If I ran my life like I use the internet

7:34 am- Wake up. Read newspaper. Look out window to see if neighbours are having sex.

8:09 am- Get on bus to go to work. Tell everyone on bus my status.

8:32 am- Arrive at work then immediately go down to the mall to bookstore and order several second-rate DVDs.

8:56 am- Get back to work and phone my friend in the Netherlands. Chat for an hour.

10:10 am- Go down to the street and put up pictures of my vacation to Cabo in the hopes that people will write comments on them.

12:43: pm- Sit down with a stranger in the food court and ask her if she wants to talk about doing sexual things with me.

2:21 pm- See if anyone is having sex in the breakroom.

4:45 pm- Go from office to office looking at other people's pictures and telling those people what I think of them.

5:32 pm- Go home. Attempt to increase the size of my erection.

My conversation starters for the Vietnamese lab technicians administering an ultrasound on my testicles

"Can you believe this Jesse James and Sandra Bullock thing?"

"I would have cleaned up if I knew I'd be having company."

"My sister's name is Phuong too."

"I'm no Vietnamese lab technician, but it looks like I'm having twins."

My Rules for your upcoming Spring Break trip to South Beach

 

Hello my dearest,

 

In view of past miscommunications, hurtful words and actions, and general unpleasantness in the wake of your previous "Girls Only" vacations, I thought I should establish a set of rules which establishes the regime for your upcoming spring break trip that you will be going on with your recently-single sister and girlfriends to avoid any misunderstandings. Know that I'm only doing this because I value our relationship and want to be open with you.

 

1. You may have fun, but you may not "Go Wild" to then have been considered to have "Gone Wild" within the commonly-accepted meaning of the term.

2. You may engage in any or all of the following activities only while wearing at minimum a sports bra, crew neck t-shirt with built- support, or an Irish knit sweater: jogging, volleyball, trampolining, jump-roping, or beach hopscotch.

3. You may not speak to men with any of the following names: Brad, Chris, Trey, Johnny, Mason, or Dirk.

4. The following categories of drinks are prohibited:

• Anything flaming;
• Anything served in a receptacle with a capacity greater than 500 ml. This includes buckets, fishbowls, and bathtubs;
• Shots consumed directly off of, or in any way involving, any part of the body.

5. Participation in wet t-shirt contests where the prize is less than $500 is prohibited. Participation in wet t-shirt contests where the prize is more than $500 is permitted so long as victory is certain. Contest winnings under this section are subject to the Independent Vacation Tax and will be taxed at a rate of 55% minus the cost of the t-shirt.

6. Attendance at a party where foam is periodically injected in the common bar area is permitted only where the ratio of clear space to foam does not fall below five to one. If at any point the foam exceeds an average depth of two and a half (2.5) feet, you are required to leave by the closest exit.

7. You may not accept a beverage or narcotics from any individual without consideration unless the individual offering is an accredited healthcare professional acting in that capacity.

8. The following defences to offences under these Rules are inadmissible:

• narcotic-induced incapacity;
• peer-pressure based defences; and
• experimental lesbianism.

9. The "What happens on Spring Break stays on Spring Break" disclosure practice does not bar complete subsequent investigations conducted in relation to the provisions of these Rules. Nor do the "Don't you trust me?", "Why can't you let me live my life?", and "Stop choking me, I can't breathe" approaches.

10. Have fun! Because I love you!

Seven brilliant iPhone applications

1. Smelt it: An application which smells it and leads you to he or she who dealt it.

2. Skittles Locator- Directs you to the nearest Skittles vendor.

3. Drunk call translator- Translates your drunken, foul-mouthed slurring into coherent, eloquent speech. No more embarrassing late-night calls to ex-girlfriends or annoying co-workers. Also works for incoming calls.

4. Gaydar- Evaluates speech and visual patterns of subject and matches them against detection criteria.

5. Nice Comeback- Provides cutting retorts to insults for the slow-witted.

6. Rape whistle/ringtone- Voiced by Courtney Cox Arquette and essential for anyone's personal safety, this application screams "Help! I'm being raped." It is also available as a ringtone.

7. Boob scale- This application weighs boobs. Sometimes simpler is better.

Erectile dysfunction haikus

Two hearts, one love, soft
Kisses tease my tender parts.
Still nothing, you faggot.

Your eyes lock with mine
And you smile your smile of love.
Who is this Derek?

Sweat beads on your brow
As you work your lady ways.
Dead on arrival.

