Blogging Like I've Never Blogged Before

Saturday, April 30, 2005

There is this ad in the subway for a law firm that takes on malpractice cases. It has a picture of a baby on it and it says, "We fight for kids with brain damage." The baby in the picture is this little black kid with drool coming out of its mouth. I think drool is the first symptom of brain damage. That and googly eyes. Anyway, the other day, I was passing one of these ads, and I noticed that someone had crossed out the word "for", so it read, "We fight kids with brain damage." I got a big chuckle out of that one. I couldn't stop picturing a bunch of lawyers beating the drool out of that little baby.

Speaking of brain damage...

I noticed a new link on my sitemeter recently, and boy oh boy, am I glad I did. Because it brought me to this. A movie called "Riding the Bus With My Sister," presented by the Hallmark Hall of Fame. It is apparently based on a true story. Go to the CBS site and watch the preview. Do it now. NOW!

Rosie O'Donnell's agent must have brain damage for letting her do this. Everyone involved in this must have brain damage. In fact, I'm convinced that the smartest person involved in this entire movie is the retarded lady that it is based on.

You've got Andie MacDowell, who is just an awful actress. And then you've got Rosie O'Donnell, who has probably never played a character other than one described as "tough-talking" and "no-nonsense." And now she's playing a retarded gal who has a bad perm and apparently likes to ride the bus. And she has a bit of a Brooklyn accent.

So here is what Rosie is doing to portray a retard (based on the preview and a couple of the clips I've watched):

-- stick out lower jaw and smile
-- look up when you talk to others to portray a childlike innocence
-- talk loud (for Rosie, this is really fucking loud)
-- act like you normally do, just... a little more retarded
-- and oh yes, of course the key to being a convincing retarded person, put your hands together kind of like you have no control over them.


And different colored shoelaces!!! What a retard!

Oh man, I can't stop watching the preview. I like the first part of the voiceover where it says, "Rachel is beautiful and successful..." And then they show Rosie and I want him to say, "And her sister is this retard that kind of looks like Rosie O'Donnell..."

You must watch this on Sunday night. You must! Here is a drinking game for Riding the Bus With My Sister:

Every time you think to yourself, "I can't believe they actually made this movie," drink.

You will be wasted in 11 minutes.

And rounding out the stellar cast is...

A white guy with a hatred for completely buttoning his shirt!

Also, a black guy that wears a helmet!

He is starring in a spin-off of this movie, called "Riding the Bike With My Helmet."

If I had known about this movie earlier, I would have had a "Riding the Bus With My Sister" party. Maybe in the future I will. Everyone must come dressed as their favorite character. I predict lots of different color shoelaces and a few bike helmets. And lots and lots of laughter. And jokes about retarded people. And maybe if things go just right, we'll beat up a baby with brain damage.

The other day while I was waiting for a PATH train to go to work, this short kind of nutty looking girl white girl with a few missing teeth smoking a cigarette comes up to me and says, "Excuse me, this train is going to 163 St., right?" I thought I misheard because I was taking my headphones off. She didn't even pause and give me that courtesy. "I'm sorry?" I asked. "This train, it's going to 163 St. in the Bronx, right?"

"No," I said. "This is going to Hoboken."

"This is New York, right?"

"Yes, but this train is going to New Jersey. To go to the Bronx, you have to go upstairs and take one of the subways. You want nothing to do with these trains."

After that, I don't know where she went or ended up, but I can say with some certainty, that wherever she is now, she's dead.

So yeah, I've seen Madonna, William Hung, Tom Brokaw, and a few other celebrities over the last few years, but none got me more excited than the man I saw on Monday afternoon on my way to work...

Shooter McGavin. Also known as Christopher McDonald, but to those of us who watched Happy Gilmore way too many times in college, he will always be Shooter McGavin.

Shooter: I eat pieces of shit like you for breakfast.

Happy: You eat pieces of shit for breakfast?

