New Dreaded Phone Conversation To Avoid

There are a few phone calls that I wouldn't recommend ever receiving.

1. The "I'm Pregnant" phone call.
2. The "I'm leaving you" phone call.
3. The "Your pathology report came back and you have a benign tumor" phone call. That's the new one.

Finally, popping my tumor cherry.

Thank god for wikipedia. So, the definition is that it does not satisfy the three conditions of cancer. That is, it does not metastasize, it does not grow at an alarming rate and it does not attack surrounding tissue. What it does mean, though, is that they want to go back in to retrieve more tissue from my head. It means I'm going to be wrapped uncomfortably in gauze. It means that I'm going to miss even more soccer. It means now is not the time to quit smoking. It means my hair will be fucked up again.

I should know better than to keep on talking to anyone except for one person who calls me by the name on my driver's license. I should have just hung up as soon as the guy on the other line used that name.

Basically, it's a call that I would recommend you avoid. The fucked up thing is that I've told a couple of people and am not going to tell my mom because she's going to freak out if my sister's reaction can be used as a belweather of how she'll act. I won't tell my mom, but I'll post it to the Supermation Inforhighway. Jeezus. Happy Friday.

New Scrabble Words

In case you were curious, this is what is in my hair right now:
-Water
-Lanolin Wax
-Cetearyl Alcohol
-PVP
-Tribehenin
-Glycerin
-Tridecyl Stearate
-Alcohol Denat.
-Dipentaerythrityl Hexacaprylate/Hexacaprate
-PEG-8 Beeswax
-Ceteareth-25
-Tridecyl Trimelliate,
-PEG-40 Castor Oil
-Acrylates/C10-30 Alkyl Acrylate Crosspolymer
-Triethanolamine
-Tetrasodium EDTA
-Phenoxyethanol
-Potassium Sorbate
-Benzyl Benzoate
-Hexyl Cinnamal
-Hydroxyisohexyl 3-Cyclohexene Carboxaldehyde
-Eugenol
-Linalool
-Fragrance

I don't even know how they fit all that into a tiny canister and also I can't vouch for the legality of these words in Scrabble. Some of them may be proper nouns. Beyond the water and the wax, the list is a bit frightening.

Pro Tip #42A Article 27 Subsection 45

Don't go into work on a Tuesday morning and skip coffee and then out of the blue decide to Google "Hobo Clowns." You will find things like a Clown Ministry. They sell fucking shirts that say "God Made Clowns Just For Laughs." The ironic thing about the shirt is that it's not funny...AT ALL. It should say "God made Clowns to Frighten Children. Oh, and also to kill you while you sleep." I'm afraid to dig any deeper into that site after checking out the clown history, but go ahead and knock yourself out. There is a tutorial for budding clowning enthusiasts and future Megan's Law website members.

Megan's Law invented social networking. It grouped people by location and hobbies. The registration process is a little more rigid than other social networking websites, though. It's not really one that you want to actively try to be a part of.

We used to play a game at work where we looked up each other's last names and addresses on Fridays and then the unthinkable happened. We found someone who we worked with on the site. It was put away very quickly and the game was never played again. It was like a bad Ouija board session at a slumber party or finding glamour shots of your mom when you are looking for old porn underneath your parents' bed. It's traumatic.

Oh shit. Here is a link to clowns for hire. My question after looking at this is Would you ever hire a clown without seeing what it looked like? Again, clown of faith ministry mention. I've really missed some type of religious phenomenon, haven't I? I was already freaked out enough by Willie "Buddy From Charles in Charge" Aames becoming BibleMan and then Kirk "Mike Seaver" Cameron championing the rapturelicious Left Behind series. Spreading the word of the lord in grease paint just doesn't sound very awesome at all. It really makes name tags and ten speeds look a little more appetizing.

Seriously, how can these horny for rapture religious people even come close to speaking out against militant Muslims that will sacrifice themselves for their religous cause? They basically have the same beliefs in lands of personal milk and honey (virgins vs. relatives?) just non-Muslims want someone else to do it for them. The commonality exists in the fact that they are not enjoying their current life and are more interested in something better when this all ends. Listening to my grandmother talk these days is seriously what you would imagine a suicide bomber talking about at his sister's fifteenth birthday. Just nonchalant end of the world type of shit, but in a way that is looking forward to it. She is absolutely convinced that the end is near and everything will be better when her and her Mormon faithfuls go to Mormon Heaven. It actually is a little scary. Speaking of scary, back to clowns.

Oh my god. Surprise someone by putting this makeup on and hiding in the backseat of their car. Or, even better, jump out of their closet when they get home from work. Give someone the gift of peeing themselves in fear as a hobo clown surprises them.

Okay, dude. What the fucking fuck is this?!?!? Stop Clown Porn Now Dot Org. I didn't even read it. I just kind of stared at it and I'm really hoping it is some kind of inside joke that came about after like a hundred beers on a camping trip. Oh my god. It's just a joke. I seriously would not put it past some fuckin' retards in the MidWest of recognizing clowns in pornography as the reasons that their kids are obese and banding together behind the cause. The meetings would be at a buffet as they strategize how to stop clown porn related child obesity while their children put fucking chocolate sauce and frozen yogurt on their fried chicken nachos and chase it down with a deep fried milkshake. From above, the meeting would look like a bingo armed octopus.

As a sick and twisted side note. I've seen a clown in porn. It's disturbing. It's in Michael Ninn's New Wave Hookers V and was "borrowed" about three years ago by a friend. Nobody ever borrows porn and gives it back to you. Pro tip.

Friday Night Update

Rule #456: Never partake in the consumption of cocktails with HughVoltage unless you are a seasoned veteran.

Since Friday night, I've gotten a pizza and played GTA IV all day on Saturday and took a break to watch "Good Luck, Chuck" at the behest of my neighbor that told me that I would love it. He was unaware of my deep seated resistance to Dane Cook. To be honest, it wasn't that bad. There were a lot of boobs in it for some reason and when supported with a cast, Dane Cook is not that bad. Perhaps, it is the way people describe him as like the white Richard Pryor. He's not entirely that awesome.

So, chase that with a Sunday at the parents' house with a soda tooth from too much Diet Coke while fulfilling the duties of being an uncle by playing with my niece and nephew, and you can call it a weekend.

Now, this morning, my neighbor came over and gave me the update. He told me that one of the dudes, not The Dave, got beat up by the cops and put in jail after I told him that I was going to the bathroom and split because it was obviously a bad idea to still be interacting with the public at that point.