Seven lesser-known Irish feast days

1. St-Barnabus Day (February 2): Celebrating the Irish saint who introduced cable and wireless service bundling to the people of Ireland.

2. St-Christopher Day (August 9)- Commemorating the anniversary of Christopher of Gaelach's oyster-eating victory over the British.

3. St-Margaret's Brunch (March 10)- The solemn remembrance of St-Margaret's lifetime of commitment to the poor of Ireland, held over eggs benedict and mimosas.

4. St-Piedro Day (December 1)- Dedicated to the man who brought Tex-Mex to the Irish.

5. St-Stephen Day (April 22)- Celebrating the pivotal moment in Irish history when Stephen of Galbraith invented the Irish accent.

6. St-Agnes Day (October 18)- Remembering the life of St-Agnes, who did the things the other girls wouldn't.

7. St-Horace Day (June 4)- Commemorating the life of Horace of Ballyhob, the eccentric, angry midget who became the inspiration for the Irish leprechaun.

Yes it can.

 

 Brian Adair, a UPS delivery person, was driving his step-son Jeremy, a senior at JFK High School in Lowell, Massachusetts, to his prom. Brian has been dating Jeremy's mother Colleen for almost two years now. Jeremy's father Kevin had been an IT manager for CSS Global and had been working on an infrastructure contract in Iraq when an RPG shot through his window and blew up his office. Kevin sustained heavy injuries to his chest and arms and was sent back to Lowell, but Colleen, who had always rightly suspected that Kevin had been sleeping with his spin class instructor, told him that he should move out as soon as he got better. Jeremy was indifferent as Kevin had been a cold father and he had learned to get along without him.

 

Brian met Colleen through Brian's sister Amanda who worked two floors up from Colleen in the same professional building. Colleen was an accountant at Fradin and Company and often took her lunches at the Chilis on the corner of Adams and Franklin Village Drive. She had met Amanda there one day as they both waited for a table. They now met there every Thursday.

 

Brian and Colleen had only been dating for a year when she suggested that he move in with her. Things with her had been pleasant, but Brian had never thought that living together was a realistic possibility. His ex-wife hadn't gotten much in the divorce as Brian didn't have much to give. He still had the condo and the car and was fairly satisfied with the way things were with Colleen. There were some problems. Colleen obviously had trust issues that translated into a sexual reclusiveness that Brian found frustrating. For his part, Brian was prone to break plans at the last minute if the opportunity to take some overtime presented itself. But all couples have their issues.

 

Now Brian was in the truck with Jeremy.

 

"So where does your date live Jer?" "Jer" was the handle that Brian had created for Jeremy. He had little idea that Jeremy hated it.

"Near the school," Jeremy replied, finishing the stiching on his bowtie with his portable sewing machine. Jeremy had sewn most of his tuxedo himself. Since January, he had been working with a variety of fabrics, learning how to manipulate satin, and experimenting with the idea of putting a Western pocket on tuxedo pants. He was obsessed with the detail of the process. Only Jeremy knew that the silk lining was made from a fine Bengali weave and that the pockets were modelled after those of Pierce Brosnan's tuxedo in "Goldeneye". He and his date Karen had met in sewing class at the community centre. Neither was particularly attracted to the other, but at least enjoyed the other's company. Karen's father had once met Pierce Brosnan in Mexico when he was filming "The Matador."  He was staying in the same hotel Karen's father and his wife were when they were on vacation. "Looks older in person," was his only comment. He was more of an early Connery man.

 

"Just let me know when to turn," Brian said.
"K."

 

The machine whirred as Jeremy finished the edging on his tie. "Not bad for a last-minute job. Karen is working with chiffon on her dress. Really tough with a sewing machine."
"It all sounds hard to me," quipped Brian, looking out the window. He hadn't taken much responsibility for Jeremy's development as he didn't feel that he should. At eighteen, people were nearly formed and Brian's attempts at fathering would have come off as awkward and forced. Jeremy was fine, maybe a little strange, but at least he wasn't gay.

 

"I'm gay," said Jeremy.

 

The car ahead of them braked suddenly as a SUV going the other way caught the last flash of the yellow light going south on Walker. The truck's braking distance was at least fifteen feet at the speed they were going, so Brian swerved right, taking the truck onto the sidewalk. The front-left tire caught the soft grass between the sidewalk and the road as Brian tried to pull the wheel back. The rear of the truck swung around as it slid down the small hill beside the middle-school parking lot. The whole production was over in less than five seconds. Brian got out and walked up the hill. Jeremy followed with his sewing machine in hand.

