Ben Goot's Car

When 1000 Words Isn't Enough Words

2009-10-08T12:49:00.000-07:00

Have you ever heard the expression "A picture is worth a 1000 words"? I think Einstein said that right after he said, "Let there be gravity". He was a brilliant Jew.

Basically, Einstein absolutely said the above 2 things, but the news media didn't let him say the entire thing that he was looking to say in the first thing that I said that he said up above.

You know what I was trying to say there, right? Great.

While Einstein got out "A picture is worth a 1000 words", it was the greedy, fear-mongering press-corps standing baited with SCOOP scrawled onto a shred of paper sat alongside their brown fedora hats already sprinting away with dime-in-hand ready to connect a pay-phone call to their editors with the day's front page headline "Einstein: German Turned Stoopid" that lost the world the rest of Einstein's brilliant quote...

"but if you crop that picture in a way that it is still very much apparent that there was somebody else in the picture with you but you would prefer the picture be more about you bc it would be a featured photograph for some personalized social network driven profile thing then that picture would now be worth about a billion words bc that is just fucking awesome."

There you have it...out of the mouth's of geniuses. Or genius bc it was just one Einstein that said it. You know...math.

That quote is still pretty relevant to this day, though, even though it was probably said somewhere around 1348 AD. A lot of the things that Einstein said are still pretty relevant. Einstein was like the Jules Verne of talking about pictures being worth a certain allotment of words.

Much like Einstein predicted in his quote, his revelation of "a personalized social network" or "a Facebook"(as the kids call it) is a thing that everybody uses and likes now. Your mom just got a Facebook and she asked me to be her friend. I didn't accept bc I don't want the comment "My heart is so happy. What a blessed day God has given us. Psalms LOL:14-17" under my status update of "spicy food diarrhea again :("

Also...this is your mom's profile pic:

"But how will the Internet know I have a computer?"

But the thing is that a Facebook is great and everybody loves it and super, but the best part is that YOUR a Facebook is about YOU so you get to be as unrelenting towards others and THEIR identities on YOUR a Facebook as you wanna be(eg: just bc you happened to be huggy drunk buddies one night at a downtown bar drinking $18 cran-vodkas doesn't mean that you need show everybody that you were huggy buddies one night at a downtown bar drinking $18 cran-vodkas bc their stupid face had their stupid eyes stupid closed and it's messing up a more-than-acceptable photo of you on a night your hair looked shiny & full.)

All allegiance seems to be thrown out the window when it comes to cropping an above-average picture of you.
I mean I get it. You look good. Work it. Snaps. Fist pounds. But, isn't the point of a social network to reconnect and/or further a relationship with people that you had known or know and if this is truly the reason for becoming part of a social network shouldn't the people that you befriend more than typically be able to VERY easily differentiate you from the other person that you would be flanked alongside of in your pose for your profile pic ESPECIALLY when you happen to be an 80lb white girl and the person you are cropping out is a 300lb Hispanic man?

Were you worried that your friends would have confused you, the 80lb white girl, with the other person in the pic, the 300lb Hispanic man, bc that makes me think that you think your friends are idiots and is that what being part of a social network revolution is all about? Just befriending stupid idiots all over the place and hoping they don't confuse their 2001 Alberta High Homecoming Queen for a 300lb Hispanic man in what appears to be an XXXL lime-green tee fixed with rhinestones?

Everything I said is is pretty well worn territory by Einstein, and I'm not sure that I could add anything thoughtful to the conversation outside of showing cropped a Facebook profiles that are, of course, worth almost a billion words:

435,600 Words

Some of those words:

Lotioned thighs. Poofity hair. Whore dress. Selfish friend.

665,342 Words

Some of those Words:

Shiny top. $18 drink. Parrot with a human face.

1,000,000,458 Words

Some of those Words:

Perfect

[note: all the words for this picture are just the word "Perfect" repeated 1,000,000458 times]

456 Words

Some of those Words:

We live in a digital era. Gone are the days where your photos would be rendered inside a bathtub of iodine and other secret elixirs for days on end to transform your memories from tiny glimpses of captured light on celluloid and turned into tangible objects able to be held & cherished. Technology has given us the means to have cameras that could literally create thousands of these memories in one evening's time, along with all the sharpness & lighting that film cameras from as little as a decade ago could never truly accomplish regardless of the photographer's skill or equipment.

That being said... is this picture worth the floating black guy's face?

348,597 Words

Some of those Words:

Swoopy bangs. Confused. Scared. Closet case. Be brave. No more locker room purple-nurples. Just make it through high school. You're done with high school? You're 29? Straight as your dick is hard, you say? Swoopy bangs. 2009. Saddest loser.

568,888 Words

Some of those Words:

Call. Mom. Tell her you love her.

01001010111 Words

Some of those Words:

Laurence Fishburne. Is. An. Idiot.

1,000 Words

Some of those Words:

Pride. Glory. Accomplishment. Nothing else happening anywhere.

{Spoiler Alert:}

987,546 Words

Some of those Words:

Sharp Suit. Dapper hat. International assassination conspiracy. That tie's color really pops.

3 Words

Those 3 Words:

Abs. 4. Dayz.

It's Official: Aaron Corp Too Ugly to Be a USC QB

2009-09-21T10:43:00.000-07:00

It was well into the 4th quarter when I finally began watching the USC-Washington football game this weekend.

Should you be a reader of mine and be all like "What level wizard did Washington cast its spell of treachery upon USC's battle troll with?", to you, dear reader, I say maybe you should sit this post out and catch up with your X-Box Live friends that you've haven't cyber-gossiped new Mountain Dew flavors with since 3am and let us old high school jocks, with our crumbling dreams, crush these Nati-Light cans on our heads in some privacy.

USC-Washington. Huge upset. It was sometime after Washington had taken a 3-point lead and USC had taken the field in hopes of a scoring/winning drive that I made a sartling revelation.
The revelation was NOT that I wasn't watching the #3 ranked team in the nation and that all BCS rankings should be held-off a minimum 4 weeks to let these 18-21 year old athletes physically develop their sea-legs(grass-legs?).
The revelation almost certainly was NOT that the lax methods with which USC coach Pete Carroll motivates his players is a near crippling handicap when coming off a highly emotional game the week previous, as 18-21 year olds have not mentally developed their sea-legs(maturity-legs?).
WHATEVER, FOOTBALL TALK RADIO!

The revelation that I had came in taking a look at the quarterback for USC.

A completely ineffective and WAY over-his-head 19-year old baby. At least that's what I thought. I thought it was a baby making those bad plays. Then I saw this quarterback take off his helmet in frustration and realized that it was in fact a mongoloid.

What an uglyBAAAARF!
There is no way that HE is going to grow into whatever the hell it is I'm looking at here because YUCK is not a thing you can grow into!
No thanks, this guy's looks...we're not currently accepting applications!
Yeesh...keep your helmet on during the post game, friendo.
Seriously...did Chunk take a blue-chip scholarship from USC and demand he play left tackle for Sloth?
Ugly.

Mind you, he's not that ugly. His mother probably likes his looks and I'm sure that some large percentage of USC co-eds would like to "give him a mouth job", but USC sorta has a thing going...a thing where the quarterbacks don't have any striking resemblance to The Toxic Avenger.

Examples:
Carson Palmer

Wow...what did you set that electric shaver to this morning, sir...smokey? Job well done and you can shove that finger into me whenverWAIT. Stop. Where did that even come from? I'm sorry...I'm not serious...I'm straight...I'm not that serious...

Matt Leinart

Growl...look at that former Hiesman winning QB just sitting their on that chair not playing any football at all. SIGH...why can't that chair be my faceWOAH...no...not face...lapNO...not even lap...more like hand. But like...just so I could touch his assNO massage his assNO be there to support his ass, yes?...yes.

Mark Sanchez

JESUS FUCK! What is this guy...the entire fucking cast of "Friday Night Lights"? I'm not a guy who goes around and licks things off other guys Zeus-chizzled abs, but I'm just saying that if I were on a sex vacation with a guy, and that guy was Mark Sanchez, and I was making bacon for breakfast because we were hungry bc DUH sex vacation, I would eat that bacon out of anywhere on this guy...what was I even talking about now? I'm a straight male, by the way, so I'm talking in metaphors obviously.

Matt Barkely

Ahhhh...you guys...he's like a puppy with blonde hair and penetrating blue eyes...he's like a puppy from the Third Reich. He's the kid who was "supposed" to be starting at QB until he got hurt. Look at those prep school looks and that hard-knock chin, you guys...I'm recruiting this kid into my heart for a fuckfestNO...a DOUBLE fuckfest.

Handle Your C-Word Better

2009-09-08T10:11:00.000-07:00

Fellas,

If you could pardonnez moi for uno momento...I've got a little something to clear up with the ladies. Basically period stuff, you know...feelings & Hollywood hunks. Here...your dad just got a new pair of "Bumper-Nutz" on his '94 Jeep Cherokee and he's looking for some ideas on how to get his mustache looking more aggressive.

[Hold 3 beats to allow gentlemen to get up and leave the Internet]

Ladies,

Wow...I just don't know what to say...Wow...I'm so sorry...here...specifically at 1:05, but still...Wow for everything and sorry...

Really?

Do you really think it's OK to say that to other human beings like that?

I'm of the opinion that you can say it "FOR FUN!", like "I'm going to wear hideously bad 80's clothes out dancing FOR FUN!" or "I'm just going to comment how good Hitler is at fucking FOR FUN!"

I'm of the opinion that there is "FOR FUN!" and then there is "What did you just say to me, motherfucker?"

The video is an excerpt from a "Bravo" show known as NYC Prep. I say "known as" like some sort of asshole bc after watching just half of one episode I am assuming that it will never be picked up for a 2nd season as it makes the viewer feel like an asshole for making them wish that all the children on the show would die.

OK...no...not die...but definitely not live.

I've got this future conspiracy theory that all of Bravo's effete programming will be uploaded into all of Skynet's "Terminator robot logic programs" under "Reasons to Spare Human Kind", in which case we will all just be getting what we deserve.

Fair enough.

I ironically would've used both Terminator: Salvation & this Battle at the Beach promotion as reasons "Why" to wipe out the human race, so the apocalyptic robot scientists definitely have some room to be picky.

NYC Prep was a show skillfully re-capped by Gabe of Videogum, and if you'd enjoy more background on the above hate-crime-parody-closet-case-C-dropper by ALL MEANS I recommend the above link. But if not, just know that the show was like a "real-life Gossip Girl" and my explanation of anything being a "real-life Gossip Girl" makes me feel sad and old and like I should have my granddaughter type the words out for me bc she knows how you young people communicate and explain topics of the day.

Twittings?

Ringtones?

LOLs?

Sexts?

I don't understand. I'm so confused and scared. I need a nap. Thank you for helping Pappy out with his bloggings. Here's that sip of my Ensure I promised you.

What's important to know is that the baby dropping the C U Next Tuesday is a horrible monster. Mind you he is a baby. He is an 18-year old baby who is a monster but is still a baby at 18 and doesn't quite understand tact and the modicum of decorum adults exhibit amongst other human beings during interactions regarding seating arrangements at bourgeoisie gatherings of exhibition and decadence not seen since the show previously on Bravo or the French RevolutionLET THEM EAT CUNT!

FOR FUN!

What I'm trying to say is, when I was 18 I was pretty much a monster and my mother had to slap me once for being such a monster and I'm pretty sure that I called my sister something similar to C, if not the whole U Next Tuesday and I dumped my prom date on prom night so I could mingle with another girl without feeling guilty bc guilt never truly applied to my daily interactions with others when I was busy being a monster.

Like I said...we've all got confessions of being a baby monster.

The thing is...ladies...poor, sweet ladies...it's time to start reacting to shit and not allowing baby monsters or horrible adult men push you around while you respond with a "thank you", however sarcastically and biting you feel you are phrasing it, because that shit is not how you react to the one thing that you cannot come back at with words.

They discussed it on 30 Rock, Season 1, that there is nothing that tops C. NOTHING. It is the ultimate worst you can call somebody with a V. And NO it does not make you a bigger human for not reacting to it and NO it does not make you mature for shrugging it off and NO crying doesn't help you win and NO stop reacting like anything but this!

Two hits.

Me hitting you with this metal stick upside your head and you hitting the couch.

It's an old boxing expression. You kids wouldn't remember. It was a barbaric sport where they used to fight each other with gloves on their clenched hands. No round house kicks allowed!

I know! Like I said, barbaric.

After I saw Out of Sight, I went and bought a slap stick(official name, right?) like Jennifer Lopez had just in case anybody wanted to tussle/call me a C. Turns out nobody wanted to do either because I'm an athletic 200lb white male that follows the rules and stays primarily in white neighborhoods in the NW. Works EVERY TIME ALL THE TIME, ladies.

Alright, now go get those boys back in here to read the rest of this post and go make them a turkey sandwich bc they are hungry after providing for you all day.

[Hold 4 beats to allow ladies to leave the Internet, cause ladies will probably cry bc they are emotional about leaving and they'll need to say goodbye and write a card and share baby pics.]

Fellas...

NEW BLUE BUMPER NUTZ!

Something Something...Something Something Something

2009-09-02T15:08:00.000-07:00

A weird ball of self awareness has been welling up inside of me for about the past 3-months.

It was 3-months ago where the sun began shining again and the flowers began blooming again and the birds began having sex with bees again to which there was this point that I felt, "hey, yeah, I want to let people know that things are happening again with the sun and the flowers and the inter-species sex" and that is great bc who wouldn't want to tell everybody that they realize stuff on a blog that has been more or less neglected for an entire calender year?

That last paragraph was thrilling to my one subscriber who is also my girlfriend.

So, 3-months. great. go. let's write. it's go time. come on. go ahead. hurry up. fast it up. pump it out. drop the words. hot shit. yeah. now you've got it. rub it right. now left. more left. bump it out. onto the TextEdit there. drop the words. go.

And then it hit me...nothing.

Nothing hit me.

Nothing at all.

It was a big bag filled with nothing.

Having nothing hit you in the face is worse than something. Something at least carries some weight. Some gravitas. Even if that something is terrifying, something lets you know that somebody else is involved enough to throw the bag. Nothing could have just been the wind playing its beautiful games. As I said, something could be terrifying. Terrifying like poo or getting an entire year older without the feelings of a year passing or claymation or dogs with aggressive names like Mauler & SlipNut or MMA. Terrifying. Something. Something is something. Something's something and that's something to react at.

I am now reacting at nothing.

A bag of nothing.

I have nothing to comment on.

I hope the above was a metaphor and I hope that this maybe-metaphor worked bc I just graduated from Metaphor College and am hoping to be a Metaphor Assistant in my small town after I marry my middle school sweetheart.

My afternoons are filled with this vapid, portentous block hanging over my every written word. Now that I'm beginning to write in a freelance atmosphere and I'm only as good as the last Don Draper reference, I've begun to take too much care of the letters that form my words.

Acting like they didn't come 26-to-a-pack in every alphabet in every elementary school across the country.

25-to-a-pack in Mississippi.

What I'm saying is that WHY THE FUCK AM I FEELING LIKE I'M GIVEN A CERTAIN ALLOTMENT OF CREATIVITY PER DIEM AND IF I USE TOO MUCH OF IT ON MAKING NONSENSE THEN HOW WILL I BE ABLE TO SELL RICE TO PEOPLE IN ASIA IN A NIKE AD THAT LOOKS THIS BRILLIANT?

No sense.

The last blog I wrote, the only piece of writing that I have accomplished without the judgement of a client hedged on my happiness/suicide which was over 1 month ago, took me 3-days.

WHY THE FUCK DID A PIECE OF GARBAGE TAKE ME 3 DAYS?

WHY THE FUCK IS IT TAKING ME OVER A MONTH TO DO THINGS THAT I LOVE TO DO?

No sense.

This has taken me 3-hours and it is basically a diary entry.

DIARY'S ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE WEIGHTY PIECES OF CONCOCTED PRETENSE!

I'm getting too precious.

I'm thinking that by writing some throw away words on some near nonexistent blog in comparison to its Internet quantity, my life will be held to a standard of brilliant/shut up hinged on absolutely nothing but bloated & narcissistic ego. I'm thinking that anything written here would be fortunate enough to be read by anybody but my mother(hi, mom) and girlfriend(hi, sweetheart) and would be anything with enough substance to topple over in front of somebody that would care enough to look down to make sure it didn't scuff their shoes.

Again...Metaphor College top 7%.

HEY FUCKING TYLER...IT'S THE FUCKING INTERNET...JUST FUCKING WRITE SHIT DOWN!

Thank you, Tyler...you're right.

Fuck you, Tyler.

I love you, Tyler.

I love you too.

Could I Get A Misogyny Vodka with a Lemon Twist?

2009-08-20T09:50:00.000-07:00

So I was all intrigued by this:

so I Google image searched this:

Kartika Sari Dewi Shukarno

and I eventually ended up at this:

and now all I want to do is testify under Malaysian court oath that she should NOT be caned siting the case Hilarious v. LMFAO.

The gravitas placed into Hilarious v. LMFAO entails that we all get to have a good chuckle on account of a picture found on Google in reference to an unsettling subject found on CNN.com, laughing away the sobering undertones that all radical religion ruins lives and typically supplies more OMFG in the bad way than OMFG in the teenager way.

And, Your Honor, my closing argument is as follows...would this dude get busted for drinking in Malaysia to celebrate beating all these chicks?
>
Fuck it...Malaysian police couldn't catch dat dude!!!

CASE FUCKING CLOSED, LAW & ORDER: LOL!!!

Things People Should Say At Comedy Clubs to Receive Awkward Silence: #486

2009-08-08T11:12:00.000-07:00

Caught my first EVER episode of CSI: Who Cares this morning and my first impression is that there are going to be A LOT of disappointed pre-meds inside the next 8-17 years.

5 Things That Will Make You Wish Your Ears Were On My Head

2009-07-30T11:06:00.000-07:00

SO, here's something that I used to do every single month for you guys. I did it for 3 simple reasons...

a) My idea cogs were stuck and there are only so many CNN headlines that allow you to lazily comment with sad sex rejoinders guessing at the story's content eg: "Entourage Star: 'I'm no longer a sucker' " ...didn't Entourage teach her anything about how to get ahead in Hollywood? ..."ahead", huh? I didn't know we were going to talk about the Lohan family's rise to fame..."rise", well i wouldn't mind if that one chick from Entourage could give me a rise[note:only after we come full circle do I realize that I should've stopped writing before I began. Meta.]
b) Sometimes music has so much love to give and it just doesn't know where to put it...I'D tell music where to put it[note: still meta.]
c) Sometimes rejoinders with sad, lazy sexual tone fit even more easily into great, sharable music that has so much love to give and doesn't know where to put it eg: Sunset Rubdown...um, yes please[note: if you happen to be reading this still, I'M SO SORRY!]]

But whatever.

I don't have to justify myself to you, reader.

Those 3 simple reasons above are called the "Circle of Life" and they're the basis for an entire movie about cartoon lions.
This baby knows what I'm talking about:

This lion, however, does not know what I'm talking about because he's too busy fucking that lady lion:

Whatever THAT lion fucking is all about...GET A ROOM, YOU LIONS!!...listen to me...yelling...yelling and using ellipses...acting like I come around this blog all that often.
ENOUGH, BEN GOOT'S EXCESSIVE ELLIPSES ESCORT!
It's time for me to acknowledge the fucking lion in the circle of life.

Confession time: Gang...I don't come around here all that often.

YYHHHEEEEEEWWW!!!!

Now that we got that pink elephant fucked by that lion off our backs...MUSIC!!!

Noisettes - ?
If I may take the time and introduce you to my new fake girlfriend:

Current real girlfriend will have to get used to falling into the category of "NOT the black girlfriend", and should be warned that love making conditions will now be metaphorically more "Hostess Cupcake" than "vanilla ice cream with a penis on-top"[note: if my mom is reading this, I'M SO SORRY].

But let's get off my new fake black girlfriend bc I just got off yours[note: if Rodney Dangerfield is reading this, I'M SO SORRY...JK LOL HEHE...dude's dead].

What song should you listen to by The Noisettes? I don't know...I guess they have alright songs. I know for sure that my newest's fake girlfriend's voice is REALLY great. The other night some blogger from Pitchfork came up to us while we were trying to have a romantic dinner at the Olive Garden[brag: THHHHE Olive Garden] and rudely interrupted our all-you-can-eat pasta & bread with an actual sentence strung together as such, "[This girlfriend of yours] establishes and then pushes through her fears, and her optimism and strong vocals combine to make opener 'Sometimes' the band's best song yet", and I'm all "MORE FETTUCCINE, NERD!!!!"

I don't really know what song to listen to. Go listen to "Sometimes" maybe? Maybe you'll like it. I think it sorta sucks but whatever...I liked Breakfast Club...wait...YOU DID TOO? What are the odds? You liked it because of the obvious lack of black people in it, right? Whatever, my new fake girlfriend's black so I CAN'T be racist.

Do this song...it's on the radio all the time and how could songs on the radio ever be ~~a piece of a monopolizing Payola scandal~~ wrong?

Freudian sexual rejoinder: Once you go black, you'll probably go back to your own race because things typically work out better for people from familiar backgrounds/cultures/dispositions/same colored privates.

