Blogging Like I've Never Blogged Before

Wednesday, December 31, 2003


Because I don't have the patience for a real best-of list for the year, I'm going to list some of my favorite lines from my own blog. That's right. I'm just plugging myself. Plugging myself? Gross!

Anyway, these aren't necessarily the best lines, but these are lines that make me laugh. Try to use them tonight at some New Year's parties. Just throw them in randomly during conversations.


3/14 "Make it a true Daily Double, you pussy!"

5/30 I'm currently at my childhood home. Also my teenage home and up until about a year and a half ago, my "Holy shit, I can't believe I'm still living at home" home.

5/29 I probably burn my mouth twice a week... I think my mouth is sensitive, which just adds to my dad's theory that I'm gay.

6/26 You know what they say about Italians -- they like pasta and can't fly kites for shit.

6/17 If a contestant doesn't impregnate any women, they will get their own sitcom about a bumbling, childless cop called "Shootin' Blanks."

4/10 Take that, France! You big fairy peace queens!

8/25 I went 24 hours without power and bitched about it constantly. I'm a pussy!

09/28 I really should get my ass to the gym. Just my ass though. The rest of me is perfect.

09/24 His Finding Nemo review was just a picture of him jerking off on a fish.

11/07 To me, as a child, freedom meant being able to rip one in church, without fear of eternal damnation.

And now my favorite...

12/16 I will play the part of John Denver, and playing the part of my talking penis who explains everything to the country will be Shaquille O'Neal.


The Kobe Bryant story was named the AP Sports Story of the Year. There should be a separate section for actual sports.

Anyway, my favorite story of the year that has something to do with sports is this one, where the 13-year-old girl lost her place while singing the National Anthem. Mo Cheeks (coach of the Blazers) came over to whisper the words in her ear and then sang the rest of the song with her. It gave me chills just reading about it.

I like when the National Anthem can give me chills. I think every time I heard it for a month after September 11th, I was in a constant state of chills. But that of course, wore off after a while, especially when it (along with all things patriotic) was actually getting overplayed. There was a baseball game (I think it was the Red Sox) which was being played on the 7 month anniversary of 9/11. They actually stopped the game at 9:11 PM for a moment of silence. OK. That's a little over the top. I understand doing something like that on the anniversary. I'm all for remembrances, but not when it gets to that point of ridiculousness.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Derek Jeter has gone 9 for 11 over his last three games. Please rise and respect the singing of God Bless America."

My favorite National Anthem was at game 2 of the 1994 Stanley Cup Finals at Madison Square Garden. John Amirante, who always sang the Anthem, came out and started singing. Normally at Ranger games, the crowd begins to cheer after "... and the rockets' red glare ...", building to a crescendo and an all-out cheer by the end. This one was just insanely loud from beginning to end. The best part about it was looking out at center ice, seeing John Amirante singing his heart out, and you couldn't even hear him. But you knew what part he was on, just by the way he was moving. Cue the chills. Even though there was all this cheering during the song, it wasn't disrespectful. I don't know... hard to explain.

Granted, it didn't really have much to do with patriotism. It was more that the Rangers were in the finals and were about to win the Stanley Cup for the first time in 54 years.

And in case you were wondering, the Rangers won that game and I went home a happy boy. About a week later they won the Cup and I was an extremely happy boy.


Wilson from Home Improvement died. He was the best character on that show. There will be an open casket at his funeral, but only from the nose up.

That joke was too easy, right? Or too mean? I can't decide.

I've watched more Home Improvement in my life than I should have. I used to work at a TV station and that was one of the shows we'd have on in syndication, so it was on a lot, and my job was basically to watch TV. There was a point where I saw it so much I actually started to believe it was a good show. Man, was I wrong. But in his defense (Wilson, played by Earl Hindman), he actually semed like he could have been a good actor, but got stuck on that crap show.


I would like to take a moment and speak to the fellas that still feel the need to wear trucker hats (unless you are a trucker, then by all means, I've got no gripe with you).

Trucker hats are so six months ago! (And by the way, I meant to tell you that six months ago!) You look idiotic. You look childish. You look dumb. You look like you are trying too hard, although you are trying to make it look like you don't try at all. You look like you are not fooling anyone.

If there is any indication that these are no longer hip, it is the fact that Ashton Kutcher is always seen with one on. Come on. He should change his name to Ashton Kitscher. Once something gets to MTV, you know it's no longer cool. Even Trishelle wears one. Which reminds me -- ladies, you look even stupider in them than guys do.

By the way, I know that bitching about trucker hats is nothing new. It's just taken me a while to get to it.

For those that may not be aware, trucker hats are the old foam and mesh hats most of us kids wore when we were in Little League. That's what they were known as before they were trucker hats. Foam and mesh. I just found my old baseball hat from my Little League team. We were sponsored by Adam's Garage. I could probably sell that in my neighborhood for 15 bucks.

"Dude, where'd you get that hat? Adam's Garage? It's so obscure and retro."

"Oh, dude, I know. Just bought it from this dude. Only 15 bucks."

"Dude!"


Not that people in my neighborhood always talk like Bill and Ted, but let's just pretend they do. Actually they probably wouldn't talk about it, because it's too cool to even talk about it. That whole exchange up there would have been done through their knowing looks at each other.

Anyway, foam and mesh hats almost killed my best friend, so perhaps this is why I also hate them.

My friend Rich and I, when we both worked at Disney World would drive to work together. In the area that we would park, we usually drove by a parking attendant who would be directing traffic. One typically disgusting humid Orlando day, we felt pity for this guy. Well, not pity so much as gratitude for not having his job; standing on the hot asphalt by himself, pointing at cars, telling them to go, stop, turn, etc. Boring. A traffic light with feelings. See, in our job, we were driving boats. We were on the water! The open seas! The wind in our hair! The children vomiting! The fathers, wishing they never had kids, taking it out on us! It was a magical time.

Seriously, as I'm sure I've explained before, it was a great job.

We drove past this guy and Rich said, "Foam and mesh hats. I'm so glad we don't have to wear those." I agreed and we drove on, looking at that poor bastard with his stupid hat and yellow shorts. Meanwhile, we were dressed up like pirates or something, but whatever, there was neither foam, nor mesh involved in our jobs.

I think our foam and mesh hat conversation continued on for a bit, then we parked the car. Now, to get to our job, we had to walk back to where that guy was directing traffic. So we approach the intersection where we usually have to wait for him to give us the go-ahead, letting us know we are allowed to safely cross.