Unfortunately, I didn't have my camera when I saw him, and my phone was dead, so no camera phone picture for me. He was on the E train and was looking at the map. I wanted to help him, but I would probably just keep calling him Shooter and he'd be all pissed and say something like, "You know, I'm a very accomplished stage actor and I've done numerous other films."

Then I'd just go, "Shooter!" and do that thing where he shoots the hole after he sinks a putt.

And you know what else I really liked about him? He was riding the subway with the commoners. So now when anyone starts talking about Shooter, I can be like, "You know what? He's a real down to earth kind of guy. Rides the subway and needs to check the map, just like the rest of us." But he was wearing sunglasses on the train. That was pretty queer.

Because I am bored and I can't think of anything to write, I have decided to answer some questions that people asked me way back in December when I asked people to ask me three questions. And because I'm an asshole, I didn't answer all of them. And I still won't! But here are a few.

These are from a gal named Allison who identifies herself as "A Big Fan in the Midwest." That's nice.

(1) What occupation would you like to (legitimately) try?

Oh so many. I'd like to be a pilot. That would be pretty cool. Speaking of flying, I've always wanted to survive a plane crash. I would also like to own my own record store.

(2) What do you do at work to look busy?

I click my mouse and go, "Oh, come on." Lots of mouse clicking and mumbling. There used to be this guy that I worked with who was king of looking busy. He would hold his mouse and stare intently at his computer, and get his face really close to the monitor. It was such an act. He got fired.

(3) Do you think there is a plan for all of us or we're all just out there willy nilly?

I love the phrase "willy nilly". I wonder if anyone has the name Willy Nilly. It would be awesome if in an interview, someone asked God that question, and he was like, "Oh no, no plan for anyone. You are all out here willy nilly."

As for me, I don't think there is a plan. I believe we are all willy nilly. Which makes God pretty lazy, don't it? Just sitting up there on his cloud playing solitaire while we run around down here looking for meaning.

Here are three questions from Rosemary.

1. If you could have dinner with three reality TV stars, past or present, who would they be?

Hmm. Only three, huh? Flavor Flav would have to be there. There was this one girl from a Road Rules, I forget which one, that I had a crush on. Her name was Christina. I suppose she should be there. But I'd be pissed if Flav hit on her. And who else? One more... Oh that drunk Irish guy from The Real World in LA. Dominic. He was great.

2. What's sexier: Homer Simpson in nothing but his underpants and Mr. Plow jacket or Ned Flanders is his body-hugging ski suit?

Stupid sexy Flanders!

3. Why does Rosie Perez have a career despite the fact that her voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard?

That is a fair question. To this, I do not know the answer. I haven't seen nor heard from her in a while, so maybe the rest of the world is catching on.

Is that the proper use of "nor"? Hope so.

Man, this post is boring. I need to jazz it up. Holy shit! Read this article -- Skydiver Dies After Legs Severed in Midair

Here is a picture of some ducks. I had a dream recently that Burger King started serving duck. They had these miniature skinned ducks hanging. It was pretty gross. "Yes, I'd like the Duck Burger value meal. Onion rings please."

So I was reading this article about gays in sports. Turns out, this guy is gay! Can you believe it? I think this picture was taken at the 2005 Let's Do Crystal Meth at a Rave and Then We'll Figure Skate Championships.

I am going to be in Chicago at some point in May for work, so if anyone in Chicago has some great ideas about what I need to see in the Windy Apple, let me know. Maybe we'll get a beer. Or do some crystal meth, go to a rave, and then figure skate a little bit.

Hi. Where the hell have you been?

So this pope... old guy, right? We're going to be going through all this shit again in 7 years. That's my guess. I feel like the cardinals were probably talking the night before during dinner and were like, "This is nice. We should get together more often. It's always under the same circumstances, right? Weddings and funerals. Only never any weddings and only the pope's funeral." Then some cardinal was like, "Hey, you know if we vote for ol' Ratzy over there, we could be back here in no time. This ain't a bad deal. All expenses paid trip to Italy. I mean, fuck. Guy had a brain hemorrhage not long ago. One more American priest touches a kid the wrong way, the stress gives him a stroke, then it's Hello, Italia! for us."