Sunset Rubdown - You Go On Ahead (Trumpet Trumpet II)
"HOLY SHIT!", you will mutter shocked, aloud to yourself. "I DIDN'T FUCKING KNOW THEY COULD FUCKING DO THAT WITH MUSIC!", you will deny then accept at the top of your lungs. "JESUS'S DICK ON A DACHSHUND WHY IS THERE ONLY SO MUCH GENIUS IN THE CRUEL WORLD TO GO AROUND AND WHY HAS NONE LAIN IT'S DESPOT HANDS UPON MY DRY, BARREN, EMPTY PSYCHE FUCK SHIT FUCK!", your vocal calisthenics will cry out towards your aching heart as you look left to right across your page of lyrics with the song feverishly panting in the background. "GOD FUCKING SHIT I THINK I'M GOING TO FUCK MYSELF AND COME ON THIS FUCKING SPEAKER SO IT CAN SHOOT SEMEN BACK AT ME WITH ITS IMPASSIONED PROSE AND ITS MOTHERING OEDIPAL SENTIMENT JESUS FUCK!", to which your mom will respond "THIS is why me and grandma don't like taking you to the mall with us, Thomas!"
Seriously...if songs were currency this song could buy all the tea in China and the Chinese would go "...and here's your change."
WOW...metaphors...WOW.

Rodney Dangerfield sex rejoinder: I think I went to a Sunset Rubdown in Koreatown once...got myself a to go order of chicken teriyaklamydia.

Florence and the Machine - Dog Days
Do you ever listen to songs and you wish that you were a musician of that song and you have these fantasies of being whisked away to a major US city to perform before an audience under-exposed to your music and you sing them this song and afterwards the entire audience is just in awe of what they heard and humming that song because the aching railroad track beat got stuck in their minds like the dressings of open wounds?

Yeah...me neither cuz I ain't no queer, but this is still a song you should listen to[note: do not judge this song by this video, bc art school is a hell of a drug].

Florence And The Machine - Dog Days

Realistic sex rejoinder: I wouldn't fuck this video with this video's dick!

Carla Bruni - Quelqu'un m'a dit
Me and the girlfriend(NOT the black one) went and saw (500) Day of Summer bc we decided that we wanted to have sex later than night and WOULDN'T YOU KNOW IT...we had ourselves that sex AND THEN she was all "Hey, what was that song that was in French" and I was all "Oh...you mean this one" and I began to gently and seductively jam my tongue down into her throat and she's all "Ngghho{removes tongue}, not that kind of French. I mean, yes Tyler, of course your are a sexual panther, but not now...mama is so worn from your 45-minutes of mighty viking loving just moments ago. I'm speaking of the French song where the 2 lovers were driving in the car together and Joseph Gordon Levitt's adorable character was asking about the definition of their relationship" and I was all "Oh...you mean this one" and I dropped my engorged and bulging pants to reveal a boom-box that immediately began to play Carla Bruni's "Quelqu'un m'a dit" because that is the song my girlfriend was talking about the whole time.

I ain't play games wit ma boo.

International sex rejoinder: I think Ima need a French to English translator...FOR MY DICK!

Wolf Parade - Grounds for Divorce
I'm not even going to start justifying to you why I didn't listen to this entire album from my favorite band when it originally came out almost 5 years ago. I'm not even going to because we aren't living in your grandfather's world anymore where you live and die by the messages of Simon & Garfunkel's "Sound's of Silence" and you go off and become a hippy in San Francisco because those magnificent words like rays of sound spoke something inherently shattering into your caged soul when you lit a candle and played it backwards or something else that Satan told you to doSHUT UP & STARVE, ALMOST FAMOUS!
I don't have that kind of time to listen to everything always.

I've seen that whole Simon & Garfunkel play and it ends with somebody getting brain damage and the other one doing an ill-conceived video with Chevy Chase.

Not exactly a Lion King exeunt[note: LION KING! CIRCLE OF SADDEST!]!
Just listen and don't make the same mistakes I made by not listening to it for nearly 5 years and remember to be nice to your mother and slow down when you're driving past my house and don't walk outside with that wet head or you'll get the vapors and here's a candy bar.

This song's like the $20 dollar bill you find in your winter pants at the end of fall, as per my above Sunset Rubdown currency metaphor, but now make that $20 dollar bill a $20 dollar EURO bill.

In this economy, we should all be so lucky.

Family-meeting sex rejoinder: Me and your mother are staying together for this song.

Entire Office Loses in "Michael Jackson Death Pool"

2009-06-26T12:11:00.001-07:00

Sprouts Fairy Wings and Flies to Candy Mtn. - 7%

Messes with Child That Has Seen Jennifer Lopez Film Enough Too Many Times On TNT - 1%

Transformers into 1983 Buick Regal - 4%

Eats a Bad Piece of Stegosaurus Minot - 11%

Something About Owning a Llama and a Monkey and Swine Flu(?) - 2%

Aborts Himself(?) - 40%

Dance Fever - 9%

Cardiac Arrest - 0%

Cyborg Jackson from Future Assassinates Him - 17%

Crashes His #8 Michelin Car While Driving in the Daytona 500 - 3%

Thriller Was a Biography Shot In Real Time; Already Dead - 8%

I Guess I Owe an Apology Suicide

2009-06-25T09:20:00.000-07:00

You Guys...

[sigh]

YEAH...I was pretty popular in high school and YEAH...I'm really sharp at dressing up and YEAH...I take a shower a minimum 1 time a day and YEAH...I don't have to have my mom to pay my car insurance anymore but I still do because C.R.E.A.M and YEAH...I find time to read "GRAVITY'S FUCKING RAINBOW" when I'm not jet-skiing around Paris or writing in my FUCKING POEMS ABOUT THE WHIMSY OF NATURE JOURNAL and YEAH...I've eaten sushi before that wasn't a California Roll and YEAH...I didn't vote but I would've voted for Obama and YEAH...I write under the pseudonym Ben Goot's FUCKING Car and YEAH...I wrote the below post about Jon & Kate & Brenda & Teenie & Lil' Nate & The Aardvark & Joe Green & PonyBoy & WHOEVER THE FUCK ELSE THEY LET INTO ~~THEIR FAMILY~~ sham of a marriage...

2 FUCKING YEARS OF ACTING LIKE YOU SORTA LIKE EACH OTHER BECAUSE "SHIT WE'VE ALREADY COME THIS FAR LET'S NOT BACK DOWN BECAUSE C.R.E.A.M AND AMERICA!"?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Those reading...THAT is valid reasoning behind Vietnam, why your dad still wears Merrell sandals and how Lost & Entourage get more seasons on the TV, but NOT valid reasoning for staying together for the kids unless, of course, your children are green and made of paper and have dead presidents faces on their faces and numerical denominations marked clearly on their bibs indicating how many pretty cars they could afford when added up, which all might have been an Outer Limits episode but now it's starting to be real and no longer being polite...

Real World: Jon & Kate & Deb & Boom Boom McGinty & Cancun.

The reason for guessing that I owe EVERYBODY an apology is that I have a feeling that my post is what navigated them through the "hey...let's try this" river stream and off, into and over the "hey...fuck you" waterfall. My reasoning is that the news of their divorce being filed fell almost IMMEDIATELY following my previous post's calender date and most of my readers own a spectacular amount of children, whether they birthed them or not[hint: kidnappers LOVE my work. I'm HUGE in El Salvador.]

I guess I'm sorry that I broke up your ~~marriage~~ sham, Jon & Kate & Rudy & Swift Reggie & P. Diddy & Irish. I'm sorry that I looked at your sham and said, "Hey...yeah no." I'm sorry that I didn't care one lick about if you were happy or not because I always sorta felt that you, Kate & Nel & Left Eye, were sort of a bitch and you, Jon & Gimpy Joe & Snowball, were always sort of a dummy.

LAAAWD knows that I wanted your sham to work because I think that your children are pretty great things and the worst thing for them is exactly what your sham did to them.

That "thing", by the way, is allowing a camera enema up into them for 5-years without remorse.

So, I guess the saying is true..."All good shams are destined to be together forever until Ben Goot's Enlightenment Buick takes an introspective look at it and exposes it as ridiculous."

That's a saying, right?

That's from Confucius, right?

WHATEVER...I didn't major in Coffee Talk Philosophy 101 at Fancy College Dot Org. I'm no queer! I went to school at the only place my poor, black, retarded, polio stricken, Hispanic, dyslexic, Vietnam vet, allergic to wheat, Portuguese, one-legged, molested as children, pretty in pink, taking care of ALL the sick cats in the neighborhood parents from a swamp in Hurricane Alley Mississippi could afford to send me to...THE SCHOOL OF FUCKING HARD KNOCKS: MAJOR IN ROUGH NECKIN' UR FACE!!!!!!!

i minored in abolishing cultural stereotypes...

YUMMMMMMMM...THATSA GOODA TACO, LUIGI!!! Or wait...

I also apologize because just yesterday I made the comment, "Hey...wouldn't it be funny if Michael Jackson stole the spotlight out from under Farah Fawcett and just died?", so...yeah...I guess his publicist is a reader here too...

Sorry, Michael Jackson.

You're welcome, Michael Jackson impersonators.

Don't Be A Jon & Kate + H8er

2009-06-18T10:33:00.000-07:00

Who is a what where why is this couple with the different numbers and the +/- signs and the scandals and the front hair mullet meme on US Weekly again and again?

Jon & Kate + 8?

Jon - 9?

Just Kate + 8?

Jon + 2 & Kate + 6?

Jon - 3 & Kate + 4 & A Train Leaves Cleveland @ 4:30pm?

Shit's like that Good Will Hunting problem that Matt Damon had to solve.

"How do you like them apples?"

"They are confusing."

Memo
Attn: Celebrity tabloid publisher DOOOODS
Subject: 30% American High School Drop-Out Rate
Body: ENOUGH WITH ADDING & SUBTRACTING NUMBERS TO THE NAMES I BARELY KNOW HOW TO READ!

I get it though.

A LOT of babies.

It's a RETARDED amount of babies to have unless you eat babies as food.

Angelina Jolie was all, "Whoa, guys...chill it THE FUCK out!

I'm all LOL JK.

We will ALL be laughing about this together later in our lives.

These dogs know what I'm talking about:

I KNOW what a Jon & Kate + 8 is.

I'm not a blind person that refuses to hear TLC programming.

I used to watch their show because I wanted to see how sad my Friday night at home alone could get. The answer turned out to somehow be more than +8.

The thing is, if anybody had bothered to watch the show beyond shut-ins & cat ladies & me BEFORE this whole scandal, we would have told you that these two SUPER hated each other since their first season of patronizing interview glances.

She would CONSTANTLY berate & belittle his decisions & parenting and impress upon the audience that he was the biggest dummy in the least playful & most nonchalant ways, which DUH you get married to your high school sweetheart directly out of high school and make babies immediately YES YOU ARE A DUMMY AND YOU WILL GROW TO HATE EACH OTHER FOR KILLING EACH OTHER'S DREAMS, but the strangest thing is that these two made it 5-seasons on this show with BOTH being the most boring who-cares of the "Film Me Raising My Kids" genre.

The thing is, if it weren't for the +8, then Jon & Kate would simply be +2 reasons for "...and we aren't letting homosexual couples get married BECAUSE?" and -1 reason for this.

Regardless of what US Weekly is trying to tell you about the pair, they AREN'T like you & me & everyone we know because THEY have made a conscious decision to ruin 10-LIVES and 1-VAGINA with 80-FUCKING VIDEO CAMERAS for the price of 1-SURGICALLY ENHANCED VAGINA.

Don't get me wrong, I'm sure the children didn't ruin their lives, although kids can be trying on marriages even WITHOUT an editing bay being run from inside your garage. The kids seem kid-behaved and the little boys seem boy-rambunctious and the little girls seem girl-shy and the parental recounts of the day seem boring-typical, and THAT is where the meat of this show comes from...parental recounts.

Mind you, they have 6-more kids than normal people so "OMG she has SOOOOO much on her plate, my 2 are trouble enough, the other night Jake...", but it's not like the kids are doing anything exceptionally un-kid like.

None of them are REALLY good at the piano.

None of them are supermodels.

None of them are shooting meth currently.

None of them are hysterically overweight and are married to a woman MUCH more attractive to them and have antics-guised-as-life-lessons each week to attract a CBS consumer.

We were given 5-seasons of rehashing stories about babies throwing a 3-minute tantrum because they didn't like their peanut butter & jelly sandwich until they were told to remember that yes it was their favorite and then they like it?

The reality is that THE QUANTITY OF THE KIDS ARE THE REAL STARS OF JON & KATE + 8, PEOPLE!

Yeah yeah yeah, I get it. The kids aren't raising themselves. They aren't going to Safeway and getting 4-Magnums of champagne for their baby mimosas and they aren't buying their own baby New York Times to keep tabs on their baby portfolios and they aren't having unfulfilling baby jobs during daytime hours with which to afford flat-screen TV's for their baby "Man Caves"I KNOW ALL THIS BECAUSE I'M A SCIENTIST AT NOT BEING RIDICULOUS!

THESE KIDS ARE A CASH COW and if there is ANYTHING that America LOVES more than a cash cow it's GIVING THAT CASH COW ITS COMEUPPANCE WHEN WE FAIL TO BE THE FIRST TO REAP THE FISCAL BENEFITS OF ITS POPULARITY!

Ladies & gentleman...I'm here to give the babies of Jon & Kate what they deserve...A HACKNEYED STRING OF PICTURES AND LAZY INSULTS & SNAP JUDGEMENTS BECAUSE AMERICA IS A COUNTRY I JUST SO HAPPEN TO LIVE IN!!!!!

Shouldn't you two be getting a job somewhere or something? Aren't you guys like 27? Isn't Miley Cyrus like 34? What is this "Internet" teenagers keep talking about?

Freeloaders.

Don't worry...your assistant is lukewarming your lavender-gold Frappadappacino so you can gulp it once the shoot is over...NO NEED TO GIVE US THE SHIT-EYE!!!

Diva.

No, hey buddy, you tired? Go ahead and take a snooze. I mean, this is ONLY A $30,000 PHOTO SHOOT THAT YOU CAN'T SEEM TO STAY AWAKE FOR REGARDLESS OF HOW MUCH ROCKSTAR SUGAR-FREE WE GIVE YOU!!!!!!

Pussy.

Don't worry precious, we'll take another cocaine break right after we get 4-more cliNO? Cocaine right now? Yes'm.

Party Ho.

Hey...um...yeah...jer...buttfa...whatever. That's a SIK lookin' baby.

+8 HAWT!!!!!

Why don't you use some of those complimentary diamond encrusted contacts you got in your SWAG bag from Sundance? Too good for it because it's free? Rather just hand it out to your entourage? What...your entourage is just Jon & Kate?

Nerd AND Loser.

Wait...didn't I already see you and call you a diva or something equally awful to call a child? It was a while ago and I forgot. I'm old. Go away. Change scare me. Why are there a billion of you?

Who cares.

OK...so that wasn't as much fun as I thought it was going to be.

Turns out that the +8 aren't necessarily thoughtless babies anymore but rather young children fully capable of understanding the stress & heartache that comes accompanied with a family unit falling apart while relentlessly trying to outmaneuver one another through the Associated Press.

You know...normal, everyday kid stuff. Growing pains. You know...it was a "sitcom" that appeared exclusively on the "cathode ray tube television" back in 1945?

FUCK YOU FOR DOING THIS TO THESE KIDS & FUCK YOU FOR CANCELING GROWING PAINS, AMERICA!

Let's get back to making fun of just plain Google image search babies just because they are such dummies and have no idea about anything and stuff!!!!!!

Summa Cum LalaSHUT UP!

Whatever...it's not like Arizona State's finance program is all that challenging anyway. YOU HAVE A FAULTY VIEW ON YOUR SCHOLASTIC ACCOMPLISHMENT, BABY!!!

Chill out, Kris Kringle...it's July...STOP OVER-COMMERCIALIZING MY HOLIDAY SPIRIT AND WEAR PANTS, BABY!!!!

Hey, baby...RELAX! IT'S A DOLLAR! That won't even buy a cup of decent imported coffee anymore. You babies don't know NOTHING about fiscal inflation.

What is this? 2006? Is that why this baby thinks he's cool with his 'stache? Because he's not! Babies are the MOST un-cool!

Yes.

Yelling isn't going to magically make your home un-forclose, baby! Maybe next time you won't get suckered into one of those Collateralized Home Loans, YOU 3-MONTH OLD IDIOT!!!!

HEEEY! NO! GET BACK TO STUDYING FOR YOUR GMAT!!!!

I'd party with that black baby, but that other baby looks like a narc. Non-black babies are ALWAYS snitches.

How's your 401k doing now, Whiz Kid? Sit down, shut up and let the Chinese start running things like it outta be, Poop Butt!

This baby is simply showcasing his right to bare arms while his parents are simply showcasing their right to be horrible fucking parents.

NO! You learn to talk like the rest of us! You ain't special! You ain't illegal immigrants!

Tasteless & Crass + 8. Wiener jokes... Grow up, you immature ass baby!

sigh...They grow up so fast.

YEAH...good ole' fashioned baby sassin'! Couldn't do this sorta stuff in Iran unless you TWITTRED about it AFTER you TWITTRED about getting smacked in the face. FREEDOM AND 9/11!

Never Forget...Babies Everywhere.

You've Got Something On Your Face and That Thing Is A Tattoo

2009-06-11T11:30:00.000-07:00

It's odd being projected a glimpse into a soul the way we are given admission to see Mike Tyson's. The idea of a soul typically consists of one's thoughts & personality, and can be synonymous with the entity's spirit, mind & self. That is why it's strange peering into Mike Tyson's eyes and literally seeing his soul.

Because IT'S MIKE TYSON.

BECAUSE IT'S FUCKING MIKE TYSON'S CRAZY FUCKING SOUL.

That guy makes syphilis look like an executive accountant at H&R Block.

Yeah...Mike Tyson.

No...TYSON. Not the British guy with the vacuum. T-Y-SON.

He's the guy that said this for later generations to listen to:

You know...fornicate...fornication..."Iron" Mike TyJESUS am I talking to frog guppiesDO YOU BABIES EVEN KNOW WHAT A MIKE TYSON IS?

Yeesh.

What do they teach you in your One Tree Hill prep class? Is One Tree Hill still a thing that you even prep anymore? MTV? Calling flashy jewelry "Bling"? The Dot Com Bubble? Do you know what any of that was? It's cold outside you should put on a sweater? Could you turn down your bass music it's past 9pm and mom's trying to sleep?

If you don't know what I just wrote because they were spelt out words and not "SEXTS", don't worry, babies...Mike Tyson. Now THAT'S a guy who's stirred up the shit.

I mean....the guy's a rabble rouser! Flaming Skull Steve McQueen! He's basically: the original poster child AND scapegoat for the glamorization AND repercussions of gross over-indulgence AND lofty youthful expectations; the face of aggressive, black male rape; brought the Persian empire cowering to its knees with only 299 other warriors by his side. You know...a 300 reference for ? reasons[hint: it's because I'm LZY].

For this reason[read: "this reason" being my 300 reference], it is my Roman duty to identify this Tyson for you[read: NOW begins my Spartacus reference portion of the post]. For God, for country, for blog, for self. If you are the living body of the man known as Mike Tyson, STAND AND IDENTIFY YOURSELF!!!!!...

"I'm Mike Tyson!"

"I'm Mike Tyson and a consistent Jay Leno go-to punchline!"

"I'm your ominous memories of Mike Tyson utilized for comedic effect!"

"I'm Tyson chicken!"

"I'm Mike Tyson!"

All correct things.

Crucify them all...but WAIT WHUT HUH?

The way that I tell it, there are only two ways with which to have started the trailer for a movie about Mike Tyson. You could either play this song:

Or you could play this song:

You could also play this song

but then everybody would've been all OMG DO U MEMBR THT CREEPER 6 FLAGS OLD GUY DNCING WTF!!!!!! and then everybody would miss the foreshadowing tones of female exploitation throughout the video as well as not make the connection of BOOM BOOM BOOM as a clever pattern metaphor for Tyson's historic 3-tiered combo/3-rape accusations and also I think the chicks in the video are dudes did I miss something on the Venga Boy's wikipedia page? Babies?

Yeah, I get WHY the director, James Toback, could've gone with ANY other song in the world that conveyed crazy with a K[read:KRAZY!]. Tyson's a giant, worn fucking punchline for NUTZ! He's a cannonball of a little black man that had a squeaky voice and irrational reasoning and Ross Perot idioms and a face tattoo. LOWEST HANGING FRUIT, MAD TV! The point is that Toback chose to go with a Rocky homage because what is current day Mike Tyson's legacy besides that of a "rags to riches" fight of the spirit; in Tyson's new story instead of enlightenment through KO's & upper-cuts, it's through wrestling with time's demons and a searching of his soul. Smart, Toback.

Tyson has transformed himself is a cognizant ball of self-awareness. Perhaps through a decade of therapy or prison or Islam or getting his face punched through, Tyson has somehow seen his past and reflects on it in a humble, articulate manner. For all intents & purposes, this film wouldn't have been hard to make. An afternoon in a summer's sun. This film was basically Mike Tyson talking &/or responding to questions asked of him. Documentary, duh.

"Well then why don't you go make a Mike Tyson documentary then?"

"Well, I had a pretty big lunch and I'm looking for a nap."

But by inferring that the gathering portion for this documentary was simple is to take NOTHING away from what is edited together as story.

Tyson is an INCREDIBLE story.

The movie is a cold open. For nearly 15-minutes, we are given a variety of frames that show nothing more than the stare of Tyson. He never breaks his gaze with Toback, even when breaking down into tears, seemingly preparing for his interviewer to sense his emotional weakness and pounce on him with a series of shuddering blows to the head.

Tyson was bred like an animal and trained like an animal and he still has the instincts of one, now broken down, wiser and afraid of the repercussions that come with both.