 

The police sent four officers because of the insurers involved. UPS, the school, and the city would all want a solid report of what happened. They even sent a photographer to document every conceivable angle of the accident. As Brian spoke to the policemen, the photographer approached Jeremy.

 

"Were you going to the prom at JFK tonight?"
"Yeah, but those cops told me I'm not allowed to leave until they finish everything."
"Too bad. I graduated from JFK in 1999. My prom was great. My date was a fantastic slut."
"I'm gay," said Jeremy.
"Supposedly we're all a little gay. Do you want me to get a picture of you in your tux?" asked the photographer.
"Sure," Jeremy said.
"Hold up the sewing machine," said the photographer as he lined up the shot.
"Pierce Brosnan had to do seven auditions before he got 'Goldeneye'," said Jeremy.
"Are you okay?"
"Probably," replied Jeremy.

Seven parallels between Edward and Bella's relationship in "Twilight" and my relationship with my doorman

1. Bella believes that she too must become a vampire to be with Edward. My doorman would like me to become a doorman as well so we could hang out and talk about movies and TV shows we've both seen.

2. Like Edward, my doorman swore he would protect me forever.

3. Other people are afraid of Edward because they don't understand what he is. People in my building are afraid of my doorman because they don't understand that he has mild Tourette's.

4. Edward gets very jealous if Bella is approached by other men. A delivery man once held the door open for me and my doorman threw a half-eaten muffin at him.

5. Just as Bella has made Edward act like less of a monster, I have encouraged my doorman to stop denying visible minorities access to the building.

6. Edward loves Bella so much that he is able to deny his primal urge to drink her blood. My doorman has similarly restrained himself from opening packages addressed to me.

7. The town disapproves of Edward's relationship with Bella. Similarly, the condo board has issued several warnings to my doorman instructing him to refrain from putting up pictures from "Thelma and Louise" with our faces Photoshop-ed on.

My yoga instructor is going through some personal issues

 As we end class today, I want you all to feel the energy in your breath and take that energy out into the world with you. Feel it flowing through your chest, through your arms, down through your legs. That energy is yours and no one can take it away from you. Even if a certain someone refuses to take your calls and has un-friended you on Facebook, the energy that you have in your body, in your breath, is yours and is all you need to face the world. Sometimes we have people who help us face the world, but sometimes those people say that they've grown tired of the constant spiritual retreats and "my bullshit yoga lifestyle" and leave. Sometimes people just can't admit that they hate themselves because they became fucking accountants instead of world-class chefs like they really wanted to but were too scared to. But what they don't realize is that people care about them and all they want is for them to be happy no matter what they're doing. And the last thing they should do is START FUCKING ANOTHER YOGA INSTRUCTOR AT THE SAME STUDIO HIS GIRLFRIEND WORKS AT! DO YOU HEAR ME KAREN?! YOU FUCKING BITCH! I WILL SET YOU ON FIRE IN YOUR CAR! 

And keep breathing. You have all the time in the world. Except if you want to have children of course, which I do. Feel your energy. Namaste.

Seven rejected Roll Up The Rim messages

 

1. That lipstick doesn't flatter you.

2.You have won a recalled Toyota.

3. Valid for one free tickle

4. Punch the next person you see for good luck.

5. That shrimp DID taste a bit funky.

6. Michael, if you really loved me, you would understand that until I find myself attractive I can't be intimate with you.

7. Dean Keaton was Keyser Söze. 

Seven alternative legal careers

I recently went to a seminar given by a senior partner at a prominent corporate law firm. He leaned against the blackboard, sighed, and began his presentation:

"Law is very, very, very boring. I don't suggest any of you get into it. Find something you like and go with that."

I promptly got up and left.

This criticism should be one of the first things that law students learn about the mainstream practice of law. It doesn't matter how attractive or clever or personable you are; you will only get ahead by putting your head down and working until you forget how to get an erection. Career counselors give lawyers a spate of alternatives to practice which draw on the skills one develops as a lawyer, but these suffer from intense lack of creativity. Best to think about three miles outside the box:

1. Bounty hunter- You're outside, you're administering justice, you have a lot of non-lethal weapons. While your law school classmates are poring over a room full of contracts, you just tazed a drug dealer with a $10,000 tag on him.

2. Corporate Bagman- This gives you all the prestige of corporate life without worrying about billable hours. When the CEO of the firm's biggest client is arrested the pediatrician's office again, you'll be down at the station bribing cops and threatening expectant mothers with lawsuits. If you had the guts to sit through Corporate Taxation, then you definitely have what it takes to yell at a child who's just been molested.