Crafty cardinals.

I have nothing new to talk about. Hm. I got home the other day and almost had a heart attack because of the cleanliness of my apartment. Doug and (most importantly) Doug's girlfriend cleaned the entire place. Except my room. Could have at least changed my sheets. Anyway, I should buy her something nice. Lord only knows how many pubes she threw away. That's what anyone ever says about my apartment. My mom was here not long ago and she was like, "It's a nice place, but so many pubes. Do you need all those pubes?"

Doug also bought a new toilet seat, although I have my suspicions that he stole it from an old retired lady in Florida. It's got a picture of a windmill or something. I forget. Maybe it's a sand castle. Something. Anyway, better than our last one. He also got a shower curtain. It's a map of the world. So now when I poop, I can learn about geography. The other day I was done with my shit for 2 hours before I realized I'd been sitting there for so long. I just can't get over how big Greenland is!

Speaking of poop, this gal named Sheri, who doesn't recognize me without the mustache, recently left this comment, regarding the picture of President Bush:

i fucking fell off the toilet while reading that - i only hope his baby alien body squiggles away into some corner of the cabin so we can hunt it down and kill it proper.

At first I was like, "Oh shit! Sheri reads my blog on the toilet! That's awesome!" But then I realized she was probably reading the actual printed Onion publication. Unless she has a laptop all wirelessed up, then maybe she was.

Anyway, it got me thinking that the best place to read my blog is probably on the toilet. People don't laugh enough on the toilet. If everyone did read my blog while on the toilet, though, I'd be always listening to find out if they are laughing. Less farting, more laughing! Although farting is hilarious.

Here's a picture of me drunk in a Taco Bell trying to win a monkey. (I lost.)

Photo courtesy of Bill (at least, I hope he's courteous. I didn't ask if I could post this).

The other day there was some breaking news on the television because a bunch of cops were surrounding this guy's car in western NJ. He had recently kidnapped his six-month-old daughter and the mom. He also recently shot the mom's father in the leg. They had Chopper 2 over the scene. At one point, the reporter in the helicopter said, "We don't want to get too much of a close-up, because he is armed, and we don't want to show anything too graphic at this point."

OK, um, at this point? At what point does your producer give you the green light to get a Close-Up of the Carnage? Nothing happened, and I think the guy eventually gave up, but I was pissed because I was watching The Price is Right. Don't get between me and my Barker, fuckers. Unless my life is in danger, I don't care. How was that breaking news? What effect did it have on me? Shit. Nothing. Shit nothing.

I like that saying. Shit nothing. You've gotta say it fast. Please begin saying this.

Hey dude. What's going on?

Shit nothing.

I have tried to create two phrases in my life in the hopes that they catch on. Neither was very successful. The first was a euphemism for being drunk. Conquered.

Oh man, I was conquered last night.

The other was a bit more clever. You know when people say things like, "He's not the sharpest tool in the shed" or "He's a French fry short of a Happy Meal." That last one is kind of dumb, but I've heard my dad say it, so it must be somewhat common. Anyway, mine was "He's about half off the cover price." But I always felt that I would need to add after it, "... if you know what I mean." And that just made it seem kind of lame. But I liked it.

So, Saturday Night Live. Did you see the one last Saturday with Cameron Diaz? It was one of the most awful things that has ever come out of a television. There was this "sofa bed" sketch. If you saw it, I think we should go and get a beer and commiserate on how sick to our stomachs it made us feel.

If I ever met Lorne Michaels I would say to him, "Are you aware that there are many funny black people in this world, and you have none of them on your show?"

The two guys are horrendous. Kenan Thompson is only there to do his fairly crappy Al Sharpton impression, and every other character is a variation on that. He kind of bugs his eyes out a bit and does some sort of fast talking thing where his lips move but they don't say things. Or something. He sucks.

And the other guy is even worse. What's his name? Starts with an F. It's like "Fashion" or something. Hold on. Be right back.