Apparently, he told the cab driver that he only had twelve dollars, but would pay him when they got to the destination. This got lost in translation and the cabbie flagged down a cop driving by. Some vodka fueled resistance took place, one would imagine, and cut to him in the back of a cop car trying to kick out the window on the way to one of the beatings of his life. That's a hell of a birthday. Apparently, he is sporting a wicked shiner and a decent laceration down the side of his head, but still says he had a good time.

Now, as for The Dave, I've still got his credit card and he can't get a hold of me because he lost his cell phone. On top of that, as of today, he still hasn't been able to locate his car. Poor The Dave.

I have to feel a tiny bit guilty as my weekend has been severely uneventful since I snuck out of the bar from birthday boy, however, most people know what they are doing when we are imbibing. You must have an exit strategy in a situation like that.

So, as I sit here and admire my clean bathroom counter top and try to dissuade myself from vacuuming, I can't help but pour out a little coffee for my homies putting their lives back together after having drinks with the harbinger of discord.

Quote of the day...yesterday

Neigbor: "Let me give you some fatherly advice, Hugh. Don't ever take a Viagra and eat a Big Mac"

Me: "Dude, I've been on Niagra to stop spontaneous erections for the last two years and have never eaten a Big Mac in my life. It shouldn't be a problem. By the way, nice gay stalker jacket."

The Dave

The night kinda began with a text that read "I do it for the blog."

I know. What it do? I went home from work early and got to 40% completion on GTA IV. My neighbor walked by and said "Dude, I'm going to happy hour at The Cheesecake Factory in an hour. You should go." I thought to myself that that sounded like getting drunk at Applebee's and then decided that it at the very least sounded interesting.

So, I went. We hung out with a guy that was having a birthday and works at my neighbor's gym and his buddy Dave. I got in a book argument with a guy reading Ken Follett and wrote down things on a bar napkin that could make his life more interesting including Palahniuk's book "Survivor." We left when we were hammered at like 8:00 PM.

We were out front and half of us wanted to go buy a jazz record. I told them to go ahead, but I get The Dave. The Dave had turned into a bargaining chip. He was wasted and would laugh at anything. He was a perfect sidekick. I grabbed The Dave and went to another bar with him. Got more fucked up. I bumped into a girl that made out with my date one night. Love her. The guy she was with just constantly said "Where do I know you from?" over and over and over. So, anyway, myself and that girl are having a conversation and I give The Dave my credit card and tell him to grab us some drinks. I go back to where The Dave was and he's gone.

I texted the other half of the group that was busy dropping the jazz record down a sewer and let them know that I lost The Dave. We were all devastated. As a sidenote, I woke up with an extra ATM card in my wallet and I think it is The Dave's. So, after the rest of the group minus The Dave was put back together, my neighbor snuck away and it was just me and the guy whose birthday it was. We ended up at another bar. At this point, we had no business interacting with the public. I think I even stopped drinking because I knew better and was acting as a minder because dude was disturbing some people that were larger than us.

Anyway, I woke up this morning at 8:00 AM and totally lacked a The Dave in my life. It's not like a gay thing. It's like being Morris Day and having a Jerome. Who wouldn't want something like that?

All right, I've got to go to Target and buy some sleeveless shirts for a weekend project. Did you know that a sleeveless shirt is less than a gallon of gas? Scary. I know.

By the way, Metal Mania on VH1 Classic is just killing it this morning. It's like MTV Spring Break in 1989 with a smidgen of Headbanger's Ball thrown in. Judas Priest. Poison. Maiden. Skid Row. Fifty bucks says that The Scorpions are next. Dude, if it's Big City...It's Photograph by Def Leppard. Even better. One of the best songs ever. EVAR.

Holy shit. I take everything back. They are playing the new Def Leppard video and it's a fucking Shania Twain video. What happened? What the fuck is this? Why can't I find an Interrobang on my keyboard for the ends of these sentences? Seriously. Def Leppard sounds like Young Country now. I'm going to go cry in the bath. This is just sad.

Scaranoid

I went into the bank yesterday to get my new card activated and my favorite bank teller was there greeting people as you walk in. She's absolutely beautiful and would eat me alive and needs to be avoided, but there was one thing of particular interest as I left with a new activated card. She said "Bye" and used my real first name. Not the one on all my cards, but the one that people call me. She shouldn't know it. Second time that has happened at a Wells Fargo. If anything, they have it in their customer database, but how would they know it? It's not really documented on anything official.

So, anyway, I was flattered and I still have a bank teller crush, which is so much healthier than any type of relationship at this point. It's like having a crush on Alyssa Milano on "Who's The Boss?" when you're like eight. Totally safe.

Trying Is The Step Right Before Failure

This is the shit: For Those Who Tried To Rock...

We Salute You.

Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiire!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

We must all pray together that Mr. X, nor Underwater Communist Basketweaving Jugband (UCBJ) does not appear on there. The UCBJ reggae album was the shit, though.

Jean Clad Van Diamond

According to the ticker on the news this morning, David Archuleta came in second on American Idol. In other news, stage dad beatings have increased Archuleta% in the last 24 hours. His relationship with his dad resembles that of a young Ike and Tina or a young Jessica, Ashlee and Joe Simpson threeway. God, that guy is gross and none of us are looking forward to the release of that sex tape.

To be honest, I absolutely lost interest in Idol this year and last year as it's becoming advanced karaoke and the songlist never changes just like karaoke at a Peppermill. It never moves forward like classic rock radio. It just sits there. Staring at you. Begging for help without saying so. Begging for help by looking at you sadly.

A discussion about Idol, however, pushed friends and I to the Neil Diamond episode that I do kind of wish that I had watched because Neil Diamond is like the Jewish Elvis. This discussion lead us down the path of Neil Diamond impersonations as a judge over beer and tacos and that lead to the idea of the karaoke mash-up.

I've done one karaoke mash-up in the past and it sounded horrible and my ex told me that she thought that I looked like I was going to have an accident while I did it. It was "Hit Me One More Time" in the style of Michael McDonald. It was physically taxing to perform and the payoff was marginal.

Now, last night when the peanut butter hit the chocolate, it was myself professing that I planned on having a dream last night of a beautiful parallel universe where Michael Jackson became a brilliant Quincy Jonesesque producer married to a white ex-actress with half white kids on The Office. That's right. Halpert's ex is The Original Dude's daughter.

