Them b*tches are crazy

Pigeons annoy the crap out of me. You'll just be sitting on a park bench, trying to enjoy a nice turkey sandwich and before you know it you're swarmed by them. They look at you, side-eyed, and mock you. They scream Hoorlooorloorl - which is the sound a pigeon makes. And with each step they bob their heads. Which leads me to believe that pigeons are byproducts of South American drug shacks from long ago.

It was a nice nesting place, the pigeons thought. The warm, tropical climate made it comfortable and the lush scenery made them the envy of all their pigeon friends. One day a group of them went out for a joy flight, just soaring over the landscape, drinking in the beauty when, hark! They spotted a party. The barbecue was roaring, there were lots of people, lots of guns and everybody was nude. And pigeons looove to party, so they swooped in. They noticed how hyper everybody was. The adults were talking and dancing, still nude, and were very fidgety people. The children ran into the jungle and wrestled gorillas. And they ran back smiling, toting severed gorilla heads.

But the pigeons were a chill group. They just kicked it off to the side, sippin' on some tequila. One of the pigeons noticed a large mound of white powder all the human-peoples kept going to. So the pigeons slyly made their way over the the white mountain. Hoorlooorloorl, they said, giving head nods to the gunned lunatics. The gunned lunatics replied, "Hoorlooorloorl." People were smelling the powder. "I bet it's scented!" one of the pigeons exclaimed. Human-people were stirring it into their drinks and rubbing it all over their bodies. This party was legit.

Pigeons were at the time notorious for knowing how to get down, so they imbibed. "I don't smell anything," one said. "Well, maybe we need to smell a lot of it," another followed. Within minutes the pigeons were themselves nude, acting a fool.Hoorlooorloorl! Hoorlooorloorl! Hoorlooorloorl! Then the pigeons just started humping like crazy. "It's not mating season," one of the females said, "but this feels so right." And they had lots of crazy pigeon sex.

By the party's end, they decided this was too much fun to forget about. But they noticed the mound was quickly dwindling. So each of them swooped up a beak full of the happy powder and flew back to their pigeon village. They shared it with the locals. Hoorlooorloorl! Hoorlooorloorl! Hoorlooorloorl! all the pigeons screamed.

Pretty soon all the pigeons started doing their best friend's pigeon and lying to each other. There were lots of pigeon orgies and lots of diseases that ensued, and also lots of incest. Before long, there were too many pigeons and not enough magic powder. So they started going insane. But they still reproduced in great numbers.

So that brings us to today. Now, human-people can't enjoy a day at the park, alone, because of the conniving, codependency of these orphan birds. What was once a grand animal is now a twitchy, head-bobbing creature, desperate for attention and their next fix. Don't be fooled, them bitches are crazy.

The cursed case of the wicked wonders of why we do what we do

Lately I've been a little bummed. I met a girl I ended up liking, and something went wrong and now we don't talk. The not-talking isn't what bugs me, it's why we're not talking. The reason: There is no reason. Very awkward thing. But anyhow, this is a recounting of last weekend's trip that made me realize I'm totally not ready to grow up.

What is it about sporadic ideas that make them sound so appealing? And what is it about going out of town that makes you think, "Gee, I totally have money to spend. I'm just gonna live the good life?" I don't know the answer, but I spent last weekend in the city of lost hopes, moral vacancy and stereotypically blond people. But it wasn't LA per se, it was Hermosa Beach. Auggie lives in Hermosa Beach.

And as a note, I've changed, if only slightly, the names of people involved.

My friend, Papa Bear, called me up Monday and asked if I wanted to drive down with him. I said, "Sure, Papa Bear. Let's rock and roll." (What I said wasn't actually that gay.)

So we left at 8:30 in the p.m. on Thursday night. We didn't arrive to my friend Auggie's house until 4:30 in the a.m. Friday. Papa Bear dropped me there and headed to his girl's house in a land far, far away. When I woke up, about 9:30, everybody I knew was at work. So I did the only logical thing. Took a shower, got myself prettied up, and headed to Sharkeez for a beer. Which turned into a few more. And a shot. After realizing my money was going much too fast, I decided to head back to the crib. On the way there I passed this
and it made me smile. A little further down the strand, just feel from where I was staying, was this charming little watering hole.

