This isn’t the first time I’m stealing pictures I found on What Would Tyler Durden Do? and it won’t be the last. I was doing my usual reading of WWTDD the other day and I spied these pictures of a really hot chick who wanted it really badly. She wanted it so badly that I didn’t bother reading his jokes and went straight to the pictures. This was a first because she wasn’t naked. That always takes precedence. If there are naked pictures in an article, whether it is Hayden Panettiere (oh wouldn’t that be great!?!) or New York Senator Chuck Schumer (oh God will any of us have sex again!?!), you look at the pictures first and then read the article. Regardless, these were not naked pictures. This chick just wanted it so badly I couldn’t resist looking at her pictures first.
But who wants it that badly? To my surprise, Ashley Greene.
Why is this surprising? I completely didn’t recognize that it was Ashley Greene. I have only seen her in Twilight….. and when she was naked on the internet. That’s it. I don’t have much reference material to go on. She looks nothing like she does in Twilight. She has long brown hair, she has pigment in her skin and she looks fucking hot. I got that she was “attractive” in Twilight, but in comparison to these pictures she’s Ugly Betty. Why on Earth did I just reference that show? Probably because you’re all girls and, stereotypically, I think that show is 1/3rd or 0.33333 repeating of your lives. Either way, they practically ugled her up to make her a vampire. She’s 22 years old and young and beautiful and full of life. She should have been the one vampire of the bunch who just looks like a hot 22 year old who frolics in the sunlight and slowly and methodically applies moisturizer to her legs in every scene.
Oh, did Alice Cullen not do that in the books? Well Aragorn doesn’t fight the Ringwraiths at Weathertop, but that seemed to work out pretty fucking well in my opinion! Viggo “Aragorn” would have given Tolkien “Aragorn” a swirly. Fuck the canon.

Let’s see some GD MF-ing F S F-ing MF and S F-ing pictures, right?

She wants it. Ashley wants it. Ashley Greene wants IT. Jumping Jesus on a pogostick she wants IT. Microsoft Word says “pogostick” is not one word; I beg to differ. Ashley Greene wants it so badly that all I can do is sigh while looking at this picture. I can only sigh because I feel like I wasted my youth, again, not being bound to bedposts by 22 year old girls that look like her and want it this badly. And I sigh because I know I have 9 more pictures of Ashley Greene wanting it this badly and that “I’ve wasted my life” feeling will only swell.

It is difficult for me to click to the next picture because she just wants it so much. But let’s get a full body shot of my new “soul” mate.

Bah-da-boom, bah-da-boom, bah-da-boom “Are you ready fellas?” First, she wants it. Second, I feel like Ashley Greene is going to break into the most amazing rendition of “Big Spender”. Ashley will look so hot and want it so bad that Bob Fosse will be reincarnated and straight. I just did some googling. “Big Spender” is from a play I’ve never heard of called Sweet Charity and Bob Fosse was married three times. I would’ve guessed “Big Spender” was from Chicago because that is my go to guess regarding Broadway musicals. What is that musical that takes place in France during the 1800’s and the main character is a guy criminal? Uhhhh… Chicago?

Also I would’ve guessed Bob Fosse was definitely gay. If I wrote wikipedia under spouses I would have written “all penises, peni?”. I would have elaborated by “all” I meant any penis that wanted to act on broadway or wanted to be in a movie that was a broadway production from the 1940’s until Bob died in the 1980’s. Three marriages are not fooling me wikipedia.

Still wants it. Similar picture to the last one, but just a tad bit closer. Ashley’s got her knee bent forward, her left hand on her waist and her shoulder up, and now she has the start of the coyest smile ever. That smile is saying, “I just want it so effing bad, but I can’t shout that I want it. That’s half the fun me obviously wanting it and everyone else gets to say it.” If these ladies just came out and said they wanted it… who am I kidding that would be so effing hot. But it would be like discovering a book of Mad Libs and all the blanks are filled in.

Ashley Greene was ___(verb)____  it on the red carpet. Her __(noun)___ was so great that it felt like entering a time machine for your soul where it made you feel youth again. Ashley Greene just __(verb)__ it so much that I’m writing Mad Libs. I am not going to lie, but Ashley Greene’s __(noun)__ only gets so much greater in second. Brace yourselves for impact.