In this parallel universe, Van Halen still breaks up, but they replace David Lee Roth with Neil Diamond in an unprecedented move not seen since Queen reunited with Paul Rodgers from Bad Company on vocals. What a WTF?! moment that was. Anyway, this got me to thinking about singing "Jump" by Van Halen in the style of Neil Diamond. Believe it or not, most of it worked in the shower this morning whilst I was shaving my chest. The only thing is that it's kind of so awesome that I don't want to just share it with just anyone. It'd be like cutting cheese and salami for a Saturday noontime snack with a fucking lightsaber. I want to hog it all to myself and use it for my own enjoyment. It's my karaoke supernova that shall never be shared with anyone due to sheer awesomenacity. So, yeah, the dream was like that dream that Lionel Richie has in "Say You, Say Me."


Finally, as part of the Hatebook development project, we are at work on an app that let's people that you've hooked up with add you as a mutual hatee and start a hater group devoted to you. You will never see who they are because your ID blocks you from knowing or joining. You will, however, receive a "rhating." This fuckin' thing is getting brillianter by the day. Might I add that instead of automatically getting a "Tom" as a friend like on myspace, you will automatically get Jerry O'Connel as your first hatee. Why? Because it was my idea. So, sit down or I'm going to see your O'Connel and raise you a "fiddle guy from Dave Matthews" and "Jack Johnson."

Have a wonderful day if I haven't told you to yet and by the way, you look simply stunning.
-HV

No Man Is An Island, Nor Toilet Seat.

I went out for my before bed cigarette and my neighbor was out there on vicodin and gin. We discussed him becoming involved with a second married chick. Yes, she is hot and young and has no body fat except for the 200 pounds of baggage that we call her husband, but I told him that I thought it was a bad idea and it solidifies why I would rather sit in the safety of my living room than put myself at the mercy of the throes of the feminine gender as of late.

I'm not going gay or anything in observance of legalized marriage, but I'm just staying off the grid. He then goes, "Oh fuck you, dude. You get more ass than a toilet seat." I had to break his heart a little bit and tell him that I've been ass free for over two months now and kind of enjoying it. It's part of operation: life less complicated. I'm kind of zeroing out in the good sense of the word and trying to find a nice clean slated starting point. Of course, this has been through paying for meals with exes and finding out everything that I did wrong from them, but it's relatively healthy in a learning sense. I'd especially like to get it out of the way before I take on any further ill-fated endeavors. Especially since I fell in love with a bank teller the other day. She was married and she was forgotten by the time I had left with quarters for laundry, but it was nice to feel enamorous.

So, self-induced therapy through solidarity? Maybe. Just an excuse to eat ice cream and get fat guiltlessly? Probably. Just a much needed break? Most likely.

The Mile Low Club

This Week's Media Heroes Are:
Jeffrey Paul Bradford and Adrianna Grace Connor.

"They told the officer they wanted to go do it in the woods, essentially," said Lower Swatara Township police Sgt. Richard Brandt. "That's the best answer they had."

Here's the article from sfgate. "Naked pilot, flight attendant arrested in woods"

So, it's them versus drunken Darth Vader for the best drinking story crown at this point. I heart you Naked Pilot and Flight Attendant.

Smitter Smatter

Bulletpoints from the last 48 hours.

-Carded a guy last night whose last name was "Sportsman." I wasn't going to let him in and accused him of being some kind of McLovin smartass until someone told me that they knew a guy whose last name was "Cheeseman." I let him in and was inspired to change my last name to "Fuckstache."

-Watched a guy who put on a purple plastic glove every time he came out front to smoke last night.

-Conversation:
"I don't like to buy porn unless I have a boyfriend with me. If I buy it by myself I feel creepy."

"Here is a web site. I'd hate to see you deprived of your porn habit."

That was inspired by the guy I saw at Fry's browsing porn. Browsing porn at Fry's takes balls.

-The bouncing gig is coming real close to becoming a real weekend gig. It completely flips my schedule on the weekends, but really contributes to me being a much better person. I had four beers all weekend. One before shift and one after shift. I'm actually getting quite good at it now and it saves me a shit ton of money. I think I'm starting to care for it. My respect level at the bar has increased tenfold and regulars don't look at me like "that guy" anymore. In fact, I met a lot of people that knew me or had hung out with me that I've never remembered. It was quite pleasant.

-I can wash my hair again and I'm not even wearing a hat. The gash is not handsome by any means, but it's not that bad. I need to make a hair appointment, though, because my plastic surgeon is no cosmetologist and just shaved through an essential section of my hair. It'll grow back, but in the meantime?

-The Vicodin is piling up due to nausea that prevented me from taking it. Pappy has his eye on it like a Catholic priest at an under ten boys soccer game.

-Thank you for the homage to raccooning D, it made me crack up.

-Reading "The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao" by Junot Diaz. Motherfucker can write and footnote like crazy. One word so far for the book would be Vernaculous. I haven't really liked Pullitzerish books since Kavalier & Clay, but this is really good. The guy could write the warning on the side of a Tampon box and make it interesting with his choice of words.

HeadCase

Recently went and had my head cut open, which required me to have my head wrapped in gauze. It wouldn't have been so bad except for the local heat wave in combination with gauze and a beany was a little uncomfortable, but when I was bouncing last night, I swear to god this chick almost made out with me right after I let her boyfriend in. I was wearing a head wrapped in gauze covered in a beanie so she must have been on some powerful shit to do that. Plus, she was this cute little skinny blonde thing and I'm pretty sure I was way cooler than the guy she was with. That would be a pretty crappy bouncer, though, so when she got in all close and shit, I pushed her away and wished her a wonderful night. Now, why won't a cute little blonde thing like that do that at the grocery store or in line for a FroYo? That's the real fuckin' question, isn't it? So, here's the pics.

There is the basic headwrap on the first day. Seriously, it looks like Dengar from Empire. He is not the most appealing of all the bounty hunters dispatched to catch Han Solo and the gang, but in a parallel universe he became more popular than Boba Fett.


















This is your basic mimicry of how a girl wraps her hair out of the shower. I had never done it before, but it was this or a Ziploc freezer bag or even a plastic grocery bag. It worked out okay, but was rather uncomfortable, however, the stink needed to be removed.












That's the inside of the wrap. I must have spilled something on it because it is mildly stained. When I saw the stain, I was a little scared of what was on the back of my head and here it is...













That's the gash. Please excuse the hair. The surgeon was nice enough to pull the scalp down and stitch so there will be no bald spot. I'm still a little squeamish about getting it wet. The gash is a little bigger than I thought it was.











Here is a better view.