He's a beaten piece of meat that gave everything to something he loved, loved it with careless & youthful abandon and the affair moved on between the both of them. Above all other things, I write this saying that Tyson nearly moved me to tears when he spoke so openly during his last fight's post-fight interview{2:45}:

He no longer had anything to give. That his life was now empty, left with a gigantic hole that he himself had dug, made him vulnerable in a way that we are ALL vulnerable to our decisions. He was human. He was just like us. He is just like me. He changes his mind and gets discouraged and finds fault in what he does and he forsakes things he once cherished for the betterment of self and he owes it to his warrior spirit to step aside and stop tarnishing honor that he as a warrior king had once conquered.

Mind you, that interview happened the fight AFTER this interview happened...

Yeah yeah yeah...funny.

But shit taken out of context is ALWAYS funny. Soundbites...more like Gigglebites!

This guy knows what I'm talking about:

Ask Fox News how they made Howard Dean so LOL JK...

GOD BLESS THE USJK!

That man showed passion & excitement in a manner that wasn't crippled with conservative fearmongering. I believe they call that shit "Change"[read:foreshadowing]!

9/LOL. Never Forget...TO LOL AT HOWARD DEAN!!!!

But whatever, Howard Dean acted crazy with a K, but Dean actually IS crazy with a K while Tyson is also crazy with a HOLY SHIT YOU ARE THE CRAZIEST PERSON BECAUSE "SPINAL" HUH?!?!?!?!?!!!!!

But hey, that's life. Fights happen and fights are ignored because you become aware of the joke that you've become and you no longer feel like participating as a brawling baboon for the masses trying to ring every last joke dollar out of your sweat rags.

Smart, Tyson.

Eventually, the man's heart breaking confession that boxing is no longer his passion falls upon an audience of deaf MAD TV laughs and those that paid theatre admission price for this film and YOU because Tyson was no longer the funny, squeaky voiced black man to laugh at.

The film leaves you with Tyson's endless stare and a sense that while peace within his soul is far from found, we should all be so lucky to experience our past transgressions in such thoughtful awareness & intrigue towards a better mind, spirit and self.

This is still pretty much THE BEST THING though:

But, hey...DON'T YOU DARE think that I'm only sitting around watching Tyson when I'm not busy talking to the Internet once every month. No. NO. NO! DOUBLE FUCK NO!!!!!!! I'm busy seeing other movies too. LOTS of other movies. Movies so good you just don't know about them. They're movies you've never heard of because they're from the Niagara Falls area and go back home for the Summer. They're all REALLY good looking though.

But movies...check out these other things that I've been done seeing and my Tyson-esque review of each:

"Oh...do you mean this, because THAT is going to be spoken verbatim at my funeralCORRECTION...my VIKING FUNERAL."

"Suckshine Sucking."

"The Growing of 2 Unfortunate Goatees."

When Prop. 8's Attack

2009-05-27T09:52:00.000-07:00

I'm glad that you all finally ended up here for the last word on all things Prop. 8 court decision related.

As I'm sure many of you know, I've been researching relentlessly the topic of Prop. 8 and the grey area-filled arguments fought passionately on each side and all of the underlined meaning such a declarative ruling has on so many lives whether they be affected by the decision directly or not and the acceptance it carries towards certain people's inborn lifestyles upon a highly conservative national public and the pains to which grass root's organizations of Christians have created slander filled campaigns to instill...wait whut huh..."researching" all of a sudden means intellectual investigation into the discovery & interpretation of a matter and isn't just going to a queer-friendly fashion show last weekend?

OK then...I've been "researching" angry facebook.com status updates on my news feed for hours...OK...I've researched 3, BUT...I'm not really sure what there is to get...

OK. We've settled it. This guy know what I'm talking about...

Why is everybody fighting?

Being married is no walk in the park REGARDLESS of who you choose to stroll with. Let people stroll with whomever they choose!!!!

I'm a genius at metaphors AND at solving national opposition towards elementary humanitarian rights.

You should see my argument on immigration issues:

But I think what we're doing is missing the actual point here and it ALL boils down too is this:

Done.

It's over guys!

Hollywood says that gay rights are OK! No worries, gays & lesbians!

We stole an award from Mickey Rourke and gave it to a guy impersonating Harvey Milk! WE'RE ALL DONE HERE! WHY IS EVERYBODY STILL FIGHTING! AFTER THE HUMAN RIGHT'S VIOLATION WHOOPS IS THE AFTER-PARTY!!!!

Hollywood"s got humanity's backs!

Great job, Hollywood!

You guys are so brave...standing up for things like basic human rights and equality and the 2nd fucking paragraph of the Declaration of Independence.

Yes, it is obvious...California, our world's 4th largest economy, & it's compassionate peoples TRULY are trial blazers in the arena of humanity's acceptance.

NEVER FORGET: The Day Your Reasons for Your Non-Acceptance of Gay Marriage Made You Look Like A Dinosaur Clinging At A Slipping, Outdated Ideal To Establish Your "Exclusivity" as "False Righteousness", Your "Love" as "Confused Tolerance" and Your "Failed Vows" as "Obvious Hypocrisy".

Also...The Day Keith Olbermann Had The Right To Come Up To Your Face & Say, "YA SERVD, BITCH!"

The Future Is In the 80's Pudding

2009-05-21T11:00:00.000-07:00

Slow News Day Breaking News, Weary Public:
OH SNAP AAAAND SHIT!

I've got the usual naked X-ray suspects rounded up right here, Mr X-ray Officer...

Ugh...nerds...

Creepy nerds...

Intellectual nerds...

Best Friend nerds...

Crude foreign nerds...

Redemptive career arc nerds...

More than just nerds...

Nerds...Nerds...Nerds...NERDS...

JUST PLAIN NERDS!!!!!!

Swab up those scanner screens, nerds!

Your poor mother knows what I'm talking about...

Man oh man...there is just something SO disgusting about the rituals & hackneyed voyeuristic cooings of the stereotypical 80's nerds....

2009 Wake Up Call, America!

80's nerds with hi-tech wet dreams are pulling out all the stops in these restless days of a nearing police state and these even restlessler days of a 24-hour media cycle! They're using our own sense of security against us! They're reissuing our old fears of getting bloweded up at 20,000 ft in an electric steel death chamber and replacing this fear with the more likely one of having our naked wieners & baheynays looked at under radioactive wavelengths of up to 10 nanometers and THEN having horrible & uneducated strangers look at those scans while making fake babies to them.

"Summarized perfectly, Tyler."

"Thank you, Admiral Obama. Beam me up, Scottie." [Exits room. Goes to bus stop and waits for bus.]

Now, if I know X-ray careers like I know the Army reserves, I know that most people have enlisted into the X-ray corps with a gung-ho & wanton lust to see the penises & vaginas of hundredsNAY...THOUSANDS of people under the shortwave UV rays of translucence, cuz that sounds like sexy fun, PLUS all that college grant money is just icing on the cake...WAIT WHUT HUH...you mean the people X-raying our bodies & personal affects for destructive means have ABSOLUTELY ZERO FUTURE BENEFIT FOR THEMSELVES outside of a minimum wage paycheck to even try at their job?

They have as much regard for making my life safe as the 17-year old at Jamba Juice has for putting the right amount of banana into my "Straw-Bana Heaven" smoothie?

Well...I'd say that this system is going keep millions safe & keep satisfactory amounts of banana in their iced delicacies.

"Nicely reported, Tyler."

"Thank you, Chancellor Clinton. May the force be with you." [Exits. Walks to rental Chevy Aveo, realizes the keys are locked inside.]

Sexy future X-ray jobs are why they made those glasses that gave you the power of automatic X-ray vision back in the 1950's. Back when girls wore upwards of 10 layers of sweaters with which to cover their "sweater puppies" and of which, with aide of your cutting-edge eye wear, you could see these puppies sans sweater layers. The Golden Age of Scientific Discovery. Back when kids cared about things like better living through chemistry and super slick cars and greased up hair and newspaper headlines and space adventure comic books and seeing boobs under a bra with X-ray technology. Back when there wasn't really anything that good on TV & certainly no Internet. Back before you could download 18 streaming hours of snuff pornography in the comfort of my own California King sized water-bed because you didn't feel like going to your job at the ice cream Under the Sea dance soda parlor(some things NEVER change but rather mesh together in some crude stereotype of 50's kitch).

So, yeah...X-ray. Great. Wow. SO COOL. Your grandpa would've Googled it if he didn't die from diabetes 17-years ago. Shazaam.

And, yeah...airports might have mouth-breathing creeps working inside of them but LET'S NOT BE STUPID, this is not exactly your best side:

And UM YUCK.

Bring your daughter to work days are gonna get weird.

"Daddy, why are those marshmallows carrying that gun?"

"I don't know, but you can be sure daddy's gonna masturbate to it in the bathroom later."

"Nicely scripted, Tyler"

"Thank you, President of Political Punditry Cooper. PIIIGS. IIIN. SPAAACE." [Exits. Eats at a taco cart across the street. The salsa is too hot and I throw away the taco half eaten. I walk over to Wendy's and get a bowl of chili. Wow. A bowl of chili at a fast food place. Wow. I have seen the future and I am now eating it.]

So Chill, Brahs and understand that when people are taking X-rays of you, they are more than likely going to be SOOOO disappointed...

Like, first day on the job stuff, they're probably thinking they're gonna get a gentle nibble of an oyster cracker like this...

When they're more oft than not gonna get an eyeful of sour cream & onion dip...

SAME PERSON ALERT!

When stars go from being REALLY nice looking to REALLY gross looking I'm always all, "They are so lazy", but when they go from gross to nice I'm always all, "Hey...the cocaine's good againEVERYBODY BACK IN THE POOL!"

But, a peace of mind to the worried 10 or 20 people that are worried about being masturbated to via X-rays; people are still going to masturbate to you. But, who ISN'T masturbating to an old middle school crush on facebook.com now and again and 10-minutes ago in this technology society? Come on, now. Let's not strike away ALL of the wonderful things that can come from a good old fashioned X-ray blast...I mean, would you REALLY want to be in a world with out some of this stuff?:

Hey, YEAH...old guys in suits and arm X-rays!

Woah, Chilly Willy gettin' the once over! GREAT NEWS! His pelvis is fine, ma'am, but he does have full-blown penguin AIDS...we're going to have to kill him down.

Oh, what's that?

The typical phrase is "put him down"? Oh...well...um, okay. Either way, it's not going to stop this bullet from exploding his brainI'M SO SORRY FOR YOUR LOSS...

Sweety, why are you still looking between the couch cushions when the car keys are CLEARLY lodged in Brian's face. Let's get an X-ray to see how sick this shit looks though, right?

Those are all GREAT THINGS.

Are you going to deprive your children of those 3 GREAT THINGS?

Fine, you know what FUCK IT...let's just do this...IT'S NERD STOMPIN' TIME!!!!

Let's give those curious rascals what they deserve...WEDGIES AND SWIRLIES AND A FISCAL LOSS OF LUNCH MONEY!!!!!

But we need to rally.

We need to rally around a central figure of whom stands for all our devotion to anti-radioactive nerd advances...a leader of whom is strong in the face of horn-rimmed glasses with tape holding them together in the middle and despises EVERYTHING outside of the arena of WWE Monday night performances.

Whose face shall we etch upon our $1 bill?...

Give 'em hell, Pullman!

"Nicely manufactured, Tyler"

"Thank you, Overlord Cheney. To infinity and beyond!" [Exits. Walks into adjacent park. Slide down swirly slide. A giant hawk swoops and flies him over the ocean; drops him into Ben Goot's Secret Submarine. He watches Entourage season 3. It is not a very good season.]

I've Got SUCH A HUGE Aircraft Hangover...

2009-05-15T09:32:00.000-07:00

So, um, yeah...apparently pilot fatigue is a fucking blast?

But in all seriousness, this is sad & horrible & en memoriam, but...shouldn't the Buffalo flight have just gone ahead and contacted this guy?

CNN is the new MOMEMAILFORWARDS.COM!!!

Riddle Me This: If 2 Things That Aren't Relevant Collide On the Internet, I Wonder When Rock of Love 3 Is On

2009-05-14T08:12:00.000-07:00

So, here's a thing that was interesting...

Absolutely.

Current day Eminem is ridiculous and deserves to be rampaged against.

A good, old fashioned rampage.

A jealousy fueled, bloodied knuckle, vicious shake of the Earth to make it feel horror rampage.

Here's Nick Cannon knocking down a building that he suspects Eminem is in during his rampage.

He is shown accompanied by a posse of T-Pain & Ralph the Giant Werewolf.

But Wait Whut Huh? Oh...THIS is what was meant by "rampage"...

I see...a "word" rampage.

He had a word rampage. On a blog post. That he took down after he posted it. Like immediately after he posted it. Like how 9-year olds write curse-words into sand when they are rampaging and then immediately kick away the expletive, hopefully erasing all existence of their rampage from their moms. Because that is a great idea when you're in a sandbox and 9 and rampaging. That is ALSO a great way to handle things when you are 9 and having a tantrum. Because Cannon's thing actually sounds more like a tantrum. Did the writer of this article mean a tantrum? Could we call it just a tantrum, writer? I'm going to go ahead and call it a tantrum.

28-year old Nick Cannon had a tantrum.

What began "I guess Nick Cannon is angry, and as a human being he has the right to present his convictions in a constructive manner, because that is how late 20-somethings frame their grievances" slowly evolved into a tantrum. How do I figure? Lookit...

"Slim Lamey! LOL!"

OH NO! WHOOPS!

I'm sorry to anybody that has EVER written anything fueled from tantrum. The above...THAT is not tantrum writing. THAT is 3rd graders passing mean-spirited notes about a skinny, handicapped kid in class named "Tim Ramey" and then laughing about it out loud.

"Slim Lamey! LOL!"

This was when Nick Cannon's soapbox eroded & collapsed into a "soapstupid" for me. It became obvious that he was no longer a happenstance victim of Eminem's thoughtless references, lashing defensively out in pride, but was rather a retard being allowed his 15-minutes a day to play som on da Intanet.

Now I want to make this clear, I don't mean "retard" in the constructs of impotent, childish aggression with which to wound another's esteem. I mean "retard" as in Nick Cannon may in fact have down syndrome.

I'll agree that while Cannon is simply sticking up for his wife's "honor", and conventional chivalry tells me that writing & withdrawing a lacking blog post makes you a FAR greater person than those threatening to murder the on-again/off-again mother of their child AND happens to make them a MUCH more productive member of humanity than those punching their girlfriend repeatedly in the face inside their Lamborghini so kudos to Mr Cannon, in the end of the day..."Slim Lamey! LOL!"????????

LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID!!!

I'm going to go ahead and say both parties need more unproductive attention than Entertainment Tonight can supply to either so go ahead and skin those smoke wagons and just end this whole Mexican standoff with what's best for the world[hint: this...

...is what's best].

Nick Cannon & Eminem - "Is that a fact?"

Me - "That's a fact."

But regardless of what a dummy Nick Cannon is, BOOOO at Eminem for reasons having NOTHING to do with Nick Cannon.

Eminem just isn't good anymore.

That "We Made You" song & accompanying video? Shit Sandwich(Spinal Tap reference! INDIE points with a double obscure bonus!).

There is currently NOTHING about him that's inventive or original or cutting edge in the ways he is choosing to define himself as an artist. Not that he was ever the best rapper, or even the 1st white rapper, but rather a gateway into another realm of more innovative ways to present hip-hop. A softer, poppier, less ferocious form of rap that ironically opened doors for artists like Cannon.

Rap is better for Eminem having had displayed his music so courageously & fearlessly.

But such is fame. He got fat & happy & lazy & an Oscar & great that's the American dream. We all win, but just a small percentage of us actually do!!!!

Now, however, his rhymes & references & videos & promotion tactics just sorta make everybody feel uncomfortable. Like watching pornography with your mom.

Nothing he is doing is good anymore. His formula of "Pop Reference + Dis = $$$" has grown stale with the entertainment media's quicker relay of material thus creating a public hungry for ever-fresher trends & more scandalous verdicts on high profile victims.

Reference rappers have evolved into much more savvy, innovative artists such as Kanye or Lil' Wayne who display not only cultural smarts but a refreshing new take on the Eminemical forumla.

In Eminemayan's Terms...Eminem is Cheddar Bob now(8 Mile reference! LOL points with a triple letter ZING awarded!)

So, yeah. It's over, Em. Lose Yourself, but could you please not do it around things that my ears will eventually have to listen to.

But Nick Cannon? What the fuck's a Nick Cannon? I'm not serious because I know what a Nick Cannon is obviously, but that's just because I'm more immersed in obscure entertainment culture than most. Here is what a Nick Cannon is:

That one white guy knows what I'm writing about...

But other than that one white guy, who cares, right? Not only is he not a mainstay of popular culture, but he's not really that good at anything. Mind you, people have made MILLIONS on not being that good at anything(I'm looking at you, Tyler Perry), and I'm not his accountant but I'm sure he has made a million dollars somewhere for something(Roll Bounce? Wild N' Out? Are people giving away a million dollars for just anything now?), but let's be real...what HE'S made in his life is NOTHING compared to what Mariah Carey makes in a year.

He's Mr. Mariah Carey for all intents & purposes, so I'm not sure Nick needs to lash out as hard for the honor of his wife as much as his wife should give him $11,000 to go buy a Fuzziwig's Candy Factory franchise to keep his fingers busy with sticky caramel and off the keys of a klacky keyboard[note: NOW THAT'S WRITING, TYLER!].

Perhaps the most important part of this entire article in relating to the culture at hand...what the fuck's a Billy Johnson Jr. and when the fuck is a Hip Hop Media Training?

Wouldn't this course have been better taught at, say...Grasping At Straws Online University?

Aren't media handlers the 3rd thing that these rap types are given by record industries investing millions into them right behind a distorted sense of entitlement & face tattoos? Or is it face tattoos THEN a distorted sense of entitlement?

Either order, what you get when you express the feelings of bloated egos whose sense of censorship had long since been chipped to rubble by countless mallet squeals of 14-year old girl approval ratings, no amount of PRing or autonomous reprimanding are going to get anybody's head out of anybody's asses. LOL!

What I'm trying to say is that Eminem's talent is bloated, Nick Cannon has the brain of a 14-year-old girl and no amount of PR or autonomous reprimanding is going to make either kill themselves, so save ALL the PR & autonomous reprimands for Chris Brown and let's just hope I'm wrong...

Did I say Chris Brown...I meant "Piss Frown! LOL!"RAP WAR ON, MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!!!!!

KIRK OUT!!!!!

2009-05-11T11:21:00.000-07:00

Party People,

What did you do this Sunday night(PLEASE HOLD RESPONSES AS I DON'T CARE)?

Well...THAT sounds interesting/too bad/sexy/enlightening/like you REALLY like Coke Zero.

Hey, enough, now it's my turn...Movie Night Sunday Night. Exactly! You are right to "Facebook Like That".

And so, on Sunday night I was left with a choice of 4 movies.

Not that Portland has any real drought in the movies you can watch. We aren't communist Portland. There is just this thing about the selection at the very beginning of Summer. 80% of the movie theaters here are 2nd-run houses, filled with the 2nd-run films left over from the winter; movies of which you typically say "I wouldn't even Netflix queue THAT movie with YOUR dick". On top of that, 15% of the rest are art houses that close around 10pm because art is hard, so good luck finding anything foreign & German expressionist in the form of an 11pm showing. Thus, the one theatre in town that has 12 screens is in the "bad" part of town as in "there was a gun aimed at a person in this 'bad' part of town theatre while I was in the theatre, and oh yeah, it is overrun by angry, black teenagers with guns but not to sound racist as much as a demographic & obvious psychological problem observations scientist", so going over there on my and the GF's bike was an obvious "I wouldn't even get that drive-by bullet lodged into one of my vital organs with YOUR dick" no thanks.

What settles the problem with finding a 1st-run theatre is that there is a DELIGHTFUL little place 6 blocks from home where it's ALL 1st-run movies, but the only problem is that it's typically half "Let's see that" and half "WTerribleF", because the acronym meme with just the "T" standing for "the" was not powerful enough to convey how bad the movies they house are. FYI: I'm like the Noam Chomsky of Gossip Girl txt.

So, here's the movies that were playing and how they scored according to Rotten Tomatoes:

Now, mind you I'm NEVER the type that just blindly follows Rotten Tomatoes lead without a healthy dose of "Actually, YOUR MOM says YOUR FACE is unengaged from the audience's perception of humanity, DICK" defensiveness. I feel that too many of the people they allow feedback from are not "critics" as much as "angry people that found themselves on the Internet" so, I can relate too well to them, and in relating and understanding my own dealings with "not sounding the angriest all the time" & "using larger words than necessary to convey smarts" & "incorporating a devout rule of three in my examples of self reference", I don't even want to listen to my own opinion because "SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU BABY BITCH!" But, moving forward, Rotten Tomatoes is nothing more than another forum for a bunch of pretentious Film School hacks and a couple dummies riding so high on the fact that they get to have a public voice, they forget to enjoy relaxing, chilling or otherwise chillaxing through any given work of cinema.

Mind you, SO MUCH CINEMA IS SHIT, but to each their own and "why don't you go make a movie yourself" and "you're just jealous" and "learn how to write gooder, idiot".

Fair enough.

Please advise. Moving forward.

Those 4 films were obviously categorized in the "Half Good/Half Shit" delegation that I mentioned earlier, AT LEAST so far as Rotten Tomatoes is concerned. But, what I believe to be more pivotal is the film's poster. Typically referred to as the window of the movie's soul(it has NEVER been referred to as the window of the movie's soul), a simple movie poster can speak VOLUMES about the film you are going to see.