Before I go further, here is a little background on Rich: He doesn't always have the best attention span. Another time we were driving to work and Rich asked me about a problem he was having. His "problem" was the fact that he was dating two girls at the same time. I felt really bad for him too, considering the night before I spent a romantic evening with my pillow. So I gave him some truly heartfelt advice. Rich stared out the window for a while and I thought, Wow, I really got through to him. My advice is really sinking in! After about 30 seconds of silence, he exclaimed in amazement, "How does Disney own all this land?!" A good question, yes, but not one you want to hear when you feel like you just channeled the spirit of Dear Abby.

Anyway, back to the story. We were walking, approaching the parking attendant, and Rich was to my right. I looked to my left and noticed a bus coming down the road. I remember this bus because the side of it read "WALT DISNEY CONSTRUCTION COMPANY". I watched the bus approach the intersection at about 40 miles per hour and thought to myself, Hmmm, why would the construction company need a bus?

As I watched the bus pass in front of me, I followed it, trying to answer my own question. As it got to my right, I see Rich looking to his right, still walking, not even noticing the bus. My body froze. My eyes were open, but I know I wanted to close them, because I was about to see my friend get plastered by a bus. The bus flew by him, missing him by no more than a few inches. Rich stopped, shocked. He turned around to look at me. I looked at him. I yelled, "You almost got hit by a bus!" He replied back, "I almost got hit by a bus!"

The parking attendant let us know it was now safe to go, and we crossed. He looked at Rich, like he wanted to say, "Dude. You almost got hit by a bus."

We kept walking.

"Rich, you almost got hit by a bus."

"I know. I almost got hit by a bus," he replied.

The conversation went on like that for a little while longer. We got to where we clocked in for work, and we immediately told everyone, "He almost got hit by a bus!" "I almost got hit by a bus!"

Finally, I said to Rich, "What the hell were you doing? How did you not see that bus?" He turned, looked at me intently and paused. He then said, "I was looking at that guy's foam and mesh hat."

So thank God he wasn't killed that day, because not only would I have witnessed my best friend dying in a most violent manner, but it would have been due to a trucker hat. If that had happened, I would have lost my mind every time I saw Ashton Kutcher on Punk'd, or every time I walked down Bedford Avenue.

I went out to a bar on Christmas night and saw a guy stroll in with what was obviously a brand new trucker hat he found under his tree that morning. It's bad enough to wear one, but when it looks brand-spanking new, it's a million times worse. Unless his hat read, "I'm a horrid fucking cliché", it was without a doubt a terrible hat.

So please, put your trucker hats back in the thrift shops from whence they came, and leave them there for another generation of idiots to discover them.


Sometimes I think about posting something on here, but then I hold back. A lot of people read this, including many co-workers, so it might be bad to post anything that would make people see me in a different, frightening light. Because of this, I will start a new, super secret blog, where I will post all of the things I shouldn't post on here.


I hesitate to make New Year's resolutions. I often make resolutions, but they are usually in the middle of the year. Maybe a June 11 resolution where I decide I will start exercising. Those also only last for a short while, but they usually last longer than the New Year's resolutions. The New Year is a terrible time to start a resolution. It's too cold, dark and depressing. So unless your resolution is "Be more depressed," you should hold off until the spring.

Anyway, here are some predictions for the year 2004, in no particular order:

-- I will turn 29.

-- I will be hungover on January 1.

-- I will get Cat Stevens to sing "The Wind" at my funeral, even though he will be responsible for my death.

-- Howard Dean will win the Democratic nomination.

-- I will not vote for Howard Dean.

-- Howard Dean will come off as such a doofus during the debates, I will become a staunch Republican and run for the City Council under the War for Everyone! platform.

-- I will lose the election and realize that war isn't much of a deciding factor when people vote for City Council.

-- I will attempt to rejuvenate my career when I kiss Britney Spears on national television.

-- No one sees it because everyone is watching the season finale of The O.C.

-- While at work, I will mutter underneath my breath, "I fucking hate this place."

-- While at work, I will say aloud, "I fucking hate this place!"

-- When people ask me how my New Year's was, I'll reply, "Pretty good."

-- While at work, someone will complain to me about our job. I will reply, "This place ain't so bad."

-- George Bush will accidentally dial the wrong number when conceding the election to the winner. The number he dials is my cell phone. I will graciously accept his congratulations on behalf of our new president, Miss Oprah Winfrey.

-- I will offer to conference in Oprah. The president replies, "No. Just let her know I called."

-- Pudge Rodriguez will get to my web site by searching "Pudge Urbina kiss".

-- My sister will get me a George Foreman Grill for Christmas. I will get her George Foreman.

-- I will win the Nobel Prize for Blogging, but it will be taken away when the voting committee finds out that Desmond Tutu has a blog at http://deztoot.blogspot.com.

-- Someone will send me an email asking to "Check out my nude pics". I will not check out their nude pics.

-- I will be on The Price is Right and win the Showcase Showdown and will win an all expenses paid trip to Paris.

-- I will be nervous on this flight.


Along with the top story of the horrible earthquake in Iran, these are some headlines CNN.com has to offer you this morning:

-- Death toll in mudslides rises to 14

-- Body of 1 of 3 missing snowboarders found

-- Pregnant woman found dead, fetus gone

-- Motor home falls off overpass, kills five


It's the most wonderful time of the year.

The way they phrase the headline with the woman who was killed, it makes it seem like the fetus was somehow responsible and is now on the lam.

"We are looking for a fetus, approximately 17 inches tall and weighing six pounds. Last seen wearing nothing, not even a hat. Here is an artists' rendition of the suspect."


CBS is promoting the hell out of the Michael Jackson interview on 60 Minutes tonight. Why shouldn't they? I'll be watching. But if you were watching football today on CBS, it seemed that between every play, you heard the ticking 60 Minutes clock and then Dick Stockton say, "And tonight on 60 Minutes, Michael Jackson ..." It was a bit annoying.

I think Michael's New Year's resolution should be "Stop doing interviews where you say that it is OK to sleep with little boys. Oh yeah, and floss more often and stop eating so much fried food."

The weird thing is, though, because of the fact that he says stuff like that, I think he is innocent. I think a guilty man would make more of an effort to distance himself from the whole thing. "No way, man. I fucking hate kids." But I think he is truthful.

A freak? Yes.

Would I let my kids near him? No.

