Apparently, Arabs are upset that no one talks about Israel's nuclear program, and everyone is focusing on Iran and North Korea. Well duh. Israel is run by white guys, so it's cool. No one trusts these other countries because they are crazy minorities. We all know that white people are the only people that can be trusted with weapons of mass destruction. So quit your whining, you silly foreigners and let the white people who are in charge decide what is right for you.

Come on, who do you trust more? A guy on a train or some wacky looking guy with crap on his head? Just tell your friends to give us their weapons, crazy head boy.

Pardon me while I do a "Rich Says the Darndest Things" post.

I was talking to Rich last night, who just got back from his honeymoon in Hawaii. He said to me, "The thought of going back to work tomorrow makes me want to shit."

I had a dream the other night that I was jogging. I was in such good shape. I woke up believing that I was this marathon man and I actually felt sore. But then I looked in the mirror and saw the truth. Ho hum. I really should get my ass to the gym. Just my ass though. The rest of me is perfect.

I did try to run on a regular basis last year, with the intent of running in a marathon. It lasted for about a month. I have now accepted that the only marathon I will ever partake in is of the Real World/ Road Rules variety.

As I was looking through some old photos I just found, I realized I didn't have chest hair back in 1996. This struck me as odd. Not really the chest hair thing, but the surprising number of photos I have of myself with no shirt on. And this one in particular was taken at church. That's a lie. I was canoeing.

I don't remember when I first got chest hair, but it was apparently after the summer of '96. I guess I really don't pay attention to detail. I would think that the day I started to turn into my dad would have been memorable. Now I am nervous that the hair is just going to begin spreading. Like back hair. Lord no. Please no. I had a roommate in college who had quite the hairy back. He actually asked me if I could help him shave it. I politley declined. And by politely declined, I said, "Dude, you hairy freak, get the fuck away from me with that razor, you gigantic gorilla."

My other roommate was nice enough to do it. It was such a weird sight to see my roommates together in the bathroom, one shaving the other. It will be an image forever burned into my brain. They also picked bugs out of each other's fur. The tragic irony for my roommate was that he was going bald. So here he was, with a back that had more hair than he knew what to do with, and a bright shiny skull with barely a little bit of peach fuzz. But hey, he's married now and hopefully happy. God bless the hairy back bald man that can find a wife. Maybe I should go bald and grow some hair on my back. Only then will I find happiness. We should all be so lucky.

Hey, for my birthday I got a Blogger t-shirt. It's fucking awesome and nerdy! I am going to wear it whenever I blog. My birthday is Saturday, so I expect tons of well wishers.

In other news, someone just got to my blog by searching "hasidic jewish women who suck cock". No cock sucking Jews here! I'm sorry I couldn't help. Hey. What a great name for a band -- The Cock Sucking Jews!

So I went to the Dave Matthews concert in Central Park last night. Please don't tell anyone in Williamsburg about this, my hipster home, because I think going to a Dave Matthews show is grounds for expulsion.

It's gotten to the point where I feel like I am the oldest person at a concert. There were so many kids there. I look at some of these girls and I'm like, "Wow, if I was at this concert five years ago, I'd try to talk to you."

I've seen him quite a few times and every time I go I say to myself, "This is the last Dave Matthews show I am ever going to." Well, there I was again last night, thanks to a free ticket. They were all free tickets at one point, but lots of people were suckered in to buying them on eBay or from scalpers. I just can't stand at concerts anymore. I am sick of standing. I just want to sit. I like sitting. Sitting is fucking awesome.

I waited in line for two hours to get into this place. At least two hours. Standing. It took two hours to go from 63rd St. to 72nd. It sucked ass. Then once we got in, we heard everyone saying that they just cut in line at the front or entered at 81st street, where there was no line. Bastards.

One guy who was walking by the line said this to his friend: Yo, grabbing that second beer was a fucking great idea, bro.

Indeed it was. What a genius! I heard the word "bro" approximately 4,258,164,058,705 times.

While we were waiting in line, there was this one girl who said, "I can't believe I haven't seen anyone I know yet. I thought I'd run into a lot of people." Yes, that is surprising. In such a small crowd of 75,000 people, you'd expect to run into dozens of people you know. I'd expect at least six people.

About ten minutes after I made fun of this girl, I happened to run into my friend Gina.

So we hung out with Gina and her pals for the show. While we were waiting for it to start, there was a fella behind us who decided that walking to the bathroom was just not an option. He whipped out his wang and started taking a piss right there. Now before you go and judge this guy, it should be noted that he was courteous enough to cover himself with an umbrella. Although it was one of those little drink umbrellas that you find in margaritas. Luckily he left our area and wandered around to find more territory to mark.