For instance, Obsessed gives a few key, telling signs as to why this movie may not be that good. Here is the poster:

Now here are a few tells:

IF YOU LIKE IT THAN YOU SHOULDA PUT A ZING ON IT!!!!

But seriously, guys, all jokes aside...Beyonce is the worst at acting & Austin Powers taught us that like 3 decades ago, so go ahead get out your rubber stamps stained with red ink on it with which to plaster over this observation a "NO DOY!", but stay with me...

I Love You, Man is good(I know because I saw it last week), and it's poster would tell you this too. How do you know? TELLS:

Swingin' Dicks.

Josh Brolin in No Country For Old Men wanted to know about 'em, awkward boys in high school showers wanna have 'em, people in England wanna eat 'em(note: I may mean spotted dick, so Chillax, Dick Reference Police).

Guys make better movies than girlsTHE STORY IS OVER. Two times that didn't actually happen and one of those times was Mean Girls and the other was Pamela Anderson Lee and she only got half a director credit for ALL THAT(guys, Pam Anderson sex tape references! Yes! E-vite your grandparents to my 1996 blog party! We've got Monica Lewinsky references! I'm the Jay Leno of Late Night Blogs!)

Now, Wolverine was a "Ferrari without a paint job", because a paint job matters in a metaphor like that because Wait Whut Huh. Actually, I take that back...that Ferrari quote was telling enough as to how shitty Wolverine was going to be. People involved with this movie ACTUALLY told Hugh Jackman to say that as a metaphor for defending the honor of Wolverine! Millions of dollars invested and the defense they swing with is some half-cocked thought cliche that even made the people at Ferrari go "WOW...that's the dumbest fucking thing EVER said EVER."

SO, save the poster and just know that if your jungle filled with emergency PR commandos could ONLY come up with some Civic without a new car smell line, please save all that "Brilliant Word Money" and put it into the 2011 X-Men origin story/Taylor Kitsch vehicle "Gambit: Talking Painfully & Throwing Things."

So, that leaves us all alone with Star Trek. HOLY JEEZ, LOOK AT THAT 95% RATING! That is like, THE MOST RATING! How could that many angry critics of film dealing with something so nerdtastic give THAT BIG of an approval rating?

Easy...look at the signs:

STAMP IT BECAUSE NO DOY!!!!!

This movie was THE BEST movie! Let me explain that back; It's not "THE BEST" movie the way that you see movies like There Will Be Blood or To Kill a Mockingbird and say "What an unprecedented and thought provoking capture in the medium of film" as much as with Star Trek's "THE BEST" where you say "HOLY SHIT I JUST HAD TO PEE FOR 2-HOURS STRAIGHT BUT HELD IT BECAUSE THAT WAS THE MOST FUN 2-HOURS I'VE HAD SINCE I WAS 8!!!!"

Really, though, gang...that movie was THE BALLS!

Go see that thing!

There is really no breakdown of emotional themes or built up-loose ends left untied...the thing is just a hootnanny, woahbang, junglegym party and YEE FUCKING HAW!

So, while I'm not going to be getting on the Rotten Tomatoes bandwagon anytime soon, I will say that when 95% of the Rotten Tomatoes audience thinks that a certain film is great...that film is great.

JJ Abrams...I'd go see your Star Trek movie EVEN if it meant going to the black people mall.

Werd.

"Island Time, Brah" aka "That's Why I'm 35-minutes Late" aka [whispers gently, softly into ear] "fuck you..."

2009-05-06T11:11:00.000-07:00

Gang...no more secrets between us...
I'm not the cool as a cucumber author of Ben Goot's Car(tm) that you so readily assume I am. True, with my givings of ingenious coping advice to you, the reader, such as "Chill, Brah" or "Take it down a StressNotch, SpazTown(tm)" or "Frankie Say Relax" I sound like one pretty CalmAssDude(tm), BUT...Those are just things that I say on a blog, but not necessarily things that I do not on a blog.

No...the brain is a very strange thing in that it can delegate prognosis for others in the comfortable guise of "That's how I'd do it" offhandedness while in a similar, more closely affecting problem set a completely alternative trajectory for itself in regards to what feels most comfortable inside the brain's own nurtured psyche.

There is a word for what the brain is doing and that word is "being a fucking hypocrite liar".

So...here now shall I shed any false pretenses of me not being personally affected by daily interactions...
Gang...some stuff REALLY grinds my gears.
Gang...If there's one thing I hate the most it's robbers.
If there's 2 things I hate the most, it's robbers & cancer.
It there's 3 things I hate the most, it's robbers & cancer & a bad attitude.
That last one's a JK LOL. I think that bad attitudes are the best of all the attitudes.
So that narrows it down to 2 things that I hate the most...robbers & cancer.
Neither of those things are good things and I stand by this view 100%.
See...I'm not so Chill, Brah after all...I'm just like you, SpazTowns.
It feels good to not be such a fucking hypocrite liar anymore.
But it ALWAYS comes back to robbers & cancer AND IT WILL again ALL come back to robbers & cancer, but...

I JUST GOT BACK FROM A VACATION IN HAWAII!!!!
Yeah, I KNOW!!!! Hawaii in the spring time, you guys!!!!
How was swine flu on the mainland, sickos? JK LOL...those 83 people are ok now, but COME ON I was in Hawaii so WHO CARES CHILL, BRAH!!!!

But seriously, what's all this recession talk about? If you go to Hawaii, there are like 38 Filipinos taking time out of their vacation to buy $1800 dollars in Crazy Shirts. Do you know what a Crazy Shirt is? Imagine Nascar. Now imagine Nascar at a beach. Now burn your mad scientist laboratory to the ground because HOLY SHIT what kind of hybrid abomination did you just unleash on the world?!!!!!?
Apparently Asians want Crazy Shirts, and Hawaii's politicians are funding this tiny volcanic piece of island lava off of the tariffs collected on Crazy Shirts.
Look at the Crazy Shirt store locator.
That is 10 Crazy Shirt stores in a 2 sq. mile radius, FYI...
Nope, that wasn't the warm tip of a revolver that just blew your mind, but that's ONLY because you used a shotgun to REALLY make sure the job got done after realizing that that's A CRAZY SHIRT FOR EVERY 600 PEOPLE!!!!!
THERE ISN'T EVEN A PRISON FOR EVERY 600 MURDERERS OR A WOMAN'S SHELTER FOR EVERY 600 BEATEN WOMEN BUT THERE IS A $22 BEER-SOAKED KLIBAN CAT NOVELTY TEXTILE JUST WAITING AROUND THE CORNER FOR WHENEVER YOU GET A HANKERING BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T WANT ONE AT THE BLOCK PREVIOUS BUT JUST CHANGED YOUR MIND THIS BLOCK BECAUSE THAT'S A BUSINESS PLAN THAT SHOULD BE STUDIED IN HARVARD MBA CLASSES...ALSO, HUH AND WHAT AND FUCK YOU, CRAZY SHIRTS !!!!

But that was Honolulu.
That place is Samoan Tokyo.
That place is nothing but the worst parts of an outlet mall mixed with the most awkward parts of keeping a marriage together for the kids.

My dad had a 4-day layover in Honolulu a month ago, and my dad has never cursed EVER in his life, but when I asked him about his stay I swear to you these were his exact words:
"Tyler...that place fucking sucked."
He saved up ALL his curse points JUST to add brevity and gravity to hating on Honolulu.
I would go so far as to say Honolulu is the Las Vegas of the Pacific Islands, as anything that happens in Honolulu should stay in Honolulu, but it would not be because of the shame or disgrace of what you DID in Honolulu as much as the shame and disgrace of what you BOUGHT in Honolulu.

But that is just one Hawaiian Island and there are, what...like 85 of them? 36? 2? Who cares. As far as my 4th grade teacher is concerned, they only get 1 star on Old Glory so ENOUGH WITH IT, HAWAII!
The girlfriend and I charted a hopper plane out of Honolulu after one day and went to the island of Kauai. Now, for all the things I hate(I hate SO MANY things) and for all the things I love(writing about things I hate), I'm going to lay these weary, jaded, vicariously Travel Channel traveled words on the line...WOW.
That place looks great.
Kauai is this but for your eyes.
Swedish deep tissue AND a happy ending but for your eyes.
I'm not going to torture you with my snaps of the landscape, but I'm going to go ahead and torture you with my snaps of the landscape. Looks...

All JK LOL.
Those were all pictures from Google and one from a TV cartoon I would assume was titled "Laser Beam Dino Fighting(tm)" because "Keep It Simple, Idiot(tm)". The dinosaur movie Jurassic Park, however, WAS filmed on Kauai, but that isn't why I JK LOL'd with those pictures.
-No...it is not because I harbor most of my feelings & experiences through sarcastically toned words & assumptions while displaying near bear-trap reticence regarding anything beyond my sole, shallow interpretation of life onto an open online diary[read: control issues].

-No...it is not because I am perhaps the least able-handed photographer ever on a quest to snap the least typical shots of splendid earth out of expired, lazy teenage-rebellion by waving my camera in the air/at my crotch/at nothing in particular and proclaiming "I'M MAKING ART!" again, to no one in particular[read: Ansel Adams complex]

-No...my sole reason for posting NONE of my own pics is because MY FUCKING CAMERA GOT STOLEN BY AN ISLAND PIECE OF SHIT!

Did you ever see the movie Touristas? That's not a movie, it's a History Channel biography piece on the plight of island dwellers and the privileged, upper-middle class white folk that wanna see leafy trees bigger than their McMansions. All the same, I get it...I'D even hate horrible tourists coming over and being all up in my sweaty, round face with their xenophobic mentality towards my Island Paradise but, just a heads up to the natives NOTHING ABOUT TOURISM TO HAWAII IS NATIONALISTIC XENOPHOBIA BECAUSE YOU ARE FUCKING AMERICANS AND HEADS UP WE OWN YOUR CHILL ISLAND BRAH'S LAND AND HEADS UP I DON'T SEE THE LOCALS OF SIOUX FALLS GETTING ANGRY THAT I WANT TO COME AND SEE THEIR LOVELY FALLS AND RIPPING OPEN MY SOFT TOP JEEP AND TAKING MY GIRLFRIEND'S IPHONE, MONEY AND IDENTIFICATION!
Something like that is what we'd call back at Ben Goot's Business Lexus headquarters "Bad for Business(tm)" ESPECIALLY when 98% of your gross exports is Crazy Shirts with the other 2% being nuts dipped in milk chocolate.

Luckily, the girlfriend has renter's insurance, and NEEDLESS to say the things from her purse alone came to about $1,800, so Thinking Vacationly(tm) that is basically everything that you fucking own in a fucking stolen bag.

But let's get off this impotent anger bc I just got off yours(?).

I feel that I've been rather Chill, Brah about the entire situation up until this point. When the GF & I saw that our possessions were stolen, we were both just sorta "...shit..." Not really a calm before the storm as there was no storm; more a rainy day in spring. I've been Frankie Say Relax just like he said to be up until I ACTUALLY PUT FINGERS TO KEYBOARD AND IN MY OWN STRANGE SICK ARCHANGEL OF DEATH COMPLEX ENTITLE MYSELF TO JUDGE, JURY & EXECUTIONER OF THIS MOTHERFUCKER THAT ROBS FROM OTHER HUMANS!!!! The thing of the matter is ROBBING IS NOT GOOD AT ANYTHING. No thanks, robbers. Rob U Next Tuesday. Could I get the Cobb salad, but get the robbery on the side? That Mexican food just gave me the robs.
What I'm trying to say is that robbery isn't good however you awkwardly squeeze it into lazy, metaphorical syntax.
Case Closed.

But as I said earlier...it ALL comes back to robbers & cancer.
I hate them both SO MUCH!
I guess for keeping my hate real, I typically hate whichever directly affects me more last. In LA speak I believe it would equate to, "What have you done for me lately, Thing I Hate."
In this case, yeah, I hate cancer bc my dad got cancer a few months ago, but that robber guy...oh, THAT fuckin' guy...
So on this day, I hate robbers more than I hate cancer. Fair enough. I'm a self interested fellow with an obvious narcissistic outlook on the big picture, BUT at least my hate priorities are robbers & cancer so Chill, Moral Obligation Police Brah(tm).

But the thing I hate more than ANYTHING about robbers is that you can't do ANYTHING about them.
They got you. They win. The ultimate yet shittiest ZING.
PLUS it's the worst because the selfish & lazy nature of humankind will ALWAYS manifest the traits of a robber so GOOD LUCK BREADING THEM OUT BY PUTTING THEM ON AN ISLAND WITH ALL THE GAYS AND AIDS-OES, WWW.SARAHPALIN.COM!

While, yeah, there is always insurance and yeah, cancer kills 'n shit, the spirit of a robbery is far more menacing.
I mean, I'm no sickness scientist, but I'm going to go ahead and say that while, yeah, cancer's a dick, it's not exactly pressing it's greasy palms against people's passenger-side window livers looking for a a blood-cell backpack to sell to his malignant dealer, and not just because that doesn't make any sense. I'm saying, while 100% of cancer is the worst, 90% of the people getting that cancer are getting it because Charles Darwin wasn't a complete idiot[read: smoking 3-packs a day or being over 75 fucking kills you, dummy]. Nature sometimes knows when people oughta die. And to reiterate, YES THAT SUCKS 100% OF THE TIME, but it's life and we've all gotta fight for life and enjoy it while it's there.

But robbers...those guys are just human garbage!

Are tourists dicks, yeah. All the time. But EVERYBODY is dicks. Go to NYC. EVERYBODY'S DICKS! Ride the public transit in Fantasy Island! EVERYBODY'S DICKS! Stop getting mad and stealing shit just because your ape-baby brain hates that people like to see pretty things, and you've found what equates to easy means for your filthy ends and also NO and STOP!
Here's the only thing I could ever come up with to get back at robbers, and for my money it is THE BEST WAY. Robbers are horrible people and must be dealt with appropriately, and HERE is EXACTLY what appropriate is:
We catch a robber and then we give him somebody else's cancer.
Done.
I'm sure there is a procedure already set into place for cancer to be transferred from one person to another. Cancer is the gift that keeps on giving except less like a gift and more like a death sentence when gone untreated. PERFECT!

No, for serious...we give robbers ALL the cancer. Not the most cancer, ALL THE CANCER. Every last drop. Imagine God looking down from the heavens and telling his Death Foreman "We're gonna need a bigger cancer" bc THAT is how much cancer these dredges are getting. We know they don't have health insurance, so they aren't going to get better like Magic Johnson, and I don't care how Chill, Brah you are you ain't going to Island Life your prostate out of you without sitting on a wine cork and yanking REAL hard[note: ask my dad] and plus I think it would teach them a REALLY good lesson about the human drama that they are clearly missing in their robber-baron philosophy. That truth is as untarnished & majestic as the island of Kauai itself: karma is only something when it gives horrible people excruciating deaths.

Hope the $150 cash was worth vomiting up your poi in painful pools of blood & stomach for month, Brah!

Oh, The Things That I See: Bottom Line Edition

2009-04-09T12:18:00.000-07:00

It's all business here on the Ben Goot's Car, people...REAL LIFE BUSINESS BUSINESS!
BOTTOM LINE! ROI! STRONGER 3RD QUARTER! MEETINGS! PEOPLE LOVE RED WORDS SAYING "SALE"! SYNERGY! PRODUCT! NO, THAT'S TOO RED! STRATEGY! SHEEPLE!

These are words that I paid to learn in university and NOW I hear them ad nauseum from focus group philosophers JUST like Prof. HardKnocks told me I would during my Advanced Business Million-0-Million course lectures.
Prof. HardKnocks is not to be confused with the pornography star Professor HardCoGROW UP & UNSUBSCRIBE!!!!

Gang...BACK ON TASK...I'm currently real jobbing with some contract work writing on the planet Corporateopio.
Greetings & welcome from the universe of barren cubicles, awkward weekend conversation recaps, awkward grandchildren/nephew weekend visit recaps and awkward personal lunchtime menu decision making conversation recaps.
You know...important corporate business stuff.
The fulfilling things.
"THIS is why we can't buy fulfilling things for the house", is what my mom told me when I was a corporate child.
"Yeesh" AND "Ugh, Boy" both together in the same sentence in regards to talking with co-workersNAY...LISTENING TO co-workers until it's your turn to talk for which you've already fallen aslZZZZZZZZ

Corporate Memo
To: Anybody I Work With
Subject: Context and Brevity During Our Conversation
Body: Please advise.
Post Script: Please Go TWIT Yourself with a Blackberry Hangman's Noose App.

Yes.
Cracked the case of the century: co-workers are boring.
GIVE ME ALL THE REWARD MONEY AND WE'RE GONNA NEED MORE DETECTIVE OF THE YEAR TROPHIES BECAUSE I JUST CRACKED THE WHOLE CASE!

I think people in corporate jobs get married JUST so they'll have somebody to NOT have an awkward conversation about their weekend and/or lunch with. It's like you come home and...
"How was your day?"
"Fine."
"How was your weekend?"
"Weren't you there?"
"Let's get a divorce."
"No, let's have chicken for dinner instead."
"Delicious again."
It's better to married-stick with what you married-know: platitudes regarding your unexceptional children; being critical of similar couples that aren't either of you; yeah so my sex drive isn't what it used to be BUT NEITHER ARE YOUR TITS.
You know...important corporate marriage stuff.
All fulfilling thinLISTEN TO YOUR MOM!

But let's get off my co-workers cuz I just got off yours(?)!
Cubicles: Wonderful grey walls.
Other fun haikus.
Each one of them and all sides. Grey & begging to be adorned with Dilbert cartoons. The real question is do I put ALL the laminated Dilbert cartoons up at once or slowly filter them onto the lonely textile like some Awkward Badge of Courage?
Of course all the Dilbert cartoons at once, stupid.
Here's my desk.
Here's the gun I'm going to commit corporacide with.
I'll be sure to aim AWAY from the overhang Austin Powers movie poster from the next cubicle over.
JK! HAHAHAHAH...I'm going to aim directly at it.

But, hey...work is work, gang.
Lou Dobbs keeps telling me something is wrong with the "economy" but I think Lou Dobbs needs to change is old man diaper and take a big boy nap because things are FINE.
The best around.
I'M SO HAPPY!

Remember when I was being a dick about not working[read: imagine a link here to the last 8 months of my life]??Yeah...me neither!!!!

SPRING BREAK!!!!!

The important thing to remember is that the job I'm doing here is contract and it will be over in 2-weeks so let's be Mr. Niceguy AND it's also important to remember that everybody in corporate America loves to poop SO MUCH.
Like the most poop.
None more poop.
Full disclosure: I am in the bathroom A LOT. I drink about 38 cups of water daily because there is nothing else as free as all this corporate water just sitting around in all these coolers, so...you know...sticking it to the man.
RENEGADE AND HYDRATED!
But, yeah...bathroom. I'm always peeing, BUT somebody is greater than or equal to always pooping.
Here's the equation:

my peeing < somebody's pooping
[Reminder: I'll be posting at maturepeople.com later this week regarding my Princeton Honor's dissertation line graph about how KRAY-ZEE vaginas look.]

And always with the brown shoes. Always people with the dull, low laced, rounded front brown shoes of all different shades of brown that are pooping.
Question: How much brown hue is there in this world?!?
Answer: DON'T SEE INTO PLACES YOUR MIND ISN'T ALLOWED TO LOOK, ATREIDES!!!
Pooping shoes.

Filthy, dirty, brown pooping shoes.
And the strange thing is THAT IS ALL I EVER SEE...THESE BROWN SHOES!!!!

No faces.

No people.

No humanity.

Just silence & shoes.
I can imagine these brown shoe's faces, most often I imagine them with a pained Sinead O"Connor "Nothing Compares 2 U" sadness faces, but there is no proof in that pudding.
The only faces I see are fellow #1ers. And THAT'S when things GET WEIRD...

The bathroom gets more quiet THE MORE #1ers YOU GET IN THERE!
Wait WHUT?!?!!!!? That's not scientific!
According to party science[read:Partytists, "the more people" should create "the more party atmosphere".
Here's the equation:

party people x (n) = "(n) Jaeger Bombs on my tab, brah!!!!"

But no...this bathroom defies math(did I say science up there, I meant math...Partymaticians)!
There is silence.
Not even a trinkle sound.
Silent streams.
The entire lot.
No urination.

NEVER.

Nobody is ever peeing next to me. NEVER. They just stand there and I assume stare. It's like a museum that smells like chemical pine & the poor person mall.
It's like a contest to have the most uncomfortable time but everybody loses because HOW THE FUCK IS THAT A CONTEST THAT PEOPLE ARE HAVING WHEN THEY SHOULD BE TAKING THEIR PEE???!?????

Mind you, I'm not talking about a troff urinal. HELL...I'M afraid to pee in a troff. I have penis issues that stem back to it not being very impressive. But that's penis life. Sometimes you catch the big fish, sometimes you catch the little fish, sometimes you catch the black fish with a huge dick.
All is fair in penis and war.
But, seriously...corporate american workforce...I'm talking there is a literal WALL OF FUCKING COLD HARD DOUBLE-SIDED 6FT. TALL IRON FORTRESS between my penis and your penis. Superman would not be able to X-ray through this barrier it is THAT FUCKING STACKED WITH ELEMENTAL BARRIERS! Your penis is safe. Don't think that anything will happen to your penis because it won't. Penis promise.