Do I have kids? No.

If and when I do have kids, would I let them near Michael Jackson? No.

Would there be any reason I can think of right now, where my non-existent children would have the opportunity to hang out with Michael Jackson? No.

If Jesus came down from heaven and said, "I think Michael Jackson is a good guy," would I let my kids near Michael Jackson? Possibly.

Would I let my kids hang out with Jesus? Sure, why not.

What if Michael Jackson and Jesus were hanging out together, would I let my kids hang out with both of them? I guess it depends. Will they be drinking wine?

Probably.

Well, then, I wouldn't. I don't see any reason for that. Why would two grown men, one of them a Lord and Savior, want to hang out with my kids and drink wine? It just doesn't seem right.

You've got a point.


I'm feeling some sort of pressure to have an "End of the Year" list. You know, my favorite movies of the year, favorite albums, etc. I don't think I should, for a few reasons.

First of all, I haven't seen a whole lot of movies that I want to see. I've also neglected to see any truly independent films, which I usually wait for on video. With the exception of City of God, I haven't been to any, and I'm not so sure that was even independent. But it was good. It was foreign, so I guess I'm just assuming it's independent. They couldn't even afford people who speak English.

Speaking of things on video, ever since I've joined Netflix, I've been able to catch up on all of those classics I should have seen. Now, no one can say, "You've never seen The Shining?" or "You've never seen Psycho?" and I can finally put an end to the incessant, "You've never seen Super Troopers?"

Last night I watched The Manchurian Candidate, which I think I might be able to say is my favorite movie of 2003. Or maybe my favorite was Matewan. John Sayles has become my favorite director. And my favorite album of the year is still OK Computer. It's going to take something great to knock it off the top of my list in 2004.

My favorite story of this year was Madonna kissing Christina Aguilera, because nobody gave a shit. She got Madonna's sloppy seconds. I bet one of Britney's demands for that show was Madonna had to kiss her first, because she didn't want whatever is in Christina's mouth to then be transferred to her.

Another reason I don't want to make a list is because I don't think anyone who reads this on a regular basis gives a shit about what I like when it comes to the world of entertainment. So I shouldn't really try to make a list.

Maybe I should just recap my own year for you, but that would prove to be boring. You can do that yourself by going back and reading this from the beginning, and be left to wonder, "What was Mike doing for those missing months of January and February?" My answer to you is "Not that much."

Well, I did try to steal a parking tram when I was in Epcot Center in February. We drank around the world (a beer in every "country") so when I got out I was pretty drunk. Stealing a tram was the smartest thing I could think of. And it was a great idea, but the execution of the idea was not very successful. I jumped into the tram, which was running, and pressed on the gas. Nothing happened. I then saw a green button and thought, Ah-ha! A green button! Well, if I've learned anything in my life, I know that green means go, so I will now press this green button and will be victorious in the theft of this tram.

So I pressed the green button and the entire thing shut down. That's not what green is supposed to do! Everything I know is wrong! So I tried to get out and the door seemed to be locked, or at least jammed. I'm stuck. I started to sober up a bit and realize that I could probably be thrown in Disney Jail for this. I look to my left and see a couple of Disney employees finally notice that something ain't right in parking tram #3. They start to walk over. I look to my right and I see about 8 of my equally drunk friends laughing their smiles off. They were enjoying this much more than I was at the moment. Finally, I give the door one good kick and it comes flying open and I haul ass to the car, free as a bird.

Until next time, Disney World.

I don't remember much about January. I remember thinking, "I am going to save my vacation days and sick days until the end of the year so I can take off a lot of days in December." I called in sick on January 2. And here it is December and I am working every day.


This Christmas day was perhaps the longest day of my life. Not that it was bad, but it was just damn long. I had to work (I'm a priest), so that meant getting up early. Of course, there was next to nothing to do all day, so I just watched some of Comedy Central's countdown of the Top 50 SNL episodes of all time. Whoever picked the one with George Clooney and another with Calista Flockhart should be fired. But I guess parodies on The Crocodile Hunter and Taxicab Confessions were funny back then.

So I left work and drove to New Jersey. I also drove home the night before on Christmas Eve and it took me three hours to get to my mom's, twice as long as it usually takes. If I never see another brake light, I'll be happy. I almost didn't end up in all that traffic, though. As I was leaving my apartment, I was making a right onto a street. There was someone else coming the other way, turning left onto the same street, who didn't seem to have any intention of allowing me my right of way, so I had to keep an eye on him. There were also some gigantic potholes, so I had to make sure I was avoiding them. There was another variable in this equation that I didn't see until the very last minute and that was a man crossing the street. I damn near ran him over. That would have sucked. The last thing I want to is accidentally kill someone during the holiday season. If I kill anyone, it had better be intentional.

Anyway, yesterday I drove to my cousin's for a little Christmas gathering. Uncle Hank was there. While he kept any racist comments to himself, he seems to have developed a hatred for Bruce Springsteen. Maybe he thinks he's Jewish. Anyway, my uncle was willing to bet someone that, "In five years, no one will remember who he is." Place your bets.

I then went to my friend Rich's where we watched a little bit of his wedding video. That's always a little embarrassing. Luckily, I didn't do anything too idiotic on the part that I saw.

I moved on to the bar to meet up with some other friends, where I found out that my friend Kevin got engaged. So that's exciting. You should make sure though, that when you talk to someone who just got engaged on Christmas Eve, you should tell them how your Christmas was first, because it will probably pale in comparison.

Me: How was your Christmas?

Kevin: Great. By the way, I got engaged last night.

Me: Holy crap, congratulations!

(Then there is talk of how the engagement went, looking at the ring, etc.)

Kevin: Yeah, so how was your Christmas?

Me: Oh, um. Well... I got a calendar.

Kevin: Nice.


At the bar was where I ended my evening. I was close to falling asleep at the table. Long long day, but lots of fun. Totally made up for my crappy Thanksgiving.

Oh yeah, I did drive by my old house on Christmas night, and that was totally fucking weird. There were people in my house, and I couldn't do anything about it. I wanted to spy on them and just see what it was like. I spent every Christmas morning (with the exception of one when I was in Florida) in that living room exchanging gifts with my family.

I need to start bringing a "Note to Self" tape recorder with me wherever I go. I know I thought of more interesting things to talk about here, But I can't recall. Perhaps I just need some sleep.