Altered States of America

Ummm, because I'm a jackass, I had a couple of beers after soccer last night on the sole grounds that I was awesome. Other people's words not mine. We even lost 2 - 0, but there was some spider monkey shit in there and I seriously blocked three shots and strained a throat muscle on one shot attempt. I have to admit that it was pretty impressive for an old man to be pulling that shit off and when a person tees up on a ball and gets anime eyes as you jump across them and stop their shot, there is no better face of disappointment.

So, anyway, to the dismay of all of those people that care about me that read this (3 people), I went to a bar that I used to drink at to drink White Russians, sing karaoke and not pay for anything. Honestly, I walked in with a wedding shirt that said "Big Mistake" and a pair of sweatpants and before I could get a drink or take a piss, I was singing "Jump" by Van Halen and doing the shoulder back step like DLR in the video. It was pretty awesome. I felt missed it had been a while.

So, anyway, Persian chick was there. It was good to see her. I'll skip all the good stuff, but by the end of the night she said this, "Fuck you, [Hugh], I hate you." I was explaining the situation to her with all the omitted details that we don't need to go over in the blog because she would not be pleased, but basically I administered some bitter medicine to a nerdcrush that she was kind of in the sights of and had no idea. How did I know? I had a crush on her for like two weeks. You can see it in the tard's eyes. So, yeah, we had it out, which seriously is when I'm the best.

So, we're having it out on the cell phone which she is not in anymore (she made a comment about that) and I look behind me when a flashlight beam hits the back of my head. No, not lost Boy Scouts, but two cops. It was okay because things were resolving and Persian chick was realizing that I was right about a few things and actually encouraged her pursuing a real relationship with a real dude who was successful and cool and tall.

Anyway, I looked at the cops and said, "You guys have nothing. I have no car, no bike and I'm really not doing anything wrong besides being kind of an asshole" and they said, "Just take it inside and have a safe night." Hands down one of the best cop and Hugh interactions of all time.

So, destroyed some relationships and recovered others. Rolled into work three hours late on the bike (not a motorcycle) and feel fucking fantabulous. I'm scared to death of going under the knife on a local anesthetic tomorrow morning, but I suppose it's going to be just like going to the dentist and my life has been fucked up enough that I find the dentist calming. So, we're good. Real good.

This Is Good To Know

Pro tip. Do not shoot kids with BB guns. I have to admit that as of late, I've been debating it as this small child army seems to be developing in front of my apartment. I came home once and one of them was waiting on my porch for my neighbor's kid to get home. He sat out there for like an hour and I felt trapped in my apartment by a ten year old.

I mean, they have their moments of brilliance with their varieties of "Why?"s that they are capable of asking. My favorite has been when the neighbor kid said "Why are you wearing glasses?" and I replied, "Trav, why are you wearing pants?" Yeah, I'm stooping to their level, but it felt better than saying that I'm wearing glasses to read the map on GTA IV. I wear glasses only to drive at night and play video games. I am a loser.

One time, the porch kid asked me if he could try my cigarette and I had to go into the anti-smoking lecture while I puffed away and drank a beer. I'd feel bad about my hypocrisy if it wasn't the keystone that holds our cultural architecture together.

So, going to switch to the Super Soaker as child repellent at the apartment and avoid the felony assault charges and $50,000 bail. That is one of the things that you think about, but never do. Shame on you San Bruno guy with a BB gun.

Momly Things

Ummm. I outdid myself for Mother's Day this year. I got my mom a Josh Ritter CD (good call D), a DVD of Camelot, and All Families Are Psychotic by Douglas Coupland. It could have gone real bad, but she seemed to have a sense of humor about it.

The inspiration to purchase her the book came at about 1:45 at a karaoke bar in the Marina. My little sister was out back on the patio crying as my mom danced with dudes and did whatever she could to mortify any type of childesque thing in the vicinity.

I just turned my back to the whole thing and tried to ignore it as cute girl after cute girl said "That's your mom?" It wasn't in a good way. It was in a way that someone would point to a dog that had just been hit by an ice cream truck and say "That's your dog?" It's really the question mark on the end of it that denotes the lack of awesome.

Anyway, I went out and comforted my sister and sent my mom away when she came out by saying "Mom, you're just going to make it worse. Go home. We'll meet you there." Total role reversal for me. I'm usually on the other end of that statement.

After my mom had left, I rallied my little sister and took her to IHOP and continued our discussion. I explained to her that sometimes you have to let your parents go or just accept them as they are, but you can't let them get to you. Yeah, it sucks to not have something matriarchal in your life. It sucks to not have a "mom." It sucks to have someone that thinks momly things are going out in the city and getting wasted and partying. Momly things should be home cooked meals, advice on life, nurturing, sewing, or some version of domestication. It shouldn't be the constant enablement and promotion of self-destruction. By the end of the conversation, we came to the concensus that she doesn't know that she's hurting you, so it's more of a manslaughter charge than a murder charge.

So, I cut out of the city at 3:00 AM and got home to safety. The next night I got a call on my cell phone, but didn't answer due to a self-sanctioned media blackout. I sometimes put those into effect when I need to recharge and just don't feel like talking to anyone. I checked the message and it was some fuckin' dude named Marty or Randy or something and he goes "J...Hugh, that's a really funny message. I'm hanging out with your mom in the city and I can't wait to meet you."

Uh, what the fuck, guy?! I'm getting drunk dialed by randoms that are with my mom? It's bad enough when you get drunk dialed by your mom, but by dudes she's with? Yeah, I hope I meet that fuckin' guy and the whole time I'm going to call him fuckin' dad and tell him how happy I am that I'm going to have a new daddy. I will come out and actually say that I would rather watch an ex-girlfriend make out with a dude than have to hear about my mom's dates. Scratch that. I would rather watch a sex tape of an ex and her boyfriend than hear about my mom's dates.

So, yes, she is a person. Yes, she should be able to date people. Yes, she should observe the don't ask, don't tell policy that all parents should live by. This whole thing just makes me feel five years old. I have mutual funds and track my budget in Quicken. I shouldn't feel five. I have a Darth Vader mask in the closet and a stormtrooper holding my toothbrush. Maybe I should feel five.

Word Up!

I'm not saying you should do this, but what an awesome prank if you can get into someone else's computer. It's cruel, but awesome. Here is the procedure from Computer Pranks Central.
Microsoft Word Prank.

Anytime the user hits the key that you assign, their Word will exit without saving. I recommend the number 5 or the backslash, so that they don't know for weeks.

AntiSocial Networking (Part3)

More brainstorming last night on HateBook and AntiSocial networking in general. Revenue generation would come from targeted advertising based on what people don't like. If the user dislikes Microsoft, you throw up banner ads for Apple products or Linux, if you want to go there. Let me see, if you hate to read, throw up some ads for People Magazine and Wheel of Fortune and Dane Cook albums.

