Feeling Hot Hot Hot!

So, I saw Fahrenheit 9/11 today. Michael Moore will be happy to know that I saw his film and George Bush will be happy to know that I didn't pay for it. I hope that I made both sides happy here, because that's what's important.

That chubby bastard sure is good at making a persuasive argument. It's a shame I don't know more about things in general, or I probably wouldn't constantly be thinking, Oh, that's a good point. I'm sure, like in Bowling for Columbine, there's a lot of sneaky editing and things, but that's what a director does; especially a director who's trying to get his point across.

The reason I'm writing this post, however, is because I saw a thing on MTV News (the hardest hitting news source on television) about the film. They interviewed three people (a black guy, a white guy, and a white girl) who said they were on the fence before the film, and then, what they thought about Bush after the film. The black guy and the white guy were a little swayed, but not a lot, they were swayed within reason after seeing a piece of political propoganda (any documentary is propoganda). But the girl was blown away. She said, "This totally makes me want to become, like, more active in the political system so I can, like, really make a difference. You know?" She said she had voted for Bush in 2000, but definitely wasn't going to vote for him this time around. It's strange what the film does. It doesn't necessarily say, "Vote for Kerry," (he's not even mentioned) but, instead, it says, "Don't vote for Bush!" I'm going to vote for Kerry anyway, because I voted for Gore in 2000 and I swear, if Bush gets re-elected in 2004, I'm putting the entire country on restriction. No Nintendo for TWO WEEKS! And I mean it. No amount of sad faces or begging will make me change my mind.

I think that Kerry's new campaign slogan should go like this (since it's basically doing this without saying it anyway): A vote for Kerry: It's not a vote for Bush!

Anyway, on a different note, that guy Ken just won his 20th straight time on Jeopardy. He's the scariest Mormon Software Engineer I know.

Interesting thought of the day:
Putting food coloring in your eyes does NOT work like liquid sunglasses. It just stings a lot.

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Dy-No-Mite!

Yesterday, I drove down to Oceanside to go see a pre-release screening of Napoleon Dynamite with a friend of mine. He had heard that there was a free screening thing in San Diego so we left his house at like 5:00 figuring it would probably take a half an hour to get there or so. Apparently everybody on the goddamn road didn't know we had a movie to make because they were DRIVING SO FUCKING SLOW! Long story short, we got there at like 6:15, waited in line, only to be told, with about 250 other people, that there wasn't anymore room in the theater. It was weird, though. After this tiny girl came out and told all of us that, nobody moved. It was strange to see 250 people all experience denial at once. They were all kind of looking around, waiting. I think everybody thought that everybody else will leave and then, when there's only like 4 of them left, there will definitely be spots in there for them to see the movie. But, when 250 people share this idea, it doesn't exactly work out as planned. So, my friend and I headed back to his truck.

See, he had a good parking spot at the mall. It was the very first spot in like the third closest row to the mall. This is prime real estate for this mall since the way that the parking is set up sucks. So, he and I stand outside of his car for a while, sitting on the tailgate so people don't think that we're leaving and get excited and pause their car in the middle of the isle. Then, he decides it's better if we go inside his truck and sit down. We had to go when no cars were around so they wouldn't think we were leaving. He's weird. Anyway, so we're sitting there, trying to figure out what to do since it's about 6:30 and traffic will surely suck right now if we try to head out. Then, all of a sudden, he decides that it's the perfect time to straighten out a problem he was having with his cell phone. He calls the cell phone company, talking to them, being put on hold for like 10 minutes while I'm sitting there watching some dorky guy with a way-too-hot-for-him girlfriend frolic inside the mall all excited probably to go wait in line to buy tickets for White Chicks because it looks so hilarious. I fucking hate Marlon Wayans. He's as funny as a baby with cancer.

