Satsfaction's Guaranteed If You Know What I Mean

Stoned and sad and feeling like the Most Unlikeable Person Ever!!!

If I've got some problems well I wouldn't be the first but the ones I have in mind are even worse and even Hitler had a girlfriend who he could always call who'd always be there for him in spite of all his faults.

-- Even Hitler Had A Girlfriend by The Mr. T Experience. I only listen to this song when I need to distract myself from filling up my Visine bottle with Multi-Surface Windex Vinegar.

It's OK, It's All Right, Nothing's Wrong

I'm sitting here, up since six 6:20 am, stoned, depressed but trying to distract myself by thinking about porn star tattoos and how much they resemble the more typical tattoo work that people get done. (My guess is not much, but then I don't hang out and have sex with too many naked people. Especially dudes.)

I check my e-mail, and I get an email from my mom:

Hope you are doing okay

Remy bit a chow when the chow ran out and wanted to attack Max ; Remy bit the chow and the chow ran away

I think my mom is some sort of poetry idiot savant. There is little in life that is less appealing to me than poetry, but the thousand-monkeys my mom has typing away in her head can produce some amazing results.

Sobriety is good for her.

Sit Back And Get Fat Off The Fat Cat

Fat Japanese cat with a love for empty boxes cheered me up today for nearly two minutes. Good work.

The Fountain of Youth Not Robotron

Think about how many video games have been turned into movies. I don't want to confuse it as some sort of lame marketing campaign tie-in, but video games (ala Pac Man or the NBA Jam series) that were pitched, sold, produced and marketed as motion pictures.

Off hand, I can name Super Mario Brothers, the Mortal Kombat series (it was a series, right? And "Kombat" was spelled with a "K"?), the Resident Evil series ("MOOLTIPASS!")... Street Fighter? (The Chun Li film? GAHHHH!)

(FYI, I mean, like Hollywood-made films, not shit from Japan or whatever. Those Japanese people are weird.)

And I said to myself, "Oh, Dave, remember when you were 17 and your high school physics used to use that "I would say to myself, 'Self," joke, and you thought it was funny. Just like you thought Jazz's use of "ginormous" in 1986's Transformers the Movie was funny and original. Clearly, you can not maintain your comedy pace, Self.



Fucking Awesome! I can't decide if Lil' Robotron Dude should be played by either Peter Dinklage or Tony Jaa. But there should definitely be some hot, sweaty, slutty love interest played by an actress resembling Alicia Witt.

Anyhow, Robotron: that should be a movie. A fucking great movie. Gimme 90 minutes of robots getting their electrolytes blown out of them by a triple-jointed fool with eyes in the back of his head, and I'd be there. High. And alone. Oh god.

Politicians Hide Themselves Away, They Started This War, Why Should They Go Out And Fight?

Bit of a mind-boggling admission from Orange County Republican Congressman Dana Rohrabacher in today's Washington Post:

As Rohrabacher points out, drug legalization isn't politically palatable to a majority of House members who face reelection every two years. "If it was a vote - a blind vote where nobody knew who was voting - you would have overwhelming support for legalizing marijuana out there, but they will never vote for it because they are afraid of taking on a controversial issue."

Now, politicians are, generally, lying dirtbags. But I can't see why Rohrabacher would lie in this instance (I don't think he needs to win over Huntington Beach stoners to stay in office). Rohrabacher is a bit of a crazy libertarian type, like Ron Paul, so I'm guessing he's accidentally just telling the truth here (aka a Kinsey Gaffe).

But man, how depressing is that? The fucking politicians say they'd happily vote for marijuana legalization if only their constituents didn't find out! And then their constituents might get all pissy and be all, "We don't want you smoking your marijuana in your office and then giving it to my kids!" And they're afraid that some other self-important asshat who probably doesn't give a fuckall about weed but who sees the issue as chance at winning a seat in Congress and rocketing them to D.C. stardom decides to use that phrase as a campaign slogan to oust them.

Buncha fucking invertebrates. Hey, vote on an issue you think is best for the country, but risk your job in the process. (Yes, "risks!" You know, those things you are taught to avoid in politics!) You won't be "fired" from your job right away -- you'll be able to keep it until at least January 2010 -- and in the meanwhile maybe you could, you know, explain to your constituents why you thought this was worthwhile. You know, debate and argue and educate with them. (Sounds kinda... democratic, doesn't it?)

I mean, if I had the option of voting to legalize weed, and it meant that, 21 months from now I MIGHT lose my job as a result of it, well, I would balls up and vote hella yeah. Then again, my job, like most jobs, isn't anything like "serving" in Congress.