Also, web three-dot-oh is all about "DisconnectWorking." It's where you use other people's dislikes to remind you of stuff that you don't like. You may have left something off your list, you never know. There are also the Influencers (marketing term) that you could just trust in their dislikes as yours because you trust their disjudgement.

The thing is, fuck all this eco, sustainability, live forever bullshit. Fuck all this everything is fine and everything's going to be okay. Have you read a fucking newspaper? Have you picked your head up and looked around? Take your iPod headphones out and just listen for a second.

Any cup that is half full is still half empty and wipe the fucking smile off your face and at least acknowledge it. I'm not promoting the development of a negative, toxic personality. I'm just saying that you should at least be introduced to that other side that you are trained from the point of being a child to ignore and suppress. Acknowledge it and know that it is there. Learn from it. Promote change from within by understanding the feelings and in turn quelling them.

It happens. You hate things. At the bare minimum, if you say you hate nothing, you may hate hate. Now, some people refrain from using the word hate as it does come across as pretty harsh, but then again some people misuse hate to say they dislike things like, "I hate carrots." Who could hate carrots? Anyway, it's a two-way street. It's a misused word and it just got dirtier with the popularity and prolific use of the word "HateCrime" in modern media.

Also, if you are not getting the satire part of this, I can help you.

When The Babysitter's Drunk, Bad Things Happen

So, I'm officialier a doorman now. I wouldn't say that it's one of my jobs, but I get asked to do it. I guess it's more of a bouncing, ID checking, freelancer. I got asked to work next Friday and Saturday and agreed, even though I'm going to have just had my head cut open by a surgeon the previous day. Luckily, when used without alcohol, Vicodin actually helps the situation. In addition, when people tell me that I should have my head examined, I can tell them that I have. Dad Joke. Nobody says that anyone should have their head examined outside of Bugs Bunny cartoons.

There are some things that you have to do to work the door because if you lose control of the situation, shit can get real weird. So, the first thing you need is a chain wallet. All doormen have chain wallets. It's usually a good idea to wear some kind of boot, too. Add a scowling look of disinterest, a jacket with a lot of pockets and a beanie and you are ready. You can also add a MagLight if you think you are a baller, but you usually come off as compensating for something. Oh shit. This outfit would also work if you were a dockworker. Also, how awesome would nunchucks made out of two MagLights be? It would be like a truly attainable lightsaber.

Now, for etiquette, there are some rules, it's not 'Nam. NEVER play games on your phone while you sit there. Even when it's slow. There is tons of shit to look at when you sit out in front of a bar for four hours. It's like being homeless without the beard and the smell and the crazy talk.

Being me, I try and scan the street, as I know at least four people for sure that would find pleasure in shivving me from behind. Plus, just checking shit out can be entertaining sometimes. If nobody wants to cause you physical harm, you aren't trying hard enough. Live by that, but do not find pleasure in other's misfortunes. It's a slippery slope that leads to a thin and fuzzy grey line.

You should also never drink. It can get real sloppy. When the babysitter's drunk, bad things happen. Babies drown in paint buckets with an inch of standing water in them like in the picture on the side of the bucket. Kids asphyxiate themselves with plastic bags on their heads like in the picture on the plastic bag. People spill hot coffee in their laps. That's right. All of those warnings are on the side of products and in instruction manuals because a babysitter got drunk. Learn from it.

You need to remember to feign interest in inane drunk stories even if they are being told by the unattractive set. That's the hard part. Lameness, lack of wit, and general uninterestingness can be overlooked briefly for good hair, nice rack and the like, but add a butterfly breast tattoo, a sagging tank top and a muffin top and it's a real challenge. You are earning your money at that point.

Here's the conversation:
"Oh I can't believe you need to see my ID. I could be your mother."

"Uhh. You could never be my mother with that jail tattoo of a butterfly on your boob. It just wouldn't happen. Plus, if you were my mother, I suspect I wouldn't have lived to see the age of 17 with what I assume are your stellar parenting skills mixed with excellent judgement."

So, if all goes well at the plastic surgeon, I won't look like the Elephant Man the day after my surgery and can cover up the affected area with a toque. Also, really banking on the moustache implant taking and not rejecting. It should work because the moustache donor and I have the same moustache type. Also, keeping the tail as it is part of my personality. If my head is wrapped in gauze and I bounce, I guarantee you that there will be an ass kicking of me that night while I yell "I'm not an animal. I'm a man." It's too easy of a target. Please, Jebus, don't make me a target.

Peninsulation

Just in the last two hours, I have witnessed a guy drive a fucking full size garbage truck to his car in the parking lot to get his lunch or something. It caused me to be late to lunch and then he almost hit me. It was n'awesome.

I also just saw a dude washing his hair in the bathroom sink and a guy brushing his teeth in the break room. This all happened at work and I give up. You win, oh invisible mocking entity that preys upon me for some type of enjoyment or schadenfreude. I'll update my resume and start making an escape plan.

They (the collective they) say that above all else, enjoy what you do. I do. It's the where I do it that I kind of have a problem with. Making out with Scarlet Johanwhatever would be totally cool, but on a movie theater floor? I don't think so. Unless it was with two Scarlett Johanwhatevers. Then, it would totally be worth it. So what if you get gum in your hair. Get some ice and a hammer and that will come right out. Also, if it was the first date, I wouldn't recommend any type of penetration. Just straight making out can be super awesome if you try real hard. It's a forgotten art.

I thoroughly enjoy what I do. It's like doing Sudokus and crossword puzzles all days on good days. You get to please others and impress others by solving intricate problems wrapped in puzzles and smothered by enigmas. There are Eureka! moments. There is overcoming adversity. It really is quite brilliant in those glimpses of stimulating work environments with bright individuals.

On other days, it feels like being the coordinator for a juvenile hall field trip to the knife museum. Okay, fuck it, I'll say it. It's like being the grand marshall of a Special Olympics parade. And all that good karma just washes away down the sewer drain that is my soul. Seriously, though, it's like the Land of Misfit Toys and I'll never figure out if I'm meant to break out or if I'm a fucking Misfit Toy and it's my fate to exist here with a John-In-The-Box, a small wheel, and a Tackle Me Elmo.

