3rd leg
Nevermind, Perry's back up.

Friday, November 14, 2003



You may not believe it, but I actually am willing to give people the benefit of the doubt sometimes. But I will get upset and lose my temper if and when somebody tries to play me for the fool.

Like say anyone at all associated with, or who even buys a ticket to, The Human Stain starring Anthony Hopkins and Nicole Kidman which premieres at a local theatre near you this evening. Both Oscar-quality actors, no beef there. But in case you don’t know anything about the plot yet, let me be the offending party. See hot-ass Nicole is supposed to be Tony’s main squeeze. Ummmmm, O.K. And Tony, is supposed to be part African-American. Ummmmm, Awww-Hell-No-you didn’t!

I can sorta accept Nicole adopting kids with a straight-actin’, pint-sized toothy dude with mega-box-office-juice. And I am slowly accepting the fact that she’s now showing more than her soul to one Mr. Lenny Kravitz. But never in a million years can you get me to buy her and some old flesh-eater… Even if it was just special effect flesh. All I can say is combine the special effects teams from The Matrix, T3, and The Clash of the Titans and you still can’t make believe Tony Hopkins is even part black. Not even a quarter. Nor will I believe dude's charming enough to bag Miss Kidman. Not even if he somehow got her talking about lambs and shit. I will and do, however, respect his obvious preference for redheads. Me too, but only if I can verify the carpet matches the drapes, knahwhuhimean?


Yep I said Clash of the Titans, the ground-breaking-ahead-of-its-time mythology flick from the early 80’s. It gets play today because some freak found me yesterday by googling ‘shirtless Harry Hamlin,’ and I actually bumped around trying to fulfill the request. That oughta go a long way in proving how benevolent of a blog this truly is---but sadly I couldn't find any evidence that Mr. Hamlin has ever been bare chested. At least not for the camera. But I did find the amusing movie poster, and I also found an even funnier Krakken Haloween costume. Who would let their kid dress up as the freakin’ Kraken, and who would invest money to design and mass distribute Kraken costumes? High-larry-ous.


What’s not so hilarious? Diane Sawyer. She’s no Barbara Walters. Babs wouldn’t have shut the cameras off once she started Britney’s waterworks. And who says "Weird" when they’re about to break down on national T.V. anyway? Babs would’ve asked her about Columbus Short, her married backup dancer with a baby on the way, that she was trying to get in her zone this summer. Babs wouldn’t have fallen for "I only drink Amaretto Sourts" hook, line and sinker. Justin, you look a little bit smarter every day…

Now if memory serves me correctly, Kat is up 3-1 over Gunge, with everybody else just trying to get a point on the board. Which can only mean it’s now time for Volume 5 of…Name, That, Blogger!!!

Clips got the Waryuhs tonite. Think my man Q-dogg will have any probs holdin down skinny Mike D.? Nope. Even if he ain’t so skinny no mo. Speakin of ballers, member where ya heard the words ‘Leon Powe’ first. Right hurrr. He’s the shit for rizzle and ifn he ain’t the man already, gonna be the man real soon. Believe that.

Can’t wait to get my hands and ears on the Jigga-Man’s Black album. Don’t even have to hear it to know that shit’s gonna be the fukn shit. Dude can’t retire, he’s the shit that don’t stank, da vault in da bank, da gas in da tank… Forillydo, shit’s gonna be even tighta than Snoop Dogg guestin on Playmakers. And you know what’s I speak? That’s right, it be da truth.

Gots to get back to da jobby jobb. Busier than shit today and da man’s on my azz. Just a few more hours and Imo kick this weekend off maholo-style. If you don’t know how that be, then enjoy your weekend hoolie-style.

Peace.


Your answer please…

Oh yeah, and this kid thinks I'm hip, but not quite hip enough to be perma-linked... Ah well... I mean, Screw CU... Just kidding, unless it's Colorado---then I'm sorta not.



Without a trace...