What a dirtbag. Of course, he was drunk. And he was wearing a "Blackout 2003" shirt, so if anyone was going to piss in front of everyone, the smart money was on this pony. As soon as I saw his shirt, I was like, "Oh, there's the guy who will take out his dick and start pissing in front of everyone." I wonder if before he went out, he was looking at his t-shirt collection, and said, "Now, should I go with the blackout shirt or my "Heroes of Ground Zero" shirt? Well, since it's a happy event, I'll wear the blackout shirt. People will enjoy that. So maybe I should wear my New York Fuckin' City shirt. Everyone always gets a kick out of that. But then people will think that maybe I've got too much of an attitude, and Dave Matthews tends to draw somewhat of a hippie crowd, so I guess I won't wear that one. Oh wait, maybe I should wear my Devils jersey. No no. Definitely the blackout shirt. What an awesome night this will be! This Blackout shirt has already paid for itself!"

I like the hats and shirts that people sell on the street with all of the curse words. Like the shirt that says, "Fuck you you fuckin' fuck." Brilliant! The hats that just say "Fuck" are funny. Who is in the market for hats like these? "Hmmm, I like the 'Fuck' hat but I'm looking for something a little less mainstream. Can you show me something in a 'cocksucker'?"

There was this one guy who was holding up a sign. I have no idea what the sign said, but since we were about 11,000 rows deep, chances were that no one was going to see it. Take that shit back to the WrestleMania from whence you came.

So now I mean it. That was the last Dave Matthews show I will ever go to.

This is a picture of Gina. She likes to dance with videographers at weddings.

I feel that I am currently in a dry spell. I need inspiration. Often when I start writing about how I have nothing to write about, I end up writing about something, and it often ends up fairly interesting. So I'm going to keep writing until I think of something.

Jim Belushi and Courtney Thorne Smith presented at the Emmys. Me and my roommate Mandy are more deserving of presenting at the Emmys. When we watch TV, we are way funnier than anything that's ever been on According to Jim. We should have our own show called, Mike and Mandy Watch TV. It would just be a show of us on the couch watching TV and commenting on it. Sort of a Mystery Science Theater, but for TV. And there are no limits to what we watch. We'll go from Oprah to C-SPAN to Hollywood Squares. This would be a great show and change the face of television.

It's probably not healthy how much TV we watch, but who are you to judge us? We are really good at it. We'll watch anything. Remember when I talked about that Freddy Prinze movie? That was with the help of Mandy. She inspires me to sit longer than I normally would. Many of my thoughts and comments on here have been born from watching TV with Mandy.

All of these dead celebrities are making me realize that when our generation (mid twenties people) gets older, we are going to have dead celebrities every day. Think about it. There are way more celebrities now than there ever were before. With hundreds of cable channels, reality TV shows that have a new cast every season, there are just so many celebrities waiting to die. Granted, people on reality television aren't real celebrities, but you get my drift. There will have to be a special obituary section just for dead entertainers.

"Jan 20, 2063 -- The entertainment world is mourning the loss of tons of people once again today. Jamie from Real World New Orleans, that chick who lost to Richard on the first Survivor, one of the kids from Making the Band, and Dave Attell, who hosted the Comedy Central show 'Insomniac' all died today. Hollywood is still reeling from yesterday's loss of the entire cast of the Real World Hawaii, who were on their way to partake in the Real World/ Road Rules challenge #457. Their plane crashed onto the studio where they were filming Big Brother 126, which killed all 57 house guests. Also today, Natalie Portman died of a heroin overdose at the age of 82."

Speaking of Natalie Portman, I'd like to talk about how much Star Wars blows. Well, not really. Sort of. Hold on. I'll get to Star Wars in a minute.

I hate watching movie trailers and reading movie reviews. They both give away too much. It's frustrating when major plot points are divulged. Even saying something like "And the surprise ending will be such a surprise!" Just telling me that there is a surprise ending kind of ruins the surprise. I heard so much about movies like The Sixth Sense and The Usual Suspects and their surprise endings, that when I saw the movies, the surprise was dampened. I still liked both movies, but I was expecting something the whole time, so I was always trying to guess. "OK, he must be Keyser Soze. No wait. He's Keyser Soze! No! I'm wrong again! Bruce Willis is actually dead AND he's Keyser Soze! And that chick is actually a dude!"