No man is an island (of Misfit Toys), but they can definitely sneak by as a Peninsula without even trying in the right environment. Fuggit! It pays the bills for this illustrious life that I lead in the meantime. I really shouldn't care that my surroundings resemble the audience of a taping of The Price is Right and smell like old dust in a Salvation Army sometimes. Regardless, I'm blaming it for all of my problems right now and need to do something to eliminate it as a suspect of cause of malcontent.

Don't Stop Believin'

So, I believe in Bigfoot, Jung's Collective Unconsciousness, the beats on Portishead's Dummy album, anything a blonde and fit woman with an English accent says, and sometimes the ill workings of my subconscious.

The subconscious is definitely an issue with me as I'm convinced that my mind has turned on me about 40% of the time and see it as a struggle to sleep through the night. This may sound paranoid, but this is really when your subconscious comes out to beat up on you when your mental defenses are down.

On numerous occasions, I've been waking up in a pool of sweat, which sucks because the only thing worse in the world of laundry than whites is bedding or linens as they are called by women. They are the motherfuckers of all that which is laundry. It's like being a bed wetter, but less socially alienating and gross. Oh, I'd imagine it doesn't smell as awful...this is not about bed wetters.

So, anyway, the reason I bring it up is that through random acts of kindness and karma bank deposits as of late, something may have changed. I mean there was a flu blankets comment out at drinks after work the other night that kind of offended someone, but that comment is polar. It will go over great or make someone leave. It's one of the risks of being funny. Some topics like space shuttle jokes are iffy, but can still be funny, too. With my luck, I would make some Columbia comment to an astronaut and feel like the biggest asshole in the world. Second biggest, actually, until Dick Cheney passes away.

One karmic deposit entails me turning down money to let someone use my address to keep their kid in the school district. She offered me $200, but that would feel dirty like when a girl leaves $50 on the nightstand after a one night stand. It's a gross feeling. I just have to lie for someone else's benefit. It's like a really watered down and less dangerous version of Anne Frank.

Another deposit occurred when I found children adorable. That was fuckin' weird, but they were at the time. I even felt compelled to text The Breeder and let her know. Whodathunk that kids could be cute this day and age? Hmmm, maybe they were raised with human interaction and not parked in front of J.J. The JetPlane DVDs on the idiot box. Swear to god, wolves are a safer option of child rearing when compared to television.

Next, I made tacos for my neighbor and his kid with a recipe that a high school friend gave me. No Lawry's seasoning, but the real deal. They are the bombass tacos. The kid wouldn't eat it because he's at that phase where he only eats the meat parts of things. No buns, no lettuce, no pinto beans in this case. He hates pinto beans. It's okay because I hate Garbanzo.

So, been doing nice things and respecting others and there is definitely the Jungian version of libido shifting in my psyche. Look it up. It's not the sexual kind of libido as described by Freud. When you're coked up, it's all about yourself and sex and is a little bit intense, but I'm no psychologist so maybe he was right.

Anyway, so that in turn affects your subconscious, blah blah blah. I had a weird fuckin' dream last night that took place at a Starbucks back in Pleasanton where my sister and I went in and I got a Non-Fat Vanilla Latte and then talked to a girl I know. While we were talking she goes, "Why are you in just your underwear?" and I looked down and sure enough, nothing but grey boxer briefs. I felt embarrassed and walked out with my sister past a dude walking a small dark brown dog that had grey and black hair down his back that looked like Chewbacca's bandolier belt thing. It was like a tiny Chewbacca. That was fuckin' awesome.

So, the verdict on the whole experience this morning when I thought about it in the shower is that just like the going to school naked dream is related to insecurity about yourself and fear of new things, my subC is telling me that this person makes me feel insecure and should be taken with a grain of salt like a really friendly bank teller or co-worker. Just because a dog is cute and fun to pet does not mean that you should feed it or take it home. Unless it's that dog with that Chewbacca belt thing. God, that was awesome.

Nike: Take It To The Next Level

More of an Adidas and Puma man outside of balls, but Nike nails it with this ad. Long live marketing?

Brilliant Times, Too.

Via the Drawn! blog, it's pretty much like the coolest thing ever. Here's the link to NY Times Crossword Drawings blog. I'll apologize ahead of time to the people that do word searches and also state that I most likely have no time for you.

Q & A

Question: How funny would it be to have your mom call in to excuse you from work for the day?

Answer: Pretty funny. I'm thinking about having her do it. She totally would.

Question: What does "Muchacho" mean?

Answer: According to Merriam Webster it means a male servant in the Southwest? Fuck that! It's Spanish for "Dude" from now on and is used during the American celebration of the Fifth of May when everyone refers to each other as Muchacho. It also can be used menacingly while threatening someone if you a) have a moustache b) have an accent and c) are brandishing some type of blunt weapon. I am liberating that word and thrusting it into the Western American lexicon. Starting...right...now.

Question: When listening to the radio, what is better a "bad jam" or a "deep cut?"

Answer: I'm very glad you asked that. The bad jam and deep cut are getting rarer and rarer on the radio dial. In fact, you've got to go so far to the left on the dial now that you are milling about in iTrip radio station settings and JesusRock and swim with the sharks amongst college radio. College radio is where reggae, Punjabi, and the sound of a band saw for fifteen minutes reside. Occasionally, though, you are given a glimmer of hope and hear an hour of solid, good music and a lot of deep cuts. Deep cuts are found on college radio.

Now, bad jams are different. They are usually on the classic rock station that plays Steve Miller songs all day and still feels awesome playing Back in Black by AC/DC. Muchacho, seriously, stop playing that song. Deep cuts by AC/DC are still tight, but they have no more bad jams. On the other hand, Blue Oyster Cult still has some bad jams and deep cuts outside of "Don't Fear the Reaper" and even Reaper holds up pretty well. Reaper would be a bad jam while "Burnin' For You" still kinda clings on to deep cut status, although it's kinda a hybrid of the two. Then there is "Cities on Flame With Rock and Roll." That song is a straight deep cut and is awesome.

There is "Shakin'" by Eddie Money. I'd take it over Two Tickets anyday. That shit just gets played out and even more played out in the cryostasis of classic rock. You have nowhere to go. Nothing to build on. Bad jams get played out during "Threefer Madness" and "Block Party Weekends" and you just keep playing fuckin' Jet Airliner by Steve miller. Go to the deep cuts and create bad jams for another generation or go find new bad jams. Please DJ bring back the deep cuts and bad jams.

This is the part where I start singing to the DJ like in a J Lo song.

AntiSocial Networking (Part2)

The logo and the name of the antisocial networking web site is done. Just like a junior high school garage band, the name, logo and stickers always come before the music.

