausage with a baseball bat, and there will be repurcussions. It is there where you will learn your life lesson."

Live and learn, Randall Simon. Live and learn.

I'm starting to think that maybe this blog is a bad idea. I already have a negative view towards our society as a whole, but seeing some of the things that people search to get to my site is pretty sick. Today someone got here by searching "hypnotized moms raped pictures".

This guy's search produced such site descriptions as "Free men hot oldermen hot panties hot penetration hot pics hot" and "tastyamateurs octamateurs japan hardcorexxx tastyamateurs". Then right there in the middle of all of them is Blogging Like I've Never Blogged Before.

Now, I'm not sure if this guy was looking for photos of moms who were raped while hypnotized or if it was for moms who were hypnotized that like to rape pictures. Some hypnotist might have put this kid's mom under a spell where he's like, "Now when I snap my fingers you will want to rape the family portrait." So he snaps his fingers and she just goes apeshit on the family's photo album of their trip to Disney World. If that is the case, then I feel bad for the kid. That would be awfully traumatic.

But if it's not the case, you are all sick bastards. All of you. Yes, even you.

Here are some quotes from songs that go through my head when I'm at work:

-- "I'm not here. Is this really happening?" --Radiohead; I always thought I'd have a cool job title, like President of Testing Video Games While Drunk.

-- "Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me." --Rage Against the Machine; I hate the band, but they make a good argument.

-- "Oops I did it again." -- Britney Spears; I just like to think about Britney, although it was revealed that she's a dirty slut!

-- "I don't want to work, I just want to bang on my drums all day." --Not sure who sang it, but it's always on some cheesy radio station at 5:00; While it's true that I don't want to work, I don't have drums, and even if I did, I probably wouldn't want to bang on them all day. But that's not really the point. It's a metaphor for being young again and having a rambunctious spirit, although I would probably just sleep all day. I'd probably dream about banging on drums. Or supermodels. Or supermodels banging drums.

-- "I'm a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride, I'm wanted (WANTED!) dead or alive." --Bon Jovi; I often like to pretend that I'm a wanted man. And I'm from New Jersey, so there is always a Bon Jovi song rattling around somewhere up there.

-- "Damn it feels good to be a gangster." --From Office Space; Is there a better scene in a film that depicts what people really want to do at work? I don't think so. I saw that movie before I ever worked in an office, so I thought it was only mildly amusing. Now, that I've been at my current job for 3 and a half years (please kill me), I realize the movie is hilarious, yet after I watch it, I'm always a little sad.

Here are things I hate to see in movies:

-- People eating loudly.
-- Main characters being really loud or obnoxious during a scene, yet no one around them seems to care.
-- Nicolas Cage.

I write this because they are filming a movie in my neighborhood. When I say they, I mean Hollywood. I recognized Natasha Lyonne from American Pie and The Slums of Beverly Hills, and some guy in a cowboy hat.

I was walking with my roommate after I got something to eat, and we were approaching the corner they were filming on. About 15 feet before we got there, a guy was telling people walking by, "Please when you walk by, do NOT look to the left. If you look to the left, the shot will be ruined and useless." Well, I certainly don't want to ruin any kind of Hollywood magic, especially with the uber-talented Natasha Lyonne.

So we walk by what they are filming and out of the corner of my eye, I see that the scene they are shooting has the cowboy wrestling with the girl, right there on the street. Not like professional wrestling with tights and Captain Lou Albano, but some struggling on the ground, as if he was trying to mug her. Now, if this was real life, we all would have looked to our left because there was a girl being attacked by a cowboy in Brooklyn. We don't have cowboys in Brooklyn. We have hipsters that wear cowboy hats, but no real cowboys, so this would be odd. If you happen to see this film when it comes to a theater near you, please look for the wrestling scene and look in the background. You might see me explaining to my roommate exactly what I just said here.

I should have ruined that shot by yelling, "Hey cowboy! What are you doing?! Get off of Natasha Lyonne!" I would have made the outtake reel on the DVD.

