Monthly Archives: January 2005

Picking My Battles

All the Jews and all the Christians and all the blacks and all the whites and all the boys and all the girls had a big giant war to decide who was the best. When it was over they were all dead, so it was hard to declare a decisive winner, but I think it was boys.

Harry and Henry arm-wrestled to see who could be proven the strongest. Harry worked out at a gymnasium almost every day while Henry just sat on the couch and watched various cable programs that didnâ??t seem to have taken any effort to make. Still, Harry was nervous, because there was something about Henry that implied that buried within his lazy frame was an untold source of pure animal strength. These fears were quickly subdued when Harry roundly destroyed Henry at arm-wrestling.

Two women who have never met spy each other from across a crowded bar and know instantly that their concept of the ideal man is exactly the same. Concerned over what this could mean in terms of romantic competition, one of the women tries to figure out a way that she can, kindly, ensure that were the perfect man to enter the bar she would be the first to get his attention. While she is pondering her plan, the other woman walks up and throws a drink in the first womanâ??s face, totally fucking up her makeup and her hair, so that when the perfect man does walk in a few minutes later she looks like such shit that he elbows one of his friendsâ?? arm to get his attention, and they both laugh a little bit in that mean, secretive laugh that you know is about you.

One afternoon at school, a thin, weak boy named Ian attempts to take the higher ground with a popular kid named Brian who is often extremely mean to Ian for no reason at all. While they are both sitting out during a game of crab soccer, in a surprisingly calm moment in which Ian does not feel any more threatened than the constant throb of immediate danger he regularly feels, and Brian has, surprisingly, no particular urge to draw attention to Ian (because he doesnâ??t like sitting out, and drawing attention to Ian will also show him, possibly, to be an inferior crab soccer player to Tim, with whom he is always in natural competition), and in this calm moment Ian tries to repeat a riposte to Brianâ??s attacks that his mom told him last night while they ate pizza: Life is not a popularity contest. â??Yes it is,â? Brian says with a snort, and years later Ian realizes this is true.

Bored in 60 Seconds

There is an article in the New York Times today about how these cryptography graduate students at Johns Hopkins University have cracked this uncrackable code. Basically, a bunch of car manufacturers have employed a Texas Instruments system that embeds a chip into the key, and the ignition will only start if the system recognizes the key. So, the car can’t be stolen, or something. As if that weren’t enough to earn a shout of “who cares?” take a look at this:

“All that would be required to steal a car, the researchers said, is a moment next to the car owner to extract data from the key, less than an hour of computing, and a few minutes to break in, feed the key code to the car and hot-wire it.”
(New York Times)

Wow, that’s all? So, like, I should be careful when someone’s standing behind me in line to get a bagel because they could be trying to hotwire my car in about an hour and a half? Apparently, it is the cryptographers’ belief that car thieves have the same interest in really obscure and super-nerdy algorithmic deciphering as they do. Which, incidentally, car thieves don’t have.

To be safe, though, the scientists suggest wrapping your key in tinfoil, and then telling your imaginary girlfriend to do the same.

Take Me. Now.

I’ve got some real concerns right now, because I’m down to the final disc of season one of FOX’s hit drama The O.C. This show has been a real emotional bedrock for me over the past month or so, and I’m just not sure what I’m going to do without it. I mentioned this to McCullen last night, adding that I was going to have to find something else to watch. “Pick something good this time,” he said. Which, considering that he had just played Katamari Damacy for, like, ten hours straight seems a bit of the time-wasting-prince-of-the-cosmos calling the kettle black, where here black is trying-to-escape-the-hardships-and-emotional-trials-of-one’s-life-through-reductive-and-manipulative-network-television.


This is what I have been reduced to.

Stop! Ladies, Pray! A Man!

“It’s like, you’re waiting for a bus, okay, and you’re just waiting and waiting and waiting, long past the point when you should stop. And by now you feel like a real asshole, and it’s cold out, and you know the bus is probably not even coming because some woman threw up strawberries on it or something, but at this final juncture, when the decision is yours alone, you feel totally paralyzed, because if you walk away now then what was the point of all that waiting in the first place. Y’know?”
(Worker #3116, Age 14)

Did you watch Take My Wife, Please like I told you to? Well, you should have. I’m not going to recap it here, but suffice to say I’ve been speaking in a New Jersey accent all morning, and referring to myself in third person, like, “If I hed to say so raiet now, uh, no, no Worka numba tree won won sixah would neva do meditation agin.” (That last part was supposed to read like a New Jersey accent. I don’t know if it does. You are such a moron. Your rules are impossible.)

Also, and maybe this is just for Muttcatt, but what’s up with Gwen Stefani’s new “Pirates of Penzance” thing she’s got going on? Is she trying to corner the female gay icon market or something, because I think the peroxide blonde hair, the lanky body, and the predilection for bondage-inspired clothing is really going to get her there fast, and this whole pirate theme is just the brown cherry on top of the faggot cake.

