"She's From The Internet."

It was an average ordinary day, in that I was creepily listening in on other people's conversations.  I overheard one girl talking to another about a guy they knew and a girl he'd just started dating.

"She's from the internet," said the girl.

All of a sudden I was bombarded by this mental image of a guy sitting in front of his computer (pants down) and a massive portal of energy opening up, Weird Science style, and a girl stepping out from the portal saying something to the effect of "Greetings, from the Internet."

Gonna Go Drop a ... Call

I heard on the news that there are more cellphones in India than there are toilets.  So, there's a good chance I'll know why you're calling.

And the answer is... eww.

Sell Stuff That Reminds You Of Your Ex

A new startup called Never Liked It Anyway allows the once broken-hearted the chance to sell items that remind them of the one who did the breaking.  The one who stuck a knife in your chest and then quickly stuck his penis in another chick, or sucked out your soul before she sucked on some other guy's... knife.

Those of you with unfortunate tattoos... hmm, you're just going to have to turn Andy into Candy.  It won't be as sweet.  But you already know that.

You know what, this isn't going to end the feeling of loss inside you.  Sure, it's shrunk down, down, down, and covered with impulse buys to cheer you up. 

Double cheeseburgers.  Nights out at the bar.  Hookers  you demand go by the name of your ex and let you smack them around a bit.  Of course, you'll have a safe word.  But when the safe word is just your ex's name again, because you enjoy screaming it while striking another person, things get messy.  And that's okay.  Love is messy.

Face it, you can sell off all the items you want -- the lock of her hair, her finger and toenails, her spare glass eye -- but until you can rid the world of the owner of that eyeball, nothing will change.  And that eye will forever be looking at you, anyway, because you've also got an eye tattoo.

Obviously, we need a more permanent service.  For instance, fired into space.  When you know someone you don't ever want to see again has been fired into space, you can walk around a little less anxious. 

Go to your old hangouts again.  Hang with mutual friends again.  Start hitting on her sister again.  And you even have a conversation starter: "So, how about so-and-so getting fired into space?  Yeah, crazy..."

I'll even give you topics to go to from there...

• Astronomy
• The space program
• Junk floating around in space

A Holiday Haiku

Welcome, Family

Beer's chillin' outside

Sure, I'll take one now, why not

Coats in the bedroom

Someone Get Me 1.21 Jiggawatts!

A friend of mine was traveling through Michigan and, while browsing an antique mall, stumbled upon this photograph...

Old time Andy is still sexy time Andy.

Here's a photo of me...

Future people think Scott
Walker's a douche, too.

Wow.

Did my future self invent/utilize time travel to alter the spacetime continuum, take this photo, strategically plant it in Michigan so that friends of mine would find it, relay it, and freak my slightly less future self out?

...


I think my future self knows my slightly less future self pretty well.  Kudos to you, future self.  I admire you.  So it's great that I will someday become you.  I mean, me. 

And I'll travel back in time to fool you, my future self, or me, into thinking that this photo is of some older man from a hundred plus years ago, when in fact it's me, or rather my future self, or rather my future past self...

If it so pleases the court, your honor, I'd also like exhibit B submitted into evidence...

Thank you, Huey Lewis & the News.

  DUM DUM DUM!

Nerdy Times Infinity Squared

To promote the new game Star Wars The Old Republic, a gathering of lightsaber-wielding people appeared in Times Square to prove they can still be seen out in public.  Albeit, while still embarrassing.

So, some nerds gather in Times Square and people are all ready to take photos and accept the event.  But an event involving me and my lightsaber in my room, (finger quotes) I'M UNSTABLE (un-finger quotes).

Long Hidden GOP Secret Revealed!

Here I am, mustachioed, incognito, about to gain access to GOP headquarters.  All because of a hunch.

It occurred to me that GOP members talk a lot about gay issues.  Like, a lot.  Like, alright GOP members, we heard you.  You don't have to be all up in our face about it.

And then it hit me... naw, it couldn't be...

So here I am, on a hunch, blogging live after infiltrating GOP headquarters.  Carrying this laptop around looks a little conspicuous, but they probably just think I'm a federal investigator confiscating one of their member's computers or something.  You know, normal goings-on at the GOP.  A few thoughts so far...

• Little hot.  It's a bit underground, so I guess close to the Earth's core.  Perhaps that's why they keep going on about "core values." WAH-wah.
• It's very well decorated, I must say.  I expected more of a dungeon-with-chains motif.
• It smells pretty nice.  Might be the lotions.  There are a lot of complimentary lotions lying everywhere.  Let me see.  Here's lavender.  Sweet orange.  Butternut.  This one "exfoliates."  No idea what that means.
• Near the kitchen now.  Found this week's menu.  Nice wine list.  Not Christian baby blood, as is the widely accepted belief.