Finesse! Finesse Mitchell. First of all, your first name is bullshit. Bullshit Mitchell. I can't even begin to describe his lack of funny. But I'll try.

Take Chris Rock, Dave Chappelle, Tracy Morgan, and then these guys in their prime -- Eddie Murphy, Richard Pryor, Bill Cosby. And what the hell, let's throw a Wayans brother in there. Damon in his prime. And just for good measure, someone shitty -- Sinbad. OK, take all of these guys and explode them to bits. OK, now at the crime scene where all these famous black comedians are in little bitty pieces, find the cop that is upset because this explosion of famous black comedians is making him stay late at work, and he's going to miss an episode of Yes, Dear.

Right, so take that guy, and explode him. Blow him up. Now, take the tiniest shred of flesh or bone you can find. Got it? OK, that piece of flesh or bone is funnier than Finesse Mitchell. Sorry. Bullshit Mitchell.

The only one worth saving on that show is Amy Poehler. She should have her own show. Oh, and she can bring Fred Armisen and Will Forte. I love his Tim Calhoun character.

I know what you're thinking. But what about Tina Fey? Nope, sorry, she's done. She is after all, the head writer, and the writing has been shit. And aside from her decent delivery on Weekend Update, she's got not much else to offer.

Oh, as far as black people go, I guess Maya Rudolph is kind of black. She can sometimes be pretty funny, but her schtick gets old. But she's funnier than Fat Albert and Bullshit Mitchell combined.

So that's how I feel about SNL right now. It's horrible. It makes me angry. But perhaps I'm just angry that I was at home on a Saturday night when I should be out doing things. You know, like chicks. Doing chicks. I gotta start doing more chicks, right fellas?!

Word up! Let's do some chicks!

I just wrote the longest fucking post ever and Explorer crashed and I thought I saved it, but I didn't. Motherfucker. I had a big rant on the current state of Saturday Night Live, and so much more. Please remind me in the future to write about it and how much it sucks. I'm too mad to write anything right now. FUCK!

So Britney is pregnant. I'd like to thank you all for your kind words and thoughts. We are both doing great. I guess I should say all three of us are doing great. Anyway, it was so beautiful when she told me, she was like, "Kevin Federline, I am babied!" That's what she calls me: Kevin Federline. It's her little pet name for me. You know, I call her sweetie and she calls me Kevin Federline. I don't really get it, but it's just one of those quirks that makes me love her so.

I would like to thank The Onion for this picture. It has made me laugh now for about seven days straight.

Cheney Offspring Bursts From Bush's Chest

I love how Cheney's offspring is born with glasses.

Phil Mickelson may not have won the green jacket in this weekend's Masters, but he's got something no one else on the PGA Tour has:

The sweetest set of fella tits you'll ever see.

Seriously, that guy has got a problem with his titties. I noticed it during last year's Masters when he was walking down the fairway and he was humbly acknowledging the cheers, yet all I saw was his boobs.

So let that be a lesson to you ladies. Guys will stare at boobs no matter who owns them.

But they are more enjoyable on the ladies. When they are on a dude like Phil, it's kind of like, "Dude, he has tits, right? Look at 'em. They're all floppy."

I went to the Mets home opener today. Good times. We won! I was on very little sleep after working my last day of the overnight. I didn't have a drop of beer at the game, yet I felt quite drunk. Little sleep will do that to you. And when you do drink... Hoo boy! One beer feels like three and three beers feels like a six pack and a few shots of whiskey. It's awesome. I'm going to try and get less and less sleep for the rest of my life.

I went by me lonesome and sat next to an older guy who was also flying solo. He was a nice guy from Long Island. We talked baseball. At one point I was going to ask him what he did for a living. But I decided to not do that, because here were the scenarios I imagined:

Scenario 1

Me: So what you do?

Guy: I manage an Applebee's out in Massapequa.

Me: Oh yeah? Eatin' good in the neighborhood, right? Yeah, pretty good place.

Then he'd go on about lots of Applebee's facts that I don't care to know.