A couple of years ago I read a book review by Brad Carson, who'd been an Oklahoma Congressman before leaving the House to run a good but ultimately doomed campaign for Tom Coburn's Senate seat. I remembered one thing he wrote that succinctly summarized his view of life in Congress, and how much better that job is than almost any other:

Today, the unspoken truth is that, for a member in a safe district, being in Congress is one of the easiest jobs imaginable: free meals, discounted or free tickets to events, a two-day work week that never starts before noon, and more than $160,000 per year.

Could We Get A Drunk to Stoner Translator In the Room?

Women like to say that the #1 thing they look for in a man is "sense of humor." And I happen to know that women who say that are lying liars who are lying. I'm a professional humoredian. I have done the research, and I know that what women are really looking for are large pensisisses and lots and lots of cash. But it's not ladylike to walk around going, "I like cocks and money!" So you have to say, in lieu of "cocks and money" ("Cocks and money!!!"), you have to say "sense of humor." And then that confuses ignoramuses like myself, because I think all I need is a sense of humor and boom, I'm in, all I have to do is say something funny.

-- Doug Benson, from Professional Humoredian

Well You Play That Tarantella All The Hounds Will Start To Roar

You're a dog. You're sitting there on the floor, or in a chair, or maybe you're out for a walk. And then you hear sirens from a fire truck or ambulance. Now, being a dog, you've got really sensitive hearing, so obviously the piercing sirens aren't any fun to hear.

So what is your response to the sirens? Do you lay down and try to cover your ears with your front paws, like an adorable little bundle of cuddleness? Or do you start barking your head of?

Every dog I've ever seen does the latter. Why? Is it angry at the sirens and trying to tell them to stop? Does it think that it should do its job to notify others of the emergency, and starts barking to get people attention, ala Lassie? Is it some kind of quasi-epileptic fit you go into, like those kids who start having seizures when they watch Japanese TV?

What is your problem, dog? Cats don't do that shit.

You'll Behold In Breathless Wonder

[Got fucking dammit, can't even get an animated .gif to post here. Anyhow, go to Flubby's link, or here.]

Not feeling any better after I saw this, which is really bad, because normally I like this kind of thing:

Via Flubby

It`s Been The Worst Day Since Yesterday

A Receipe For A Bad Day:

1) Be hungover;
2) Have a cold;
3) Be so busy at work because you're covering for somebody else who is out sick for the week, that you wind up falling behind on your own work;
4) Wake up at 6:30 am, unable to sleep, and start drinking beer and smoking pot until you fall asleep at 8:20;
5) Wake up again at 9:30, which coincidentally is the same time you should be arriving at work;
6) Be fat and depressed and lonely and know it.

Bah.

I Bombed Korea Every Night

I was riding the elevator just now, having come back from a smoke break. There was a lean, tanned, middle-age business-looking dude on the elevator with me on the way up. (There was also a skinny young guy listening to a podcast on his iPod way too loudly, but he's not important to the story. Like this is actually a "story.)

Business Dude was carrying two, apparently new paperback copies of American Caesar. And this struck my fancy -- who goes and buys TWO copies of a book? My fear is that he read American Caeser a little while ago, loved it, and is now giving copies of it to his colleagues or underlings to impress upon them how damn good this book was, and how important it can be to their business or careers or whatever.

But really, that's the only explanation I could think of. Maybe Business Due heard it was good and bought a copy for himself and his wife or whatever. But why you think your wife -- nevermind your coworkers -- would love to receive as a gift a 30-year old, 800 page biography of a delusional blowhard who happily fired on American veterans and started an unnecessary war with China (that'd be Douglas MacArthur), um, that's an answer I don't have.

99% Of Us Is Failure

Quote dump:

They lie about marijuana. Tell you pot-smoking makes you unmotivated. Lie! When you’re high, you can do everything you normally do, just as well. You just realize that it’s not worth the fucking effort. There is a difference.

-- Bill Hicks (via Pie)

It’s easy to be miserable. Being happy is tougher — and cooler.

-- Thom York (via Quote Book) [Great, now I'm getting lectured by a lazy-eyed Englishman.]

A hug can turn your day around, it’s like an emotional Heimlich. Someone puts their arms around you, and they give you a squeeze and all your fear and anxiety comes shooting out of your mouth, and you can breathe again.

-- Pushing Dasies [The TV Show?] (via Little Miss)

Since Puff the Magic Dragon Ceased His Mighty Roar

Uh, shit, embedding this fucking comic means it won't fit right here.

Oh wells. Read anyway.

You Left Me There With That Crazy Blank State On My Face

I was mildly interested in this story about Ms. California bombing out of the Miss USA Pageant because she spoke her honest (stupid and wrong, but honest) opinion about gay marriage when she was asked about it.

Then I read that the contestant, Carrie Prejean, is from San Diego.

Figures. Idiot.