Oh fuck me. Seriously? This shit is just unfair. PHHH-UHHHH-KKKUHHHH! I just looked at the picture again. She wants it. She definitely wants it. It actually causes me physical pain looking at how much she wants it. Ok, I’m going to look at the picture again. I took a sip of water. I’m breathing in though the nose and out through the mouth. Wish me luck…. Come on! Ashley Greene motherfucking wants it. Damn it. It actually makes me angry. Just utter frustration.

Have you ever left and forgot something like your wallet or tickets to a show? You are easily a half hour away from your home and now you need to turn around and get that item. You know it is going to be such a pain in the ass to turn around and get the item and then head back out to where you are going in the first place. Not only will it have been a waste of the first half hour, but it will be a waste of the next half hour at least to get back and then you’ll probably be stuck in traffic on your original destination drive because you thought you were smart leaving early, but now you’ll be leaving late. Do you know that type of frustration? You’re silent and breathing aggressively and the only time you vocalize is to say “fuck!” as a release valve of some of the frustration. Have you ever been there?

That’s me looking at this picture.

Fuck, again. She has kept nearly the same pose as the last picture with the peek-a-boob side boob action, but her face says she’s taking a break from wanting it for the moment. She needs a break to catch her wanting it breath. She’s not a robot. She’s not a mechanical wanting it robot. Whoever said Ashley Greene was a robot of wanting it was incorrect. I don’t know where these rumors get started. She’s getting a breather, but she’s not out of the game.

If you watch a lot of boxing, which I know all of you do, you’ll notice most fighters will take rounds off. The 45 seconds they get in between each round sometimes isn’t enough time for a fighter to calm down and relax his arms for a bit before he starts punching the other guy in the face again. So they usually make it look like they’re fighting, but eventually will allow themselves to be backed up against the ropes and then they clam up on defense and in that shell they’ll get a little break while the other guy tires himself out.

Ashley is giving us a little rope-a-dope right here. She has the bread-and-butter look over the shoulder so the photographers can get a shot of my ass move plus that is being multiplied by the low cut dress profile boobage and no one is at all paying attention to her face and her wanting it-lessness.

Fuck, again again. That breather worked. She recharged her batteries. She took a power nap. She got some green tea and ginseng in her. And KA-BLAM she wants it. Oh my God, she wants it. It is almost downright indecent exposure how much she wants it. This is a gluttonous amount of want. This is eating a tub of ice cream and then thinking “well I ate all that sweet stuff, I should have something salty” and then eating an entire bag potato chips. I’m gaining weight she wants it so badly. My cholesterol is at dangerous levels she wants it so badly. I might have diabetes she wants it so bad. My foot may go gangrenous and get caught off because Ashley Greene wants it so fucking badly.

It could be illegal for someone to want it this badly.

Fuck, again again again. Ashley Greene wants it. Frankly, she is surprised how much she wants it. You know who she is looking at off camera? Kristen Stewart. Her mentor, her sage, her teacher, her counsel, her tutor, her Sherpa up the mountain of wanting it. And you know what she is saying to her:

AG – I want it, Kristen!

KS – I know! I want it too!

AG – It is so wonderful. I feel like I’m high on all the goodness of the world. I feel like I’m high on snorting rainbows and smoking puppies’ breath. I want it!

KS – I’m high too! …On pot… but I want it!

AG – You have taught me well Kristen. You showed me the way. I will forever stride forward attempting to walk on this path of wanting it that you laid before me. You are like the Chinese immigrant rail road workers of the 1800’s who built the transcontinental railroad! You built the steel rails for my industrial age train of wanting it to fly at top speed across this beautiful nation of ours!

KS – I’m high and you just blew my mind with your 19th century Asian slave labor reference! Also, I want it! I’m glad you are feeling this as well!

AG – I want it so much right now I can feel all the heat of my body leaving through my pores! I’m just radiating so much want I think my core temperature is dropping and I’m starting to feel cold!

KS – That’s not from the want! Your boobs are almost completely falling out and you have very little clothes covering any of your upper torso! That isn’t the want! You just underestimated how cold it gets at night around here! But you look great! They really should have let you dress like this in Twilight! It was really stupid that they didn’t!

AG – I know! I love you Kristen Stewart and I love wanting it! We should probably take a limo together after this event to New Jersey and track down that guy who writes about you wanting it all the time and we’ll kiss and stuff in front of him. Good plan, right? I want it!