The White House finally admitted that claims Bush made in his State of the Union address about Iraq trying to obtain uranium were wrong.

Because of this, and the fact that we can't find WMDs, and that we can't find Saddam Hussein or Osama bin Laden, and because we missed tons of warning signs pre-9/11, the Central Intelligence Agency will now be known as the Central "Intelligence" Agency. Whenever people mention the C"I"A now, you must say "Intelligence" very sarcastically or at least do the quote thing with your fingers.

Today is a horrible day to be an Iranian twin conjoined at the head. Well, I imagine every day as an Iranian twin conjoined at the head probably sucks, but especially today.

Holy crap. The only survivor of a plane crash in Sudan that killed 115 people was a two year old baby. One report said he was in good condition, but there is another that said he lost a leg, which I wouldn't necessarily consider good. But still, that's pretty amazing that he didn't die, especially when everyone else pretty much burned to death on impact. My theory is being that he is a baby, he was thrown far away from the plane and landed in a bucket of jelly, which broke his fall, and kept him fed until help arrived.

This poor kid will probably now have to be adopted by someone. He'll probably grow up to be really cocky, though. He'll always talk about the time he was a SuperBaby that survived a plane crash that no one else came close to living through. He probably won't tell people about the good fortune he had with the bucket full of jelly. When other kids ask him why he's named JellyBucket Mgbutu, he'll say some crap like, "JellyBucket translates to Bravest Baby Ever. It's an old Native American name."

***UPDATE*** Turns out that JellyBucket is a girl.

I saw something on Entertainment Tonight or Extra or Celebrities Are More Awesome Than You or one of those shows, and they were acting like Kobe Bryant was guilty of murdering Jesus. The voice over said something like, "How did it all go wrong for someone who seemed to have it all?" They showed old footage of him in slo-mo and they kept showing his smile, and they somehow made it seem like a really sinister smile. You know, the kind of smile only found on sexual assaulters.

Come on! He's a popular professional athlete! This is a rite of passage. Frankly, I was getting a little concerned that he would never be accused of anything.

One of the weirder athlete arrests from the past was Kevin Stevens, who is a hockey player that has been on the Penguins and the Rangers. He was arrested in a hotel room with a hooker and some crack. It was apparently his crack. If you have a lot of money, and I assume he was pretty well off, at what point in your life do you make the decision, "You know what? I'm really enjoying my life as a pro-hockey player, but I feel I need something new in my life. I'd like to try some crack. And while I'm at it, I think I'll share it with a hooker."

There was also that guy from the TV show Ed, who got busted at the Brooklyn Navy Yard smoking crack with a homeless guy. I was discussing this phenomenon recently with my friend, Mike, about how weird it is when people who you wouldn't expect turn to crack, all of the sudden turn to crack. This just makes me think that there is a chance that one day, I will smoke crack. Right now I'd say No way to crack! But who knows? Maybe in the future, I'll find myself down on my luck, making a million dollars a year playing hockey or acting on a TV show and realize that I just need some crack to get by. And to really make the most of it, I'll need to get high with a homeless guy or a hooker.

It must have been awkward for that guy from Ed to go back to work after he got busted.

Ed: Hey there, Other Guy From Ed.

Other Guy From Ed: Oh, hey Ed. How's it going?

Ed: Not too bad. So. How was your, uh, weekend?

OGFE: OK. I was in New York.

Ed: Oh yeah. Heard about that.

OGFE: Yup. You know, just visiting some friends.

Ed: Yeah. Soooo.

OGFE: So.

Ed: You, uh. You smoked some crack while you were out there, huh?

OGFE: Yep. Sure did.

Ed: Hmm. You did that with a, uh, homeless guy, right?

OGFE: Yeah. Yeah I did. Smoked crack with a homeless man.

Ed: That's interesting. You were in a Navy Yard or something.

OGFE: Yeah, right on the water.

Ed: Oh really? Must be a nice view.

OGFE: Oh yeah. Especially after the crack. It looks real cool with all the lights.