Anyway, so he's sitting there on his cell phone in the mall parking lot, with me sitting in the passenger seat, a hostage. By the way, he's a big Mexican guy --this comes into play. We've been there for like 15 minutes when a Mall Security Guard rides by on his bicycle. Nothing says authority like Ring! Ring! "Pull Over!" So, we got pulled over going 0. The guy says, "What's going on, guys?" My friend answers while on hold, "Nothing! You?" It's not a good move to backtalk a guy who's already so starved for some sort of power that he's taken to riding a bicycle, wearing a uniform, to exert some sort of authority. My friend starts talking into his phone again, but, apparently, the Security Guard wasn't satisfied with my friend's answer. I decide, so as not to bother my friend by talking across him, I'll get out of the truck and talk to the faux-cop. As I step out, I see that there's another Mall Security bicycle cop on my side of the car. The original cop yells out, "He's getting out of the truck" to his buddy on my side, like I'm some sort of a threat. I think that they're taught in Mall Security Guard school that they have to state the obvious at all times. So, I get out of the truck and explain to the now two guys that we're sitting there because we came to see a movie that we couldn't get into and now we're trying to figure out what to do. Thank God I'm white. They totally bought it and the kids we kidnapped lying in the backseat of his truck wouldn't be saved.

So, all because my friend had to fix his phone at that exact point in time, I had to almost murder two mall cops. We ended up having a romantic dinner at IHOP, getting some Coldstone ice cream, and making sweet-ass love (or sweet ass-love, whatever) back at his house.

Also, yesterday, before I went down there, I decided to get an oil change for the first time in like 8,000 miles. The people at Jiffy Lube didn't like that. When I was paying for it, the guy behind the counter actually lectured me and made me feel guilty. Fuck that guy. Now I'm going 10,000 miles between the next one. Making me feel guilty for ruining my own stuff.

That's a long entry. I applaud anybody who made it through it; I barely did.

Interesting thought of the day:
Shakespeare wrote all of his plays while on ye olde toilet. He had Irritable Bowel Syndrome.

Comment below or, if you're a big ole fraidy cat, you an email me.

Heads Are Gonna Roll!

Okay, this post is going to be in bad taste to some people, so you probably shouldn't read it.


Now that those people left (good, I didn't like them anyway), it's time to address some current events again. This time, however, it's going to get as bloody as the inside of a surprised teenage girl's panties in here. That's horrible. Too bad my Back Space key doesn't work or I'd erase that.

Al-Qaeda (or however you spell it, even if I did find the right way to spell it, I can't fix it now) decided that they're going to behead people more often than reruns of "Friends" comes on. They got Nick Berg a while ago. I say, touche, Al-Qaeda. Then they got this Paul Johnson fellow. I say, it's getting kind of old, guys. Now, there's some South Korean guy that they're threatening to behead. You know, like my writing teachers have always taught me, you can only go to the well so many times until it loses its meaning and, well, it's lost its meaning. I mean, granted, it's horrible that a guy is getting his head sawed off by some dull-ass blade, but it's just not as shocking as it used to be. These Al-Qaeda guys are losing their bang. At first America was thinking, Wow, they're so crazy and primitive, and I think Al-Qaeda fed off of this reaction. Now, when I hear about another beheading, I remember that it's time to water my roses.*

*I don't have any roses; this is merely used an example to imply the frequency with which they lop people's heads off.

Anyway, to switch gears, there's a non-government-funded spaceship that's supposed to be flying into space tomorrow. Call me cynical, but I think that this means that sometime tomorrow there's going to be a news story about the first non-government-funded body to decompose while re-entering the earth's atmosphere. I hope it goes well and I hope they finally prove that there really is no such thing as outer space, it's all just a movie set like in the Truman Show, but I have a feeling that it may not go so well.

There was something else I wanted to write about, but I can't remember what it is, so you'll have to deal with my two stories both related to death and destruction. I'm a very fun person to be around. I'm like a walking circus without all of the clown make-up and cotton candy, but with all of the weird feelings involved in the men's heads when they see the children.

Interesting thought of the day:
You should never go to a place that offers surgery with discounts with coupons. Especially if that place is a Pizza Hut.

Post your comments and you could win a special prize. Or email me for a free proctology exam (well, a coupon for one).

Earthquakes and Scientologists!

Well, I missed another earthquake today. When I say I missed it, I mean that I didn't feel it. It's not like somebody threw one at me and I couldn't hit it. That's just silly. You can't throw earthquakes, anymore. Not since the great reckoning. The guy on the news in that magic box that sits underneath my DVD player said that it was centered near San Diego. I've lived in Southern California all my life and I love earthquakes. There aren't nearly enough of them. I wish that, instead of an alarm clock, an earthquake woke me up in the morning, because nothing says, "Get up" like your house collapsing around you and thoughts of your own mortality.