Scenario 2

Me: So what you do?

Guy: Oh, um, well, you know babies?

Me: Yeah.

Guy: I eat them.

So now you see why we just talked about Pedro and the Mets. He was a psycho!

Not really, but he coulda been.

Here is a photo from my seat. Contrary to what that view would have you believe, my seat was not on a blimp.

You know what annoys me about baseball fans? A fucking shitload. But I hate when everyone is exiting and then people start to chant. We were all crammed at the exits, and some drunk started yelling "Let's go Mets! Let's go Mets!"

Dude, the game is over. The Mets already went.

I also hate the "Yankees suck" chant. Why? Because they don't suck. The chant is a lie. I hate the Yankees, but I know they don't suck. I tried to start my own chant, but it didn't work.

"I am not fond of the Yankees, but I respect the talent on that team!"

The funniest part of today's game was when the advertisement on the "batter's eye" got stuck, which delayed the game for 15 minutes. Here's a photo. They showed Pedro in the dugout and he was loving it. When he saw himself on the Jumbotron, he started waving and dancing like a little kid. Dude was made for this town. I am excited that he is on my favorite team. And that he is on my fantasy team, The Sexy Vaginas. As another guy in my league said recently, this could be the year of the vagina.

It's about damn time. The Vaginas are due.

This post, with its vaginas and titties and boobs, is really going to up the dirties to my site who are searching for porn.

So these last few days I have been working the overnight shift at my job. Because I'm a sucker. At least the weather sucked. I mean, 65 degrees and sunny? Fucking gross.

This morning as I left work, I decided to walk a bit from the World Trade Center. I started my stroll, headed towards Chinatown, because I like the smell of Chinese people and fish. It was quite lively down there for 08:30. I then ended up walking through Little Italy, because I like the smell of pasta and the Mafia. Not much going on there. Not much going on anywhere actually. Some crazy people out and talking to themselves, and in a few cases, singing to themselves. One guy had a pretty good voice. I was like, "Kid, you have got it!" He took out his weiner and told me to never come back.

I realized on my walk that I look my best in tinted window reflections. When I walk by a car and see myself, I'm like, "Damn, what a good looking fellow you are." But natural lighting and a real mirror reaffirm my averageness. But man, tinted windows? If tinted windows were Hollywood agents, I'd be the most wanted face in the entertainment industry.

Producer: So what does he do? What's his talent?

Tinted Agent: He just is really good at walking by. I can't really put my finger on it, especially because I'm a window and I don't have fingers.

So. Yeah, I feel weird working these hours. I have been working from 10 PM to 8 AM. You get loopy around 4. I noticed on my first night that typing was taking on a life of its own. I'd start putting spaces in random parts of words where spaces have no busin ess. Then on my walk today, I noticed that walking in a straight line was a bit of a challenge. Glad I wasn't driving.

One time I drove from Florida to NJ by myself straight through. I began hallucinating somewhere in Maryland. I stopped at a rest stop to pee and get a bag of something in a chip form. The rest stop was in the middle of the highway, so when you merge back on, you merge into the left lane. My car was packed with all of my belongings, so my passenger seat was pushed all the way forward because of my belongings in the back. As I was merging back on to the highway, I looked to my right to see if there was any approaching traffic on I-95. But instead, I saw a man sitting in my passenger seat staring at me. I went "AHHH!" and accidentally jerked the wheel and I crossed over four lanes of traffic. Luckily no one was in my way.

So the guy in my car? It was just my passenger seat, but the way it was pushed forward, and the shape of something that was in the seat, combined with the headrest made it look like a person. I swear I could have given a description of this guy to the cops if I had to. It was then I realized I was losing my mind a bit and needed a nap. But I pushed on and eventually got home safe and somewhat sound.

My first day of doing this overnight thing, I think I had five meals. Because I woke up, had breakfast, then lunch, a dinner, came to work, had another dinner, and then when I went home, I had my second breakfast. I was like a hobbit. I had bacon twice! What a great day. Everyone should have bacon at least twice a day.

