I’ve gone viral, bitches!

Someone actually had the nerve to ask if I’d done this.

Trust me, if I’d done it, it would not have sucked.

So 2008 is looking up. I’ve almost saved up enough for an actual whore, but if things like this keep coming, it may be Labor Day before I see what it’s like to have a woman really act like she’s into me.

I don’t talk much about stuff I like. Mostly because I don’t like most stuff. But every once in a while I like to clean my palate of my normal diet of bile and horse excreta. Go out immediately and purchase this album. And when someone asks what you’re playing, because it’s so fucking cool, and then you get laid, you can send me a dollar.

There’s no mystical energy field that controls my destiny.

Florida carjackers can’t drive stick.

If I had had lessons like this, I might have become an art director instead of a bitter loser.

P.S. New favorite phrase: “Deceitful Meat Stick.”

What happens when you give your 19-year-old football star son a $90,000 supercar? He kills four of his friends douching around on a private runway.

I’m not sure what I like about this more. The ten-year-old Japanese girl, the fact that it’s all coming out of one keyboard, or the lackluster response from the crowd at the end.

I got in a heated discussion the other night. Agreed: Fraggles suck donkey junk. No so much agreed: TNG is for pussies. We were both bringing baggage to the argument, but the fact is, James Tiberius is the baddest of the badasses, and JJ Abrams knows it.

Football has always been a great source of father/son binding.

I’ve been spending a lot of time in airports lately. I’ve racked up quite the miles. I’m probably going to trade them for a copy of Transformers. On DVD, bitches.

Anyhoo, I’m one of those people that always runs into random famous people. You probably are too, you just don’t pay attention. Or you just don’t give a shit. Or more than likely, both. But I’ve got nothing better to do.

I was sitting in LAX a few weeks ago, waiting to get on a redeye. I looked up and standing right in front of me was what I was absolutely positive was a Landers sister. I wasn’t quite sure which one, but it was definitely a Landers. And two young mitosised mini Landerses. It blew my mind. All pink and Juicy butted. I mean their butts actually said “Juicy” on them. And they had little dogs in little pink hat boxes. And, Jesus, I wish I’d taken a picture. And sure enough, two weeks later, this shows up on the internet. Apparently they’re huge in Japan.

For the record, it was Judy.

After you’ve given your girl bragging rights, make sure she wants to stick around.

Lasagna Cat. It’s all genius. Just start clicking on shit.

I got my first internet raspberry! I can’t really take credit for the idea of this campaign, I was more of a “script doctor.” But it turned out a lot better than I thought it was going to. I wanted to do spots about a 60-something guy taking on risky things like smoking and meat-lover’s breakfast pizzas because his retirement isn’t going to last, but that didn’t have enough teeth for some people. Now someone with a real budget will do it and win a bunch of awards. Yay, life!

If I’d had this when I was 14, I may never had fallen into the trap of trying to have sex with real women. It’s not a perfume. It’s an orjanic scent for your own enjoyment. (insanely NSFW. and be sure to watch the video.)

In honor of this week’s premiere of the final season of the best show ever, it’s The Wire with a laugh track.

Is your girlfriend giving you problems? Does she have good marbling?

I generally don’t dream. That isn’t some introspective, pragmatic insight. I mean, literally, when I go to sleep, I don’t have dreams. I know, I know, I just don’t remember them, but whatever. Maybe once a month I’ll remember some weird, wacky, but hazy tableau of abstract sepia shapes, sometimes interspersed with topless shots of the cute check out girl at Home Depot. Or falling. I get that one sometimes. And the crumbling teeth. I get that one too. But mostly I just sleep.

This morning, I was halfway to work, still very, very concerned about the argument I’d gotten in the night before. With the person I knew I hadn’t seen in 10 years. Sitting next to Jimmy Carter. In the 50,000 seat theatre. In my basement. Filled with half-alligator half dwarves.

Then I thought, “God, why haven’t I ever told Kurt about the half-alligator half dwarves. In my basement…. wait a second….”

It took me a while to realize that there’s no such thing as half-alligator half-dwarves. I was somewhere on North Avenue.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have started nicotine patches and anti-depressants on the same day.

How am I not dead?

Actress is suing because the commercial she shot made her look lewd.

I’m not really sure how this is lewd. It certainly doesn’t make me think of sex. Eating a hoagie, maybe. My grandmother’s sauce, sure. But I can tell you it doesn’t look like any kind of sex I’ve ever had.

Sometimes, it’s best to just walk away.

I’ll never understand or sympathize with people who drink so much they need me to pay for their ride to the hospital. It’s a good thing people only get drunk once a year.

I’m not even going to point out the fact that I’m 36.

I just hope they can program them to act like they like it.

Tiger survivors’ account of attack perfectly cromulent.