This new Orange Alert sure does seem to be taken a lot more seriously this time. It's kind of scary, especially because on all the last ones, they were just like, "Yeah, we're hearing some chatter, but don't worry too much." Now they are having drills at the Pentagon and a bunch of other crazy shit. A couple of weeks ago, I walked by the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center and there were actually two guys with machine guns nearby. Now that we are on alert, they probably have helicopters circling the thing at all times.

Terrorists are assholes.


This gal thinks Jack White looks hot in his mug shot. I think he looks like Smeagol at the beginning of Return of the King. Therefore, the conclusion is hobbits are hot.


In case you've forgotten, there won't be snow in Africa this Christmas time. So take Bono's advice and "Tonight thank God it's them, instead of you."

Without a doubt, the cruelest line ever in a Christmas song. While I think it's fine to thank God that it's not you, it'd be kind of cruel to be like, "Dear God. Thank you for starving all of those Africans and not me. You gave me a pretty sweet deal. Amen. P.S., I want a pony. Please let Santa know."


Lenny Bruce just got a pardon from Gov. Pataki, 37 years after he (Bruce) died. Good for him. I'm sure he'll be happy about that.

I once saw a documentary on HBO about Lenny Bruce and thought, "If I was ever cast in a film about someone in history, I think I could pull off Lenny Bruce pretty damn well." So if you are a casting agent, please contact me. The only problem is Lenny used to raise his left eyebrow all the time, and I can only raise my right. I'm sure this can be remedied by some sort of trick photography, like reversing the film or something. I hope this doesn't pose a problem. Please don't give the role to Vince Vaughn. That's too obvious.

Thanks.

P.S. - I already have sideburns.


I feel hungover today, even though I didn't drink last night. What a shit way to feel. Groggy. Foggy. Somewhat smoggy. I wish I had a doggie.

Christmas. Where are the Christmas stories I should be telling you today?

As a child, I was allergic to everything. Chocolate, peanut butter, dogs, cats, and yes, even Christmas trees. So not only was my stocking filled with crap candy, but I was allergic to the tree. Of course, no one realized this until about the ninth Christmas in a row where I couldn't breathe. We always just chalked it up to the dog. But then the dog died, and I would still get sick.

Yes, we had a dog. He was there first, so there was no way we could get rid of him. Plus, he was a great dog. He was perfect in every way, except for his ability (or inability) to dodge oncoming traffic.

I became acclimated to the dog. Eventually, the allergies weren't so bad. But the tree would bring out the worst in me. Every Christmas morning, I'd be wheezing and sneezing. Opening a gift, take a hit off of the inhaler. Gift, inhaler. Gift, inhaler. It went like that.

Eventually we got the fake tree. One of those fake trees that doesn't look like a real Christmas tree. The needles were too long and too green. It was missing that little bit of grey. You know what I mean? Real trees have something of a grey tint to them.

Anyway, since I was always ill for the Real Tree Christmases, those are my thickest memories. I'm finding this really sad that I can't think of better Christmas stories. I remember certain things about Christmas time that made me happy. Driving home from church on Christmas Eve with my family, looking for Rudolph's nose. But then, of course, that whole thing turned out to be a damn lie. But those were the most fun car rides with my family. Done with church, now the fun part can begin. Fifteen minutes in the car of complete excitement, looking at radio towers with the red flashing light, knowing that had to be Santa. It was one of the few times in the backseat of the car where my sisters and I wouldn't fight over who was taking up too much of the seat.

I guess that's my magical Christmas memory. Here's a new one to add to the list:

As I was walking through the Toys R Us in Union Square last night, which looked like it was raped by the Ghost of Christmas Presents, I heard a mother, who wasn't sure what to buy her son for Christmas say, "Maybe I'll just buy him a skateboard. Watch him break his ass."

I think my mom said the same thing when she bought me my first skateboard.


The MTA has taken it upon themselves to post rules in the subway. Things like "No spitting" and "Keep to the right on the stairs." This is the equivalent of posting a sign in a girls' eighth grade bathroom that reads, "No giggling about boys you like." I often spit while walking on the left side of the stairs.

I would like to add a rule to these signs that should actually be enforced. "No making out on the subway - that includes the platform and the trains. Once you swipe your Metrocard, all making out will be punishable with a severe fine."

I kind of understand it when it's late at night and people are drunk. Stuff like that tends to happen, but the other day it was 6:30 in the morning. No one wants to see two people who just woke up making out on a stinky ass commuter train. The air in the subway feels thick with germs. Not my first choice to make out with someone. Now the bathroom, well that's a completely different story.


I'd like to welcome the abundance of visitors who have taken the time to visit, courtesy of this fine lady. In the interest of giving you something interesting to read, I'll recommend this post.

I really need to get in the God damn Christmas spirit one of these days. I'm just not feeling it. I tried last night. I turned on the radio station that plays nothing but Christmas music, and the first song on was Mariah Carey. No! Dammit, no! This is not what I want for Christmas.

This will be my first Christmas not spent at the old childhood abode, because that has been sold. I guess I could go there and just walk in the door and pretend I still live there. I'll bring gifts. Maybe they'll accept me the same way the second family on Charles in Charge so freely accepted Charles. But I'm no Scott Baio.

So perhaps that has something to do with my lack of holiday cheer. I won't really be Home for the Holidays. You know what they say, You can't beat home sweet home.

I was just trying to think of a good Christmas story to tell and the first one that popped in my head was from a couple of years ago where I ate so much food that I could actually see my stomach had gotten a lot bigger. I was so full I couldn't fall asleep. About an hour after the last guest had departed (probably Uncle Hank), I stood up, ran to the bathroom and vomited like I've never vomited before.

And that is my Christmas tale.

I'll have to think of something better.

I'm off to do some last minute Christmas shopping for my family. Lexuses for everyone!!!


Apparently, Tom Ridge is a fan of my blog, and decided to fulfill my request.


One of the greatest things about the city is the graffiti on subway advertisements. It can be political, disgusting, or just plain bizarre. Most of the time, like if it's a newscaster's smiling face, you can bet someone will black out a tooth and put a fake mustache on there. But there is also the very common "dick in the mouth" drawing. For some reason this always cracks me up, that someone took time while waiting for their train to draw a penis going into someone's face.

I walked by a Dharma and Greg ad, and someone had blacked out all but one of Greg's teeth, and Dharma had a dick in her ear. I thought to myself, Now, THAT show I would watch. How would these two characters have met? This fella with only one tooth is married to a very attractive lady who always has a dick in her ear. Only Hollywood can dream it up like that!