And yes, if you're wondering, it did in fact smell like vomit. And yes, if you're wondering, I went inside and had a beer.

This carried on for several hours, until I met up with some old friends for dinner. And then it carried on after dinner. Next thing I know, I'm at some bar, August is buying shots of tequila...then my memory fades for what I can only assume to be about an hour. Cut to next scene, getting out of a cab at somebody's house. everybody else is hammered drunk. I'm not. I tried to go to sleep on the couch but was kept awake by somebody in this picture making the sex with one young lady, totally unafraid to express her pleasure through the art of moans and screams. And occasional thumps on the wall. And more screaming. So after the unanticipated marathon concludes, 5:42 a.m., I fall asleep and am awoken by somebody on the phone at 7:34, also in the a.m.

We go pick up Andy (also in the picture) and head to January's house. By 9 a.m. we crack our first beer and Andy tells us of his adventures. He went home with a zoo keeper. We laughed. Then laughed some more. She allegedly woke him up at 7, decked out in her safari attire. And we laughed some more. Until this weekend, I thought zoo keepers were mythical beings, chained down by their Dr. Doolittle-ish qualities. But they're real. And some have piercings in places that, well, just use your imagination.

So we keep drinking all day (complete waste of life, I know) and decide it a good idea to go out that night. We went to a place called Union Cattle. All I remember was a mechanical bull. I really wanted to ride it, but I couldn't even remember my name. But according to my bank account, I decided to order a few more drinks for myself. By midnight we left the bar, brought home a pizza I don't recall eating, and went to sleep. But not before we played lots of loud music and had an unofficial dance party.

The next day, not much happened. We hung out at Sharkeez again for Sunday Funday. I met these girls: I think their names were Amanda and Kim. If not, I apologize. Oh, and I saw this girl:

And I know what you're thinking. That's gross, right? Yeah. But only in SoCal. Thank you, semi-nude beach-goer.

Today in the news:

There is a lot of stupidity out there. I mean a lot. So, to bring a sense of normalcy to my daily screw-ups, I'm making fun of others. This will be a new little bit called, just like the title suggests, "Today in the news:"

1. Man nabbed after hitting girlfriend with sandwich

PORT ST. LUCIE, Fla. – A man faces a domestic battery charge after allegedly hitting his girlfriend with a sandwich as she was driving on Interstate 95 on Friday. Police said the 19-year-old man became angry and hit the woman in the arm and face with a sandwich, knocking her glasses off.

The victim nearly lost control of the car because she couldn't see the road and the man then allegedly ripped off the rear-view mirror and used it to shatter the windshield.

The man was freed on $7,500 bail.

Police haven't said what type of sandwich was involved.
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I bet it was salami. You can't stop a man and his salami.
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2. Resort plans nude "anything goes" party

CANBERRA (Reuters) – An Australian holiday resort will hold a month-long, nude "anything goes" party to combat an expected economic downturn, media reports said on Thursday.

"Tough economic times call for stiff measures," Tony Fox, the owner of the White Cockatoo resort in Mossman, in tropical Queensland state, told the Courier-Mail newspaper.

"It will be a hedonism resort, where anything goes for a month. It doesn't take rocket science to work out what it means," Fox said, naming March as the risque party month.

The controversial "clothes optional" resort made headlines three years ago when police were called to end partner-swapping parties after a swathe of public complaints.

"You've got to wonder what sort of people go and why. Where is the moral code of behavior and how do you stop jealousies and fights?" Cairns Catholic Bishop James Foley said after Fox's announcement.

But local regional Mayor Val Schier said she was not opposed to the event as long as no laws were broken.

"People in tropical north Queensland are extraordinarily creative," Schier said. "It is tough economic times and as long as it is with consenting adults, then there is no problem."