Here's what I hate about movie critic reviews. Because of the way media ownership is these days, you never know who is getting paid to say what. You know who signs Roger Ebert's checks? Walt Disney. Well, not actually him. Not yet at least. He's still an ice pop, but his company does. Try and find Ebert give a bad review to a Disney movie. There might be one here or there, but for the most part he gushes over anything Disney. His Finding Nemo review was just a picture of him jerking off on a fish.

Also, when Star Wars Episode 1 came out, he was the only critic or media outlet to get a one-on-one interview with George Lucas. He had an entire show devoted to the interview. All other interviews were done at press junkets. The next week he gave the review, and it was glowing. Do you think he would dare to say anything bad about it after Lucas gave him the interview? Hell no. But not only did he give a good review (there were a few critics who liked it), he talked about how Jar Jar Binks was a great character. Come on! Here is what I imagine how it went when they arranged the interview:

Roger: Hey George, how are you?

George: What's up you fat shit?

R: Please don't call me that.

G: Sorry. What's up?

R: I was wondering if I could get an interview with you for my show. A full on camera sit down interview.

G: Well, I really don't do that.

R: Please? My ratings have gone down pretty far ever since Siskel died.

G: OK, tell you what. Ill do it, but I need you to give me a good review.

R: No problem.

G: The only thing is, it'll be difficult to give it a good review. This movie sucks. Real bad. It is so bad. Nothing but special effects.

R: Don't worry about it. I'll give it a good review.

G: One more thing. There is this character called Jar Jar Binks.

R: Jar Jar?

G: Yeah, it was my kid's idea. This thing is terrible. An embarrassment to film, really. I'm going to get strung up for this. I need you to say something good. It doesn't even have to be that good. Just say something like, "And Jar Jar Binks doesn't suck that much."

R: Done. If you want me to just put a picture up there of me wacking off onto C3P0, I'll do it.

G: You've been asking me if you could do that ever since 1977. I'd really rather you didn't.

R: But I've already got the pictures.

G: No.

R: What about R2-D2.

G: Look, I'll be there tomorrow for the interview. Keep your pants on.

WKRP in Purgatory.

Gordon Jump has left us. First, Johnny Cash, then John Ritter, now Gordon Jump??? God must be getting sick of the entertainers up there, because he's taking all of ours! Selfish bitch!

If you aren't familiar with Gordon Jump, he was the guy who molested Dudley on the episode of Diff'rent Strokes when Dudley and Arnold went to that bike shop. The message to kids? Don't go to bike shops. And if you do, it is not necessary to remove your shirt when getting a new bike. Dudley was pretty ripped for a ten year old.

So if you ask me, Gordon Jump got what he deserved. Pervert.

Pardon me while I do a "Kids Say the Darndest Things" post.

I was out to dinner the other night with my sister, her fiancé, and his 5 year old son, Connor. So I guess he is my future step-nephew in-law. After Connor was finished with his two and a half slices of pizza (quite a big meal for a five year old), he looked at my sister and said, "It's gonna be a big poop tonight."

I can't wait until he is 16 and says things at Thanksgiving like, "If I may be excused, I'd like to go take a gigantic dump."

Thanks to Anise, I am now a Pro Blogger. As an early birthday gift, I have been upgraded. This means I can attach my own photos to my site, and not have to steal them from random places on the internet. I think there will be many other things I can do, but I haven't had the chance to figure them out just yet.

I'm sure many of you have wondered, "What does this Mike Toole look like?" Well, wonder no more. Now that I can upload my own photos, I can keep you updated on my life -- in picture form.

Here I am, circa 1988, when I was the Intercontinental champion of the world.

Boys will be boys. Albeit boys who like to sodomize each other with pine cones.

BELLMORE, N.Y. -- A Long Island school board has unanimously voted to end a high school football team's season amid allegations that some players were sexually assaulted by older teammates at a training camp in Pennsylvania last month.

Newsday reported that three varsity players allegedly sodomized three junior varsity players with a broomstick, pine cones and golf balls while other players watched. One of the students was injured so badly that he required surgery, the newspaper said.

I think this high school is totally overreacting to what the players did. I mean, come on. What high school player hasn't been raped with a broomstick or a pine cone? I played football in high school and hardly a day went by when an inanimate object wasn't stuck up my ass. There was this one time, Chris, the star player, came up to me and was like, "Mike, you dropped a quarter." I was like, "Oh really, I don't remember dropping any quarters, but I guess I should bend down to pick it up, just in case."