I am going to use language of a graphic nature for this next description, so read with caution, in case you are pure, or are in a church right now.

I recently saw someone take the penis in the orifice to a new level. This newscaster had a penis going up her nose, which is nothing new, except that the penis was apparently having an orgasm, which was causing lots of semen to shoot out of every other hole in her face. Her eyes and ears had, for lack of a better word, jiz flying out all over the place.

I would probably not watch that newscast. It would be a little distracting to hear someone talk about Iraq while she has a penis up her nose and semen flying from her eyes. Maybe if it was an entertainment reporter then I'd watch it.

Anyway, I'd like to thank the people who do things like this. It is very enjoyable.


I just saw Return of the King. There may be some spoilers ahead, so be wary. You may also not give a shit about Lord of the Rings, in which case, you might want to skip this post altogether.

So the movie was good. Damn good. It contains, perhaps the most amazing battle scene ever (I'll have to watch Braveheart again to confirm that). The only problem with the movie was much of the last twenty minutes, which will from here on out be known as Gay Hobbits Hugging and Crying Time.

And unfortunately, the worst actor in the movie is Elijah Wood. Go here for an accurate description of his acting (although I don't necessarily agree with the thoughts on Gollum and Sam). Elijah really is a one trick pony, and that one trick sucks.

I am already looking forward to seeing the extended edition that will be released on DVD. Once I saw The Two Towers extended version, I liked it so much more. I think that the first one is still my favorite, probably because I wasn't expecting it to be so awesome. I don't know. It's all pretty much awesome. It shits on the Matrix and pisses on Star Wars, so I'll accept the Gay Hobbits Hugging and Crying Time, and just focus on the awesome ass-kicking battles and the real dramatic scenes, which take place mostly with the humans and elves. Aragorn really is the driving force of this movie (plus, he's dreamy!)

I'm sure I will probably go see it again in the dead of January and I'll find more and more awesome things about it. Just not the gay things. Like that one scene where Sam and Frodo try to convince Gollum they should have a three-way. It just seemed out of place, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't in the book.


Sometimes I think I hate my job. Then I walk by a guy in Times Square at 6:45 in the morning in the freezing cold with a bottle of generic Windex and a roll of paper towels and he is cleaning garbage cans. Then I think my job is not so bad. Then there are things at my job that tend to stress me out or piss me off. Then I think about what I'm going to eat for lunch. Then I order my lunch from a guy who stands in front of a deli grill for many hours a day. Then I eat my lunch. Then I usually enjoy the rest of my day.

Then I get an email confirming the fact that we are getting a pretty sweet year-end bonus. Lucky for me, my cousin Eddie will not have to drive to my boss' house in a Winnebago and kidnap him. I can finally put in that pool I've been dreaming about!

So in conclusion, my job ain't that bad. And I am getting more money.

It truly is a Christmas miracle! God bless us everyone!


Why is Howard Dean the front-runner? He is so awkward and just doesn't seem too confident. He has no chance at unseating Bush. Although I think it is time for a woman president (I like Carol Moseley Braun, but she has no chance), I think the best person to have go against Bush is Clark. He is a former General who is against the war, so right there you've got someone that can appeal to a broad range of people. His military experience can appeal to conservatives, and his anti-war stance should bring in the Democrats who still want a sense of security. The image I have of Dean is a hippie White House. He'll probably grow pot in the Rose Garden. His running mate will be Wavy Gravy.

Clark in '04! Besides he kinda looks like Bush. That should be his campaign slogan. "Hey, he kinda looks like Bush!"


Tonight is my office Christmas party. I'd like to take a moment to apologize to everyone ahead of time. This will avoid any awkward conversations tomorrow.


Last night I decided I'd eat some pizza. On my way to the pizza place, I started skipping. I can't remember the last time I skipped. It was fun. This was brought on by, I think, three things.

One, I was excited at the prospect of pizza. I really like pizza, so I was thinking about eating the pizza and that thought made me happy.

Two, I had a V8 earlier in the day, and I really believe this made me feel swell for the rest of the day. I could have been in a commercial. Tonight, when I don't feel like skipping, I'll think, "I should have had a V8!"

Three, I saw my future step-nephew-in-law this weekend. And being a 5-year-old, he started to skip. He was having so much fun doing it, and I almost started to go along with him, but my dick was like, "Don't do it, fag."

Looking back, it made perfect sense to do it then, because I was with a kid, and when you're with a kid in New York at Christmas time, you've got every right in the world to act gay. But instead I decided to do it last night, on my way to get pizza. Of course, I checked to make sure no one was around, especially the construction workers who are still constructing a building next to mine. So there was no one and then I skipped. For no more than five seconds. Probably less than three.

But it was so much fucking fun!

You should all skip today. It's the perfect pace. If everyone skipped, we'd all be happier and on-time. It doesn't leave you out of breath, yet it is probably better exercise than just walking. If you are running late, rather than running and getting to work all out of breath, trying to explain your lateness, skip to work, smile as you walk in and say, "Oh, am I a little late? I hadn't noticed. I was too busy skipping!"

Please. I want to get this whole damn country skipping around like a bunch of 5-year-olds at Christmas.

And I'd just like to add that someone got to my web site yesterday by searching "John Denver's penis". I'd like to wish good luck to that person in all of their future endeavors. I just got a movie idea! "Searching for John Denver's penis". It'll be all about John Denver trying to promote skipping to the country, so people label him as gay, which starts a rumor that he has no penis. Of course, he does have a penis, and the entire country goes on this journey and realizes that you can have a penis and skip, and it doesn't make you any less of a man. This movie will win lots of awards.

I will play the part of John Denver, and playing the part of my talking penis who explains everything to the country will be Shaquille O'Neal.


Seeing Saddam getting checked for lice is perhaps one of the weirdest images I've ever seen. Here is one of the most feared people in the history of the world, and he's getting the same kind of check-up school nurses give to six-year-old kids. Totally surreal. t's like seeing Hitler at the dentist.

There was a moment while I was watching that where I kind of felt bad for the guy. He looks so pathetic. I thought to myself, Awww, that's someone's grampa. Then I realized that it was someone's grampa who happened to be a psycho murderer.

I would like to see the questioning that will go on with him. Someone asked him if he wanted a glass of water and he replied, "Well, if I take that glass of water I will have to urinate, and if I have to urinate, I will have to go to the bathroom, and how can I possibly go to the bathroom when my people are enslaved?" Uuuuummm, OoooK. So that's a no on the water? A Sierra Mist, maybe?