3. Host of your own reality show- Do not worry about having a sharp premise. These days, any idea will fly. Replace your wife with an ostrich. Start a meth lab. Sponsor a family of Indian pickpockets and have them live with you. Remember, we are outside the box.

4. The new Oprah- Oprah is retiring soon. Who will tell women what to wear, read, eat, and think when she's gone?

5. Party lawyer- People hire you to go to their parties and pretend to be a lawyer. There might not be much of a market for this.

6. Hostage negotiator- A boardroom is really no different from the lobby of a bank, an airplane, or a double-wide trailer. Identify your opponent's weak points and use them to your advantage. When they threaten to kill everyone if their demands aren't met, tell them they are being unprofessional.

7. Beauty pageant judge- Justice is blind, but you thankfully you are not, because Miss Quaker State Oil is not going to pick herself.

Women who crave intensity find me attractive

Yes, I am looking at you, adorably-freckled woman sitting across the cafe from me. I like your boldness in making such a strong statement of personal fashion with your poncho-sweater and rubber boots. To others you are an art-house eccentric, but I understand your need for irreverent outerwear and I applaud it. You have passion. Like me. I don't know if you can tell by looking at me, but I am incredibly intense, and women who crave intensity find me attractive.

How I choose to define my intensity is my business. I am driven by my desires, but I am not trapped by them. While I am not afraid to choke myself while I masturbate, I choose not to, because the pleasure I give myself does not need to be spiked with danger which, although under my control, I find unnecessary. Nor do I feel a need to love risotto. If we are at your friend's house and risotto is served, I will eat it and I will give my honest opinion when ask if I enjoyed it, but I will never say "I loved it" so do not expect me to. I will not spare your feelings by compromising mine.

But do not think that because I am capable of defining the nature of my intensity that it is limited by the ways in which I can conceive of it. If I ever find myself purchasing a large volume of fine Italian ostrich leather or watching several hours of 1970s Danish pornography, I accept that this is a natural expression of something that I do not fully understand yet must embrace. Although I value self-knowledge, you should know that there are things which even I am surprised by.

I don't want to question why you crave the intensity that I am about. However, I think there are people in your life who do. Your mother wonders why you don't get in touch with her best friend's son Jason. He's almost a dentist and will take over his father's practice when he retires. But you have greater aspirations than being Mrs. Jason Limpcock-Showercry. I would take you away from the world of interminable double dates with Jason's squash buddy Greg and his yoga-obsessed fiancee Karen who insists on telling you about her charity work with retards while Jason and Greg discuss their BMWs. You and I could be so much more.       

I want to share so many things with you. I want to share the poetry I've written about Iraq with you. There is lot of fire imagery that you are going to find very intense, so prepare yourself. But I know you'll be able to handle it, because you have that look about you, that look that says "I like touching ground beef with my bare hands" and "My decision to litter is made for personal reasons which I do not feel compelled to explain." I dig that. But I dig it in a way that no one else does, in a way that is unique to me and the way I do things. If you are scared, I understand. I respect you for it.

You should know that my attraction for you is not purely sexual. I'm not a sweating, dive-bar fuck goat readying myself for the charge; I know that you would never respond to such an advance. But while we are both above that sort of cheap adolescent dickplay, we are very in tune with our own chemicals. I can't predict how it will happen, whether it will follow our first comfortable silence or the first time I make you watch me pee, but I know that you will be surprised by how right it feels and how well I know your body. I own many varieties of nutmeg oil that I want to you to experience.  

Sip your tea but stop coyly avoiding my eyes. I know you can feel the tension. Embrace it. I'm going to write my number down now and leave it here by the non-dairy creamer. You know you'll call.

Regret over banishing the Paperclip from my word processor

 

It's not that I miss him, it's that I miss the IDEA of him. Like the three-legged neighbourhood dog or the retarded crossing guard, you just assume that they'll always be there. I don't NEED him in my life. I know when it looks like I'm writing a letter. I'm fine without you interrupting me while I'm trying to fight my third consecutive audit or brag to my great aunt about my most recent sexual conquest. It felt great when I got rid of you. But now that you're gone, I feel like no one cares.

You were always there when I didn't need you, sitting in the corner with your shifty, seductive eyes. You made me feel like what I was writing about mattered. When I was writing my letter of resignation from Boston Pizza's Management Training Program, you weren't there to offer the most appropriate template. When I was ghostwriting my friend's suicide note, I never saw you. I felt like I should be the one in the bath with the George Foreman grill instead of my friend Greg, God rest his soul. 