KS – I want it!

Damn it she is hot. I’m pissed. Where the hell did this girl come from? Who in the hell in their right mind made Twilight and hid this!?! She’s so hot and she wants it so bad it actually makes me hate that Twilight movie even more. You mean this could have been in that movie!?! This!?! You specifically fucked this up Twilight movie people. At some point, Ashley Greene walked into some casting room and they decided to bring her on board and then screw her up. What the hell people? I can’t believe I sat through that damn movie and this could have been on screen for at least part of it.

I think I effectively made Twilight better by adding Tom Hanks, the moon, lasers, teleportation and space fights. Ashley Greene should just be dressed like this and her and Kristen Stewart should host pool parties. That’s what their characters will do while the “boys” are off fighting in space. Yes, Fake-Rob and Fake-Taylor save us from Fake-Michael Sheen and Fake-Tom Hanks’ evil vampire plans in space. Meanwhile we’ll just splash fight each other in the pool for two hours.

I should make these damn movies and/or all movies.

It looks like Ashley Greene is doing a question and answer session with the reporters about how much she wanted it that night. I imagine it like it’s a sports post game press conference. They get Peyton Manning up there. He talks about how good the offensive line was making all their blocks providing him time in the pocket to find his receivers, his arm feels good throwing the ball, the defense played well and gave him opportunity to play more, the running game was effective and all in all he was happy with not only his performance, but the team’s performance.

Ashley is talking about how she really felt like she wanted it tonight and she was going to show everyone, she has a great coaching staff in Kristen Stewart helping her learn how to want it, she thinks her ridiculously low cut dress really helped her feel like she wanted it out there, she had free range of movement to show off her side boobs and so forth. Ashley Greene wants it and she is happy with her wanting it performance tonight.

Also, the photographer just wanted to get as close of a picture looking straight down her dress which is perfectly commendable.

I love this picture. It looks like she is saying “Your welcome and goodbye”. Definitely. Thank you, Ashley Greene. Thank you for wanting it so bad. Thank you for sharing that with us, with all of the Earth. Thank you to Kristen Stewart who has obviously be coaching the shit out of this girl in the ways of wanting it. I’ve seen some other pictures of Ashley Greene and she wants it in some and doesn’t in others, but none of them have the fire that these pictures have.

Honestly, it is a good thing Ashley flew solo in these pictures because if her and Kristen were both in these pictures wanting it the wall of fire that would be produced would have destroyed Arizona. And I’ve never been to Arizona. What a waste if Kristen and Ashley torched it into oblivion with their wanting it before I even set foot in that state.

So, I hope you’re all keeping a cheat sheet on the different types of want out there. Kristen Stewart’s is like Cyclops’ optic beam. It’s also infinite. Megan Fox is a blackhole vortex that sucks in want. Mila Kunis’ is a citrus potpourri that is light in the air, and when Ashley Greene really want it it’s like a fireball jutsu.

Someone should give Kristen Stewart a teaching license in wanting it.

Not eating sucks. It really sucks. I don’t know how poor people and all of Africa do it so often and so well. Jokes! Not drinking is much worse, though. The entire time I’m not eating, I think to myself “well I could have a glass of water and I’ll be fine.” BUT I CAN’T DRINK ANY FUCKING WATER! Infuriating.  Either way, I’m done with those shenanigans for another year. When I did break my fast, I ate like my stomach had ADHD. It was like I needed to retaste all the foods that were available at that given moment as if I had never had them before. Oh sweet Thor’s hammer, this is wonderful! What is this cleverly delicatable dish called? Bread!?! What a strange name. And it’s sliced!

This is what I’ve gathered from the comments yesterday: your offices are fuck-fests. That’s what I’m getting out of it. Apparently, the idea that a real office environment not having rampant sex is implausible to you all. I’m not judging. I’m not saying whether that is bad or good (it’s good), but it hasn’t happened in this guy’s life. I have had jobs where my bosses openly talked about smoking pot, but that was about as crazy as it got. There weren’t hj’s, bj’s and/or zj’s happening all around me or even to me, no matter how much I prayed to the Lord above and below to make that happen.