Australia's tourism in industry is being hit hard by global economic turmoil with official figures showing a 7.6 percent decline in overseas visitors in September.

Industry leaders expect holiday bookings may drop by up to a third in early 2009 and are planning a new international advertising campaign to coincide with the movie "Australia" starring Oscar-winning actress Nicole Kidman.

Fox said his resort was almost fully booked for the month-long rainforest party.
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Not sure if I even have to say anything here. But I will. I wish I had enough money to fly to Australia. Now accepting donations and/or applications for FEMALE party company.
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3. Wis. woman pleads no contest in corpse case
She was accused of keeping 90-year-old's body in Social Security scheme

MAUSTON, Wis. - A member of a religious sect pleaded no contest to a misdemeanor after being accused of leaving another member's corpse in her bathroom so the group could collect her Social Security checks.

Tammy Lewis entered the plea Monday and was fined $350.

Prosecutors accuse the 36-year-old Lewis and 58-year-old Alan Bushey of leaving 90-year-old Magdeline Middlesworth's body on the toilet in Lewis' home after she died there in March.

A criminal complaint says Bushey led the Order of the Divine Will sect and told Lewis that God would revive Middlesworth. The decaying body was found in May after Middlesworth's family expressed concern.

Prosecutors say they believe Bushey and Lewis wanted to go on collecting Middlesworth's Social Security payments.
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Keep grandma on a leash!
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4. Joaquin Phoenix quits acting to focus on music


The upcoming ‘Two Lovers’ will be his last performance on film
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I don't even need to post the rest of the story. Who gives a flying rat's ass?
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My affinity for cheese and disdain for early holiday propagandizing

There's just no simple way around it. I love cheese. And it's not something I see changing any time soon. And it is a very curious thing when people don't like cheese. Yeah, I didn't think it could happen either. But they're out there, watching you, judging you with that queso contempt. Is it a jealousy thing? Like, "O, I wish I liked cheese."

And I remain perplexed.

I like all kinds of cheese. Cheddar, mozzarella, asiago, pecorino romano, cotija, bleu cheese (crumbles and dressing), cheddar, jack, pepperjack. I like cheese dip, cheese sauce. You know those chocolate fountains? I want one of those with melted cheese. Nachos 24/7!?!?! Are you kidding me? I would be the happiest man alive. And there would be no reason for a soul mate. All I would need would be a blow-up doll...made entirely out of goat cheese.

But to temper happy thoughts of all things cheese, I realized that the holidays are upon us. And every year you hear some people bless the season and some people openly hate it. There's no right answer and no right opinion, but I can tell you this time of year drives me nuckin futs. And I always blamed it on my family. However, recent research has shed light on an interesting approach. The week of Halloween I walked into a store and found an ever-growing Christmas section in the rear of the store. And as I walked by, it hit me.

It was the aroma of "winter" scented things. You know the smell that when you smell it you think, "Ah, Christmas." But there it was, October 22. And already that smell was around. I think the reason people hate the holidays is because we are for so long exposed to all that drives the season. Over two months of candles and Christmas trees and stockings and Santas and fucking elves and yule logs and bright, cheery signs EVERYWHERE and after the first month, you become numb to it. But then it seeps its evil and cheery spirit into the masses. News reporters report about it, people make a full-time job out of shopping for other people, phoney-baloneys plaster smiles on and sing carols so highly-pitched you'd think they never crossed the puberty threshold. And that pisses me off. Walking down the street, have some stranger pop out of nowhere, "Merry Christmas!"

I just feel like screaming, "Fuck you, cheery man. This isn't a jack-in-the-box, you can't just pop out of nowhere and start spooking people, you creepy bastard." My point: two months is too much time to be exposed to this crap. It's just too much. By the time Christmas or Kwanza or Hanukkah or Festivus come around, no sane person wants to smell another scented pine cone or see another stocking or be heckled by little elves at the mall. All I want is a Big Gulp-sized cup filled with peppermint schnaaps and hot chocolate.