Ed: Oh, I bet.

OGFE: So what episode are we filmi-

Ed: I'm gonna go get some coffee. Do you want any? I mean, I know it's not crack and I'm not homeless, but I'd be more than happy to get some for you.

OGFE: No thanks Ed. And you know, I'd rather we didn't really talk about this whole thing so much.

Ed: OK. Sure. Hey everyone! Listen up! Other Guy From Ed would prefer it if we did NOT talk about his weekend in New York where he got busted for smoking crack! In case you did not hear, he got busted for smoking crack-cocaine with a homeless man in a Brooklyn shipyard. He would like that we not bring it up. So to recap, do not bring up the homeless guy/crack incident.

OGFE: Thanks Ed.

Ed: No problem there, Cracky McHomeless.

OGFE: I'd rather you didn't call me that either.

Ed: OK. Homeless McCracky?

OGFE: Yeah, that's better.

I saw the fireworks in DC this past weekend and I've got two words for you, not including the word "and", in which case I have three words for you, and an exclamation point: Shock and Awesome!

OK, that's a tad bit of a lie. They were cool but I'm not a huge fireworks fan. Especially when they are just the fireworks and there's no theme or music to accompany them. Like in Disney World, they've got the music and it's supposed to be like "Fantasia" or something and they somehow make it look like Mickey Mouse is shooting fireworks from his dick. That's pretty cool.

The DC fireworks had some really cool moments, but I can only take about ten minutes of fireworks and these were 20 minutes long. Fireworks are kind of like porno. There are some moments throughout that are really impressive, but for the most part there's just a lot of little bullshit that doesn't do anything for me. Then they get to the Grand Finale (the Money Shot) and just like that, it's over. And then I feel dirty and I go to confession.

The worst use of fireworks I've ever seen was about a week after Sept. 11th, the St. Louis Cardinals were the first team to play a baseball game since the attacks. So they have a tribute and all that, they sing the National Anthem, and then all of the sudden they set off a huge arsenal of fireworks. Maybe because it was the Midwest and pretty far removed from everything, they really didn't have the best grasp on how to go about it. But no one here really wanted to see a ton of explosions in the sky. Just watching it on TV, I was kind of freaked out. "Hey, St. Louis? We're a little on edge here. You wanna tone down the Bangs and the Booms a bit? Thanks, that'd be swell."

After the fireworks this past weekend, we went to a bar where CNN was on one of the TVs. I guess CNN, in honor of the 4th of July, was doing a recap of the war. Sort of like a Plays of the Year for America. Or America's Greatest Hits. After just seeing the fireworks outside, I thought maybe they were showing some celebrations from around the country, but it was the actual Shock and Awe campaign. Baghdad's fireworks were way better than DC's. We spared no expense in putting on a good show for them. And then they have the nerve to go and try to kill our soldiers. That's gratitude for you!

I know this is kind of old news, but the whole thing with Bush saying "Bring 'em on" is so ridiculous that I have to say something.

Bring 'em on? Are you serious? How can he say this? It's an easy thing to say while you sit in the relatively safe White House, but if I was a soldier out there who is seeing other soldiers get shot in the head while shopping, I think I'd be a tad pissed. And if I was an Iraqi kid who is hesitant about what to do and how to feel about the Americans in my country, that might push me over the edge. "OK. I guess the president wants us to make it interesting. I was going to go try and get a job, or maybe do some looting, but instead I think now I'll go shoot a soldier. Thank you brave President Bush for showing me the way!"

The president should now just be interviewed in a locker room. He obviously thinks being the president is a sport, so we should treat it as such. Have him there saying, "You know, we are just going to take it one suicide bomber at a time."

I've been trying to think of something funny to say about this whole Demi Moore Ashton Kutcher thing, but all I can come up with is, "What the fuck is up with Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher?!"

Finally, the question may have been answered! Dung beetles navigate by moonlight!