Thursday, November 13, 2003



Ryan Perry has inexiplicably vanished, or more likely been suspended by his web host. And one can only guess that somehow, someway a certain hotel heiress' legal team is behind the temporary shutdown. And if not directly, they've at the very least managed to put the multi-million-dollar-lawsuit-threatening-fear-of-God in to the well placed hearts of a few submissive internet executives. Ones that care much more about their company's bottom line and corporate reputation than the right to free speech of their pedestrian clients.

You couldn't even download the overrated 3-minute poorly framed, cell phone interrupted, no money shot clip directly from his site! It's not fair, and it's not right, and are we gonna stand for it??? I'd say hell no, but Ryan's a bright guy, and I'm sure he'll be back up and running before I even publish this post.

BTW, word on the street is that's but one of close to a dozen home movies that were found/lifted/conveniently made available from the casa de la Solomon. Which means more piracy, more bandwidth, more downloads, more attorneys' fees, and hopefully even more and better lit Paree. Even solo Paree on occasion, I've heard.

Why spend all this money fighting a losing battle when the Hiltons could just relent, make all the tapes available per DVD or web pay-per-view with all the revenues benefitting a righteous cause, like the Tommy Chong Legal Defense fund? All that dude did was autograph a few custom bongs. He didn't do anything stupid like videotape himself in compromising, and numerous, positions with an older married man packing average equipment. (If you thought he was endowed, um never mind...).

Then we could get on to more pressing issues... Like how in the hell are 2Pac and Biggie Smalls still dropping new joints when they've been dead for seven years?!?!?!?

And suprise, surprise, Kat scored again... You all don't want none!

You just better hope that after taking you fools to school that she remembers to pack a lunch for you and pick your whipper-snapper asses up at the end of the day. I wonder if there's anything she could teach me about that I didn't already know... and I wonder if she knows how much I'd dig it if she'd simply bend at the waist the next time she 'accidentally' drops the chalk at the blackboard. And as a matter of fact, no, I wasn't paying attention to a damn thing you said, and sure I wouldn't mind staying after class to talk about that smart-assed mouth of mine...

(cue cheaply made 70's funk instrumental)

Boomchickachickachick, Boomchickachickachick...
Wowwdadabaddawowwowowow...
Mmmmm, hah, hah.... Mmmmm, hah, hah....

Um, where was I? Oh yeah---Free Ryan! No Justice, No Peace!!!






Mmmmmm, Smarties


I began this week with every intention of eating healthier and getting back to the gym after a two-month absence. The thinking being that I could get in a good three weeks of healthiness before the Thanksgiving weekend set-back. Want to know how that's going for me?

It's Thursday, I still haven't been to the gym, and despite the availability of low-fat cottage cheese, yogurt and bottled water, I opted for a breakfast of Mountain Dew, two Grape Now and Laters and two rolls of Smarties.

I'm not at an all-time-high on the scales or anything, but I completely lost the momentum of a productive summer, one that featured the first signs of ab definition in over nine years. Ah well. If I can get myself motivated on Saturday morning, I can still get a one and a half week head start on the holidays. Regardless, I'm a big believer in not waiting until New Year's Day when the gyms are flooded with seasonal members, not unlike churches get flooded on Easter Sunday---leaving the regulars to say, "Where in the hell did all these people come from, and who in the hell is in my parking space?"

So instead of hopping on a treadmill I stayed in, ate about 10 tacos (with no cheese at least) and caught both the Pistons/Warriors and of course The Bachelor: The Women Tell All. I've gotta wonder had Misty and Brooke shown Bob their back-flips, and no doubt an ability to do the splits in at least three different ways, whether they would have gotten cut so early. You might not think flexibility would rank high on a single guys checklist, but trust me----the curiosity would have been effectively piqued and I doubt you would've seen a 35-year old in the Final Four. In fact, I still haven't got the thought out of my head...

And for the record, although I may be one of the biggest reality television apologists you know, no way in hell will I be watching Trista and Ryan walk down the aisle. Re-dick-u-los!