People of the North Pole, rejoice! Santa Claus has been captured. His murderous dictatorship is over. Set your reindeer free!



This just in: Saddam is a pussy!


I find it bizarre that the country is all on alert because of the flu. The flu? I had that shit when I was a kid. Come on. I'm at Code Yellow. Give me something to be all Code Orange about. Worrying about the flu is so Sept. 10.


Today on my lunch break, I saw Hanson! Mmmm bop, indeed! I thought I only saw the middle one, the one who always looked most girly, but after checking out their web site and seeing their pictures, I now realize it was all three of them. The youngest one got so ugly! He now looks like what the oldest one looked like when they were famous.

If I was a nine-year-old girl and it was 6 years ago, I'd be so thrilled right now.

Marsha asked me how I knew it was them. I asked myself that same question. I don't know how I knew, but I knew.


I woke up today 20 minutes after I was supposed to be at work. I'd love for there to be a great reason for my lateness. All I did was stay up late. I found out that Boy Meets World is on at 1 in the morning.

Waking up that late is a pretty shitty feeling. I woke up feeling fine and I was like, "Good morning, world. YAWN! You are a little brighter today than you normally are. (Nice big stretch.) Good morning alarm clock. You aren't as loud as you usually are. You are also later than normal. Fuck! Shit. Fuck. God dammit!"

It goes from peace to mayhem so quickly. I hate that.

Because of my lateness, I got to hear some idiot who was on Imus. I have my alarm clock set to Imus, because it's usually so annoying that I have to wake up to turn it off. In my half sleep/half-awake head, I often stumble to the alarm clock shouting, "Shut up! You are not funny! Stop it! Stop talking now you piece of shit!" So anyway, this lady, who I believe was named Laura Ingraham was on the show, and she was talking about the brouhaha with the good ol' US of A not allowing certain countries (France, Germany, Canada) bidding rights to contracts in Iraq. She said something to the effect of, "Oh isn't that great? These countries stab us in the back, then they wonder why they don't get the same treatment ... blah blah blah."

OK, whatever her argument is, fine. BUT THEY DID NOT STAB US IN THE FUCKING BACK, YOU FUCKING IGNORANT ASSHOLE!

Sorry. Didn't mean to shout.

People who use that argument are retarded. I'm convinced. Do you know what stabbing in the back is? When Paul "Mr. Wonderful" Orndorff* watched his friend Hulk Hogan get the shit beat out of him, then went up in the ring afterwards, helped the Hulkster up, only to start beating the shit out of him, that's being stabbed in the back. When a friend suddenly turns on you for no reason, without you knowing it. All of these countries were pretty up front about not wanting to destroy another country without provocation. Maybe they were slapping us in the front, but definitely not stabbing us in the back.

When a crazy fan attacked Monica Seles and stabbed her in the back, that's being stabbed in the back. Saying, "I'm sorry, but I just don't agree with you. Despite the fact that we are allies, I can not support you in this endeavor," is not being stabbed in the back.

If all of these countries said, "OK, we will help you." Then on the day we decided to attack, they were all like, "Wait, you know what? Never mind. We were just fucking with you. I thought you knew that." That would be quite the back-stabbing.

Actually, just go to dictionary.com. They have a very good definition of the word.

*Side note: This morning as I was frantically dressing myself listening to this fool on the radio, I asked my brain to think of a good example of being stabbed in the back. The first thing I thought of was the Paul Orndorff/Hulk Hogan rivalry. This must have happened at least 15 years ago, probably more. Weird how the brain works. I haven't thought of that in forever, but it came back plain as day, seeing Mr. Wonderful go up to the Hulkster, checking to see if he was OK, then just beating the shit out of him. This was shocking to me. It was one of those great wrestling moments. I don't watch wrestling anymore. Too much bullshit. It used to be about the wrestling.


Seeing the preview for Mona Lisa Smile makes me never want to see a Julia Roberts movie ever again. Every preview for a movie she is in has about 13 shots of her laughing. From now on, every movie with her in it should just be called "Julia Roberts Laughing".


In my office, we have a box for people to put canned goods for a holiday food drive, courtesy of the good people at City Harvest. There are currently three cans in there. Three cans of Hearts of Palm. After doing a little research, I found that this used to be called "swamp cabbage."

There are a lot of people in my office. I can see about 20 from where I am sitting, and all we can come up with is three cans of Hearts of Palm. My theory on this is that someone in this office was once quite poor. Poor enough to get donations from non-profit organizations. Once, a long time ago, they probably got three cans of Hearts of Palm and never opened them. Starving and poor, they actually decided to not eat the Hearts. Now that they have a job and they can afford their own cans of crappy food, they just dumped those Hearts right back in the City Harvest box. It's their way of giving back.

We also have a box for a coat drive. There is one coat in there.

Homeless people of the city, do not fear. You will soon have three cans of Hearts of Palm to consume and a jacket to share. Things are looking up.


When I left on Friday morning, it had just started snowing, so I missed the big storm. I was sitting there on the runway (in a plane of course) and the flurries began to fall, then we took off. Perfect timing. Jesus loves me.

It's always weird to fly above the clouds when you know it's downright shitty on the ground. Once you get past the cloud line, it's all sunny. It's the kind of thing inspirational quotes are made of. "There is always a sunny day on the other side of the clouds." Or, "You have to climb through the clouds to reach the sun." Or, "You know what? It really isn't worth it. You should kill yourself."

One of the many many many weird things about Branson is that you can go see a show at 9:30 in the morning. My sister, being that she is part of the entertainment industry of Branson, can get in to most shows for free, plus one guest. So I was that guest. We went to see Yakov Smirnoff one morning. I was hungover. I was tired. I was ready to laugh my "Yak-off".

That was the guarantee of the show. That you would "laugh your Yak-off." So me and my sister (Laurie) were ready to lose our Yaks. Not really knowing what my Yak is, I can say with some certainty that I did not lose it. Nothing fell off of me. Yakov has lost his edge. They should call him Hack-ov Smirnoff. In his defense, he is playing for a rather lame crowd. Old, religious people at 9:30 in the morning, so he can't really be too edgy. But come on. He did the old, "Why do they sell hot dog buns in packs of twelve, but the actual hot dogs in ..." You get the joke. I heard that shit back in '88 on the MTV Half-Hour Comedy Hour. He should update that joke for a new generation.