Next thing I know, I've got this giant pool cue up my ass! Oh man it was hilarious. It hadn't ever been sanded either. It was taken from the pool cue factory before it was finished, so it was all jagged. Oh, the splinters! All the guys were pointing at me calling me Pool Cue Up the Butt Toole. I remember someone saying, "Eight ball, center pocket!" The center pocket being my ass. Great times.

Sure I can't go number 2 without experiencing the most excruciating pain in my life, but it was hilarious! Everyone signed my yearbook saying something like, "Remember that time we stuck that pool cue up your butt? Have an awesome summer!" Or, "Hey Mike. I can't believe this year is already over! It flew. Mrs. Murphy's class sucked! What a bitch. Anyway, have a great summer! PS, watch out for pool cues up your ass! Try not to pick up any more quarters Pool Cue Up the Butt Toole!"

Sure, I can't sit down comfortable at all and I need to sit on an inflatable donut for the rest of my life, but it really provided the highlight of my high school career.

Some day I'll have to tell you all about how the quarterback shoved a stuffed and mounted swordfish up my ass. It was awesome.

Parents and adults these days are just so quick to overreact.

Blogger has taken my ability to post photos. Oh well. Go to the links.

The Bush administration will probably not be using this photo in the re-election campaign.

Hi, I'm David Blaine. For my next trick, I will try to not be such a fucking idiot.

I find it very weird that they are going to continue the John Ritter show. It's fine that they are going to show the final episodes he did, but I highly doubt a show like that can make that sort of transition. I highly doubt it. Seriously. I'm high right now.

My vote is for Sandy Duncan to come in and take over for him. She did it on the Hogan Family, so you know she's got the experience. They can change the show to 8 Simple Rules for Not Making Fun of My Glass Eye. Rule 1: Don't make fun of my glass eye. Think of all the fun they can have with her eye. The scenarios are endless.

Honestly though, how the hell can they do that? I never watched that show, but I imagine that Jack Tripper was the central character. It seems like he'd kind of be playing both the straight man and the funny man, know what I mean? And the show is called 8 Simple Rules for Dating MY Teenage Daughter. The "My" in that is good ol' John.

I'm concerned about the daughters. Girls who lose their fathers that young try to make up for his loss by sleeping with less desirable men. They need a good role model. Maybe Jim Belushi, that hilarious sack of plop can take time off from his poopfest of a show called "According to Jim, The King of Poop," and help those girls out. I feel bad for them.

As far as days in sports go, today sucks. Last night was the championship in the WNBA (or as I like to call it, The Great Ball of Vagina). That's right. If you like to watch a game of basketball where the players fall down on almost every play, then you love the WNBA just as much as I do, and now you have to wait another ten months for the new season. Hopefully, my WNBA fantasy team (The Ladies of Lay-up) will do better next year.

I recently spoke of my somewhat psychic tendencies. I very loosely predicted 9/11 and once in a while I have a dream that comes true. About two days before I went on vacation, I had a dream that I was at the beach house I was going to stay at. I was standing on the deck with my friend Rich when all of the sudden two fighter jets flew above us and started fighting. They weren't shooting missiles, but they were using the front ends of their jets to fight each other. They stopped in mid-air and started hitting each other. Rich said they were "sword fighting."

Now, that part didn't happen in real life. The thing with the sword fighting. But our house was about a half mile away from a naval base and there were jets flying all over the place. I just find that really bizarre. My brain occasionally scares me. I'm just waiting to see a dead person. Then I could start my own talk show where I say things like, "Is there someone in your family with a name that starts with the letter 'J'"?

Because of these jets, I also experienced my first sonic boom. Of course at first we had no idea what it was, but I asked the redneck neighbor and he confirmed it was a sonic boom. It didn't really shake the house. It was more of a sway. Pretty wild and scary.

That'd be a good name for a band. The Sonic Booms. It'd also be a great name for a professional wrestler. But I think the best use for it would be a porno star. Once Upon a Time in Sexico, starring Sonic Boom.

I was once asked to be in a porno. I was walking in a parking lot heading towards a bar in good ol' Red Bank, New Jersey. I was with a couple of friends who were a few steps ahead of me. I heard someone say "Hey. Hey, you." So I turned around and it was me that was the 'you' they were speaking to. There were two girls in an SUV. I figured they needed directions, because we all know women are always lost. I looked at them and inquired as to why they were calling me. Here was our conversation. My inner monologue is in italics.

Chick: You wanna be in a porno?

Me: I'm sorry, what? WHAAAA!?

Chick: Do you want to be in a porno?