Just the other day, a friend and I were having an argument about this exact thing while we were watching Paradise Hotel. My friend Skip was like, "Mike. If you had to guess - I mean like your life depended on it, you know, someone's got a gun to your head - how would you say dung beetles navigate?"

Honestly at first, I didn't know what to think. Actually, I was like, "Skip, there are boobies and such on the TV. Can't we talk about dung beetles after the show?" He's all, "No, we should talk about this now. That's the problem with you Americans. No one wants to talk about the issues." In case you were wondering, Skip is not an American. He's from Texas. So I started to tape Paradise Hotel (PH) and we began discussing dung beetles.

The more I thought about it, I was really thrown for a loop! How do these darn beetles navigate? So I said to Skip that perhaps it is by vibrations in the ground. Skip was like, "Yeah right! Whatever FeelBug!" Skip always gives me weird nicknames after something I say. Yesterday I called him to further discuss dung beetles and he picked up the phone, but I wasn't sure if it was him or not, so I said, "Hi, is Skip there?" And he said, "Yeah, this is me. Good to hear from you, Can'tRecognizeSkip'sVoiceOnThePhoneEvenThoughSkipLivesAlone!" Skip is pretty clever when it comes to nicknames. Anyway, back to the other night and the dung beetles.

So Skip says, "Come on, gun to your head, how do they navigate? And don't give me that vibration bullshit again." Now I'm really thinking hard. So then I think, Hey! These beetles eat the dung of elephants, so maybe it's the elephants that are the good navigators. A-ha!

Then Skip says, "Wrong! Gun to your head! You're dead!" I said to him, "Hey, I only thought that! I didn't even say it out loud." I found out that Skip can read my mind.

All this talk about the beetles made me want to listen to the Beatles. Unfortunately, I don't own any Beatles records or even know a song by them, so I put in my copy of the From Justin to Kelly (FJTK) DVD that I bought from a guy on the street. But then I remembered I was already taping PH, so I couldn't watch FJTK.

Then I said to Skip, "Hey Skip. I have a thought." And he was like, "What is it, ThoughtBoy?" After laughing at that nickname (how does he come up with them so fast?!), I said to Skip, "Maybe the answer lies in a batch of the beetle's retinal cells which are sensitive to polarised light. Scarabaeus zambesianus starts to forage on the wing for fresh dung at around sunset, using the polarisation patterns formed by around the setting Sun to figure out a straight departure bearing should it come across any food. Sooo, after twilight, the solar cue is no longer available. The only light is lunar. I think perhaps it is moonlight."

Upon hearing this, Skip punched me in the testicles. I was like, "Skip, what the fuck!? That is seriously fucked up! You asshole!" Normally, I shun that kind of language, but Skip brought out the worst in me, as if I were the Hulk! Then Skip punched me again. This time, right in the butt! This was the first time in my life I had ever been punched in the rear. I did NOT like it, despite what you may hear from Skip. So I said, "Skip, please stop punching me in those areas." So once again, Skip punches me, but this time in a more acceptable punching receptacle - the face. This hurt more than anything, and looking back, it was much better to get punched in my derriere. Although not pleasurable, I realized I have a lot more cushion back there than in my face.

Finally Skip calmed down after some more pummeling, and we made a bet about the dung beetle thing, and the loser would owe the winner a lunch at either Chili's or Applebee's -- whichever the winner was in the mood for at the time of the dung beetle revelations.

Well Skip, you just lost the bet of a lifetime, where are you going now? I'll answer for you Skip, You're going to Applebee's!

I did learn a very valuable lesson from all of this, and that is to make sure your VCR is on the right channel before you start recording! I ended up taping Everybody Loves Raymond by accident! While I think ELR is a great show, it was a repeat. PH was all new and I missed the drama! Oh well.

I also learned not to get into a debate about dung beetles, or anything related to nature, with Skip, especially after he just ate all of that Crystal Meth!

In New York this past weekend, there was an Air Guitar Contest. The contest was immediately followed by the Masturbating into a Tube Sock, Then Crying Yourself to Sleep Tournament.