I present to you Web Three-Dot-Oh-My-God. It's hatebook. The future of social networking for when everyone gets tired of each other.

Hugh's News

Today just seems to have some ringer news.

This is great. At one time, about two World Cups ago, Ronaldo from the Brazilian National team was considered the shit. Then, he went to Real Madrid which was just stacked with talent. Then, he got fat. Then he picked up Tranny prostitutes. It's Different For Girls. -Yahoo! Sports

Here is his quote from the article: "When I realised it wasn't what I was looking for I withdrew my team from the pitch," the AC Milan striker said with a smile."

You gotta love that he kept it about the beautiful game when referring to the incident.

Then, there is the most boring celebrity couple ever. Ryan Reynolds and Scarlet Johawhatever got engaged. She was the worst SNL host ever. Not a funny bone in her body. No acting chops. Just nothing, but a great rack in an expensive dress. Would I say "No?" No, but I wouldn't enjoy it as much as if she was awesome and witty and cool. And, why Ryan Reynolds? Was it because she thought he was Dane Cook or because Jerry O'Connell was taken. I think his brother is available.

How the fuck is there a Jerry O'Connell fan site. Has the world gone fuckin' crazy?!?!?!?!?!?!? You're serious? Really? A Jerry O'Connell desktop wallpaper? Jerry O'Connell fans, congratulations, you just beat out cat ladies in the dealbreaker list. How the eff is that guy married to Rebecca Rojamain-Stamos-O'Connell? Her name sounds like the supergroup of my imagination: BoyGeorgeMichaelMcDonaldFageNSync.

Wait. Hold on. Apparently, I have no problem with Ryan Reynolds (I wouldn't notice him if he were standing next to me due to his normalness) and in fact have some kind of issue with Jerry O'Connell...and an imaginary supergroup?

I can't even remember what I was writing about, but that O'Connell screensaver and desktop theme is severely slowing down my computer performance.

So, now I will imaginate raising my fist in the air and shouting "Goddamn You O'Connell!" in addition to "Goddamn you Son of Loggins!" which I was already in the process of doing.

Open Letter To Your Husband

Dear co-worker woman's husband,
Please pay more attention to your wife. I think she may feel neglected at home because she won't stop talking to me about a ten year old's baseball pictures, going to the grocery store, something else, too, but I kind of tuned out.

Shouldn't it be your job to tune out? I mean, we call her my work wife at work, but that's just because she provides the cards for me to sign when it's someone's birthday at the office. She picks up the gift and I pay her. She also will book travel for me when we need to travel. Also, occasionally, she will provide home cooking for me which is very nice. So, I do get some of the wifely benefits.

Oh, I also made out with your sister-in-law at some type of social gathering at your house, but it was not my idea. I also sternly denied her when she tried to get me into the hot tub naked. I felt that was a bit brash having just met her two hours prior to her making that statement. It was really kind of a cougar attack.

I also probably need to apologize for being a part of scarring your child for a few chapters in his life I would imagine. Seeing your aunt behave like that has got to be weird. I think she got me because I was flattered when she called me a "Young Stud." It makes you feel less old.

Plus, when she faded the successful lawyer to make out with me, it felt like some kind of winning underdog teen drama. Sometimes I think people make out just to be part of some type of Penthouse Forum moment. On the other hand, sometimes they are just bombed. I'm sure the successful lawyer felt distraught on his way to his way too big home in his convertible Jag as he passed my 1998 Honda Civic. What a piece of shit.

Anyway, there are some things that you can do to help me out and I can help you out, as well. This can be mutually beneficial. I have no problem with your wife talking to me, but it's the stuff about the child that gets to me. For instance, I was talking about some Rooney To Ronaldo retarded goal and she related it to your son's soccer game. So, Manchester United vs. AYSO? Are you serious?! The only reason anyone is out there is because their fuckin' kid is playing. It's boring as shit. If anyone is watching youth sports and their kid isn't playing, I would encourage you to look them up on Megan's list.

So, I'll talk to her about cooking, work, where to eat, tv shows and movies and anything related to stuff like that. Your job is to talk about the boy. I hate to say it, but unless pudding starts shooting out of his ears or he can conjure up some plans for a working lightsaber, I'm just not that interested in anything that he does.

So, that's the deal. Thanks for listening.
-HughVoltage

Bacon Bowling For Dollars

This is so FUCKING RAD.

Bacon Bowl. Needs to be chili tight, though, in order to win a vegetarian chili cook-off. Pro tip: to win a chili competition serve veggie chili with bacon in it.

Re: Logins

I just had to send an e-mail with the subject line "Re: Logins" and it took a hundred men or more to hold me back from making a Kenny Loggins joke, but I managed not to. Holy crap, I need to tangent right here.

I was looking for a video for Meet Me Halfway on youtube that had Sylvester Stallone in Over The Top in the video with the kid from Cloak & Dagger and there was nothing. The thing is, I swear I remember a video for that. It may have been imaginary, but whatevs. What there is on youtube, however, is a bunch of shit that people posted dedicating that song with slideshows to their "soulmates." Holy fuck! Slow dancing to Meet Me Halfway at a wedding just made my bucket list.

Also look at the fucking comments that people leave underneath these slideshows of love profession to a Loggins soundtrack.

"Nice song and Nice Couple!!!
I envy your guys becouse you are looks so Happy ....
I'm Japanese women who is living in LA.
God bless you!"

I mean, Loggins is the soundtrack king. I'll give him that. He made the gay soundtrack for Top Gun. I mean Playing with the Boys?!?!?! It's up there with It's Raining Men in a gay Hungarian disco. He made Footloose. Dude, Meet Me Halfway gave high school nerds something to sign language at high school graduations for multiple generations. Where was that fucking class in high school? Was it secret? The sign language people just appeared one day. I really don't understand.

In addition, fear the whiteness of Son of Loggins. He is the whitest thing since Wayne Brady and Phil Donahue with a zest of James Taylor. He looks like he should be teaching English in college and driving a convertible MG while hitting on his hot students. Do I envy my made up version of him? Maybe. Also, please see Daughter of Eddie Money and Daughter of Joe Walsh. I have a super crush on daughter of Joe Walsh. Plus, her dad wrote Funk #49. That shit is tight, dude. P.S. Eddie Money's face might be melting. He did not get two tickets to aging gracefully. Not even one.

Interpost bonus points go to Tommy Bolin covering Funk #49. The bonus points are for outfits and stage dressing. Be warned it has horrible audio and the bass player is playing the riff wrong.