Me: Uhhh, I don't know. Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God! Remember this moment Michael. It will never happen again.

Chick: Come on. We need some guys to be in a porno.

Me: Stall for time. Enjoy this moment. Um, I'm not sure. What's it about?

Chick: It's a porno.

Me: Uhh, I don't think so. I don't have a porn name. Damn I wish I could use the name Sonic Boom.

Chick: That's OK. We'll give you one.

Me: No, I'm sorry. I'll pass. What are you doing you fucking idiot??!?!?! Porno! You could be in a porno!

Chick: OK. Fine.

Me: Oh hey. By the way, where are you doing this porno? I didn't realize that the town of my birth was a hotbed for porno production.

Chick: It's up the street. It's an independent film.

Me: Oh, okay. You mean it's not one of those big budget special effects pornos?

So that was my near porno experience. I did walk into the bar where my friends asked, "What happened to you?"

There I was, arms raised announcing to the bar, "I just got asked to be in a porno!"

And that, my friends, was the greatest moment of my life. Well, not really. And to be honest, these ladies were not all that attractive. Not hideous, but not the kind of girls I'd like to be in a porno with. I hold myself to a higher standard. I'm sure if I was coming out of the bar, I would have jumped in the back of that SUV with my bangin' boots on. Yes, I do have bangin' boots.

Well, no. No I don't.

I know I am late on all this, but Johnny Cash and John Ritter both dying on the same day. Black Friday.

I loved Three's Company as a kid. I tried to emulate Jack Tripper. He was my hero. I liked the slapstick. I wanted a swinging door on our kitchen so I could get hit by it. I probably didn't even get all of the sex jokes back then. I still have to ask my dad what they are talking about.

I was happy to see him in Sling Blade (John Ritter, not my dad). It was cool to see someone who wasted so much time on the Problem Child films realize what a good film was and wasn't afraid to do it. I recently saw an episode of Three's Company and I realized it was not very good. But he put everything he had into it and he seemed like a swell guy. I'm just upset that he never got to nail Janet before he died.

And Johnny Cash. What can I say about him? Just fucking awesome and amazing and the coolest man to ever walk the face of the earth. Even though he was ill and you knew he was going to die soon, it's still sad. But he looked so miserable at his wife's funeral, that I almost wished he wouldn't last much longer here because you could tell he wanted to be with her. I saw some thing on him the other day, and some dude said, "If God has a voice, it's Johnny Cash's." Amen.

On Saturday after the wedding all of our drunk asses went to do some karaoke at this redneck bar. I don't think the bar was intending to be a redneck bar, but it was filled with rednecks, therefore, it's a redneck bar. You could be in the nicest bar in the world, but if 10 rednecks come in, it turns into a redneck bar. Anyway, we were intending to get in there and be all raucous and sing the shit out of some songs. Hey, we are a bunch of drunk white people who just left a wedding. These are the things we do.

Anyway, after about four horrible singers doing some slow, horrendously depressing country songs incredibly off key, Cara, the sister of the groom, invited me up there to do a duet of Livin' on a Prayer. I am not a big Bon Jovi fan, but damn, that's a fun song to sing. Or more appropriately, yell. After that song I paid my respects to the Man in Black and sang A Boy Named Sue. I tried my best to channel his spirit, and at least two of the rednecks were very impressed, judging from the high fives I received. We established our place at this bar and it went from being a redneck bar to a bunch of drunk motherfuckers in tuxedoes, suits and fancy dresses singing songs kind of bar. Probably the most fun I've ever had at a bar.

My friends are awesome. Except for Rick. He's an asshole. And Stacie. Kind of a bitch. Come to think of it, Rob and Heather suck too. Alisa is just loud and obnoxious. Don't even get me started on Wayne or Brian or Chaz. Assholes. Every one of them. Especially Gina and Megan.

Damn I hate my friends.

Do you want to delete the 1,640 emails marked for deletion in your inbox?

Yes, Mr. Computer. Yes I do.

Nothing like coming back to work after a week of vacation and going through a bunch of emails, most of which have absolutely nothing to do with me.

In case you are interested, the wedding and the entire week were more fun than I could handle. I thought I'd have all of these hilarious stories to relay to you, but most of them would just end up with me saying, "You had to be there. It was hilarious."

There was a smattering of random foot injuries that plagued the week. A Racquetball accident, a cut foot on a shell, a Murphy bed casualty, a sliced toe thanks to a sharp metal edge underneath a passenger seat and finally, I twisted my ankle while dancing at the wedding. All of these incidents led to the motto, "If you didn't hurt your foot, you were partying like a pussy." I feel like there was another injury, but I can't recall it right now.