Now I believe we're up to volume 4 of (repeat after me) Name, That, Blogger! The blogosphere's favorite new game show that may or may not be getting picked up as a mid-season replacment for The Parkers on the UPN. Yea, maybe not... Only if Jenna von Oy (Did she age well or what?) remains in the time slot as a letter-turner and whell-spinner or something, and only if she wears tight jersey dresses with the number 6. And nothing else. And she does the splits after each correct guess. See, I told you that's an image that you just can't shake.

Anyway...Gunge is on the board after correctly identifying Raymi last round, and is down just one point to Magic Nipples. I've gotta say I've been very pleased that none of our parodied bloggers have taken any offense thus far---though I'm guessing that could change at any moment. Mad props to senses of humor!!!

Ready? Set? Go:

Just got back from the gym and I am ---you guessed it--- sore.

And have I mentioned lately how broke I am?

I am so broke today I went to KFC just so I could lick other people’s fingers.

One of my roommates is thinking about ordering a pizza though.

Maybe some slices will be left after I do cardio.

If not, I might make a down payment on a burrito.

"thighs like what?"

This chick and her mom came in to the store today.

I couldn’t decide who was finer.

The mom was paying me a little more attention.

But the daughter’s ace was a little finer, though mom’s was holding her own.

Kinda wished I had shaved.

Maybe tomorrow.

Three more days til Sunday.

Hopefully the shakes will hold off til then.


Final answer?



NTBv.3

Wednesday, November 12, 2003



Before we can let the games begin today, I have a very serious question that I am sure at least one of you work out fiends can answer.

On Diddy Runs the City they showed Shawn doing an unusual looking exercise during one of his sessions. Essentially he was in a push-up position with one hand on the ground and the other on some type of ball. Then in one quick motion he'd push upward off the ball, knocking it to his other hand which he'd have to push up off the ground to get high enough to land on. And then he'd continue going back and forth, alternating hands.

Then last night while channel surfing I landed on VH1 and some celebrity trainer putting the leads from Good Morning Miami to work. He had them start in a push-up position, and then keeping their feet on the ground and back straight, had them push themselves up on to a series of four small pedestals increasing in height, before then working their way back down.

Which brings me to my question? I'm sure there's a point---but in what ways are these exercises advantageous to the standard push-up, or even the old school military clapping push-ups? Which I assume is entirely different than attempting a push-up while inflicted with THE clap. The latter is much more difficult---or so I've heard. I also remember something about female eskimo body parts being cold.

Anyway on to the important stuff. Say it with me kids, now it's time to Name, That, Blogger! (cue applause)

Kat is off to a commanding 2-point lead, meaning volume 2's answer was indeed MadPony's big sister Kristin. Now on to Volume 3.

And as Slick Rick would say, "Heeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeee we go..":

me and one of my asshole friends were sposed to go karaoke last night but he stood me up. fag. i haven't slept or ate in three days. i've only left my apartment
once to get smokes and i wore a hip ass trucker hat, red sequined pasties and rainbow striped knee highs. there's probly a picture somewhere. but my hair looks so gay right now. i might not put it up. or find it. maybe my cat ate it.

so i ran out of smokes and yelled at some cabbie on my way to go get some more. i was all yah whatever. dick.

i should really be at work right now. or sleeping. but must clean.

got weed? no?

k bye.


Survey says?


Happy 41st Demi!

Tuesday, November 11, 2003




Man is it hard not to hate on Ashton. Just gotta keep telling myself that it's only temporary... Ah well...

NTB-Volume 3 coming Wednesday...

Ode to the Joe


Boobie Lovin' Kat was quick on the draw for Volume 1 of Name That Blogger (= Tony Pierce, who has a dead-solid-perfect Hilton video take today), and since she’s one of the few of you slackers that drops comments here occasionally, she’s going to be awfully hard to beat. But before we move on to Volume 2, let me share with you just one of the random conversations I had with myself this morning during my 30 minute commute to the office.