I think you can safely guess there is no actual sex in Part 2. Why? Because no one was fucking in that office! I’m not going to throw smut in just because half of you seem to be begging for it. Does this website really need porn literature on it? I feel like that is being covered quite well on these other sites you all mention. This site is for the jokes. Laughter. This is KSWI – Kristen Stewart Wants IT. If I wanted to make a site dedicated to porn fan fiction it would be KSGI – Kristen Stewart Gets IT……… hard.

As for no pictures yesterday, I HAD NOT EATEN ANYTHING! Not a single fucking morsel. Not a sip of fucking water. But but but I did write 2000 plus words of genius comedy, which went completely unappreciated. Because of this heresy, no pictures today either. There were going to be no pictures regardless, for symmetry’s sake – part 1 no pictures, part 2 no pictures. But now it is not only for symmetry, but for spite.

Onto part 2 of Chapter whatever:

Fake-Rob spends his first paid hour at work eating at his desk and trolling the internet. He cycles through the same ten websites he checks every morning and then rechecks after the cycle is finished and then rechecks and rechecks and rechecks and continues to recheck until he believes that God is punishing him for a heinous crime that he must’ve committed in another life. Just when his co-workers begin to arrive, Fake-Rob makes a dash for the sovereign handicap toilet to unleash his insides in a private sanctuary.

Back at his desk, Fake-Rob is greeted to a most unpleasant sight: his cubicle-mate. She is a middle age woman who is mother to an uncountable amount of children who all seemingly have access to telephones throughout the day. Within one minute of Fake-Rob sitting down in his chair, she sneezes. As every other day Fake-Rob has worked at this job, she proceeds to sneeze every 30 – 45 seconds for the entire day. Fake-Rob has no idea how this woman could possibly get anything accomplished in her job with this affliction. Fake-Rob also has not a single clue what her job is or what is expected of her in this job minus daily breaking the Guinness book world record of continuous sneezing.

On Fake-Rob’s first day at this job he said “bless you” when she sneezed. Then she sneezed again and he said “bless you”. Then she sneezed again and he said “bless you”. Then she sneezed again and he said “bless you”. Then she sneezed again and he said “bless you”. Then she sneezed again and he said “bless you”. Then Fake-Rob thought he was losing his fucking mind that someone could be sneezing this much and be employed at the same time. How did she pass the interview sneezing the whole time? How does she drive a car? How did she make it through the sex that she had to have to have these stupid kids or any of her pregnancies? JUST STOP SNEEZING!!!! But she doesn’t. Despite Fake-Rob’s gentlemanly nature, he has stopped saying “bless you”.

Fake-Rob is rereading the top news stories on CNN for the third time when his supervisor approaches. Fake-Anna Kendrick smiles and Fake-Rob smiles. Good morning Fake-Rob. Good morning Fake-Anna Kendrick. Are you busy? Not really, why? Well I have a little project for you. Fake-Rob smiles and inside his head he says I’ll give you a project. How about you suck on my- Ok, I can do a project. Great. Fake-Rob follows Fake-Anna Kendrick over to a set of filing cabinets on the far side of the office.

These are all the employee files from the past 5 years. They are supposed to be in alphabetical order and arranged by currently employed and fired. Did you meet Jessica? She had your job before you. She was supposed to organize these that way, but didn’t. They are in a completely random order, so could you fix that? Fake-Rob smiles and thinks how about I alphabetize all over that cute face of yours? Fake-Anna Kendrick smiles back and opens up one of the cabinet drawers near the bottom. As she bends over Fake-Rob stares at her ass the entire time and completely zones out. Fake-Anna Kendrick is explaining further how many files there are, how they should be arranged and just about anything Fake-Rob would need to complete this project. But Fake-Rob is solely focused on her butt.

Side note: I’m not sure about this Twilight stuff, but Anna Kendrick is irresistible in Rocket Science.

After Fake-Anna Kendrick’s short dissertation concerning the stacks of employee files and Jessica’s incompetence handling them, she leaves Fake-Rob alone with the massive collection of office cabinets. Fake-Rob opens and closes each cabinet to get a rough estimate of how many files he will need to alphabetize. He makes a safe estimate of there being one million employee files. A modest guess of literally one million files for Fake-Rob to alphabetize. Fake-Rob hypothesizes that the non-profit he currently works for is the largest company to have ever existed. Besides sheer volume, Fake-Rob inspects the order these files are in now. If Jessica had any system at all it would have been to create the most chaos for someone who at a later date would be putting these files in alphabetical order. DAMN YOU JESSICA!