But perhaps it ALL comes back to the basic premise touched[read: more like raped] on above...awkward recaps.
If you take direct orders all day from a faceless corporation, yeah, when you've got to do things on your own I'm SURE things can get a little bit weird as there isn't protocol in place as to how to interact with human beings outside of the Harvard MBA course "How To Not Be A Human Greed Monster 101" which has YET to find its first passing grade.
Again...work is work and more power to people that can last 40-hours a week doing what equates to rote accomplishments for compensation they deem worthy of their time.
Great!
Capitalism!
Fuck You, Karl Marx!
But in my same run-on paragraph breathe...please stop asking me how my weekend was and instead start urinating when you go to the bathroom.
You know...important corporate urination stuff.
All fulfilling thinPROF. HARDCOCKS WOULD BE SO ASHAMED OF YOU!!!!

This post was brought to you by "Things That Grown Up People Say In Neglected Blogs".

Who Will Watch The Watchmen?

2009-03-05T10:44:00.000-08:00

People...let's NOT be weird about this.

It's not THAT hard.

Either you're GOING to watch The Watchmen or you're NOT.

Either you're GOING to enjoy your evening or you're NOT.

Either you GET a life or you're sad and lonely and lack any joy involved with the exploration of worldly ideals.

Either you've GOT the AIDS or you don't.

The world is black & white in only one instance and that instance happens to open up in theaters on March 6th. Correct...the rest of the world is nuance EXCEPT for the film regarding nuance as a cosmic metaphor in its scheming to incorporate an entire world's obligation towards one another. That is called metaphoric justice and that phrase is something that I just created.

Somebody call up Janet Jackson and get her to make a movie with that Tupac guy about this whole new Metaphoric Justice thing I just created. I smell uninspired sequel AND money[read: Jew Brag!].

Seriously though, gang...NOW is not the time to try and prove that you don't want to see something pivotal in commentary on the society in which you live. SURE, the comic book WILL be better and SURE, every fanboy and fangirl and fanmutant that sees this film will harshly criticize all of the lacking elements for you and SURE, I will even do that and SURE, you yourself may have never became familiar with the works of Alan Moore OR The Watchmen in particular but if I could sum its idea up as simply as possible to give you an all encompassing recap so you won't look bored at geek nacho/Slurpee parties...

The Impossibles but with murderNAILED IT, LET'S OUT FOR LUNCH!!!

Possibly the most out of this world part about watching The Watchmen is going to be the attendees for the midnight show. Now, if you live in a rural area I'm not going to guarantee that there won't be hate crimes, because there are going to be A LOT of hate crimes and A LOT of pickup trucks carelessly tossing around the word "Faggots" from the passenger side windows. THIS WILL ALL HAPPEN and it is important for you, the rural geek, to not shrug this off.

"Your anger is a gift"[read: FANBOY EASTER EGG!!!!].

Simply put it down in your hate diary(or journal, if you wanna be precious about it) and act on it later...later like when YOU get super powers. THEN will be the time to act. And THAT action will be setting the naysayer's trailers on fire with spraypaint and a match.

I say that YOU TOO will get super powers because the MOST important thing to remember about The Watchmen is that it's a documentary filmed in real time and post-produced with minimal editing. It's just like how The Highlander and Revenge of the Nerd 2 were shot cinema verite, except The Watchman was filmed more direct cinema. Wikipedia all of this shit, because it's all fact...look it up under "Stuff from The Encyclopedia".

But yeah...who's gonna be there at midnight tonight, gang? Who?

Yes.

Oh yeah.

Nope.

Yep.

Confused.

Contractually obligated.

Will pencil it in.

Yes, your mom is a HUGE fan and will blog about it the next morning while you're at high school.

Wrong thing, but yes.

NO! This is a child and children don't need to be watching midnight R-rated movies about a distopian future contrived of a threat society whose protagonists are anti-hero sociopathic vigilante justices and presented under a hyper-sexualized light in other worldly leotards, cleavage and cockpieces...that's big boy stuff.

Be a better parent, MOM!

Yes, but his buddies are going to sneak him in the exit door SO BE ON THE LOOK OUT FOR THIS GUY, USHERS OF AMERICA!!!!!

Made plans to sympathize with Nazis that night, but may make it to a weekend show.

Is too lonely for that sort of thing.

WhoopsSPOILER ALERT...this is the climax scene of The Watchmen.

Gonna head to the matinee with the kids to save some moneyTHIS AIN'T YOUR GRANDFATHER'S RECESSION!!!!

Nope. Dead.

Dead.

Sigh...Dead.

Dead.

No knives or outside drinks allowed in theaters(2008 REFERENCES ARE STILL GOING STRONG!!!!...sorry.)

Also...Heath Ledger is dead and has the Oscar to prove it.

Will be busy at a buffet in New Brunswick.

Downloaded it from shareware 7 FUCKING YEARS AGO!!!!!

Midnight AND 3am show.

Not going because he'd have to buy admission for 2

Paul's dead but the other guys are too old to keep up with such childish nonsense like the comics.

Also...Ringo is an embarrassment to the world.

The guy who stamped this will be there.

Sure...he'll go

Going to a Red Wings game, but may make it Friday. Also...has to read through my screenplay Metaphoric Justice.

A remarkably large number of The Simpson's writing staff will be there AND praise [spoiler alert] Dr. Manhattan for it!

Things That Are Recession Proof

2009-02-11T11:48:00.000-08:00

Gang...life can sometimes be tricky.

Life's A LOT like the stock market, ya know...

It's this public sector of trading and communications regarding the future and securities of certain derivatives where at times you want to have hedged your bets on the little guy but their uncertainty can at times be too fluctuating and you go the route of path-most-traveled and laugh with a belly full of contentment after staking your efforts on the safe bet/conglomerate just KNOWING that you're going to get something, ANYTHING, back in reparation for your concentrated effort as opposed to risking your livelihood and well being all for some crazy, irrational dream of your right brain's device slightly winning out over your left brain's ability to rationalize you into well beNO...BUT NO...NO...

That's not right at all...

Life is NOT like the stock market at all.

It just doesn't WORK like that. You can't buy/sell your affections and dreams on so many fiscal ups & downs, metaphorical or otherwise. You can't base your life on potential &or lucrative endowments...if you did that would make you a whore or WORSE CASE SCENARIO a sorority girl, so NO NO NO.

No...life is more like a roller coaster...

Ups and downs and thrills and spills and all during the course of a definitive beginning and ending throughout which we open our imagination to the experience of the wild and unexpecBUT NO no...wait....life IS NOT like a roller coaster.

A roller coaster is a near infallible product of forethought and engineering set on a course MEANT to entertain and engage AND while, yes, it COULD be argued that this is nothing more than how the American system has set our lives up for capitalistic consumption, it is SIMPLY not enough for me to be cynical with the assumption that ALL my highs and lows of life are premeditated by some man with a pull-shift lever marked "Bad Times" or a green GO button marked "Good Times"NO!

No...life is not like a roller coaster at all...

Life is more like the Angelina Jolie movie Life Or Something Like It...

It is so fucking mind numbingly ridiculous that you want to kill everybody involved with the making of the Angelina Jolie movie Life Or Something Like It.

This metaphor is flawless and I don't think anybody could ever dispute it.

I should open up a Metaphors of Life Church, and you could all come to it. I'm going to start the groundbreaking on my 4.1 billion dollar building this fall. I'm only going to hire illegal Mexicans to build the thing because it's going to look like this except $4.1 billion dollars shinier and I'M PRETTY SURE they know how to make one of these things already, so THAT'S going to save TONS on contractor and architect fees so SORRY RECESSION BETTER LUCK NEXT 5-YEARS!

Please mail all donation checks to the following address:

Geniuses.blogspot.com

c/o Lil Wayne

Millionaireland, $$

Gang...the gist is that life is pretty much a crapshoot between "is it going to suck today" or "is it going to suck worse tomorrow". Nobody gets why something like life is good or bad. Why some homeless people are crazy & homeless while other homeless people are pretty cool with good facial bone structure & homeless. There is no booklet written on why things are going to smell, why things are going to get angry, why things are going to turn black after you mix it with a bunch of other colors and why things are the worst economy in 60 years.

That's life and you're just along for the ride in life's pre-owned Honda Civic.

But the thing is that not everything is bad. Some things flourish, even when good people are down. Mind you, not people like me. I'm down. I'm most certainly a person that is down. An intelligent person that doesn't necessarily play life safely, BUT MOST CERTAINLY understands repercussions of poor decisions and acts to avoid such ill-gotten paths who is down.

But don't worry...PLENTY of shitheads are on easy street. And why shouldn't they be...their mom's bought them The Secret. And now look at them. Smiling as they eat their bologna & cheese on Ironkids. Perhaps it's the human condition to try and look at things through rose colored glasses. Perhaps it's a last ditch effort to try and make the best out of a messy situation of which none of us that wish to remain alive can avoid and grin & bear it.

Officially...I say we call Children of Men on this bitch, BUT THAT'S JUST ONE MAN'S OPINION and I'm young and aggressive and full of spite for life and all things delightful.

Here are a few things that, thus far, have not been harmed by the slowing of the economy:

Paul Blart: Mall Cop

Old news but still news based on the fact that each movie ticket costs approximately 2-HOURS OF MINIMUM WAGE SALARY to afford.

#1 movie in the country for 2-weeks in a row...Fuck You, Americans looking for a laugh and instead life laughing at your poor decision making.

Fat Bitches Getting DOOWN

Fat bitches need to dance and in this economy, with Ramen and white bread as dietary staples, bitch's asses will not get to growing smaller and getting DOOWN is going to be on the agenda exclusively because big bitches need love too.

Fuck You, carbs.

Ignorance

See above Paul Blart news and Las Vegas clubs and Spring Break.

Also...that one robe thing that you wear backwards that my mom keeps forwarding to me as a "HOOT". FUCK THAT GUY MOST.

The queer populace and a queen sized mattress sale

Like the old maxim goes, "Gays are gonna have sex with other gays and they're gonna do it on a mattress sold to them with a shirtless, blond man laying on one in an advertisement on the side of a moving van...or in the filthy alley behind the queer bar." Ancient Chinese proverbLOOK IT UP!

Fuck You, ancient Chinese proverb guy

1998

I think I bought gas for $.89 a gallon that year and my dad bought me a racing horse just so I could shoot it in the head and make glue out of it for my diorama on "How I Haughtily Spent My Grandfather's 401k Reserves On $6 Cups of Latte".

Fuck You, 4 McRib lunches.

Creeps

Luckily, this is not the regular "creeps" that you've become accustomed to during the "good times". You know...the ones with the fedora's and the necklaces outside their v-neck shirts and their v-neck shirts and those necklaces and the silk screen on those v-neck shirts and the rhinestones on top of the silk screen and those necklaces just hanging out there.

Also...that fucking stupid fedora.

No no no...no more of those creeps. They all had to move home after defaulting on their first 8-house flips.

No...these creeps are the original kind.

The kind that stare too long and smell at close range.

The kind that have too few greasy hairs atop their head and too many frizzy hairs popping from the stretched neck of their sweat-yellow tee.

The kind that breathe heavily when they are standing still and breathe heavily when they are eating beef filled sandwiches on white.

Fuck You, flop sweat.

Creeps in sweatpants

See all of the above BUT NOW picture a tiny little penis poking ever so gently through the crotch area of grey sweatpants.

And that man is standing up and eating in front of you.

And staring.

Fuck You, tiny moist little pee stain that shows through like a headlamp in a tunnel through the cotton grey of your leg's comfort.

Creeps in sweatpants in the Post Office

Imagine all of the above BUT NOW he's got to send a bootleg VHS of UFC to his buddy Ricky in Scaggs, SD PRIORITY MAIL!

Also...he's complaining audibly about the slow service the Post Office is offering him and how all the minorities in the Post Office should be rocketshipped to another world full of AIDS and liberals.

Fuck You, a governmental system that tolerates ALL TYPES and won't hire me on as a bounty slayer with final judgement say on decisions regarding life-or-death based on intelligence & tact & social monitoring & hygiene & common sense & human decency & ALL AROUND LIVING LIKE EVERY WEEK WAS SHARK WEEK!!!!

Sweatpants

These are the perfect thing to wear when:

unemployed, staring too long, eating a sandwich, shortening the looks of your penis, being a racist or writing a blog about things that are recession proof.

THIS AIN'T YOU FATHER'S RECESSION, BITCHES!

Fuck You, nothing to do at 11:48am on a Wednesday but be a captious lamebody.

Oscar: It's Not Just a Movie With an Ill-Conceived Plot Starring Sly Stalone Anymore

2009-01-23T17:31:00.000-08:00

Dearest You Guys,

I try not to reinvent the fish-fry every time I sizzle up a batch of snapper over here on the ole' Ben Goot's Grill[note: this is an OLD device I have fun with where I refer to things as Ben Goot's Something/ Possession/ Invention/ AIDS Fun. Like if I was taking a bath, I'd be lathering myself with a half-dollar sized dollop of Ben Goot's Apricot Body Scrub. Or if I was getting a pap smear, I'd be complaining about Ben Goot's Frigid, Grabby Hands. There is a science behind this blog and that science is and always will be Rocket Science]

Like you read here[read: it's just the post underneath, so consider this link a gift to those in general lacking of adventurous mind], I'm just starting this whole Ben Goot's Run(yes) up again after a 7-month Ben Goot's Sabbatical('at a boy!), so I'm not going to get into anything too Ben Goot's Controversial(well played)... like for instance eugenics...if a more involved and regulated process, could actually be a saving grace upon modern society[read: not like this] OR the ramifications to lending and stimulating with billions of dollars to an already tested and failed sect of society that prides itself on a lazy means to a selfish end over the revamping of an economic structure's whole[read: like this] OR how my favorite ice cream is vanilla[read: SOOOO BORING. yeah, I get that, but let's save your pithy rejoinders for another time/another place/another rejoinder party]

Gang...I don't know if you heard over Ben Goot's News Wire(perfect), but the Oscar nominations have come outTHAT'S RIGHT. OSCARS, MY ACADEMY PEE-POLE!!!!

Get your pencils ready to vote, foreign press elite, because I'm sure you still use pencils(El pencilos?) and paper(Un papel?) and ballot boxes(Das ballunt boxens?) and high school cafeterias(Le petite cafes?) as congregation sites(Dirka dirkas?) for your choice making and a more than ample amount of accomplishment honoring, big-studio money favoring, relevancy depleting bias.

Great job, Academy voters.

You win at being irrelevant, lethargic dinosaurs in the Age of Aquarius. LOOK OUT FOR THAT BEN GOOT'S COMET(too soon)!

BEN GOOT'S JK(nice recovery)...it already wiped you clean off the earth when you pulled this AND this shit. Never forget.

With all that up above in mind, let's take the Oscar's as seriously as they should be taken...with me giving you advice on who should win in the 4-most important categories at the industry's most credible and regarded and informative and thoughtfulWAIT...no....what's the opposite of the 4 things I just wrote?....oh, yeah...Bill O'Reily. The industry's most Bill O'Reily awards.

First up:

BEST PICTURE!

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

The Reader

Frost/Nixon

Slumdog Millionaire

Milk

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button - Not a lot negative I can say about this movie. I hope we ALL understand how we should all feel about that old lady's voice(HUH-LARIOUS) and how I feel about young Brad Pitt(HUNK-LARIOUS) and how I feel about Brad Pitt's lazy Southern drawl(SHUT-THEFUCKUP), but I have no complaints.

It had its Curious Case of Metaphor what with all them tropical storms(Benjamin and Daisy are together forever in passionate windy rain?) and the backwards clock(this was NOT a movie about Merlin the Magician, who any Knight of the Round Table fanboy could tell you is based in the idea that Merlin was born an old man BUT with all future knowledge of events that would occur within his life's span. THAT would be the clock analogy, NOT Brad Pitt learning to have sex without vomiting on top of Tilda Swinton) and "Will you still love me even when I have acne?"(no, nobody would except for you mom and THAT is why she's your mom and deserves an e-card on Mother's Day this year, gang) BUT stepping away from the above Joel Siegel pun-party, this movie was still pretty darn entertaining.

Best movieNO No NO, but it certainly CERTAINLY hit its objectives: Entertaining. Ageless relevance. Young Kate Blanchett. Hot Kate Blanchett. Classic beauty Kate Blanchett[read: not hot anymore]. A story that I didn't halfway through give up on and tell it to, "GO EAT A DICK SAMICH!". So great for all of that, but you don't win but you are good, so here...here you go...here is what I Google-got when I Google image searched "nice try loser".

The Reader - Everybody should be on the lookout for this year's dark horse best picture nominee.

No.

Seriously.

Be on the lookout for it because WHAT THE FUCK IS THE READER?

"The Reader"?

HUH?

WHUUUUUT?

Are you sure you DON'T mean "The Wrestler"(which was GREAT)? And definitely NOT "The Spirit"(which was not very GREAT)? And absolutely NOT "The Zohan"(which surprisingly didn't get Adam Sandler a MUCH deserved public punching in the stomach)?

What is going on here? The Reader?

Right off the bat I can tell you what's wrong with this movie...THE CASTING IS ALL WRONG! Where's LaVar Burton? MOTHER FUCKER IS THE READER!

Also...we GET it, director of The Hours...you UNDERSTAND how to tell timeless pieces about seclusion and the human element, but seriously...MOVE ON! I think they're looking for a new director for Delgo 2: We Can Lose EVEN MORE MONEY Than Before. PROVE YOURSELF, DALDRY!

Slumdog Millionaire - SO MANY EVERYDAY MEMES HERE, PEOPLE!

Remember how cool it was to have one's milkshake drunken up? Now look what we have to choose from:

Example #1- [At your favorite Starbucks, order a Chai Tea. When they successfully place the Chai Tea on the pick-up counter, scream out with arms thrown up to the sky...]

You: "THE CHAIWALAH HAS DONE IT AGAIN!"

Example #2- [Order your favorite Subway sandwich at your favorite Subway sandwich restaurant. Order something that you know full-well that they don't put on a sandwich, and something that you yourself just happen to hate. For this example, let's say pastrami.]

Subway sandwich artist: What can I git you, sir?

You: Um...yeah...hhhmmmm

SSA: [vacantly looking through you]

Y: hhhmmm...I'm...going...to...go...with...a 6-inch on honey oat.

SSA: What kinda meat?

Y: Pastrami

SSA: We don't got.

Y: Really...wow, what a relief because I HATE pastrami...

SSA: Yeah...[vacantly looking through you]

Y: Really...you too...wow...WOW...

SSA: [vacantly looking through you]

Y: "This is our destiny."

[if the SSA is a fan of the film, she would immediately respond...]

SSA: "Kiss me."

Example #3- [You want to check out the new espresso offerings at your favorite McDonald's so you head over to the closest one. Be sure to bring ONLY cash for this one, because a debit card may cheapen the effect. Be sure to bring the following and leave it in your car. If you don't have a car just leave them at your apartment:

a) a warm blanket

b) 2-cans of dog food

c) a preserve sized jar of molasses

d) a magazine that you find funny yet tasteful

Walk into the McDonald's and get in line to order a new McDonald's espresso drink...]

McDonald's counter person: Wecome to M'Donald's, how ken I hep you?

You: "If it wasn't for Ram or Allah, I'd still have a mother."

[stare for a few minutes. Maybe cry. Shed as many tears as there have been innocents slain in senseless religious killings throughout the blood-soaked past millenniums on up through the carnage of today.]

I'd like a Super-Slurp Sized Chocotastic McMocha, please.

But, whatever...this movie will win NOT based on its brilliant editing or epic storytelling or wonderful sentimentality, it will win because I call the shots around the Internet and that translates directly into giving people awards in real life.

You're welcome, producers of Slumdog Millionaire...whoever you older, greying rich white men are...

Frost/Nixon - Nice try, Ron Howard.

Here...here's a ball...why don't you go bounce it outside with the other gingers, K?

Milk - Didn't Hollywood already give openly gay filmmaker Gus Van Zandt someth...YEP. And didn't they already make it aggressively known that they were queer positi...YEP. And didn't nobody die in the making of this mov...TOO BAD.

So yeah...sounds like Milk just doesn't carry the fat percentage high enough to make it a viscous enough additive to the Academy voter's healthy and balanced breakfaREADY TO DIE!!!

Second-Up:

BEST ACTRESS!!!(based solely on how "Do-Able" they are)

Kate Winslet

Meryl Streep

Angelina Jolie

Melissa Leo

Anne Hathaway

Kate Winslet - Already seen her nips with my mom sitting RIGHT next to me in the theaterBORING AND SCARRING. Next...

Meryl Streep - Meryl Streep 2008...or Jack Nicholson 1967? Yeah...us too.

Angelina Jolie - When the hell did you have time to make a movie when you were shoving out all those babies? Also...buying them.

You used to be more Do-Able

I don't care that you looked like the above just under a year ago...YOU'VE GOT BABIES POPPING OUT EVERYWHERE, BITCH! Watermelon seed through the eye of a needleYEAH...I've been talking to moms who just birthed babies and am sticking with their lazy and painful analogies.

I have my research and I don't want any part of your stuff anymore. Good day to you, 2005's sexiest woman alive...

Melissa Leo - NO. STOP. NO.

Anne Hathaway - Meh...sure.