I'd like to point out that I wasn't doing a normal dance. There were some violent moves involved that led to it. But I didn't quit. I kept dancing like an ass. Then I got kicked by someone who shall remain nameless, but her name rhymes with Jodie. So I took a short break and got back out there and caused more damage. Since no one had a painkiller shot, shots of bourbon took care of the pain.

So do I feel like a pansy because I injured my foot while dancing? You better believe it. Here are some alternatives:

-- I hurt my ankle when I saved the groom who was about to fall off of his hotel balcony. Since I was holding the rings in both of my hands, I had to offer my ankle to save his life. He hung on to it as I pulled him back up, while my ankle twisted and turned in directions that ankles are not supposed to. It was all worth it because I saved my best friend's life, the rings, and the wedding. Also, while I was doing this, I was breast feeding a baby I rescued the night before from a dumpster.

-- I was staying at the same beach house as Shaquille O'Neal. We had a game of one-on-one. I was going up for a rebound and came down and I landed on his foot, which turned my ankle. I still beat him 21 - 4.

-- My parachute didn't open.

-- I was in a hopscotch contest with Shaquille O'Neal. I hurt my foot when I landed on a piece of dandruff that fell off of Shaq. I still beat him 21 - 4. I was breast feeding that baby as well.

In case you are wondering, and I know you are, I looked really awesome in my tuxedo. I think I might start coming to work in a tux. People can't help but respect you when wearing a tux. I'll just walk all over the office and start ordering people around.

"When did Mike get promoted?"
"I don't think he did."
"Well, he's wearing a tux and telling people to do shit."
"Damn! I guess he's the boss now."

Then I'd walk in with my tux, a top hat and a monocle.

"OK, I need you, you and you in my office now."
"Um, Mike. Where is your office?"
"Handicapped stall. Pronto."

I'd give myself the title of Chief Executive Awesomer. I'm very excited about my new job.

If you are in NY or will be in NY within the next few weeks, you should go see the September 11 Photo Project at the public library. Sure, it's a little intense to see some of those pictures, but it's good.

I've heard people say that there shouldn't be memorials on the anniversary because they lived through it, so they don't need to remember it, etc. They are entitled to that feeling, but I think it's good to be reminded of what that day felt like. I remember last year leading up to the anniversary I was thinking, No big deal. Just another day. Then I was in the subway one day and I saw this clock that also displayed the date, which was Sept. 10 and then it just washed over me. I was thinking, Oh yeah, that sure was a fucking scary ass time.

Maybe it's weird, but I'd rather not forget what it was like for those couple of weeks. I compare it to when I had kidney stones (stick with me... I have a point). The pain was so intense and nothing I had ever felt before. But ever since I've had them, I kind of want to get them again, just to feel that pain one more time. I'm not someone who particularly enjoys pain, but it was such an extreme, unique pain that I want to get back, because I really can't believe I went through that. (The pain was not in my wee-wee, which is the common misconception. The worst pain is in the lower back.)

So that's what I'd like to not forget about 9/11. The pain and the fear and that overall feeling of "What the fuck is going on?" Of course, I'd rather not actually have something happen that would cause me to experience that all over again. I just don't want to forget what it was like.

When I see photos from the attacks, it's not really the planes going into the buildings that hits me anymore. That's so familiar now that it's like watching a movie. No more surprises in seeing it. Still unbelievable, but not as gut wrenching as it was. What gets me is the individual photos of either people on the street watching what was going on, or the next day where people were walking around the city with the pictures of missing people. Each one looks different. Every expression is unique. Those people probably knew that the person they were looking for was gone, but they had to do that, because what the hell else could they do? That shit is real.

I remember seeing one photo of this woman in the street who was watching the first building fall, and she just had her arm outstretched like she was trying to tell it to stop. It was the perfect image of helplessness. Then there is this one. God damn.

Here's a quick story.

On around Sept. 13, I was in an internet cafe in New Orleans. I was down there by myself on a spur of the moment vacation. It was the first time I checked my email since the attacks and my inbox was flooded. There was one email from Rich at about 9:00 saying, Holy crap! and he had a link to the story on Yahoo from when the first one hit, having no idea what was about to happen. There were a ton more from the day and the next couple of days. Lots of forwards of pictures or prayers or calls to war. There was one from another friend who sent something around about a friend of his family's that was missing. It all just hit me at once and I lost it in this little cafe. I was crying my head off. It just broke loose. There was this black guy* next to me who just put his hand on my shoulder and was just kind of like, "You ok man?" He just kept his hand there until I stopped losing my mind.