"How come they sell condoms in packs of ten, but you only have one penis? What a country!" Feel free to take that one, Yakov.

We then saw Andy Williams. He was at 3:00. A little late-night entertainment. The guy puts on a good show. It's all Christmas songs and crap, so you kind of know what to expect. Except of course for this one part where a bear came out and started singing about how much he wanted cookies. He actually looked like the Labatt's Bear. It was a horrible moment in the show and I was embarrassed for everyone involved. But they made up for it soon after when the bear and Andy Williams ended up bringing a case of Labatt's to a bachelorette party and got laid, while they sang "For We Need a Little Christmas."


Oh yes. I am back from visiting my sister. It was like I had died and gone to Branson!

Seriously, it was like I died, because everywhere around me were people that looked like they should be dead. So old. On my flight there, I had a layover in Memphis. On the smaller plane that took us to Springfield/Branson, I was the only person on the plane under the age of 65. And if you were 65, you were pretty young.

They made the announcement before we boarded the plane asking that anyone with special needs who might need a little extra time to get on the plane should do so now. That was everyone on the plane except for me. Even the flight attendant was pretty old. She was leaning on the little stand, collecting boarding passes, wheezing, looking like she was ready to pass out. They also announced that the bathroom on the plane didn't work. That didn't really matter, since everyone was probably wearing a diaper. I'm pretty sure our plane was parked in a handicapped spot.

So the actual town of Branson. Where do I start? The quote from the Simpsons, about it being like Vegas run by Ned Flanders, is frighteningly accurate. They love America and Christianity. The place looks like Uncle Sam and Jesus took a shit together, and what came out was Branson. There is no shortage of American flags. I'm pretty sure the president will not have to visit for his re-election campaign. Nor does Jesus.

The area around it is actually very pretty. It's pretty much in the Ozark mountain area, about 15 minutes from Arkansas, so the hillbilly meter is quite high. We went to a bar one night where a country music band was playing, and the clientele was quite interesting. A lot of the women looked like Susan Smith, the woman who drowned her kids a few years ago, and the men look like they are getting ready for the John Deere Hat/Red Flannel Shirt Pageant. Who will win that is anyone's guess. It will be a close contest.

You might be asking what I was doing in Branson in the first place. Well, my kid sister, who has a background in musical theater, is there performing in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. She is the understudy to the Narrator, which is the only female lead in the show. Who has the lead? I'm glad you asked. It is Kellye Cash. Who is that? I'm glad you asked. Not only was she once named the Republican Babe of the Week, but she is also the great niece of Johnny Cash and was Miss America in 1987.

I'll write more later about Yakov Smirnoff and Andy Williams. I will tell you this: Andy Williams was funnier than Yakov.


So I am off for Branson to visit my sister. This is your last chance to give me your address and get an official Branson post card.

What am I going to do in Branson, you ask? Well, my father, who was just there, offered these tips.

"You should, uh, go and see the, uh, Rockettes. It's a good show."

This is an attempt by my dad to un-gay me. He is concerned that when we are together I don't point out pretty girls and say things like, "Whoa, she's hot" or "That's the kind of girl I could take home to mom" or "Wow. I would love it if my penis and that girl's vagina could meet." Perhaps by throwing me in front of a line of 50 chicks whose only talent, as far as I know, is that they can kick really high in unison, would get us talking about the ladies. "So, dad. That one chick. Third from the right. She was smokin', eh?"

He also told me I should go see some magic show he saw. This was a chance for my dad to show me how smart he is. "Yeah, it was a good show. I could tell how he did most of the tricks. There were some that I wasn't sure about. Probably mirrors or shit like that." Watch out, magicians. My dad's got your number.

Finally, he said to me that I should check out the Andy Williams show. He asked me, "Do you remember him from when you were a kid?" Apparently my dad thinks I grew up sometime in the fifties. He also thinks I'm a huge Brooklyn Dodgers fan and Greta Garbo is the cat's meow.

So I guess I'll go see this show where he sings all these Christmas songs. All those jealous, raise your hands. Thought so.


I love the marketing of food. Sometimes the descriptions are just too much. Like when something might be described as "heavenly." I was just in a store where they had Boston Cookies. They are cookies for vegans. I've had them before and they are damn good cookies, but I think the makers of these cookies reach a little too far in their descriptions, especially the banana walnut cookie. They say, "The moment you open the package, you can feel the aroma of fresh bananas. Take a bite and you will have an experience to remember. It is definitely a moment you would want to share with others."

Wow. That's quite a cookie. It seemed too good to be true, so I had to try it. I took this cookie home, turned off all of the lights, lit some candles (unscented, of course, because I didn't want anything to interfere with the aroma), put on my favorite Enya album, and got ready for the cookie experience of a lifetime.

I wanted to share this moment with others, but my roommates weren't home, so I had to fly solo.

I opened up the package and God damn, they were right. The aroma was amazing. It was like I was being raped by bananas. But in a good way.

So I took a bite, just as my favorite Enya song came on. You know, the one where she sings all pretty-like. All I could think was, I will remember this for the rest of my life. I gotta call someone.

So I called my friend, Dude, to let him in on my cookie extravaganza.

Dude: Hello.

Me: Hey dude. Mmmm. What's up?

Dude: Nothing. Are you eating a cookie or something?

Me: Yeah, man. (chewing) Mmmm. It's fucking unbelievable. I wish you were here.

Dude: Wow, that sounds awesome. What kind of cookie?

Me: Mmmm, oh man. So good. Ohhh. Whoa, Dude, I just got a boner.

Dude: Wow. From a cookie?

Me: Yeah, you gotta get over here.

Dude: I'm already in my car. Where can I pick some more up?

Me: Shoprite. Get a lot of them. Call the rest of the guys. This is going to last all night. I'm going to go wack off, so if I don't answer the door, just walk in.


There are a few things I've always wanted to experience with people. The birth of my first child, my wedding, my honorary diploma from Harvard Medical School, and of course, eating a banana walnut cookie with friends.

I can finally cross one off my list.


I left work today and decided to walk a little. I walked from 52nd and 7th to 14th and 1st. I usually do this when I leave work kind of late and don't feel like putting up with the crowds on the subway. Too many people all in one place and today was one of those days where I felt like there was a good chance I'd punch someone.