To Make This Blog "Fair and Blog-lanced(TM)":

BEST ACTOR!!!(based solely on how "Do-Able" they are)

Mickey Rourke - While he will most likely win for his acting, I just wouldn't feel right doing somebody whose face reminds me so much of a baby dinosaur (note: alternative pic option)

Richard Jenkins - If any of you have had the elite privilege of subscribing to a little known thing called "Netflix" and added the programming of a little known cable pay-station known as HBO into a very puzzling structure known as "your queue", then maybe you've been lucky enough to watch Six Feet Under and you'd be even more privileged to see the acting of Mr Jenkins which is powerful and well performed and if you were a diehard of this show through all 6-seasons then you'd know that the series' finale was heartbreaking like a close family member dying heartbreaking so I consider this man family and I WILL NOT FUCK FAMILY, gang...it's just got no place to go but duck-babies and trips to the K-Mart.

Frank Langella - Does this man have all my nostolgia issues on his sideABSOLUTELY. So while doing him would, yes, solve a multitude of my childhood separation anxieties it would also stir up SO MANY MORE issue involving "having an old person give me the fuck down."

Sean Penn - Hey, I wonder if Sean Penn will use this award as a self-engrandizing, portentious soapbox upon which to speak on things that we no longer need or want[read: EVER wanted] him to speak on because HE'S A FUCKING ACTOR and PLUS we've got a new mouthpiece now so shut-up and sit-down, you big bald fuck, or else I'm turning this car around and I'll really do it this time.

Just stick with what you know, Sean...fighting for the daily grind of retarded Starbucks employees who had the boner capacity to make a baby's rights or whatever that whole movie thing was about.

Brad Pitt - Everybody's all like "Oh, this is an easy one" and everybody's right...it's Brad Pitt.

Brad Pitt would get me inside of him.

Yes.

Meow.

Not even second guessing this one.

Brad Pitt wins this one. I would do him more than I would do Aretha Franklin(but hat on...now that'd be a different tale to tell).

And now the 4th MOST important award of the night...

BEST SOUND EDITING!!!

The Dark Knight, Richard King
Iron Man, Frank Eulner, Christopher Boyes
Slumdog Millionaire, Tom Sayers
Wall-E, Ben Burtt, Matthew Wood
Wanted, Wylie Stateman

Ben Goot's JK!!!!(AMAZING RECALL!!!!!!)

This isn't the 4th MOST important award of the night.

Its NOT the 4th most important because you can't qualify the importance of something that means ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO ANYBODY EXCEPT THE GLITZY, MASTURBATING HOLLYWOOD ELITE PATTING THEMSELVES ON THE BACKS OF THEIR RESPECTIVE SLAVE-TRADE PURCHASED COLUMBIAN COCAINE-MULES WHILE CLINKING TOGETHER DIAMOND ENCRUSTED, DISPOSABLE GOBLETS HOLDING JASMINE SCENTED GORILLA-BLOOD FRAPADOPIOS IN CONGRATULATIONS ON MAKING MORE MONEY THAN GOD LET THEM EAT CAKE!!!

Get ready for a some CHANGES, BITCHES!!!!

Also...if Heath Ledger doesn't win his Oscar posthumously that he VERY MUCH DESERVES, the tally will read as follows...

Jaime Foxx: 1 Oscar

My Cousin Vinny: 1 Oscar

Heath Ledger: NO OSCARS FOREVER

Your call-your conscious, Hollywood...

The MOST Important Day in the Past 8 Years...

2009-01-20T11:38:00.000-08:00

So this is what Eminem felt like that one time up on stage...

a scared, beaten whitetrash piece of used-up meat surrounded by a large grouping of black hoodlums waiting for entertainment with fun/biting words that rhyme within reasonable sequences of cadence.

Yep...that's what blogging is EXACTLY like.

Correction: THAT'S WHAT BLOGGING IS EXACTLY LIKE WHEN YOU COME BACK TO A BLOGGING AFTER YOU DON'T COME BACK TO A BLOGGING FOR 7-MONTHS!!! DON'T CALL IT A BLOG-BACK!!!! LL Blog J!!!! READY TO DIE!!!!

Refresher Course: I used to be the big dick around Internet county, way back when the Internet was just a pup in a dog fight but before I had a dream that my father went up the mountain before me to start a fire(No Country For Old Men references are STILL blogable, right? right? ...shit on a cracker...).

Had me upwards of 400 readers[note: summary statement from 2 years of blog's existence]; got me linked to Ad Age[note: Ad Age's blog, but it still got overzealous Ad Age Jr. Account Exec's leaving me comments like "hey s2pid dick kloun eating go out of toun, ur FAIL" and "Hav weener Hrdest wit mexico Cialis"(Mexican Cialis WILL NOT make your wiener hardest, it will just make it better at marinading carne asada)]; went on stage with a microphone in-front of complete strangers and actually SPOKE VERBATIM some of the stuff I wrote on this blog thus receiving IN-PERSON AND INSTANT REACTIONS FROM ACTUAL STRANGERS as opposed to what had before been reserved exclusively for Internet strangers to reward me with... this reward being that of awkward silence and thumb-sucking confusion EVEN AFTER said Internet strangers had the luxury to read, re-read THEN three-read all given cases of my lazy, run-on sentence structures/awkward syntax/multitudes of self-aware, italicized lists ending with fun-references to take the bite &or truth out of what preceded it/anal bleaching buffoonery but NOW IMAGINE THE JAW-DROPPING, UN-CONTEXT HEEDING, HORRIFIC AND BLOODCHILLING SILENCE THAT ACTUAL LIVE STRANGERS CAN OFFER UP UNDERNEATH A BLINDING SPOTLIGHT(as opposed to me just reading my posts aloud at home into the bedroom's floor length mirror while weeping and masturbating) WHEN THEY HEAR ME SPEAK AT THEM ONCE-BUT-ONLY-ONCE IN MY LONG, DRAWN OUT RUN-ON PARAGRAPH FORMS WHERE THE PUNCHLINE IS TYPICALLY RESERVED FOR THE MIDDLE, OR THE PUNCHLINE IS A RECALL TO SOME RUNNING SUBTLETY THROUGHOUT, OR THE PUNCHLINE IS THE ABSURDITY/GLORY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE ITSELF OR THERE IS NO PUNCHLINE HAHA THE JOKE IS ON YOU PENISBREATH but you're doing it for this group of strangers that are rendered into ape-shit hysterics with a rejoinder like "Hey, anybody smoke weed?[point to audience member wearing a beanie] Yeah...that guy is all 'MAY-BEE, BOY-EEE'[spoken in best Jamaican accent]" and a Dane Cook allusion to ninjas silently and inventively farting into your mouth[note: I'm not sure if this is an actual DaneCookism but if it isn't and you happen to be Dane Cook pouching for material, the premise sounds strong, so...good luck with ALL THAT]; eventually getting a writing job where I was a hack but getting paid for being a hack; and, as is typically the case with me, getting into a full-blown racial Holy war with a "comedy rapper" BUT let's not all be so flippant with our tossing around of a word like "rapper" as its title should carry with it composure and talent and we should also probably take time to self-reflect into our use of the word "comedy" as it implies something that SHOULD be funny and reflective and ALTOGETHER AS A SOCIETY maybe "comedy rapper" would be better off maintained without such ignorant abandon BECAUSE BLUECHIP IS A FUCKING NO TALENT SHITSANDWICH AND NEEDS TO GET A VERY UNFUNNY AND UNRHYMEY TARRING AND FEATHERING IN COLONIAL TIMES BOSTON!!!

But yeah...not ALL the readers came for just those good times. For instance, some of them came from the Google search "Feltching with Morrie" in regards to my LA Times expose on the problems of homo-erotic relations(namely "felching") with elderly men dying of Lou Gehrig's disease.

Some came because one day I offered "Free Fresh Soft Pretzels" to all readers, but those same fair-pretzel fans left soon there after realizing this was the Internet and there were never any grounds for:

a) them actually redeeming that pretzel without some type of outrageously efficient microwaving device/self-rejuvenating heating science theory/warm toilette to keep their pretzel toasty and delicious throughout the shipping process.

b) them actually redeeming ANY semblance of value from anything post-marked with the address ".blogspot.com".

c) me not double-handedly shoving any & all soft baked dough in near vicinity into my greedy dough-hole(such a dough fan, I've renamed the traditionally known "mouth" as "dough-hole". Yep...crazy with a capital K [read: Krazy] goings-on inside the Ben Goot's Car this year, gang...)

Also...the Jews are responsible for all the world wars.

Also...I've started capitalizing "Internet" so I hope that won't stir up any problems.

But all that was Internet AGES ago. Mind you, this was all back before I could just re-hydrate a Pizza Hut pizza, half-pepperoni half-green pepper, in my kitchen's rehydration chamber or just call up the proper governmental authorities to have my neighbor's secret attic of books and poems burnt in symbolic fire. I guess this whole Greatest Blogorist(TM) is something that I sorta put on the back burner since...WAIT WHUUUUUUT??? June 28th!?!??!?!?!?!? No shit.

Wow O Wow O Wowwwwwwey Wow Wow...

I must have had some PRETTY IMPORTANT STUFF GOING ON(hand-over-fisting ham into my greedy face and getting colonics into my a-hole is NOT pretty important stuff going on).

I guess I've been up to fun.

Fun.

A whole lot of it.

Wii caliber fun.

Dawn breaking on group sex fun.

Basic training fun.

Finding a gun under your parents bed and showing the barrel of it to your friend's face when you're high fun.

Grandparents letting you stay up late and watch WWF fun.

Penguins mating for life fun.
Enough.

But, hey... I'm going to start doing this. Maybe not as often as I did, but I'm going to start doing THIS again. "THIS" being THIS blog thing here[note: "THIS" could also be bullet point #1]. It's been far too long and my head has gotten fat & lazy with laughing at movies like Stepbrothers and Pineapple Express and making cheap, tawdry, childish fun of the old lady from Benjamin Button(imagine a scene where her and E.T. get drunk on Coors together, E.T. in that blanket laid flannel shirt, and start reciting dialogue from Mad About You at each other WOULD BE A BILLION YOUTUBE HITTER IDEA DO IT INTERNET). Also...AIDS...I don't take AIDS as seriously as I should, especially after seeing Rent in theaters.

Also...I can't stop giggling uncontrollably at this so that needs to stop and fast AND HOW...

Let's do this together, gang! YEAH, the first few weeks are gonna be painful, like watching the "special baggers" at Safeway bag your groceries with that one weird claw hand they have type painful, but that's just what happens when you're getting back on the horse(or in some cases bagging my taco fixins'). Got some apathy to work out of the old writing maneuvers inside Buck's Pussy Wagon("Wiggle your BIG toe."), but we'll get back up to running big toe/ taco fixins' speed again REAL soon, gang. We'll do it together. Like a shallow Internet family. Yes we can!

OHANDTHATREMINDSME...A black American President, huh? Wow...what's next...gays dancing to "Single Ladies" on mid-afternoon programming?(I've caught up on all of the 2008 stuff right, Lady Internet?...oh...yeah...I forgot...Zombie Heath Ledger doesn't know how to quit youTHANK YOU I'M DONE WITH YOU 2008 YOUR MILKSHAKE HAS BEEN DRANK!!!!!)

Is There Anything More Universal To Comedy Than Talking About Crazy Stuff On A Blog?

2008-06-28T10:56:00.000-07:00

“Hey Tyler, what in the FUCK did you do last night?”

Well thanks for asking, mom, but not much. In fact, all I did was…
a) not write on this blog
b) went to a movie that was mistakenly not titled Fight Club 2: But with guns and bad dialogue and not as good and I’m a genius at assassin now.
c) Fucked biiiiiiitches [read: I interpret sex dreams as actually having sex. Consider yourself SEXED-UP, Tiffani Amber Thiessen circa 1997!!!]

Oh gang. You guys are the best. No, seriously...who else would actually check up on this piece of garbage blog when I have all but forsaken it for the summer, and especially when I put up half-assed things like this on Saturday mornings?

You, dear reader.

You and your life that wins at being the most dedicated. Hooray Beer! [read: commercial ALERT!]

So, since I don't want to impress you too much [read: don't want to write because I am SO sick of writing anything], gang, I thought I'd keep this short and just let you know that I'm a little bit worried about the state of track & field now a days. I mean, just look at this headline and tell me that this is a normal thing that happens:

This is disgusting.

Track & field is getting away with bloody murder, and we just let them get away with it. Why? Maybe it's because nobody knows what the fuck a track & field anything is. Or Maybe, just maybe, it's because the competitors are all African-American...pardon me, sorry to my more racially sensitive readers...because the competitors are all the blacks. They get a free pass on everything.

I mean, when are we finally going to start making up some slanderous bullshit about these people that will scare the American yokels out of voting them as the next President based solely on misappropriating their middle name with the name of a renowned terrorist or ironically calling this same person's wife "too hard" when the competition's wife is an ice-beast or being just plain blatantly racist or even Shaquile O'Neal taking time out of his busy being 38-years old to call Kobe Bryant an Uncle Tom in a horrible freestyle rap?...!!!

America needs a good kick to the balls and I think I know just the comedic legend with a beard and a ponytail and a toilet mouth to do it. Too bad that man's candle light was snuffed out far too soon. So young, so sad.

Um...maybe that was the wrong George Carlin. I'll get Ben Goot's Legal Research Mini-Van on that STAT!!!

These kind of posts are the best because all I do is link to things that I find on the Internet or reference current events but in a way that is not very fun for anybody to interpret with the exception of my own ego. I feel like a Jay Leno writer alreadyWHOOPS, did I let that slip? Yep, I'm writing for Jay Leno. That's why I can't write here. I'm too busy scouring the daily newspaper of Filibuster, PA, frantically searching for somebody who mistakenly wrote "Dicks for Sale" instead of "Sandals for Sale" and cutting it out and highlighting it and gluing it to gator-board.

I'm too busy to write on here anymore because of exactly that, gigantic Internet following!!!

Here's a picture of me everyday at work:

"I don't know about that, Jay...[chuckle awkwardly with bass guitar in your hand]"

I write that down on a script for Kevin Eubanks everyday. I am a genius at words to say/ stuff to do while those words are being said.

So Much Fan Fiction It Makes You A Geek For Reading This Headline

2008-06-18T10:27:00.000-07:00

“Why be it so still about these waters, me matey?”
a) stop talking like that
b) here
c) [Spoiler Alert: I’m running out of creative way to express my individuality through clothing for this summer]

Gang, so shall be the ways of my new sexy summer career, but apparently I’m going to do about 100% of the work and only have displayed about .05% of what I actually did. THAT IS WHAT SEXY IS NOWADAYS, OLD MEN! Keep up before they make a movie about you losing touch and it wins Oscar Gold.
[Spoiler Alert: Too late, hot-plate]

So here is the deal. One of my most FAVORITE things that I’ve done in the past 6-months of my life occurred last Wednesday in a fit of the afternoon sleepies [read: that is writer speak for “it’s between the hours of 2pm-5:45pm and I ain’t got shit], when I am 100% sure that I wrote the most incredible piece of Carl Lewis fan fiction written by a person who simply skimmed the Carl Lewis Wikipedia page for about 5-minutes. I own that title, people! Make a belt for it and I’ll wear it in my jeans. Keep ‘em high and right, SON!
[Spoiler Alert: I wear my pants high and right, son]

This piece was considered “too avant-garde” for the client at large [hint: the client was a Carl Lewis Fan Fiction Writing Workshop in Des Moines], but I think it touches the “write” [read: AMAZING!!] buttons regarding the entire fan fiction genre. It’s got intrigue and sex and death and robots. There is a FUCK-TON of robots in this story, gang.
[Spoiler Alert: Some of the robots cause intrigue and initiate sex]
[Double Spoiler Alert: Maybe some or none of the above happens at all]

Context Alert: This piece of fan fiction extends from the controversial Carl Lewis booing incident. At the 1984 Olympics, Carl Lewis won the long jump event on his first attempt, and declined all other opportunities to leap even though he had four remaining. He was THAT sure he had won. Lewis was cocky but he was SO good. Fans at the Coliseum wanted to see him break a World Record, however, Carl was reserving his energy for the other 4-events he competed in at these Olympics. Below is why people made computers. Aside from pornography and LOLing at cats and pay-Napster. Maybe Livejournal for the kids.
[Spoiler Alert: Definitely Livejournal for the kids]

LISTEN:
An ensemble of boos rained down towards the audacity of Carl Lewis at these 1984 Los Angles Olympics. It was a chorus not expected by an Olympic athlete competing in his homeland. Carl had just completed his 1st attempt in the long jump event and said he was finished. He would jump no more. He had 4 more opportunities to jump, but he would not bring himself to do so. The audience held back nothing; conveying to Carl the dismay they felt. So upset was Carl that he fled into solitude atop a podium. It was here he would remain, secluded from the 2 other athletes flanking either side of him. It was here at the peak of this 3-tiered memorial that Carl now hunched over in repentance for not attempting those 4 additional jumps. The orchestral chorus to The Star Spangled Banner played in the background.

Carl rose from his cower with a purple ribbon draped across the front of his chest. On the hang of this silk band was a medallion gently tapping against his sternum. The Medal was Gold. The Medal read “1984 Olympic Long Jump Champion”. Carl sighed. Carl stood alone, in seclusion, without equal, as the world’s premier long jumper and he was kicking himself. Why hadn’t he made those 4 additional jumps after beating the 2nd place finisher by more than 30cm on his first? Carl was so sad. Carl was so sad until he thought about why the crowd booed him. “They were booing because they wanted to see more of Carl Lewis. I guess that's flattering." Carl was so happy. He now waved to the audience with coronation flowers in his hand and they now cheered. He went on to win 3 more Olympic Gold Medals at those Games. It was the greatest athletic display at any Olympics since Jesse Owens in 1936. Carl was so happy.

Gang...Let's Have A Chat...

2008-06-09T11:46:00.000-07:00

Gang, here's the gist. While it's always a bit narcissistic & heady of me to think that people read this thing here, I figure that some people do. I can typically tell that people outside of my mom read this because there will be anonymous comments trickling in here or there that contain the uplifting rationale of people that didn't quite understand a few of my vocabulary words:

Or the exact same people that left my page only to come up with an even MORE stinging zinger that would've kept them up until 12:42am just dwelling on why they didn't type it into a stranger's comment section & their decision to post it 2-minutes after their initial post, ultimately in high concern over my financial endeavors:

...and I know that none of these comments were left by my mother because my mother ends all of her correspondence with me in the letters "XOXO" followed by the phrase "U Stupid Fuk".

So, gang...as I posted here what seems almost yesterday, so have I begun this new journey in my life. While it's not at all an office job, it "IS" an office job. The gist of what I am doing is writing. If I were to make a tally chart on all the things that I impotently became enraged with, writing is one of the only things that would not make it onto that list. For lack of more profound terminology... "I don't fucking hate writing even at all."

So, for the remainder of this summer, that is what I will be doing. I am going to write. I am going to be paid. I am going to get paid to write & to be fun & awesome. I am going to be the clown at Kid's Book Kamp. That isn't the job at all actually, but even if it were this post would still hold the same message. Although...there would be more magic tricks. Many more.

This ordeal is an opportunity I've strived for since graduating college, and now it is exactly what I'm going to get. I should be ecstatic & I am, however -and there is always a however with me- writing & being paid for it is one of the most mentally draining tasks that I have ever performed. While I've written on this thing for a year a half & have written gratis pieces for magazines you will never hear of & edited article after article for publications you are much too old to subscribe to & sat for hour upon hour at my computer writing comedy routines that I performed at a 65% good factor of how I initially foresaw myself performing in my head, none of that has anything on this whole writing for money business.

I hit 3pm like a wall. I am exhausted. My mind literally turns into this Wikipedia garbage bin of knowledge that I just want to dump out onto the page without any discernment for where creative thought & blatant plagiarism begin or end. I am the worst writer at 3pm. Before then, I am not the worst. Maureen Dowd still is.

The best glimpse I could give you on how the process of creative writing unfolds inside my head is held in the metaphor of being fat:

It's really easy to be a fat ass. It's so cozy & nice and you're always warm and you just need to wear a t-shirt into the swimming pool and everybody assumes that you're skinny with a bad case of the "Irish pigment". Easiest. However, now image that you're like "I'm so good at all of this eating, Ima eat professionally on the ESPN."

And like that [finger snaps] you're entire world just got a fuck-ton more complex.

No more casually dipping your chicken wings into blue cheese because you feel like it. NOW you've gotta dip that wing into honey mustard & ranch & BBQ & glue & whatever the hell else it says fat people dip their wings into on the "Wikihow to be a Competitve Mouthhole" page. It's all hell on the stomach lining, ladies & gentlemen.

Nothing is as easy as it used to be because now you're performing for somebody. This becomes extra hard when you forsake the entire metaphor and you are simply referring to a writer, who is an over-analytical & reclusive & narcissistic & a ball of pent-up, impotent emotion to begin with. So imagine all of that stuff but now you're getting paid to do it, so NOW expectations are EXTREMELY involved and being that your vanity is your primary indulgence you tend to over-think even the most simplistic of problems that involve any glimmer of creative input PLUS you need to perform to standards that not only an audience needs to accept but ALSO a person that simply may be having a bad day/ too good of a day & shit all over/ foolishly accept whatever you've written & trash it/ display it on a global scale in a moment of non-clarity/ uber-clarity.

Don't worry about that whole last paragraph. That may sound like I'm daunted by this whole situation, but seriously that entire thought process runs through my head when I'm choosing between a meatball sub or a chicken parm sandwich at the Subway. I just GET life, you know, gang?

The Gist: If you've read all of the above, I truly love you & you are my sweet audience & I love you all very much. Truth be told, I'm going to try my very best at this wonderful opportunity I've been given, perhaps even hopefully make a living doing it. And while Ben Goot's Car is not going on a soul searching road trip for the summer, mind you it's going to take a few less pit-stops than you've been used to getting [read: those were all metaphors pertaining to cars stuffs. I expect a call from Hot Rod Magazine offering me a job any minute now. Amazing.]