I Hope You Die A Fiery Death, I Love You. God, I Need You

Today is/was the 2-year anniversary since Jess and I met. So far, it's going swimmingly. I must have blown $100 last nite getting trashed. Woke up this morning at 7:00 am and proceeded to get royally baked. Wound up 25 minutes late for work. Posted a brief San Diego missed connection for Jess. Am going to see Doug Benson tonight (he's recording a CD over at the punchline) with a friend.

I would much rather be smoking more and playing Fallout 3 than working right now; amazingly, I am actually getting work done.

And I haven't cried yet today! Oh, success never felt so empty.

And I'm Turning To The Horoscopes And Looking For The Funnies

AQUARIUS (January 20 - February 18)
Remeber: It's not that you can't find happiness in life, it's that you won't find happiness in life.

Even The Onion's horoscopes hate me.

I Would Not Could Not With A Goat

I drank for the first time in four days yesterday. Got pretty good and drunk at Mission Hill and at Whiskey, then got some super chorizo nachos, went upstairs, and ate my third meal of the day why I smoked pot, drank a 2-Liter of Diet Coke, masturbated (probably), and eventually fell asleep.

I left my computer on overnight, as I tend to do. I usually open up a half-dozen to a dozen tabs of various porn videos I'm contemplating watching in my browser. I can't be expected to jerk off to ten videos in one night (even I have my limits). But since I don't want to waste my porn video research, I find it's easier to leave my computer on overnight, then pick-up where I left off in the morning.

Uh, but this is not about porn. Instead, when I woke my computer up this morning, I was greeted with the homepage of Goatfinder.com (" A Top Online Source For Finding Or Listing Goats For Sale Nationwide!"). I haven't the fucking foggiest idea of what I was thinking last night that made me want to check out goats. I mean, goats are really cute and all (I prefer the term "Goaties!" myself), but I'm not looking to, I dunno, buy one or eat one or... whatever it is that Goatfinder.com might help me do.

Good god, it sounds like some sort of weird dating sight to connect goats with the people who seek them out.



"Quickly Find Goats That Are Available Now" I think I used to see ads like this on Facebook. Except for, you know, sluts (of all varieties!) instead of goats.

As For Playing A Lawyer, Out Of The Question

About 8 years ago I was seriously interested in going to law school. I was living in Jacksonville (GAH!) with my parents (DOUBLE GAH!!), and needed to find some purpose or reason to get the hell out of Jacksonville and go somewhere else and do something, and hopefully be able to make some money out of it down the road. Law school is the last refuge of college-educated scoundrels, so it seemed like the right idea at the time. I researched law schools, took practice LSATs, and sampled various kinds of blow to accustom myself to the law school lifestyle. I figured I had a good chance of getting into a decent law school like UC Davis, UC Hastings, or Oregon, which also would have helped me get back to the West Coast and out of Jacksonville.

One morning I literally woke-up and decided I didn't want to go to law school. I never actually believed that I'd be, you know, a good lawyer, nor would I enjoy it, and spending three years and accumulating the kind of debt that makes developing countries default on their IMF loans didn't sound all that appealing (and that's without the cost of a coke habit). Putting in the 80-hour work weeks just so in three years I could be laid off and have to find yet another unsatisfying career choice just sounded like a really, really bad idea.

And it's a shame, because not only did I succeed in crushing my parents' hopes and dreams for me once again ("They wanted me to be respected as a doctor or a lawyer man") but it means I'm not eligible to wear a t-shirt that reads, "Once Hugo Black You Never Go Back."

Sure, it's nerdy as hell, but if I was a lawyer I would have enough money that beautiful, amazing women would want to be with me, and not dump me for fat, unemployed computer game engineers. At least, that's what I tell myself in order to make me feel worse.

Chinatown, It's A Different Scene

I just gave an old Chinese guy directions to Chinatown.

That usually doesn't happen.

I bet there'll be a lot of lonely San Francisco teardrops fall tonight

I just done saying a prayer on the roof my building. Kinda funny thing for an atheist of fifteen years to do. Making it worse, I was fucking crying. Praying and crying? I don't think I had done that since one of my dogs ran away when I was nine.

But tonight, I wasn't praying to Allah or anybody like that. I was praying to San Francisco. The same dirty, stinky, loud city that I live in the middle of. Being up on the roof at night, surrounded by buildings and lights and giant Pepsi ads, I remembered, for a moment, what it was like when I first moved here in 2002. I was so full of hope, and I wasn't going to fail, like I had failed every other opportunity that had come my way before. This city was new to me, different, exciting. I was finally where I wanted to be, and the next six years or so were a long, educational journey that finally culminated in what I had always wanted and dreamed about.

Predictably, that fell apart faster than an Iranian earthquake shelter.

Tonight, I prayed to this city to help me, to give me one more chance. I promised I wouldn't fail this time. I can't fail. I got nowhere else to go.