In short: cheese makes me happy. Two months of faux-happiness doesn't. Just buy me some cheese.

Plot-generated Story #1

I don't know how many of you have heard, but there are web-based tools that algorithmically generate plot scenarios. It is a little boost for an idea when you can't seem to create something on your own. And no, it's not cheating. After all, you are just given a few details and you go from there. I have decided to come up with a short story each week - in addition to my decreasingly-regular rants and musings - and I hope you enjoy.

My plots will be generated from Archetype.com and consist of only two parts - the protagonist's situation and a secondary character. For example, my first plot will be:

The story starts when your protagonist tries to return a lost object.

Another character is an office manager who has a gift for poetry.

So here it goes. This is, Jeremiah, the Mighty.

It was a long time since Jeremiah was with a woman. And he blamed it on his depression. The more time that passed, the harder it was to go out and meet people and stay away from those adult-only websites. His login name, Jeremiah_the_Mighty. So that depression made it harder to go out and it was harder to go out because he was depressed.

The cycle began, and had been going for almost a year.

But it stopped a few weeks ago when Jeremiah was at work and, to seek a rush he hadn't felt in so long, entered a titty site. It opened and there were big, bouncy breasts everywhere. Jeremiah smiled. But somebody was coming! Oh no! So he closed it out just before Suzanne opened his door to ask where some files were.

That was close, he thought to himself. But his heart was still racing. He wanted more. He began to sweat, feeling in his pants a swelling come about. So he entered another site, and another and another. It was joy unspeakable!

But, he lost all perception of his environment and didn't hear Mr. Jacobs open the door. Mr. Jacobs tapped him on the shoulder and Jeremiah turned, sweat dripping down his cheeks, surprise in his eyes and a big, unnecessary boner.

It was then Jeremiah was fired. His job was the only thing he had to keep him sane. And he had lost it. But Jeremiah the Mighty wouldn't leave without something to remember it by. When the rest of the office went to lunch Jeremiah cleaned out his desk. And he took the bottle of Scotch from Mr. Jacobs' desk, a stapler from Suzanne, a pack of cigarettes from Gordon and a bottle of perfume from Diana. He went home, turned on his computer, entered a no-no site and masturbated until he cried. Then he sprayed Diana's perfume, smoked Gordon's cigarette and took a glass of Mr. Jacobs' scotch. There was nothing he could use the stapler for. In fact, he wondered why he had taken it.

By noon the following day he had finished the cigarettes and scotch. In a drunken stupor he had dropped the perfume and the bottle shattered in the kitchen, and his entire apartment now reeked of Diana. Mustering up energy and dignity, he decided to return the taken goods. Upon arriving at the office he was greeted by a new face, the face of his old job. The man held out his hand.

-Russel's the name, managing's the game. It isn't quite so obvious why you walked into my office, but everyone here's told me that you are quite a shame.
-Why are you rhyming?
-Why do you smell of scotch, and not sweet mint? I'll remove you and discard you just like some dryer lint.
-That doesn't make much sense. Is Mr. Jacobs here?
-I only speak in rhyme, one sentence at a time, I know you want to see him, but he doesn't have the time.

Jeremiah punched the office manager in the nose and he fell down. Even in fear and pain, the man still rhymed.

-By George, by George, methinks he punched me in the face, my nose is bloody and I'm curled up in a ball of drab disgrace.

Now the office was surrounding him, and Mr. Jacobs stood in the front.

-I drank your whiskey, and smoked your cigarettes and dropped your bottle of perfume on the floor. As for the stapler, a cat was crying outside my window and I threw it down there. I think it hit a vagrant. Anyhow, you all know I have a problem. But I'm redirecting it. I'm starting a no-no website. So if any of you want, especially you, Suzanne, call me up. We'll take some pictures, make some videos or whatever.

Jeremiah went on to create the most successful adult website in history, www.jeremiahthegreat.com and it's tagline won the Adult Film Literary prize, "Jeremiah the Great, Let's watch some porn."

Suzanne was the most-viewed woman. Her name, Vixen McLottapuss.