While I've been on a near clockwork regimen for posting here, I'm fairly certain that I can't keep up my every-other day hilarious anymore. My past day-jobs had instilled in me this angst-driven set of circumstances that created a very easy means to a cynical end. I'm not sure I will be having much angst here. Plus, writing all day beats the hell out of your head as I stated above. It might be the thick, black rimmed glasses that I stole from the nursing home I've been wearing to make myself look more like a writer [read: this is the secret to being a writer: look like a Jew], but my head is screaming at the end of the day. I barely have a chance to masturbate to all the wonderful things I write before I fall asleep in my pillow stuffed with brilliance. JUST barely.

Being a genius is tough, gang, but it's not going to be gone forever. Consider postings on Ben Goot's Car from here on out like a wonderful occasion to celebrate with family & friends...it'll be like the semi-annual return of the McRib for your eyeballs.

Be good while I'm gone (not really gone).

{Update}

Upon my mother's recommendation, ladies & gentlemen...Ol' Blue Eyes.

Hot Tip: Get Email Before It Gets You

2008-06-06T17:36:00.000-07:00

Gang...peep this ill na na [read: that's rap for "pussy", but let's say it really means news, K?] Apparently I get emails from people that I don't know, and that I did not initially ask for. Duh Huh. However, I refer to the entire situation as something much more catchy. Something far more likely to fall into the lexicon of Internet society. I call this garbage mail that I get "Unsolicited Electronic Mail"or "Unso Elctr Mail" for short. You know, to make the folks on Madison Avenue happy. Pretty great stuff, gang.

I've been getting this "Unsolicited Electronic Mail" ever since I developed my first email address back in 1996 as a high school freshman with access to the Internet Zero.Point.5. In between the AOL free minutes when I wasn't looking at the Church of Conan O'Brien or the OFFICIAL Propaghandi website or stills of pornography that would appear when I typed the words "slut sex whore" into Yahoo.com, I didn't find tons of extra time to set myself up with one of these trendy email addresses that the adults were up to. (see what I did there? kids didn't "do" the Internet yet, so it was the lame-adults that were up to it. stay with me, adults.)

My high school best friend, Dan Yamauchi [read: Asian = computer smarts] suggested that I develop an email account of some sort because one day people would actually do something with them outside of simply setting them up. I told him to quit being such a slant-eyed Jap and to keep his ching-changing down because just look at all of these mines that I was currently trying to sweep up on this here computer screen. He eventually talked me into visiting a site that initially sounded intriguing to my curious teenage sexuality, but I soon learned that the website's name was simply a red herring. Hotmail is not what you think, young gay men/ horny old women!

"What a fucking waste of my time", I thought out loud & into my Korean friend's stupid face. "When will something like this ever help me? Does anybody even know what computers are besides these people who want me to keep watching them have sex on it?" He assured me that "Yes" people knew what the computer was, and that one day people would only communicate via this "Hotmail" and a thing called "Friendster" (which hadn't actually been invented until 4-years later, but he was after all a Chinaman & could see into the future.)

He explained to me that an email address was intrinsically personal. That it needed to be something close to your heart & even closer to your pocket book (whatever that meant, People's Republic of Taiwan.). I figured he must have known what he was talking about since he had seen the movie Hackers. Also, because he was Filipino I assumed he was speaking at me in ancient Confusian proverbs.

So I began to look deep inside of myself, gang. I looked into my 15-years on the planet, and what I had actually accomplished. What were my future goals? What did the world I would want my children to live in look like? What did the ideas of "war", "love", "hate" & "future" mean to a Tyler that would be living in this world that time could only predict? I began my perfect expression as such:
SassyRobot39@hotmail.com

...and so I kept this until I was a senior in college. Graduating with a business degree really gets professors on your ass telling you that your email address is inappropriate for the real world. I would now tend to agree with these suits.

Turns out Dan was wrong about EVERYTHING he told me about the future! What a stupid idiot. Only creeps & burnouts use Hotmail.com & I haven't logged into my Friendster account in like 3 or 4 days. The Vietnamese don't know nothing 'bout computers.

Since then, I'm proud to announce that I've gotten myself a brand new email address that I feel conveys my grown-up ideals & nuances far better than any silly 15-year old mind ever could:
SassyRobotShitFuckSandwich69@hotmail.com

You see what I did there? I added "ShitFuckSandwich" & a "6". Oh...the folly of my previous email address. Oh...the folly of youth! I didn't understand how to do shit back when I was young.

Now...how about the thing that I was originally going to show you until I just started typing all of that other stuff above. How about next time you guys read this, you just skip down to here & just let me tell you the gist of what I wrote above at the bars later. Margs, anyone?!?

PERFECT!!!!

Whatever the flashy image, you know, I don't think it really matters. Read that sweet, sweet subject line...

20lbs of poop! Goddamn! That's a shit-ton of poop! None more poop!

I'm so in awe I'm just going to stop writing immedi

What's Up, The Stupidest Thing EVER?!?

2008-06-04T11:39:00.000-07:00

No no...calm down.

I am NOT looking at you, CBS and I am DEFINITELY NOT looking at you, Greatest American Dog (which was apparently a working title for quite some time. Like my best English teacher used to always tell me, "When working in the superlative, you've always got to be the most rightest forever until you are the most deadest." "Superlative 101" with Mrs. Bestest. CBS pitch-meetings is the real greatest American hero here, people!)

You two things can go about your business as usual because this post's title DEFINITELY has nothing to do with anything pertaining to your programming (Horriblest Network TV) or an obvious lack of brain ideas (it will have everything to do with a lack of brain ideas.) Like I've said before...to whom it may concern...I'm not singling out any two factions of entertainment (CBS & Greatest American Fucking Stupid) on Ben Goot's Car. I'm just bitching about stuff on the Internet. I'm a blogspot.com revolutionary. I'm the Malcolm X of blog. Blog power. Kill whitey.

So get this: under-validated attention whores being creeps were no longer entertaining enough for ~~the Roman Empire’s citizenry cheering on the lions as they were feasting upon the bodies of weeping Christians during their Coliseum orgies~~ stupid idiots. Apparently, CBS got their Neilson ratings back and their viewership demographics came out as we all had expected they would:
Stupid Idiots that Love Dogs - 45%
Elderly Stupid Idiots that Love Dogs-43%
Teens with Bloodlust-1%
Animals Just Wanting to Hear People Noises in the Background-10%

With these reports in, CBS brass realized they needed to make some changes in their programming to perk up that “Teens with Bloodlust” demographic.

Fact: Teens are one of the most sought after rating in all of television as they hold the highest level of disposable income & wear the highest percentage of only Abercrombie & Fitch [read:NOT Pimpercrombie & Bitch. That would just be embarrassing]

While these regular teens are typically fickle in their purchasing habits and tend to spend any disposable income on what Miley Cyrus just put in her salad (what's a Miley Cyrus again?) or on whatever Jamie Lynn Spears pops out of her vagina (something that will get ignored), it is this "Teens with Bloodlust" segment that hold steady in their money exchanges. The grouping is composed of such uninspired losers that they’ll take to anything advertised at them as long as Dale Earnhardt Jr. is holding it/ eating it/ driving it/ hillbillying it or if it is promoted during a competition in which pain is inflicted upon both dueling parties with 1-party receiving an ample amount more pain than the opposing party duh huh yee ha.

And so CBS proceeded with their "Teens with Bloodlust" whewing by featuring Mixed Martial Arts fighting on network television for the 1st time. A once pariah of the sporting world, Mixed Martial Arts has made steady ascension as one of the most horrifying things that you could imagine happening to a loved one. With CBS being what it is, they booked the first fighter that they Googled when they typed in the keywords:Internet, Fighting, Mixed Martial Arts, Kids Love, Please Don’t Be Black. .023-seconds later, CBS was barraged with nearly 150,000 Google result matches all pointing to the same gentleman: Mr. Kimbo Slice. Kimbo Slice is an Internet sensation who had made a name for himself by beating other people’s eyeballs out of their sockets, and also being what West Virginia sees when they here the name “Barack Obama”.

Fight promoters did what they do so well, which is promoting unconscionable things, and eventually we were given the “Fight of the Century” (not the fight of the century) between Kimbo Slice, a 34-year old man who had been in 3-previous MMA matches, & some guy with the worst case of cauliflower ear that has ever been seen outside of a veggie platter. [read: you might not think that made sense, but it does if you just stop thinking so damn much about it] This bout was decided on a TKO when Kimbo Slice hit this gentleman’s cauliflower ear so hard that it squirted cauliflower soup out into the front row. [read: at 1st, i was going the way of "squirted ranch dressing", but then I thought that if you didn't like the above "veggie platter" analogy you would most likely not want to recall it again down here. that is why i get paid more money than god to write for Ben Goot's Car for 12-people]

“Now that we've classically conditioned Bloodlusty teens to seek-out blood sport on our CBS airwaves ...ON WITH THE PANDERING!”, one CBS exec yells after he finishes up fellating a member of the Two & A Half Men writing staff for writing such an amazing homophobic plot-line every time.

“Let’s win our bread & butter demographic with something that they’ll never see coming.”

Enter animals that are competing for the title of “Greatest American Dog”.

PERFECT!

LET THE QUICKENING BEGIN!

This is where CBS might've gotten a little bit too hefty for their big-boy pants, however. While the execs understand that 99% of their viewing & pro-white noise demographic will simply eat something like an animal competition up, they also greedily tried to reach out & grab a slice of that “Hip-Kids that have heard of the Internet” demographic pie as well.

And so this fateful promotion meeting went:

"How are we going to promote this juggernaut of an animal talent competition to those Bloodlusty teens we got hooked-in with that black guy fighting that ear fella?"

"Word of mouth seems like something that people would refer to as a strategy"

"PERFECT! But can we make it interactive & irrelevant?"

"I GOT IT! Let's pretend it was 6-years ago & start up a myspace page ...I hear that is what the kids who smoke marijuana & write poetry are up to!"

"But wait...could we make this myspace page sad to look at & even sadder to be friends with?"

"Just leave that up to our intern, Reggie the Sad-Sack Creepskin..."

DUNNZO!!!

“Now that the vibe is out there & our 147 myspace friends will pretty much do ALL the heavy promoting for us, what about an actual plot to this idea abortion?”

"WHY NOT JUDGES DECIDING WINNERS & NOT SIMPLY THE OWNERS ARGUING VICTORY FOR THEIR DOG LIKE EXACTLY HOW THEY WOULD IF THERE WERE NOT JUDGES?" [shouting this]

Everybody at CBS is ON FIRE, son! (but not in that good-slang way from the 90's)

Here's the deal, CBS...people love animals. You already know this because scientists proved it last week. But why are you wasting all these teenager's myspace times by presenting animals to them in Hi-Def Puss-Wagon Vision (TM?)? You've got to shock & awe, Network TV!

"Teenagers with BLOODLUST", CBS! Did you guys forget what you guys got into the TV exec-ing business for in the 1st place? All of that corporate rule mongering & pleasing the stock-holders used to be SO much more fun & carefree for you guys. What happened to that sweet little kid that wanted to grow up & gentrify people's art?

You've got to bring your programming correct, son!

The numbers don't lie. 99% of your audience will watch your greatest dog show because they love animals. HOWEVER...you're only milking 1% of that Bloodluster cash cow here. GIVE EVERYBODY WHAT THEY REALLY WANT BUT OLD PEOPLE ARE TOO AFRAID TO ASK FOR! Give them some dog fighting!

Now now now...I know what you're going to say..."America is a bunch of cry-baby vagina's who are all sad at dogs going to doggy heaven for Spartan ideals", but if you learned anything in your "Dog's Love To Die In Battle 202 Humanities" class at the community college you'd have learned in the 1st-week that dogs love this sorta shit. Dogs are competitive by nature. There is nothing that a dog loves more than dieing with honor. They love it more than pets on the head.

Now, I know what you're also thinking, "But these dogs are so innocent and you're just going to abuse them & drown them in a bucket of water" and I will tell you now NO...I will not do that at all. I will not drown these dogs one bit. That will be up to the dogs if that is how they will want to destroy their competitor. This is "Dog Fighting 404: Advanced Dog Battling", son!

It's an old adage: Catch a man a fish; he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish; he eaZZZZZZZ SO FUCKING BORING! That adage is stupid. Here's a new one:

Teach a dog to fight; he can choose from either a Katana blade, chainsaw or brass pipe to dispose of his enemy with.

Now THAT is something I want to take a "Getting Behind Solid Ideas 505: Dogs Fighting in a Thunderdome Situation" class on next semester. I hear the teacher grades on a curve and DOGS ARE GOING FUCKING APE-SHIT WITH BATTLE AXES & NUNCHUCKS INSIDE A STEEL DOME! Try to make the "Teens with Bloodlust" steer clear of something like that, CBS. You'd have to show some PRETTY shitty programming to scare away the youth of today if you had a program like Doggy Thunderdome.

On 2nd thought...you guys make Mixed Martial Arts sound like Jesus invented it.

***No dogs got killed in the writing of this blog-post except for mine the other day.

Breaking News: Katie the Dog Is Dead As Disco

2008-06-02T17:44:00.000-07:00

My long time dog, Katie, has passed away on this, the 2nd of June, 2008.

To the left is a painting of her that my mother had commissioned. Me & my mother are in constant disagreement about this painting. She thought that it made Katie look refined & elegant. I thought that it made me want to be scared of Katie & puke at the painting.

I think she lived to be 17-years old, which calculates out to being born during the Civil War in dog years, so don't go crying your sad tears on account of Katie's life, OK?

I'm not necessarily sure what breed of dog Katie was. She was mid-sized with this strange, bloated hotdog body that stood on very lengthy, slender legs & constantly wore the face of a worried, dough-eyed seal. While we never once hit that dog, Katie would reflex into a pitiful cower whenever anyone from our family would reach down to pet her coarse, blond fur. It was for this reason & her unusual approach towards entering a room -an entry included the preemptive clicking sounds of her cautious toenails on our tile floor followed by the peak of a snout that slowly revealed itself as a tiny, furry seal head ever so carefully inspecting the situation that lay around the doorway's entrance; prudently making sure that nobody was ready to throw a shoe or fire a shotgun at her once she arrived in this new space- that we amused ourselves by referring to her as "Grandma Katie", even at the typically spry doggie age of 3-years.

Katie was adopted from the Prescott Humane Society following the death of our neighbor's dog, who happened to be MY then dog's best friend. [read: Dolly was my dog, and I will swear on a stack of Bibliotecas or burritos that it was the greatest dog that has ever lived EVER] To aide in Dolly's grieving process, we brought home a sheepish puppy that shadowed Dolly in whatever she did. Perhaps it was being reared under the very passive & dopey & gentle ways of a dog like Dolly -a mix of Weimaraner & some other extremely large breed- that basically retarded any sense in Katie that she should develop some form of a spine for herself. While Dolly had mastered the art of "enormous sweetheart dog wants some pets", Katie seemed to be stuck on "spazz that won't eat stuff out of your hand". Due in part to all of her "Woody Allen but a dog" quirks, we never truly considered Katie "the family dog" but rather "that thing that we would feed & it would fart & leave the room".

The gist is she was my family's dog & we all loved her very much, but she was always overshadowed by a dog with a more impressive personality. This truth held no more weight than with the arrival of Zoe -an Airedale terrier that took the place of my Dolly & whom my mother currently considers her 4th child- and the ever present, unspoken feeling that Zoe was always "way too fucking cool" to be hanging out with the likes of Katie. Katie's life could be summed up as the Gary Cherone of Van Halen's lead singer replacements.

While she might have literally been one of the most neurotic animals I have come into contact with, she was one of my animals & I loved Katie very much. May you enjoy your time in doggy heaven(there is no such thing as doggy heaven), sweet sweet Katie.

Memories:

-I think the most kind thing that I said to Katie before she died was during one final "mind-meld" session (you delicately embrace the dog's face in your hands & kindly look at them in the eyes with foreheads touching) this past Christmas. "You win for saddest dog in the whole world."

-She happened to be in the same room when I lost my virginity to my high school sweetheart. Since then, she has always enjoyed being a voyeur to my awkward, short, temper-tantrum filled sexcapades.

-I think the most wonderful thing that I asked Katie on a near daily basis while living at home was, "Why is your head so small for your fat body?"

-If you were playing some form of "tug" [read: it wasn't really "tug" as much as pulling something away from her mouth, and her walking away defeated] with Katie and she somehow became overheated she would stop all fun & games immediately, sit down, look you dead in the eye with what appeared tears & begin to puff her cheeks in & out. I actually thought that was kind of great.

-The most delicious thing I ever fed Katie was some cheesecake back in the 5th grade. I used to engulf entire Sara Lee cheesecakes in one sitting while my parents weren't home, and I hadn't yet caught onto the idea that I was disgusting. I was just starting to work on a 2nd round of cheesecake when I realized that I had engorged the 1st too quickly. Its thick cream-cheese soon lulled me into a catatonic state, and I left the cheesecake sitting in front of me as I lethargically flicked between American Gladiators & Ghost Dad. While I didn't necessarily invite Katie to come eat a healthy chunk of that cheesecake, I didn't necessarily shoo her away either.

-I think the most pre-meditated coping mechanism that I joked about with my parents was asking them for the past 2-years, "When are you going to let that poor dog just die already?" Katie sure made me look like an asshole. She proudly displayed for me just how long a dog with that much nervous apprehension towards life could fend off death.

I'll miss you, Katie dog. You showed me how fun it was to have issues with things & for that I can never repay you.

Your Safety Is Job #Sex W/ U

2008-05-31T11:23:00.000-07:00

The below commercial has gone through many different evolutions, and I'm not quite sure why. Perhaps it was complaints of the stereotype that women tend to be chatty on the phone in times of peril (I'm looking at you, Sex In The City), the idea of blind-dates as a means to fill the trapped feelings of being a vapid slut (I'm looking at you, whore ex-girlfriend) or for simply being not-believable & terrible (I'm looking at you, Sex In The City the Movie)
[Bonus Horrible: whore ex-girlfriend watching Sex In The City the Movie! None more horrible ALERT!, gang]

Brink's Home Security: First Date

Pretty true to life, right?

Oh wait, what? You didn't actually click on that link I provided for you there, lazy reader? Weird. Is it really too much to ask to get you to click on the above link & look at the first 25 seconds of a Youtube video so the below context doesn't go whipping over your head & finds you leaving me comments like "your retarded" & "dis is sofaking GAY stupid"?

In most 3rd world countries, if they'd get a nano-second of a Youtube video it'd like the best day of their FUCKING LIVES -that wonderful day would be respectively followed by a day with 3 thimbles of rice & a day with little to no genocide- and you are just so willing to blithely wave the above video away as if it were a pesky mosquito? Are you scared or something? Would something like that be too traumatic for you? It would? JESUS! I had no idea your brother died of Youtube cancer. I'm so sorry. He was a great man. No more jokes about that ever. BACK TO THE FUN! FARTING SOUNDS!!!

The first -and if you ask me BETTER- conception of the Brink's Home Security commercial featured the same woman in a nearly identical situation. She was frantically wandering around her single bedroom apartment chatting on the phone with a girlfriend about the blind-date she would be picked up for in approximately 30-minutes. She hears the rattling at the door, the robber smashes her window & runs, she gets scared & gets a call from Brink's Security. The last bit of the scenario is played-out exactly as it did in the above video (see...if you didn't watch it, you will NOT understand ANYTHING!)

I enjoyed this first cut of the commercial. I feel it happened to be more identifiable & realistic. A woman is going on a blind date because the woman is alone. ( I guess first date also sums this up, but blind date smacks of SO MUCH MORE desperation) A woman living alone loves to chat on the phone with girlfriends because they are so lonely. A woman living alone should be in fear of getting raped constantly because it's just a matter of hours before it happens to you. It's the perfect fear-mongering reality, Brink's! BUY SECURITY NOW, LADIES!!!

However -and here is what brought this entire post into fruition- I believe there is a great notion that Brink's unintentionally registered inside my brain about this poor single woman's home being broken into; her date is going to get SO MUCH PUSSY!

Even if the guy is like a 4 with a boring personality, he is going to get laid tonight TOTES!!! Any which way but NOT GETTING FUCKED!!! No if, ands or buts about any of that. There is no way this woman is going to be alone tonight, and when she goes on this date -she already took the shower & shaved her legs; she might as well- this date is in for SO MUCH DOING IT! SERIOUSLY BRO! This pussy is in the bag! You could collect interest on this pussy, it is that bankable! Scared woman afraid to be alone! Genius, Brinks & story arch's of a countless number of pornographic films!

Then THAT got me to thinking...what if the guy that threw the rock WAS THE DATE? What if he's one of those pervert psychologists that knows women's reactions to rock throwings, and just sets up Craigslist stuff so he can get a sweet piece of poontang pie all over town? Poontang pie is STILL a relevant & hilarious euphemism, folks. Stay with me, smart-people & trend-setters.

Very Related:

Whatever your living situation, ladies...remember to keep it safe. No getting raped. Unless, of course, you are my whore ex-girlfriend in which case is will NEVER be rape.