The only time it was probably socially acceptable for a man to start crying like a child in an internet cafe, and then have some random guy just comforting him by rubbing his shoulder, was probably September 11th. If I walked into one now and saw that, I'd probably turn around and assume it was some kind of gay internet cafe for guys who just want to cry.

* Is it important that this guy was black? Not really. I think it just adds to the story. If you saw it in a movie or something it would seem like they were just pandering. "Oh, make one of the guys black. It'll be more poignant." I guess for me it's important.

So those are sort of my thoughts on this week. Sorry to get all somber and serious on you, but hey, it's my blog and you're not the boss of me!

In happier news, I'll be gone on vacation for about another week, so don't be like, "Hey Mike, write something you jackass." My friend Rich is getting married. I'm sure he'd love to hear you wish him well!

For some reason, Whoopi Goldberg has a sitcom coming out. Has she ever been funny? Who likes her? I don't know anyone who likes her. She is one of the worst people in entertainment. Her new show looks horrendous. There's one scene where she is talking to a man of middle eastern descent, and here is what she says to him at one point:

"your people do scare me ...I mean I see three of four of you guys on an airplane, and I'm off."

That is a joke. That's right. A joke. WHERE'S THE FUCKING PUNCH LINE?! I'm sure they are pitching this as, "You know, a show with attitude! We are saying what people are afraid to say." Maybe so, but make it funny. If you are going to do social/political commentary, make it smart. This is basically just a simple racist comment. That's like if there was a show where a white guy said, "I'm nervous when I see black people walking down the street towards me." Imagine that line with a laugh track after it. Wouldn't happen. This is the new racism, though. We're now allowed to say whatever we please about people with olive skin.

I can't wait until this show gets cancelled in three weeks. I'm sure Whoopi will say that people weren't ready for her hard edged humor. No Whoopi, we just like it when comedy is funny. We're weird like that. We like funny comedy.

I'm sensing a pattern in the middle east. No matter how many leaders you kill, there will be a thousand eager people to fill their shoes. It doesn't make sense. Every time you kill one leader of Hamas, don't you realize that just means someone will want to get revenge and strap a bomb to their chest and board a bus?

Ariel Sharon, meet the future suicide bombers of Palestine.

I don't know if anyone saw the NFL kickoff thing the other night with performances from Britney, Mary J, and Aerosmith, but it got me thinking. Aerosmith totally should have died in a plane crash in 1979. Actually, right after they wrote and recorded Sweet Emotion, they should have died. For me, that's the only song of theirs I won't turn off if I hear it on the radio. And now, just seeing Steven Tyler running around somehow looking older than Mick Jagger is just sad. And all they do is keep pumping out the rock ballads that will end up being in the next Jerry Bruckheimer movie.

I think once a year the American public should be allowed to vote for a band that gets to die in a plane crash. Perhaps the Strokes should be the next band to do so. It's the perfect time for them. They are about to release their next album which will probably be loved by all the critics, despite the fact there's nothing too original on it, but they'll never be bigger than they are right now. Go out on top, boys.

As much as I love them, U2 should have died in 1992 right after Achtung Baby. We would have heard that album and been like, "Whoa, this album is so good. Imagine what else they could have done." Would anyone really be that bummed if they never got to hear Zooropa?

Limp Bizkit should have died in 1993, just before they formed their band, which would have required four or five separate plane crashes. I guess that's too much carnage. Maybe just Fred Durst's plane could crash. It would be great if some of the debris from the plane would have landed on Matchbox 20 and Nickelback.

I really don't want all of these people to die. I love everyone.

Don't you love it when you forget you have a dentist appointment, so you eat a bagel with a bunch of seeds on it, then later some cheese doodles with a Coke? Yeah, my dentist will be impressed.

Dentist: So, Mike, you don't floss much do you?

Me: Um, no, not really. I know I should but -

Dentist: You don't really brush your teeth on a regular basis either, huh?

Me: Oh, well I definitely do that, it's just that today I -

Dentist: Shut the fuck up you liar. Your teeth are disgusting. Get out of my office.

Me: But you still have the drill in my mouth.

Dentist: I said GET OUT.

Ugh, I can't wait to go. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go suck on some sugar cane.

Who would have thought the Amish were such pranksters?

MOUNT HOPE, Ohio - It's an annual prank in this tranquil Amish community, where men wear straw hats and women bonnets and plain dresses: Youngsters hide in cornfields and hurl tomatoes at passing cars.