I always try to remind myself that, if there's an earthquake, I want to jump up and down during it to see what happens. I always forget because I'm too busy running into a doorway or something, but, before I die, I'm going to do it. I'm going to "ride" the earthquake. I think it'll be fun until I land and my ankles break. But that time in the air, with the earth quaking beneath me and me, weightless in mid-air, will be so awesome.

The other day, I decided that I don't know enough about Scientology, so I looked it up on this thing that I have called the internet. If you haven't heard of this internet thing, you should look into it. Not only is there a lot of unnecessary information and completely made-up stuff at your fingertips, but at random times, you get shown pictures of boobs. Nothing could be greater. But, I digress. Speaking of digressing, I was reading some post on some message board somewhere today and somebody started a post on a topic, then followed it up with, "But, I digress." Can you really digress if you never changed the subject in the first place? You can't. That person was a liar. That's like me saying, "You're a dipshit and I hate you. But, I digress. The Romans were far better fighters than the Persians because of Hoplite armor." Once again, my example-making abilities are far superior than the best of example makers.

Anyway.

No wonder people always make fun of Scientologists. They believe some weird things. Now, I'm just paraphrasing here, so I could be wrong, but they think that people are comprised of 72 beings each and that these beings were all alive at one time, somewhere in the last 4 quadrillion years (that's the actual number they used, I swear). Anyway, and what Scientology does for them is that it helps them to discover the 72 people inside of them (this idea is not to be confused with world record gang bang videos --those people aren't very religious). I think this is just an excuse for people like Tom Cruise and John Travolta to, somehow, get more money by claiming more dependents on their tax returns. Those clever bastards, passing it off under the guise of a religion created by a guy who wrote Battlefield Earth.

Interesting thought of the day:
You can get herpes (and a lot of other STDs) from a corpse. Just a word of advice.

Leave your comments or email me.

School's Out! Welcome to the OC, Bitch!

As the title suggests, I had my last final today and I'm officially one quarter away from graduating. This means that, this summer, I need to get myself a job since I haven't had one for a few months. I'm surprised because somewhere along the line a job was supposed to have fallen in my lap for the summer and it hasn't happened yet. I'm not exactly sure who screwed up here, but it wasn't me. So, I'm going to keep looking on craigslist for a job for the next few days. I'm going to need to throw together some fake resume because waiting tables usually doesn't work as a pre-requisite for a job editing somewhere.

Anyway, I'm sure Jesus will find me a job.

Ray Charles, in a ridiculous fit of jealousy, killed himself today. Apparently he couldn't take it that a former President of the United States was getting all the attention, so he shot himself, nine times, in the face. Let the "He didn't see it coming" jokes start flying. Because he did. He was old. Duh. Idiots.

The MTV Movie Awards were on tonight. Nothing says anticlimactic like an MTV award show. They do such a good job of making things seem like they're really not going to suck this time, but they always manage to make everything mediocre. It's like knowing you're going to have sex with a really hot chick, only to get in the act and find out she doesn't have any genitalia. Trust me, this has happened to me on more than one occasion and it's always a little weird --especially when I insist on stabbing a hole in her pelvis and "getting what I paid for."

I think that's the worst thing I've ever written. Hooray for new lows.

The best thing about the show was how they had the midget dressed up like a gargoyle in the podium cage. I don't know whose idea that was, but that person needs to do a lot more thinking for MTV. I wish it was actually a child and not a midget, though. And I also wish that that child was then sold into slavery in Thailand in exchange for two bags of plastic Army Men for me and each of my friends because that's what Dr. King would have wanted.

Interesting thought of the day:
The buffet at all Donkey Shows in Tijuana has a vegetarian section as required by Mexican law.

Commentarios, cartas electronicas.

This Isn't a Doozy!

I feel that I've overshot my abilities as a writer by proclaiming in one of my last posts that my next post (this one here) would be a doozy. The entry between this and the one where I said the next would be a doozy doesn't count because I wrote it at two in the morning. Anyway, when I look up the definition of doozy on dictionary.com I get this: Something extraordinary or bizarre. Quite frankly, extraordinary is overshooting it, so we're just going to call this a haberdashery. Now, once again, this word shouldn't be used here because a haberdashery is a place where men's clothing is sold, but I think it fits much better than doozy.