Last Weekend's Phoenix Fan-Fiction

2008-05-29T15:50:00.000-07:00

This is entirely true except for the parts that I made up…so stop wasting ALL our time & just figure it out:

There wasn’t room enough for 3-grown men in the cab of the Toyota Tacoma. All attempts previous had found one or both of its passengers in near coital intertwines atop the dashboard, gear crank or otherwise. I selected myself as the safety-harnesses' odd man out, and opted to sit upright on the dusty floor of the truck’s bed. After all this was AZ and, like so many migrant workers before me, the protocol for proper seated positioning had been determined long before this Saturday's midday trip through the greater Phoenix metropolitan area.

Phoenix is a big city. Phoenix occupies over 4 million people. Phoenix is disgustingly hot.

We drive towards a destination of which the cabin’s two occupants had not discussed openly with me before our now impotent communication. I gaze at the Starbucks & 32-story glass Fidelity Mortgage buildings & Cheesecake Factory’s that are backgrounds to the shiny black Mercedes Benzes & Volvos lining posh Camelback Road. With one quick right I am flung against the driver’s side bed grate. I catch my hand on the top of the lining, inches from my skull catching it first.

The bed of the truck has been pre-heated like a stove top and stings the back of my legs whenever I lay them flat. My palms are sweating & creating mud from trying to keep my equilibrium upon this bed’s filthy top layer. My fingernails act as sandpaper to already loose chips of paint on a decade old coat of bronze. I decide the ways of a wise immigrant workforce had betrayed me, and that this crack-the-egg seating arrangement was no position for a spry 26-year old looking to keep his foppish hair kempt. I shimmy down the cab’s exterior shell until my back is flat against its heated, filthy surface. I open my arms & legs spread like Vitruvian man, and brace myself against the bed’s side walls in preparation for each harsh turn.

10-minutes pass without event until the sky above me suddenly turns counter-clockwise. With one last gravitational shift my body is lifted & heaved with into the driver’s side grating. In an instant we are parked as the cab’s two passengers open their doors with apprehensive laughter & terror.

“It’ll be fun. We’ll just have a beer.” With this, Tom made his way for the swinging saloon style doors of Monti’s Roadhouse Saloon. Years of wind-blown desert dirt clung to the brown colored Stucco siding. The building's color blended perfectly with the earth that sat all around its walls, and it's simple cubist shape was nearly identical to the geometry of its neighboring businesses. To the left, a liquor emporium bore neon signs proclaiming its pride in selling Marlboro's & Budweiser & Tecate, as well as displaying a near impenetrable security system of crudely soldered rebar wrapping around each of the establishment’s windows. To the right, a private retailer touted barely discernible bargains on cardboard cutouts through windows as translucent as a sand storm. A neon sign was also featured, touting pride in its general selling of “Used Cell Phones. No Commitment” behind rebar similar to its liquor store neighbor; a mere one step removed. This cell phone retailer’s closest competitors were located across the street at identically shaped buildings but of a more salmon Stucco color. The first competitor advertised a giant, sagging, vinyl banner for “Cheap Cell Phones” across an equally giant, filthy, rebar-clad window. The second competitor was Monti's and its “International Calling Cards” poster, roughly a quarter size of one of its black, spray painted windows. Rebar was not a feature on any of Monti's Roadhouse Saloon's black, spray painted windows.

Phoenix is a big city. Phoenix occupies over 4 million people. 15 of those 4 million Phoenicians were currently inside of Monti’s Roadhouse Saloon. Each one of them found it necessary to carry a visibly displayed handgun with them to drink in a cube shaped establishment where rebar was not a feature that covered its black, spray painted windows.

“I think we’re going to get our faces stomped in.” Augie’s back was facing the bar, but he could feel the contempt in the patronage’s nonchalant lingers. Augie & Tom both sipped their beers more quickly than I was used to. The Bud Lights we chose to drink had remained unmolested in Monti’s cooler for quite some time. Rust had begun to corrode the inside of the cap's metal, but I felt it wasn’t my place to complain. Botulism was a small price to pay for anonymity in Monti's.

It wasn’t enough that we were the only three gentlemen currently in this bar without a gun, without a pocketknife, without a mustache, without thick, scarred forearms from years of shoveling ditches & fitting pipe, without painted on jeans revealing chewing tobacco indention's & accentuating the overlapping of love handles through aggressively tucked in shirts. In any other bar along the Scottsdale strip, we would have been considered pariahs. Refused entrance for our flip-flop/ flamboyantly designed board-shorts/ urban t-shirt uniforms. However here today, inside of Monti’s, we were treated as main attractions; the three 20-somethings looking for an authentic/ ironic “dive-bar” experience, but took a dreadful misstep in trying to find it in an actual “dive” portion of town.

The tender of the bar was our lone welcoming gaze through her large-framed glasses. She was a mother; a story told by her child running breakneck through the bar’s stools, in-&-out of the kitchen area and underneath a slashed canvas pool table. The bar had a low, glowing buzz of 2 TV's whose screens offered the options of international soccer or bass fishing. The three of us decided, again, to remain anonymous and not suggest the NBA Playoff game that was currently being televised. Along with this cathode ray buzz came the sound of white noise; this sound doubled as the only steady noise featured inside of Monti's that afternoon.

A heavy set man entered the bar & stopped just short of exiting the hot Phoenix sun he had entered in from. His tucked-in "Big Johnson" t-shirt & “Phoenix 500 Race Day” ball cap were illuminated half by the scorching Phoenix sun to his rear & half by a silent jukebox to his left. His tea-saucer sized belt buckle reflected the titles featured on this jukebox currently being optioned as a paper-weight. The names like George Straight, Travis Tritt & ZZ Top set a tone for a typical Friday night inside of Monti's. The kind of night we were 12-hours too late for. The kind of night where something would have most likely come to fruition from now intentioned stares.

The heavy set man began to speak. He removed his oilily-reflective sunglasses from tiny ears flanked on either side of a face belonging to a bulldog in another life. He didn’t allow these sunglasses' straps to tense atop his barrel chest before starting into a general announcement that happened to be directed towards the back, right corner of Monti's...the same back, right corner we three had decided to occupy, but not specifically the same back, right corner-table we three had decided to sit at:

“If anybody inside the bar -whoever it may be- owns a bronze Toyota Tacoma pick-up, I suggest that this trio of faggots go tend to this certain automobile as my cousin Larry is currently filling the back of your truck with a whole shit-ton of piss.”

Phoenix is a big city. Phoenix occupies over 4 million people. Larry’s urine stench is at its most pungent on one of its hot, ruthless, summer days.

SO TIRED + Indiana Jones = Lazily Done Open Letter Tuesday Party!

2008-05-27T18:15:00.000-07:00

Gang…I’m SO tired. I literally drank more in 3-days than I had in the past year. I also got 100% more AIDS infest by drinking Phoenix water straight from the tap than I had gotten in the past 26-years I was allowed to be alive. Too bad about life, Tyler.

Open Letter to Adult Tyler:
Maybe next time you won’t drink until you puke like an 18-year old and then quench your thirst with AZ tap water. These full-blown AIDS are a gentleman’s punishment when it comes to the Ebola viruses typically associated with AZ tap water.

Open bar + Finding creative ways to mix vodka + (Body-rocking dance moves + white pants/ boots) + LLCoolTyler = AIDS**

Fatally Yours,
Dead Tyler

**Please refer to the Internet for more AIDS equations

I’m writing a piece of fan fiction about my time at Ben Goot’s Wedding that I think you’ll really enjoy, but I’m too tired to think with the part of my brain that understands when stuff is good & when stuff should be put on this site with pictures, so I’m just going to go ahead & defer to an open letter that has had me thinking since a Saturday afternoon showing of Indiana Jones & the ~~Dues Ex Machina~~ Kingdom of Some Stuff:

Open Letter to Writers/ Producers/ Directors of Indiana Jones 5, 6 & 7:

I'm pretty sure that I miss the Nazis,***
Another Disenchanted 20-something

PS to Indiana Jones 4:
Could you please give my childhood innocence back the $9.75 you stole from it right before you raped it. It will take this reparation in the form of delicious rock-candy.

***[read: 1st time ever written on the Internet ALERT]

It's Time To Get Married, GAYLORDS! or C U Next Tuesday

2008-05-22T17:47:00.000-07:00

It's that time, people! Love is in the air! Clothing's inseams are shortening themselves into more the "whore-realm" of the hem! Dogs are being walked! Banditos are being apprehended! The sun doesn't start going down until 8:45pm! Taco stands are flourishing! Sunglasses are still not cool indoors! Soup is no longer a realistically enjoyable meal choice! Other stuff!

People, this Memorial Day weekend is HUGE! HUGE! Not just for people with party boats & alcohol & bitches or sad government workers who get this Monday off to mentally toil suicide/ homicide, NO...it is more importantly than all that huge for ME! I've got a 3-fold of things coming my way!
-I'm making a homecoming back to AZ! BAM!
-I'm going to Ben Goot's Wedding! CRANK!
-I just got a cowichan sweater! CHAINSAW BZZZZZ KRAZY!

Let's examine this trifecta of exclamation rendering talking points:

Point Cowichan:
TONS of people get confused with what a cowichan is . Some people refer to it as a cardigan, but those people are providing an understated explanation & would likely also downplay something like the moon as "that thing with the face in the sky" or summarize the Revolutionary War as "that thing that that guy on the $1 did" or find himself callously summarizing a judiciary verdict to a potential employer as "well muder in the 3rd isn't necesarily murder in the 1st, now is it?!"

A cowichan is so much more than simply a sweater, cardigan, shawl, parka, warm outer-wear or mother's womb cozy. A cowichan is the most ornately crafted piece of wool that you will ever have the privilege -and it WILL be your privilege- to place upon your arms & back that screams, "Hey! Look at this thing that I'm so headily wearing! It is so stylishly relevant & elaborate in design", while at the same time nonchalantly brushing it off as "oh...this old thing...yeah...I'm pretty sure some Indian -feather not dot- made it on the Rez".

That "feather not dot" thing won't even come off as racially intolerant; a cowichan makes you THAT NONCHALANT about implied fashion-statement manifestations.

None more exemplary has a cowichan been worn than throughout The Big Lebowski. Have you heard of it? It's a movie. You know. It might have been referenced once or twice in your stoner friend's dorm room because he just couldn't just let it all go even after a decade had passed...but that's neither hear nor there....

Look at The Dude & just GET the cowichan ideal:
There you go.

The Dude is abiding because of that cowichan.

That is a complete sentence displaying just how important a cowichan is to all that abiding getting done.

The main difference between my cowichan & the one featured in the major motion picture: mine has a GIANT BULL HEAD on the back of it. Amazing. People stop their cars in the middle of an intersection just to run up to me, shake my hand and tell me what a great job I'm doing at life & how I appear to be genuinely abiding it; that's the moving sentiment that a cowichan offers to its wearer's lost souls & sweater enthusiasts alike.

Point AZ Return:
Most of my very good friends still live in/ around AZ. While I consider myself lucky to live in a city like Portland, with all of its eccentricities & hipster-angst & places to eat & iPhones & lesbians & Obama rallies & engine-powered cars & boxcar socials, it can also get rage inducing lonely.

By that I mean whenever I am confronted with another person's pleasantries/ unintentional eye-contact/ a question regarding "paper or plastic", I am render confused & primordial. So long has it been since I've actually interacted with fellow human beings I don't work with that any direct contact one initiates with me, I reciprocate with a deafening shriek & a lashing of my claw-sharpened fingernail tips to their jugular.

Turns out that after college, if you're not a car sales-person/ a huge knob-bobber (apologies for the redundancy) you more than likely weren't bred for the social butterfly trade, thus it becomes SUPER hard to form any type of nurturing support system outside of facebook.com [read: don't worry...I'm crying on the INSIDE from sad after just writing that]

Apparently, college was when a lot of people had the exact same experience in common & by cluster-fucking these impressionable, like-minded people into a confined space with each other, add some alcohol & no parents, there were super relationships formed in a super hurry that were sure to last all super life-long vis-a-vis the films Speed/ Speed 2: Kill Yourself Control.

I was in a frat (nullus), so all of these feelings are felt 11-brodacious-fold. Since I had to pay dues/ money for these wonderful friends for a total of 5-years, I feel like they are more an "investment" than people. Being that I am now getting older & my understanding of the business world is on an upward gradient that is fast catching up to my declining understanding of "How to get a BJ from anything with tits", it is only now that I understand exactly what it was that I was paying for throughout those years on college. Upon my entrance into a miscellaneous city that houses one of my "investments", as per past fiscal obligation, I am owed a minimum of the following: 2 hours fun at a strip-club where a girl we went to college with works; 8 recounts of stories' past; 1.5 late-night burritos; 1 gross shot that I will pour out before I take; 4 instances where I can silently judge the person time has transformed you into.

Also, being that I was in a fraternity and all of my friends were forced upon me in a microcosm of the collegiate experience itself, I am left with a deficit in my "friend making skills" cache unless, of course, payment is an option for these friend's affections. Alas, this "paying" procedure has only gotten me arrested/ placed on "neighborhood watch lists" that could only sully my future endeavors in running for Congressman/ adopting.

Regardless, I will see nearly half of all of my dear friends from college and I will most likely CHUG SOME FUCKING FROSTY DAWGS WITH MY BRO-HIEMS & GET SOOOO FUCKED UP, DUDE!

Point Ben Goot's Wedding:
As I've let you into my life here & here, you will know that Ben Goot is a special little guy to me. He's Jewish, so I have a feeling that a glass or something to that effect will be broken at the nuptials. Maybe I'll have to wear a Yarmulke. Maybe some of that chair-lifting thing the Jews are known for?

Absolutely.

Either way, it's a big day for Ben Goot. I could only assume that he will be losing his virginity later in that evening, as I had never seen him having intercourse before. I could also assume that I will look uninspired in whatever I decide to wear to the ceremony.

Things like this are tough for me. I dress rather eccentrically on a daily basis, and this, in turn sets the bar EXTREMELY high in accordance with special events such as these. People are always asking themselves, "What hyjinx will come of Tyler's garb upon good morrow?", but truth be told... I have a chronic case of performance anxiety & am no good to anyone when people are expecting something out of me and ESPECIALLY not when attention isn't supposed to be given to me.

Case & point: I typically don't dress up for Halloween; I cite too much pressure. On any given Tuesday I am likely to dress up like a memory of your grandfather in my white loafers & golfing cardigan & polyester pants, but on the day that it's expected...my well just runs dry. I've got nothing for you. It's expected & I can't deliver with that pressure. My sex life nearly replicates the above concept. [read: AGAIN...crying on the inside]

Alternatively: For 3-years in college, I dated a nice Jewish girl in an EXTREMELY Jewish sorority. This sorority was having their "formal" blah blah dance that was considered a black tie affair. Premeditated for months, I grew out my hair & beard, dawned a white robe & blue sash and went as Jesus Christ. It's moments like these when I shine & get broken up with by humorless Jewish girlfriends.

As far as the wedding is concerned, I believe the ladder for attention that needs to be paid descends as follows:
Bride
Bride's Maids
Mother of the Bride
Tyler
Groom
Catering Guy
The Rascally Stray Dog That Just Wants To Play

Being that I'm 4th on the list, I've got to tone it down a smidgen. I can't just go in my typical "nude with only a 'Billy the Talking Bass' covering my penis". NO, Tyler! That would be too easy, plus it's not Easter Sunday Mass. I've got to bring it proper for this one. I've got to make Ben Goot proud...Ben Goot's Approval Pushcart.

Here's what I've gathered as fuel thus far in my fashion-idea think tank:

Yeah, huh? I guess you guys are right...this is supposed to be a celebration...a party! And what kind of party would I be attending if I just fell back on exactly what I wear to the office everyday. A work party, that's what!

How about something more historical & romantic? Classical Literature as its inspiration! I just learned how to read about 18 months ago & have the discerning eye of a 11th grader...needless to say I'm a HUGE fan of Dan Brown novels. Could I get a suggestion to display my fandom?
Like I said above, maybe something I don't already wear to work?

You guys just aren't getting me! I need debonair! I need something that screams "OLD MONEY"! I need something to accentuate my long legs but very stubby midriff:

This could be nice! That dog looks loaded for bare, however. Do you have any papers on the animal? No. Just found it on the street eating from garbage receptacle? Ok...let's rethink this...

Do you have anything less accessory addled, perhaps?

That's good, but I like music thus don't want to destroy it. Also, I'm a fan of chest coverage. It's going to be sunny in AZ & I don't want a nasty burn on my stacked pecs.

I like that this has a subtle "BABIES EVERYWHERE" quality to it, but I'm not thrilled about shaving my beautiful, foppish quaff. Maybe something more festive...

I'm with you up until the shoes...sorta gay, gang...

I think this really expresses how I want to be portrayed in my daily life. I like.

Maybe we need more buttons on it though...

OH WOW...see what you did there...too many button.

Let's back up on the buttons.

Well now I think that's "too few" of buttons.

Plus, with all this button talk, if I'm going to have buttons, I'd rather include a few that are going to send a very direct message about where I stand on issues that matter:

I'd rather that message not be "I'm dead & a tyrant."

I'd rather that message not be "I might as well be dead."

I'd rather that message be a little bit MORE sad & sobering...NAIL ON THE HEAD PERFECT!!!

IT'S WATCHIN PEOPLE GETTIN' MARRIED TIME, PEOPLE!!!

Regardless of what I wear, I'm sure I'll go home alone & in a drunken stuper regardless of how much I primp myself up in expectance of a minimum HJ/ make-out sesh with the bride's 18-year old cousin who was SUPER into all of my incredible Full House Danny Tannerism's (at least she was after I explained who Danny Tanner was & then after I stopped crying about how old I was & then about how alone I was & then about how weird my bowels were being & about how it must have been all that cheese that I ate & maybe it was the brisket & then I kept crying real hard & then she kinda rubbed my back with her palm)...so sackin' that puss was basically a 99% go, you know?

Oh well. There are worse things that could happen at a wedding. I could be the one that ended up actually getting married at the end of oneRIMSHOT ME!!! BA DUM CHING!!!

C U NEXT TUESDAY, GANG!!!

Working In the Superlative

2008-05-20T14:27:00.000-07:00

Meanest woman on earth, eh?

Naomi Campbell?

Meanest?

This is up for debate?

What has she done again?

Didn't she throw a phone at people?

Sorry...not at people...at her servant?

That's her servant, gang. Sorry to tell you, America, but she can do what she wants with her servant. It's written into the Magna Carta. 'Ems the rules!

But wasn't that like 8 years ago?

Isn't that like 796-Internet years ago?

Are there going to be any upcoming MSN polls on whether-or-not we're going to die of bird-flu or SARS? If so, the response to that would be neither. The answer to that would be by a tiger attack in San Francisco.

Aren't there "meaner" people in the world than Naomi Campbell?

Off the top of my head I've got 15:

Too obscure?

OK...what about:
Just doing her job?

OK:
Just because she doesn't smile enough doesn't make her mean, and I'm being politically biased?

People...it's not like there are GOP women just falling into references, OK?

Want me to shake it up? Here:
Wait...she doesn't count because the poll regards "women" & not "Ice Beasts"? Fine.

What about these two classy dames?
Eh...you're right...they're probably fighting over a worthy cause like child poverty or fruit punch flavored Hater-ade. Makes sense.

I don't know what this one did, but just look at her...she's FOR SURE got a puppy in her freezer right this instant:

A pretty decent argument here:

Maybe somebody more renowned?
Pretty mean, right? Giving the business to Charlie Sheen like that. That guy did Hot Shots and that was a pretty good movie when I was in the 5th grade.

Also, wasting our time like she is...being on Larry King & acting like she's something other than tabloid news fodder... time-waster.

Plus, this was the the 2nd most viewed story on CNN.com.

Way to go, America!

Hey...check this out:
WOW. Did anybody order up 2-pairs of dead eyes?

This lady could be a close competitor:
She hates the troops & gays, and had that same look on her face throughout her entire interview with Sean Hannity.

Sean Hannity even called her "mean".

How horrible a human being do you have to be to have Sean Hannity declare you "mean"?

This one doesn't even get that kind of treatment:
What do you have to say for yourself, Ms. Coulter?

"These broads are millionaires, lionized on TV and in articles about them, reveling in their status as celebrities and stalked by grief-arazzis... These self-obsessed women seemed genuinely unaware that 9/11 was an attack on our nation and acted as if the terrorist attacks happened only to them... I’ve never seen people enjoying their husbands’ deaths so much."

Always taking the high road.

Perfect.

Match.com Perfect.

Pretty tame stuff. Not nearly as mean as throwing a phone.

What about a delightful little lady known as the "Angel of Death" or perhaps Rosemary West...

hhhhhhmmmmmmmm...did I mention that the phone in question was a "bejeweled phone"?

That's what I thought.

We might need to go genocidal maniac to beat that:

Nice.

Jiang Qing, the wife of Chairman Mao Zedong, who most historians recount as the engineer of the Cultural Revolution. You know, the Great Leap Forward that economically set China back almost 500 years & cost nearly 500,000 lives? (People...always remember that first & foremost, Ben Goot's Car is a history lesson for the eyes...Ben Goot's Past-Learnin' Wagon)

China was a tough place, so you needed to know how to PARTY HARD!

These guys know what I'm talking about, don't you guys?
Not this guy though:

Speaking of cats to laugh at, I think we're on to something...
BOOM! Got it! Sorry, gang. Useless post ALERT!

As it turns out, using the Logic of Full-Circle/ Occam's Razor/ Pythagorean Theorem/ LOLPhilosophy, looks like Naomi Campbell IS the meanest women alive.

I've wasted not only your time, but I've distracted you long enough to have my 4-sons come down to your house & steal your car...LATER, PEDESTRIANS 4-VIVA LA VIDA or Death & All His Worst Polls!!!