I pushed you away and I don't know if I'll ever get you back. I suppose nothing is forever. That three-legged dog was eventually run over by a car, mainly because the retarded crossing guard was busy masturbating in front of some elderly women. He too was ostracized by the people he was trying to help. All he wanted was to be a part of the community and offer what he could. Sometimes the most noble intentions are misunderstood. 

James Cameron's uncensored Oscar acceptance speech

Wow. This...this is really something. 

I want to tell you all a story that best illustrates my feelings at this particular moment. I attended one of the first public screenings of "Avatar" at a premiere in Los Angeles. On the way out of the theatre, a little girl pulled at my blazer and told me that she wanted to be a Nav'i. I looked down at her and told her "Sweetheart, how did you get by my bodyguard? Let go of my fucking jacket and fuck off." And do you know who that little girl was? I certainly don't. Because I'm James Cameron and I don't need to know shit.

I want to thank the legions of nerds who made this movie. Without them it would have just been the guy in the wheelchair and Uhura staring at each other for three hours. I also want to thank the studio for taking my threats on their life during the making of this picture with a grain of salt and not involving the police. But most of all I want to thank you, the ticket-buying public. Two billion dollars is a lot of money, and with video game spinoffs and DVD sales it will probably be twice that.

Thanks to you, I live a ridiculous life of excess bordering on the insane. You know that giant red pterodactyl thing in the movie? I had one of those things grown from an egg in a lab in Switzerland. It's waiting for me out back, eating garbage and screaming at helicopters. I had one of my arms removed and replaced with one from a Terminator. On the way in, I crushed Ryan Seacrest's hand when he tried to touch me.

I can breathe underwater.

Finally, I want to thank my ex-wife for holding to her belief that a bunch of green screens and special effects could not replace traditional film. Suck it, you bitch. Who's a limp-dicked faggot now?!

To the cult I inadvertently started last night

To the people who have congregated on my lawn and called themselves the "Progeny of Orion":

Good morning.

I would like to start out by apologizing for the comments I made last night at the Red Lobster regarding the demise of the universe. I had been drinking quite heavily since noon of that day and was a little emotionally fragile after a serious fuck-up at the office which cost my firm a cool million. I was in no condition to claim that the only way any of us would survive the Earth's imminent explosion would be to come back to my house for inter-dimensional transport. Again, I apologize.

I am pleased, though, that so many of you have embraced this movement so readily. I see you have removed all body hair and coated yourselves in petroleum jelly according to my instructions which, again, I did not expect you all to follow. I don't want to say that I was in any way "joking", because by the looks of manic determination on many of your faces I can tell that you did not find it funny. I will say that I did not intend to find such a receptive audience for cult membership during happy hour at a Red Lobster by the on-ramp.

I should also make a special announcement for all the women among you, hairless and difficult to pick out as you may be. My problems at work recently have been compounded by troubles with my girlfriend who has recently moved out, destroying my self-esteem. I really makes me feel validated to know that Sarah missed out on becoming the Humanly Vessel of the Inter-Dimensional Supernova Jesus, whom I claimed I would father and that so many of you were willing to carry. And when I suggested that the mother of this new deity should be determined through a topless make-out competition, you were all equally committed. For that I thank you, but again, I apologize.

I should really wrap this up as I have to get off to work, but just to recap, there will be no inter-dimensional travel happening on my lawn today or any other day, despite what I might have said last night. Please put out the oil drum fires before you go and take the vats of feces with you. Thank you very much.

Seven definitive predictions for the finale of "Lost"

The main thing which dissuades me from really engaging with any part of "Lost", especially in its last season, is that the writers have taken so many liberties with time, space, and logic that the show is no longer bound by any intuitive concept of reality. I say it's more satisfying to draw your own conclusions:

1. The island is actually microscopic. It's sitting in a puddle in the backyard of a retired couple from Seattle.

2. Jack's father is the black smoke. He inhabited Locke to tell Jack that he was adopted and that his biological father is Jin.

3. Kate and Claire are the same person. That's why you see them talking together Claire has an Australian accent.

4. Charlie never died. He's living inside Hurley and is controlling Hurley's thoughts.

5. Jacob got Claire/Kate pregnant with his mind and Aaron is a vampire.

6. Sayid is Arab Jesus.

7. Sawyer is also the black smoke.