Now that I've got that out of the way.

I was discussing reality shows with somebody the other day. I don't remember who it was because everybody in my life that isn't me is pretty inconsequential, but nonetheless, the topic came up. Me and this unimportant entity were discussing those makeover shows and I figured out why they suck: because they're done with people of regular mental capacity.

Now, if there was a retarded makeover show, let's call it The Tard, that would be entertainment. Seeing a grown-up retard dressed to the nines is so uplifting. That's why I always watch the Special Olympic award ceremony. Besides, wouldn't it be crazy for somebody to extreme makeover a screwed-up looking mentally-challenged person or person with Down's Syndrome. I say great because they could let that retard loose in public, like at a mall, and nobody would think anything of it until they started acting like a giant drunk baby. There'd be some pretty retarded girl (I don't mean that she's fairly retarded, I mean that now, because of the makeover, she's physically attractive) at a club or something, guys would start to come up to her to hit on her when she'd yell out, "I don't put things in my ears anymore because it hurts my brain." Actually, on second thought, she'd still pass off as a "normal" functioning human being that one could actually find in a club, so scratch that. Instead, give the newly pretty retarded girl a cattle prod and just let her loose somewhere, like a men's prison. It would be fun for everybody.

I sure am glad retarded people can't read or I'd get my ass kicked supremely (retards are way stronger than normal people per pound).

Interesting thought of the day:
Macaroni and Cheese got its name from a famous Renaissance comedy duo and not from its ingredients as one would assume; that part's just coincidence.

Comment away, tardmongers. Or, if you want, click here and mash your keyboard until the window goes away.

Celebrate Good Times Come On!

As one of my thousands --nay, hundreds--of adoring fans commented, Jennifer Lopez and Mark Anthony got married on Saturday. Now, people celebrate things differently, but I thought that it was in really bad taste for them to ring in the passing of Ronald Reagan with a wedding. Isn't that just throwing it in Nancy's face, really? I'm sure I'm not going to be the first or the last person to give her heat for this. I mean, I'm sure that this one is going to be forever because she has gone on record as saying that once she gets married, it's for life --but it's still in bad taste.

Speaking of Ronald Reagan, I don't know if you were as floored as I was by it, but I was devastated. This is the most shocking death since Bob Hope. Not since George Burns before him has a death come so unexpectedly. It's a sad state of affairs in society when these people are struck down in the prime of their youth. I don't quite remember, but I think that George Burns was killed while snowboarding in the Colorado Rockies. And, sadly, as everybody can remember, Bob Hope was BASE jumping off of the Golden Gate Bridge when his chute got tangled and he plummeted to his death. Then, finally, on Saturday, The Gipper was killed when, while juggling, one of his seven burning chainsaws was misthrown and crashed directly onto his scalp. It's just sad. These people are just doing what they love, experiencing life to its fullest, not sitting on some bed rotting away somewhere in a hospital, and BLAM, out of nowhere. It's just tragic. Unexpected and tragic.

Well, I just finished writing an awesome nine-page paper about Fight Club so I figured I'd drop a deuce on my weblog here.

Interesting thought of the day:
Sarcasm is lost on 75% of all people --including you.

Curds, whey.

Fourth Day Straight!

That's right, hookers and hoes. It's a record that will go unbroken until at least tomorrow.

Tomorrow is the last day of regular classes, two finals next week, one paper and I'm done. Only one class tomorrow and we're having a junior high-esque "party." I hope we play Heads-Up Seven-Up. I'll totally win because I look at their shoes when they walk by.

The neverending saga with my devastating injury continues. So, yesterday, when I wrote that those pills eat the shit out of your stomach lining, I wasn't kidding. My stomach was only bubbling and stuff yesterday; I didn't see a problem with that. But then, this morning at five o'clock, after a solid four hours of sleep, I woke up with excrutiating pain in my stomach. As I was telling my therapist that doesn't exist, it felt like that guy from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom reached into my chest and was squeezing the poop out of my stomach. So, I didn't get to go back to sleep. It's interesting, though, this five a.m. thing. Did you know that the sun doesn't just appear in the sky? It slowly gets brighter in the morning. It's weird and I don't recommend you experience it because, what happens is, later on, when the sun-beast falls back into the ocean, its power has a hold of you and you get really tired.