This was one of the most enjoyable walks I've ever had. Fag! It started when I saw this giant billboard for Lord of the Rings. I was smiling at the prospect of going to see that in just a couple of weeks. I get as giddy as a Hobbit. I'll need to do a separate post about LOTR. I could go on forever in all my newfound nerdiness.

Anyway, I started to imagine myself on the billboard. And that got me laughing. I would look pretty funny on the Lord of the Rings billboard. I would love to try and do that, then stand there and listen to people ask other people who that skinny guy is next to Aragorn. "I don't know. I don't know. An elf? He kind of has big ears, I guess."

I was walking through Times Square, which can either be a lot of fun during the holidays, just because it's so full of energy and nuttiness, or it can make you want to go insane, just because it's so full of energy and nuttiness. There was this teenage girl who wanted her mother to take a picture of her in front of some MTV thing. But in order to get the picture, the girl had to be near the curb, while the mother had to be on the other side of where all the people were walking. So the girl runs to the curb, sees a gap in the pedestrian traffic and yells, "Take it! Come on! Mom, now! Take it! Hurry!" I think the mother snapped the shot in the middle of her daughter saying "take," so the photo is going to be of the girl just bitching at her mom in front of TRL. Not smiling, just standing there, looking absolutely frightened that someone will get pissed that they're taking a picture. "... And here is me, scared shitless in the middle of Times Square."

People just look like they expect to get split up from their party and one of them will be kidnapped and murdered. It's what they know of New York. All those tourists getting murdered. Does anyone know of any tourists ever getting kidnapped and killed in New York? Probably not. Sometimes I think that maybe I should go on a tourist killing spree, just because people expect it. There's an audience for such tragedy. When I get caught, my defense would be, "Hey, just giving the people what they want."

I continued on. I got to this intersection where a couple of cars got stuck waiting for pedestrians to cross. I can't really explain the whole situation, but it was causing major traffic, all because of this one car that couldn't move. So me and this Tall Fella who was walking decided to stop and let the car go, which would help the flow of traffic. Tall Fella waved for the car to go, but the driver just sat there and casually waved back at us, telling us to walk, as if to say, "Nah, it's cool. I'm perfectly content to sit here and hold up all of this traffic in the middle of Herald Square at 5:15 PM." The guy next to me yells "GO!" Still, the guy sits there with buses and cabs laying on their horns. Tall Fella and I proceed, and he yells out, "Fucking idiot. That's what gridlock's all about." It sure is.

On the next block there was a guy who was crossing when he wasn't supposed to, and a cab driver continued at his normal speed, but with hand firmly pressed on horn. They guy crossing just kept walking, not speeding up or slowing down, just held up his middle finger for the cabbie to see. He wasn't missed by much. I love how the cab driver made no effort to slow down. The horn was his defense. If he did hit the guy, he'd just be like, "Well, I had a green light and I was honking my horn when I hit him." OK, you're free to go. And I guess the walking guy was just thinking, If I die here, at least I'll die giving the finger.

Later on I was walking by a firehouse. There were two firemen outside handing out fliers to passersby. Everyone took one. Normally, I never take anything that people hand out, because it's usually for a strip club or a jewelry sale. Possibly a jewelry sale at a strip club. The flier they were handing out was urging me to call Governor Pataki and urge him to urge the developers of the 9/11 memorial to create a separate memorial for firefighters and cops. I'm all for that. Seeing the success the firefighters had in handing this stuff out, it made me realize that companies should hire these guys to hand their shit out. Who is going to decline taking a piece of paper from them? They are American heroes! They'd have much more success than some dude in a chicken suit. Perhaps the businesses could just dress up a guy as a firefighter and throw him out there. That might be a bad idea though if a fire did break out in the area. Someone would yell for help and he'd just shrug and say, "Sorry. Can't really help. I work for FlashDancers."

The walk ended with some funny little kids. There was this three-year-old girl just walking and singing some song about Christmas that I'm pretty sure she was making up, not paying any attention to what she was doing and walking into everything. People, garbage cans, more people. But she was so frigging cute that no one cared. If I did that, I'd surely get my ass kicked.

I finally got to my subway station. There was a little boy, probably eight, who was so excited to show his mother how he learned multiplication today in school. He was totally psyched and amazed at it all. It was nice to see a kid actually excited about school, rather than a little kid cursing up a storm and yelling at his mom. Don't worry, though. I did walk by him and say, "Nice homework, dork. Here's a problem for you; E = mc nerd." I don't want people thinking I'm soft.

Finally there was this other little kid, probably ten, who was on the subway platform with his grandma. Grandma went to look down the track to see if the train was coming. The kid grabbed her arm, pulled her back and said, "I don't like you standing that close." Two nice kids in one subway station. Very rare. And of course, when the train came, I did throw the grandmother onto the tracks. Again - not soft.

There you have it. Did you actually get this far down? I'm impressed. Boring, wasn't it? Well, expect more boring shit, because I've got a computer at home now, so I'm going to blog constantly about everything. For example, why are all these fucking dishes in the motherfucking sink? What the fuck!? Wash your fucking cereal bowl! It takes less than a minute! This is why we get mice! Goddammit!


There is a good chance that there will never be a Three's Company reunion show, but if there was one, and it took place on Thanksgiving, I've got a good line of dialogue that would be perfect for a classic Three's Company misunderstanding. I imagine that Mr. Furley would overhear Jack saying this to Chrissy in the kitchen:

No, you gotta pull it out. Stick your hand in there and pull. Where the neck would be. Not the ass.

That was a line uttered by my mother while talking on the phone to my sister, advising her on how to prepare a turkey. I'm not exactly sure what Mr. Furley might misunderstand this as. It'd probably be something pretty sick. But it made me laugh.

Speaking of my sister, my world tour continues at the end of this week. I will be visiting her in Branson, Missouri. Yes, you read that right. BRANSON, here I come!

According to Homer Simpson, "itís like Vegas - if it were run by Ned Flanders."

According to me, it's some place in the middle of nowhere that my sister happens to live in.

According to the official site, "Branson is a unique combination of neon and nature where the stars in the theaters are as luminescent as the stars in the expansive night sky."

Neon and nature. Finally, someone decided to put the two together.

"Your neon Miller Lite sign is in my mountain."

"Your mountain is in my neon Miller Lite sign."

So here is your chance to put a bona fide Branson, Missouri postcard on your fridge. Email me your address and I promise you will get a postcard. Maybe you'll get one with Yakov Smirnoff on it.
All material © Mike Toole; 2003 - 2006