MONDAY:  Rosemary sauteed wild veal with a miso compote

TUESDAY:  Balsamic shaved artisinal porterhouse steak with a mint syrup

WEDNESDAY:  Ruffle oil curried imported kobe tartare with a szechwan peppercorn sorbet

THURSDAY:  Sage infused hand-picked porterhouse steak with a maple mousseline

FRIDAY:  Balsamic Mashed Albacore with a syrah sorbet

SATURDAY:  Durian shaved organic tofu-steak with a black sesame aioli

SUNDAY:  Oregano curried fresh kobe tartare with a maple syrup

Interesting.  Very interesting.

Oh there's music in this next room.  Well, not so much music, I guess.  It's more like just a thumping dance beat?  Lots of flashing lights in here, too.  Can't really see much.  The raised dance floor looks nice.  Ah, there's someone winking at me.  Looks like Rick Santorum, but if he was dressed in drag.  Or, wait... nah.

This next room must be their library or study.  Hmm, let's see.  Oscar Wilde.  Oscar Wilde...  Oscar Wilde.  These guys like Wilde.  No problem there, he was a great writer.  Let's check out the next room.

Hmm, this looks a little ritualistic.  Here's a podium with a book on it.  There are stone benches everywhere, kind of flowering out from the center.  Let me check out this book.  The Grand Old Party Handbook.  Okay, pretty standard stuff.  No taxes.  Lots of God.  Less government.  Tax-free God.  Some pages torn out here in the back.

Well, that all seems normal so might as well close the book on this one, heh-heh.  Ah, there's some glue or something on the cover here.  Bleh.  Wait.  What's this?  This word is glued over a different wor---

Oh my god!  I knew it!

Gosh I hope that's glue, but anyhoooo.  GOP, the cats out of the designer bag.  You care a lot about gay issues, and now we know why.  And you know what?  It's cool.  We're cool with it.

Oh, here's the dungeon with the chains.  So, let me just go ahead and... get the fuck outta here.

Kabush!

I got this video from a friend.  Police get called to a house where a man is having a bad reaction to some mushrooms he took.  Now, I don't condone the taking of psychedelic mushrooms, and I don't mean to make light of what may have been a very serious situation.

But holy shit this is funny.  Enjoy.

KABUSHHHH!

Pseudo Suede Nudes

Great country band name, or the greatest country band name? 

Thoughts?

Bun-In-The-Oven Funnin' Week

It seems like everyday there's a new story about "reports" of a starlet being pregnant.  And by reports, I mean, "my keyboard told me."  Usually these pregnancy rumors are eventually proven false, but not after a huge, round belly of stories is berthed insisting otherwise.  And it's based on nothing more than a photo where the woman has her hands on her stomach. 

Because, as scholarly journals tell us, women don't ever touch, look at, or interact with their belly if there's not a tiny human inside it.  At which point, everyone can touch your stomach.

So, I would like to suggest to female celebrities everywhere "Bun-In-The-Oven Funnin' Week"  For an entire week, female stars will walk around with their hands on their belly.  They'll look at their stomach more regularly.  They'll have friends and family, and especially husbands and boyfriends, look at their belly a lot.  Lots of attention will be given to your belly.

Get crazy with food.  Order a steak and tell them to put a pumpkin pie on top!  Order a full bushel of carrots, and tell them you want a gallon of chocolate syrup with it, served in half a car muffler!  Order a quiche filled with the nut and bolts of Taco Bell drive-thru window!

If they refuse any of this, start crying.  While always holding and staring at your tummy.  Everyone in your party should also be staring at your tummy or have a hand on it.

If every female celeb did this for an entire week?  Think of the chaos that would ensue on a tabloid level.  People would think something got in the water around Hollywood.  Or that the NBA lockout gave players more irresponsible-kid-having free time than normal.

And when the paparazzi snap a photo of you, starlets, with your hands on your belly, your hands can very quickly transform into middle finger displays.

Let's do it!  Bun-In-The-Oven Funnin' Week!

What A Beautiful Tree... Now Cut It Down And Strangle It With Lights!

The Rockefeller Christmas tree is up, and what a sight to behold.  I thought this description was particularly funny.

An "amazing 74-foot, 46-foot wide, 80-year-old Norway spruce."

Yes, now let's chop it down and let it slowly starve to death for all to see!  Lights?  Sure why not!  Let's make it a spectacle!  That'll learn those trees not to cross us humans around the time of the Winter solstice!