Aren’t you glad your real name isn’t Joe?


Hmmm, hadn’t really thought about it. Why do you ask?

Cuz back in the day Joe was the man. Even back before the day Joe was the man. Shoeless Joe Jackson might have been the best ever, well not the best reader or writer, but hitter anyway. Joe ‘the Brown Bomber’ Louis was knocking out top-rated contenders, Joltin’ Joe Dimaggio was the man on the diamond and in the bedroom-- knocking Marilyn Monroe’s boots. Then color TV comes along and Broadway Joe Namath emerges and takes over the offensive side of the gridiron, while Mean Joe Greene handles the defense. In the 80’s you had both Joe Theisman and Joe Montana making plays before Joe Dumars comes along and locks down the D on the hardwood. Joe Walsh was making instant classics with the Eagles, while Joe Cocker was inspiring SNL impersonations. Speaking of SNL, you had a pre-steroids, still funny Joe Piscopo. And you know what you’ve got today?

No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.

That’s right, you’ve got Fat Joe, Joe Somebody, Average Joe, Joe Schmo, Joe Millionaire…Speaking of which, where do they find those guys? Both Evan Marriott and now that Cowboy are giving single guys a bad name. They act like it requires a Herculean effort to persuasively lie to get a girl in to bed, and then to keep the lies required to keep her in bed---and to keep from getting found out---straight. Like you’d really have boxed wine in your fridge if you had $80 mill in the bank. Like you’d really put a horse on an airplane for a transcontinental flight when you could just buy another one when you got to your destination. Mo-rone! Fox shoulda called the show Joe Dipshit.

What about Joey Tribbiane?

Exactly. If you’re named Joe today, you’ve got to resort to Joey. Which works great if you’re Italian, but otherwise makes you sound like a kid, and then you’re never taken seriously.

Joe Pesci?

You can’t respect anyone that played any part in Gone Fishin’ crapping up the big screen.

Joey Pants--Joe Pantoliano?

His head’s in a bowling bag.

No, it’s not, he’s The Handler baby!

The Handler is the Gone Fishin’ of prime time television. His Guido the Killer Pimp days are long gone. Trust me. There’s no hope for Joe’s today. Just be thankful already.

What would I ever do without you?

Anyway---without further ado, it’s now time for the innovative new game taking the blogosphere by storm, Name that Blogger (vol. 2):

a new shipment of steve maddens came in today and a pair of red leather amari's had my name written all over them. my cute little feet simply could not be denied the stylish slip-ons with a combination of leather and mesh uppers over a thick, protective, yet surprisingly comfortable, outsole for a very reasonable, albeit discounted, price. even for a poor college kid.

i'm debating whether i should begin a new exercise/diet program now or just wait until after thanksgiving and how many diet cokes per day said diet should permit. i'm also giving a lot of thought to describing my current lingerie collection and future unmentionable purchases with the same detail as i do my shoes. how many more hits per day do you think that might get us? (a lot X more) that's how many. i am so the cutest thing you ever did see and i am so flying first class, and often, thanks to you suckers pervs sweeties.

:D


Now it's time to Name That Blogger!



Name That Blogger - vol. 1

Monday, November 10, 2003


Yep, multiple posts in one day---believe it. After bumping around some of my favorite blogs, I've begun to detect an air of predictability and familiarity that has inspired an exciting new game for your enjoyment. Italicized below is my attempt to impersonate a popular blogger's writing style. You can log your guesses as to who the featured blogger is in the comments section, and as soon as it's been correctly identified, I'll confirm and reveal the answer, and move on to the next round.

(Disclaimer: No disrespect is intended by Name That Blogger, in fact quite the opposite is true. It should be considered a sincere form of flattery and assuming everyone has a sense of humor, maybe even a little fun. If that fun happens to be at your expense, I promise that it will only be temporary... And better to have been made fun of momentarily, than to have been completely ignored... Or something like that... Anyway, let the games begin!!!)