This year, the mischief turned deadly.

A motorist who had been pelted several times on Labor Day got out of his car and fired three to five rounds into the 7-foot-high corn, killing 23-year-old Steven L. Keim.

OK, so the Amish have their wacky traditions, that's fine. But they also say they shun many modern amenities, including cars. Later in that article, they mention that not only do they throw tomatoes, but they also shoot paintball guns. Wha? Paintball? The Amish? Isn't paintball like, maybe 20 years old? In the Amish world, that's like something that's been invented yesterday. The Amish are a bunch of fucking hypocrites. And I can say this about them, because I know they aren't going to read this. Stupid non-electric motherfuckers. I guess if the internet was operated by a paintball gun or a tomato, it'd be cool for them to use.

Something like this was bound to happen. What a bunch of no good rabble rousers. I guess since they don't have TV, they don't realize that the world is full of people who will shoot your ass if you throw a tomato at them. And who the fuck are the Amish to be throwing shit at cars?? They don't know what a bitch it is to keep and maintain a car. What if I threw a tomato at a horse? Then they'd understand. This guy who shot the dude probably thought they were throwing eggs, and eggs aren't easy to clean. Plus, in the Normal Electricity Using States of America, we throw eggs at cars, you Amish dicks. Tomatoes? Come on. It's time to catch up to the rest of the world, there, Amish McAssholes. Welcome to your first taste of getting shot for what seems like a silly reason. It's about time.

God damn I hate the Amish.

This next post is only for people I work with, so anyone else might not care. But feel free to read it.

That cake is nasty. I think it was soaked in half & half before they gave it to us. Blechh. I'm insulted that I am part of these September celebrations and that is my cake.

I love how Norma will keep talking to you, despite the fact that the elevator door has closed. I always watch for as long as I can to see if she'll stop, but she never does. It's sort of like, "If a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound?" Except this is like, If a tree falls, um, on Norma, I guess. No wait. If Norma falls in the forest, does a tree...? No. Hold on. If Norma is in a tree and the tree falls, and you are already on the elevator, will she still ask you how the weather is? Yes, that makes perfect sense. Anyway, Norma rocks.

I love the fact that we get free soda. This is a pretty big perk. Dig this. Let's assume you get a soda/Snapple/orange juice every day. Now, just for argument's sake, let's say that a normal drink costs a dollar (although Snapple or bottles of soda typically cost at least $1.50 in NY). So you are here five days a week for approximately 48 weeks in a year, that's 240 bucks you are saving. Tax free! Plus there's free coffee. So you add that on to your salary and you are practically into the next tax bracket. The free soda makes this job all worth it. Plus, the office gossip is awesome! The gossip value alone is like getting an extra $2,000 a year.

OK. I'm done. Don't touch the cake.

According to Tadeusz Petelenz, a Polish doctor, "Coughing hard at the first sign of a heart attack could a save patient's life."

He also said that farting cures cancer and a good sneeze will get that AIDS right out of you.

ZING! Take that, you Polish people!

By the way, I'm half-Polish, so it's cool.

I was home in NJ this weekend cleaning out my boyhood home, which has been sold. My mother saved everything. I mean it. Everything. I drew some ugly ass turkey in the second grade - still there. My Christmas lists from when I was 6? Got it. Sure, this stuff is cute and all that, but what a pain in the ass to go through. Of course all the stuff that would have been worth something - the Millennium Falcon and all my other Star Wars toys - or the things I really wanted to see - all my He-man toys, including the Castle of Grayskull - are gone. All gone. Some kid who bought it from us at a garage sale for three bucks is probably selling that shit on ebay for 100 bucks.

Here is my advice to you parents. Throw stuff away. Don't be afraid. If your kid draws a pumpkin at school for Halloween, throw that shit away on November 3rd. Of course there are some things that you should hang onto, but for the most part, toss it. Except for the Star Wars shit that would have been worth something.

Not much has changed with me since I was a kid. I'm a bit hairier and quite a bit taller, but other than that, I still have most of the same opinions. I found all of these old school assignments in which all I talked about was how much I hated school and loved television. I had to write a paragraph on my favorite month, which I chose as June because it meant that school was over. I called September "Doom Month" because, even though that's when my birthday was, it meant we had to go back to school. I was also asked to draw a picture about what Easter meant to me. My picture was of me laying in bed sick. Apparently my dream Easter was eating so much candy that I'd get sick and be allowed to stay home from school.

Anyway, happy Doom Month!