Oh, I was going to write about my introduction into human trafficking for $200 a month, but I'll post that later. Newman doesn't like long posts, but does enjoy long walks on the beach and cats (not the musical).

Author's Note: Go to the links in this post. There are some gems. Swear.

Coffee, Cigarettes and Ice Cream

Fuckin' A. I was fighting my inbox all weekend and the avalanche still cascades. Then, I checked my desk phone's voice mail and there were ten voicemails...about bullshit. If you have nothing to say, then fucking hang up. Seriously, if I have to check the fuckin' thing once a month and you have nothing to say, you've wasted all of our time. Mine and yours.

If you are calling my desk phone and it's not to ask me if I want a coffee from Starbucks or an HJ on a barstool in a local watering hole, you must be trying to sell me something or have the wrong number. Seriously, my phone just rang and my time is being wasted and I'm giving directions to a Starbucks in the BelMateo area...and wasted...and wasted.

And wasted...

So, anyway, got my hairdid this weekend and went and heard a womens softball game in the background while I visited a couple of "colleagues" and tried to figure out why I've been choked during intercourse on the first date multiple times. I also tested an application forever on Saturday and Sunday in between Grand Theft Auto IV(with glasses on) and not cleaning my apartment. Oh, and holy shit, I bought new pillows for my couch at Target which is seriously the gayest thing I've ever done besides get kissed by a dude with tongue. I looked homosexuality in the eye and it wasn't for me. I can tell you, however, I'd get so much play if I went gay. It's the cuddling that would be a little uncomfortable. Oh, and the anal sex. Oh, and the beard friction, the leather, the Cher, the rollerblading, the man hands on hips...Okay, there would be a lot of things that would kind of be a rub.

Finally, I entered myself in the best neighbor ever contest by getting my neighbor Battlestar Galactica: Razor, a pack of Marlboro Ultralights and a twelve pack of Michelob Ultra for his birthday. It worked out well because when he got back from the best birthday ever, he was too wasted to drive.

The dudes at the liquor store asked me if I was sure when I asked for a pack of Ultralights because I smoke P-Funks and then when they set the pack of Ultralights on the Michelob Ultra, they go "Hey, this is for that dude, right?" and I said "Yeah, he's my neighbor" and they go "Yeah, it's his birthday this weekend. Do you need a gallon of vodka, too?" Apparently, no man is an island and my neighbor has his thing.

Speaking of the neighbor, we were talking about how awesome his weekend was and surprise mouth intercourse on his birthday and he started talking about how awesome Ironman was. Then, he goes "Dude, my girlfriend and I think Robert Downey, JR owes you money for channeling you. We both looked at each other ten minutes into the movie and said that's totally HughVoltage. All he does is get fucked up and say funny shit."

It's come to this. It really has. I'm completely fictional at this point. Those montages that I imagine, really happen. My iPod is just a soundtrack which explains why I listen to musical scores from James Bond while I drive sometimes. I'm convinced this is someone's fucked up idea of a brilliant reality based concept, when to me it feels like the worst fucking movie ever. Everything is planned for the benefit of others and everyone is in on it. Yeah, a bit paranoid, but might I add that SeaWorld happened during what would've been sweeps. It's the only way that this existence, well, exists.

It's a shitty remake of the Truman Show which must have been a shitty remake of something because Hollywood hasn't come up with a new idea since 1952. Don't lose sight, though, that regardless of shitty remake or not, none of it is real. It explains why I can get hit by a cab and run away laughing. It explains why I never get caught for any of the derelict shit that I do. It explains why I don't eat on a regular schedule. It explains why I don't sleep well anymore. It explains why in the middle of running errands I sometimes forget what I'm doing. It explains why I'd rather say something funny than learn about a person. It explains why my hair always looks so nice and I have such a svelt physique. Okay, now it's just getting silly.

Regardless, I'm pretty sure nothing is real anymore and when it gets real quiet and I forget what I'm supposed to be doing, it's some type of commercial. Yes, this is what I do when you're not looking. I experience xenophobia mixed with paranoia mixed with coffee, cigarettes and ice cream. Oh, and get fucked up and say funny shit.

Seriously, moving to Darfur to become a bush doctor. I need to add purpose to existence. It's not good enough to exist for the sole benefit of existing. This is not an ant farm, but it's feeling like one. I need to do something meaningful. It feels like it's been forever. I'm going to get marketing in here and a whiteboard and we'll figure it out. Stay tuned. Something meaningful is about to happen. Now, where do I find a Darth Vader mask (at home in the closet), a lightsaber, a gallon of gin, and a Star Wars nerd church? I may have an idea.

Oh shit. Just checked my outgoing calls on my celly and I drunk dialed last night. I may have made a horrible mistake. I thought it was a dream conversation until I checked my phone. FUCK! Well, que paso, paso. I can only imagine what we talked about. Too close for whiskey, switching to water...at least until I get fucked up and say funny shit again.

Real conversation of the week:

"Why are you playing Friends on the TV at a bar? That's gotta be the gayest shit ever. Friends without sound is just depressing. Seriously, look at what Chandler Bing is wearing."

"Dude, did you seriously just use his last name while complaining about it?"

"I was married once. You find out shit like that and occasionally have to sit through an episode of Oprah. It fucking happens."

"Okay, dude, what do you want to watch? Anything, but this. Something that is good without sound and not overtly misogynistic."

"What?! Dude, I swear to god I'm going to put Facts of Life or some shit on. You'd totally sleep with Jo from Facts of Life, wouldn't you?"

"Totally. She would be the easiest chick to talk into a threesome on that whole show."

"Yeah, but it would be with Natalie."

"Whatever. Two fives make a ten, right?"

"You're gross."

Say You. Say Me.

Martin Luther King, Jr had a dream that one day this nation would rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed.

Lionel Richie had a dream. He had an awesome dream. People in the park. Playing games in the dark. And what they played was a masquerade. From behind the walls of doubt. A voice was crying out.

Sammy Hagar had dreams and nearly ruined Van Halen, but what an awesome video with the Blue Angels.

Now, I had a dream last night that this world had a brilliant sense of humor and no one was too up tight to be funny and laugh at themselves. I had a dream that Obama and Hillary karaeoked "Ebony and Ivory" at a press conference in the name of moving forward with the Democratic campaign for the Presidency and ending malicious and self serving campaign tactics. It kind of makes one lose sight of what the whole thing is supposed to be all about. In a perfect world, like twenty people would be chosen at random on each side and none of them would know that they were running so that their character could be truly judged without them pushing out their peacock feathers.

So, I guess you could say that I had a dream. I had an awesome dream.