We'll start with an easy one, increasing the difficulty along the way:


dear lebron james,

let me write your blog.

you can pay me one tenth of one percent of your off-court endorsements and in turn i will chronicle your rookie campaign in cleveland dear-diary-style for the net. talk about how you would've gotten that trip-dub if ricky davis hadn't shot that air ball or the behind the scenes story from the sprite commercial.

i'll even willing to break form and mix in a capital 'L' and capital 'J' when referring to you by name. it will be great. spectacular. ground-breaking. important.

you're making history and should continue to do so and become the first pro athlete to own a blog people give a damn about. that starts with good writing and marginal punctuation.

you're kobe without the rap sheet. and lord knows how much i swing on kobe. and groupies. we'll be talking a lot about those money-hungry, panty-droppin' groupies. in fact, i can give you a crash course in groupie management free of charge.

anyway think about it. that reminds me.

last night i was lying in bed thinking about how great i am, i mean how lucky i am and this hot little number came over and knocked on my back door. eighteen years and three days old with strawberry blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail wearing only her white satin cap and gown from her high school graduation last year, a pink and green swatch watch and flip-flops. of course i immediately jumped her barely legal bones and started knocking on and slamming her back door. actually wait, i mean, i played it cool like and acted nonchalant. kept her waiting. she started unzipping the back of her gown to show me there was nothing underneath but i was online and she asked me to come to bed and i said i'd be there in a minute so she started counting slowly and seductively out loud from one to sixty. and when she got to sixty she told me to come to bed again and licked her finger and started putting it in places that made me lose my train of thought. then two fingers. then three. and because i'm a complete moron i waited for the number four to make an appearance before i got off the computer, put on some barry white and engaged. any other course of action would have been too simple and logical.

as always you are strongly encouraged to send me scantily clad pictures of yourself assuming you are female and under 21, and if you're not, you can get a shout-out by sending me money so i can buy a car or go on an exotic vacation.

random link + random link + random link

Now it's time to Name That Blogger!

Free At Last



While most of you were out pissing away your weekends by drinking with friends and enemies, trying to hook up, watching some ball, gullibly falling for Smitty's Paris Hilton video download---or doing all of the above like I did, you probably slept on Ricky Walters' return to freedom.

Who's Ricky Walters you ask (aka Slick muttha fockin' Rick)? Only the coolest, eye-patch wearin' rhyme dog in the history of hip-hop. C'mon you know, "Knock 'em out the box Rick, knock 'em out Rick." No? Alright, how 'bout "Rick the Ruler---That's Right!" Still never heard of him? Put it like this, without his groundwork R.Kelly wouldn't have jammed "This Is How We Do It" quite like his samplin', perv ass did back in the mid 90's. And don't act like you never put that track on while getting ready at the crib to go out on a Friday night neither. Anyway, dude was in lock-down for the last year and a half because The Man, or in this case the Federal Board of Immigration Appeals was trying to keep him down.

So what's the first thing Slick Rick said he was gonna do when he got outta jail? Go in search of booty of course. It's always about the booty---especially when you be rockin' the pirate-style eyepatch. Welcome back Rick, now get thee to a studio like Ol' Dirty Bastard (aka Dirt McGirt) and hire Pharrell to make you some quick money before people remember that you haven't done shit in about 15 years...

If you caught Viva La Bam last night, then you know that MTV absolutely, positively must find a way to get more air time for Compton Ass Terry. He needs his own show, maybe as a co-star with Diddy's Gentleman: Farnsworth (or Fonzworth) Bentley. It'd be a mix of House of Style, and old school Club MTV. Compton Ass Terry would school fools about the Bling, Bentley would lock down the wardrobe and grooming knowledge, and each week's episode would conclude with them teaching some new dance moves to their appreciative public. Seriously, this must happen... Enough with Room Raiders and Tail Daters already.



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