On a different note, a fun little anecdote about the finale of my screenwriting class follows. And here it is. I've been in my class for the entire school year --since September--so we've been together forever. The class is different than any class I've taken since high school because you grow closer to these people. Anyway, there's this chick in my class who's a real Christian girl. She loves gettin' Jiggy with Jesus. She has always had this unspoken shame that I could tell she felt for me because of the things I say and do in class (like the one time I cut open a goat and drank its blood in class all the while screaming about the great sun-beast). So, she brought a few presents for three of the about seventeen or so people in class and she brought me one. Well, technically she didn't bring them because she didn't show up, which is a whole different thing, but she had somebody else bring them. She brought me a book of clean jokes cleverly titled, "Book of Clean Jokes." Much to my surprise, the book is full of clean jokes. I've vowed, however, to go through and, with each joke, change it so that it relates to either pedophilia, penises, vaginas, some sort of beastiality, necrophilia, dendrophilia, prison rape, or baby murder. The reason for this is twofold: 1) All of the aforementioned are hilarious and 2) I hate books.

I wrote too much today, but I've got a doozy coming up next entry, so stay tuned.

Interesting thought of the day:
If a woman pushes really hard, she can turn her vagina sideways.

Comments below or email.

He Hath Posted Thrice!

Third day in a row posting and I'm feeling like a champ. There's been a lot going on, so I actually have stuff to write about.

Yesterday I posted about how I hurt my shoulder. I decided to bite the bullet and go to the doctor. I hadn't been to the doctor for years, but, since I'm insured through school, I figured it'd be better to go just in case. Turns out, I'm an over-reacting drama queen. Granted, it still hurts, but the doctor just said, in his beautifully broken English, "You hab tendonitis." So, it'll be like two weeks until it's better. He gave me some pills called Naproxen that you have to take with food. They were real adamant about this. The guy at the prescription-filling counter said that if it wasn't taken with food it could eat a hole in my stomach lining. I didn't believe him so I ate like ten right there in front of him and my own shit started to seep out of my pores. Turns out he was right.

These pills really have messed up my stomach, though. I think that's because I'm afraid of taking them on anything but a full stomach so I eat until I feel like I've got one swallow left in me before I have completely filled myself up --all the way to the esophagus.

It's too embarassing to tell the story of how I hurt my shoulder to people, though, so from now on I'm going to tell people that I hurt it while I was saving a baby from a fire. I was throwing it (yeah, I said it. Babies aren't gendered people until they're like five) out the window and screwed up a tendon in my rotator cuff.

Maybe I'll write an entry tomorrow while I'm procrastinating instead of writing a rewrite that's due on Friday. It will be great fun. I hope you'll join me.

Interesting thought of the day:
Shampoo doesn't taste the way it smells.

Comment instead of emailing me. I get too many emails that I want to post and comment on and comments just make it easier.

Two Days In a Row!

Today went well. Only one real producer actually showed up so it wasn't as nerve-wracking as I thought it would be. He wasn't there to buy anything, but everybody agreed that my pitch went the best, so that felt good.

Enough of me making myself feel good.

I'm so much of a spaz, that I pulled a Sammy Sosa today.

I was laying on my bed, watching the Pistons-Pacers game and I had to sneeze. I was on my side, with my left arm bent, propping up my head (so I was looking sexy as hell). I sneezed and it forced my arm into a weird position, something popped and I'm not sure if it's still out of the socket, but it hurts so bad. My rotator cuff is all messed up. I took some Darvacet because it's a muscle relaxant, but I don't even feel any different. The old Indian Chief sitting in a bed of fire in my room making copies of the Sunday comics with Silly Putty seems a little strange, but I figured that my room just got rented out. It still hurts, though. I'm such a little girl. I can't believe I'm so inactive that I got hurt sneezing.

Interesting thought of the day:
There aren't actually giant black lines seperating each state like it shows on maps; those are just there for reference.

Comment away, my little whore-gnomes. Email also.