They are burying the Pope in this? I've got a nicer hamper. I wonder if he is wrapped up in bubble wrap and a bunch of styrofoam peanuts.

Seems as though I have not much to say anymore.

I would like to thank the Post for getting rid of all that boring Pope shit and getting back to these kinds of headlines.

I really wish they didn't put Pussy in quotes.

Pussy Busted.

Has a nice ring to it. Band name, anyone?

"Hey, you don't look so good. Are you OK?"

"Naw, my pussy busted."

I really feel like writing something today, but I have nothing specific to go on. Just got my typing fingers on.

My clock on my stove is now wrong. By an hour. I am curious to know how long that will last. I mean, in six months it will be right again, so why bother changing? I love springing ahead, despite the loss of an hour, because you save time by only having to adjust your digital clock with one push of a button. Sure, when you fall back, you gain that hour back, but think of all the time you spend adjusting your clocks. So much button pushing!

Of course, I am for never changing the clocks.

I was watching Meet the Press this morning, and it was all pope. They were interviewing lots of priests and religious scholars, and a lot of them said things like, "He was a very holy and spiritual man."

Yeah, he was the pope. I'm pretty sure "spiritual" and "holy" has to be somewhere on your resume. It's right up there with "self-starter."

Proficient in Word, PowerPoint, Excel and Pontificating.

He was also proficient at forgiving. Forgave the man that shot him. I know forgiving is kind of the pope's "thing", but that's bold. I'm not sure I could forgive someone that shot me. I'd at least hold a bit of a grudge.

Oh well. Peace out pope. Now begins the exciting process of picking the new pope. My choice? Pope Sean John the One, of course.

About an hour after the pope has died, Netscape still isn't quite sure...

Yes, I would say that being dead is quite a serious condition. And it's the sixth story down. They are still right on top of the Schiavo case with the brilliant headline of Schiavo Case Evloved Into Huge News. No shit? I hadn't noticed.

I am saddened tonight by the death of Mitch Hedberg. Dude was a funny man. I was just talking to someone, re-telling his "Dufresne, party of three" joke. Reading his jokes aren't the same as hearing him; it was all about his delivery. So it goes. Here are some good ones:

The thing about tennis is: no matter how much I play, I'll never be as good as a wall. I played a wall once. They're fucking relentless.

An escalator can never break: it can only become stairs. You would never see an "Escalator Temporarily Out Of Order" sign, just "Escalator Temporarily Stairs. Sorry for the convenience."

I would imagine if you could understand Morse Code, a tap dancer would drive you crazy.

You can read more here.

Photo by Leanna Bates

So Mitch is gone, the Pope is on his way out, and now I see that Frank Perdue died? This wasn't all that upsetting really, because I thought the dude was already dead. I bet he and Dave Thomas are chatting it up.

I was stuck on an N train tonight for about half an hour. It was really annoying, obviously, but even more than normal, because the conductor kept saying "We are being held by a switching problem. I apologize for any inconveniences."

Any inconveniences? You mean other than the being stuck beneath the East River on a smelly subway car inconvenience?

I know I spoke of this somewhere before. When people apologize and say "I apologize to anyone who may have been offended." Same thing with this "any inconvenience" bullshit. Almost as if we might not be inconvenienced. He's just covering his bases on the off chance someone is inconvenienced by being a prisoner on the N.

So we eventually got going. But not a fun way to end a boring Friday after work.

Hmph. Feel like I had more to say today.

Oh! Last night I got trashed with my old pal Kat. "Just a couple of drinks," we said. That turned into a couple of bars. So yeah, as you can see on her blog I left a bar of soap with a picture of a deer on it at her apartment. Why did I have a bar of soap with a picture of a deer on it? Because I'm in that hunting club, remember? So earlier in the day a friend gave me that soap and I had carried it all night. I can't wait to use the soap, because I stink, and because the deer image apparently doesn't go away after use. That is exciting.
All material © Mike Toole; 2003 - 2006