Venti Frappafuckyou

Someone at work has made a little money jar and put it next to the coffee maker, you know, like they think they’re somebody. What the f? The whole point of that coffee maker is so I can have free coffee. If I wanted to give you money for coffee I’d make you wear a Starbucks apron and make “steamer” noises with your mouth. What kind of asshole do you think I am? Well, I’m not that kind of asshole.

Clown Coffee took the money jar and threw it in the trash. But then he had to pull it back out because it had real money in it.


Have you ever seen the movie Dune? You probably have because it has Sting in it. Do you remember the part where the guy played by Kyle MacLachlan has to stick his hand in the itchy-burny box and if he can keep it there for a long time he will become an ultimate fighter? That’s what my life feels like right now. Like my whole body is stuck inside the itchy-burny box, but as long as I can hold out until my eyes turn a brilliant sky blue then I will be stronger than men.

Think of Pizza, Then Multiply It By 100

A SLEW of sloppy love letters from hotel hottie Paris Hilton to her ex-beau, Worker #3116, have fallen into the clutches of PAGE SIX. The mushy missives, scrawled in a childish, blocky hand, shed light on the relationship, which ended last July after Paris was photographed with bruises on her face and a fat lip. The letters from 2004 declare her undying love for Worker #3116, and in one she apologizes for lying to him.

One card signed, “Paris, AKA Le Bean,” wishes Worker #3116 a happy birthday, and states: “I don’t want you to ever worry because I would never [bleep] this up for anything in the world. It’s been really hard for me these past couple of months and I’m so happy I found you. You are the [bleep] and I love you to death.”

A Valentine’s card â?? which features heart-shaped candies with slogans like, “Spoil me,” “Tease Me,” “Squeeze Me” and “Love Me” â?? reads: “Sometimes I forget you can’t see my thoughts or into my heart . . . I really hope and believe this will last forever.”

Another letter marking the couple’s “4-month anniversary,” says: “I know you probably wonder from time to time what you mean to me . . . you mean the world to me. Think of something you couldn’t live without and multiply it by a hundred.”

The sweet nothings were written inside sappy greeting cards with photos of puppies. Another missive was accompanied by photos the heiress had cut out of a magazine showing herself looking glum with the headline: “Paris feels real pain.” “Dear Worker #3116, This is how I look and feel when I’m away from you,” she wrote.

The dream appeared to sour by the time Paris wrote from “the plane back to L.A.” having watched the movie, 50 First Dates.

Paris penned: “I just wanted to let you know how sorry I am for lying to you before and I want to let you know that it will never happen again. I can’t explain the pain I felt when I thought I lost you. It was like half of me had been ripped from my soul. I never felt so alone and I never want to feel that way again. I never want to lose you. I never want to hurt you again . . . I’m so sorry for the pain that I have caused you. From now on things will be different, I promise.”

Paris then promised to get a tattoo that read mi cubicle es su cubicle to mark a “new beginning” and, “to erase all the past bulls- -t we have done to each other.” The note is signed, “Paris (your bunny forever.)”
(New York Post)


Last night, as you know, was the finale of Real World Road World SuperFight! in which girls and boys from previous MTV shows compete for novelty-sized checks and novelty-sized travel vouchers. Did the boys win? The boys won. Do the boys always win? According to the boys always win. But there was a redeeming quality, which was the quality where the guy said “My whole body is just one big chill.” I’m telling you, I don’t know what kind of radiation treatments MTV gives the stars of its shows to ensure that they are at maximum retardation before they get on the air, but whatever it is, it is very powerful, and very effective. So powerful and effective, in fact, that it makes the viewer just a little bit retarded, too.

I also liked in this show where they were about to sit down to a nice dinner in Casa San Lucas or something and then all these guys busted in dressed in all black and screaming at them and jumping up on the table and smashing their wine glasses and kicking their steaks onto the floor and then they marched them into this “darkened” room and said “Welcome to Hell!” By hell they meant a room with only a little bit of light, and mats on the floor and sleeping bags and clean clothing all laid out and ready. But of course in typical RTV fashion, everyone has to do a “natural setting” interview where they’re like “It was awful! Those mats were not very comfortable, and the tee-shirt they provided was a color that does not match my skin tone as well as I would have liked.”

Meanwhile, in my own Real World Road World Challenge: I have to fight boredom while sitting on a stationary chair and drinking 32 oz of water from a Nalgene bottle as fast as I can so that I can get out of the chair and go fill the bottle up again! I must do this three times a day!

WAIT WAIT WAIT! I’ve got something more to say! I also liked when Eric Nies, who is approximately 137 years old today, wrapped up his experience of competing against women by saying “In situations like this, you know, the adrenaline’s flying…”

Ha ha. Yeah, that’s some of my “adrenaline” in your eye. Pow!