The first 15 minutes of Fake-Rob’s project were spent with him standing and politely bending over when need be. The following half hour Fake-Rob had dropped to his knees prostrating to the complexity of Jessica’s tyranny. One hour later and Fake-Rob is lying on the floor surrounded by files. He is wild eyed and is covered in paper cuts. The piles of employee files are in dozens of stacks around him like a kid’s fort. At this moment the only way to describe how he looks is crazy.

Two hours and change, Fake-Rob is putting the finishing touches on his alphabetical masterpiece. James Zimmerman and, finally, Friedrich Zoltan. Like a baby taking its first steps, Fake-Rob rises to his feet. Shaky, plodding, heavy, but upright. He wants to scream I did it. I beat that bitch Jessica’s mind game. I am a winner! But Fake-Rob knows very well that he is not a winner. Spending another two hours of his life on a meaningless task instead of chasing young ladies in see-thru white togas through fields of gold wheat. I hate my youth. Fake-Rob quietly stumbles away from the cabinets. His only reward is the refreshing feeling of his legs being asleep. PINS AND NEEDLES!

Fake-Rob returns to his desk and everyone else has already left for lunch. He composes a new email to Fake-Anna Kendrick. In his exhaustion, he can only muster three words of explanation: It is finished. Like the grandest most dramatic most exact divorce email, “It is finished” is sent and waits in Fake-Anna Kendrick’s inbox.

It is lunch time. Fake-Rob grabs his cell phone from his desk and exits the building. Admittedly, Fake-Rob loves being in New York City. He loves the pace, the smell in the air, the wind whipping through the streets, the humanity buzzing around him at all times, he loves the choices and the seemingly endlessness of it. He could choose a different place to eat everyday for a whole year and still come nowhere near all the places he could eat in Manhattan alone. With all that, he chooses to walk the same three blocks he has walked since his first day of work and eat at the same sandwich/by-the-pound Chinese food shop.

A chicken sandwich, chips and a huge energy drink filled with caffeine, Fake-Rob sits by himself. It is sad, but it is Manhattan: everyone eats by themselves. Although partially true, it is still sad. People do eat with other people at lunch and Fake-Rob knows it. He simply inhales the chicken sandwich and devours the chips. Now Fake-Rob sips on his caffeine fix. He has only been out of the office for 15 or so minutes so he has time to kill. It is about time for more sexy eyes. He looks around and spots two potentials.

Fake-Elizabeth Reaser is busy talking way too loudly on her cell phone. When Fake-Rob is in public talking on his cell phone it is at a near whisper volume as if he was trading clandestine information in a room full of spies. In complete opposite fashion, Fake-Elizabeth Reaser is nearly screaming out all of her personal information. She is also unitarily focused on staring directly in front of her as if she was projecting to an invisible eating-mate.

Potential target two is a different problem altogether: Fake-Christian Serratos. If Fake-Rob had to guess how old she was he would first say 14 then 22 then 17? He is trying to remember if he walks past any high schools to get to work. Also, he is trying to rationalize why a high school student would be eating at this place. Fake-Rob’s understanding of how the school system in New York City works is minimal. He went to public school in the suburbs. Either way, Fake-Rob does not try to engage in sexy eyes although he keeps looking over at Fake-Christian Serratos to see if there are any more clues to her age and in doing so now has engaged creep eyes. Before the cops are called, Fake-Rob discards his garbage and leaves.

Fake-Rob is back at his desk with seconds, minutes, maybe even another full half hour to spare. He flies through his websites seeing if any Earth shattering news has been reported in the past few hours. Nothing. With everyone else seemingly still at lunch, Fake-Rob ventures to his not so safe for work web board that he posts on. In theory this board is for the discussion of sports. It is an intangible gathering circle where men can discuss the beauty and the complexity of modern sports and to talk hypothetical strategies for — they post a lot of softcore porn and tell dirty jokes. Sure, there are parts of the board that talks about sports. Or at least Fake-Rob believes those sections still exist.

He clicks through new threads like “would you hit it?”, “can I get a name for this hot chick?” and other intellectually stimulating topics. Fake-Rob just needs some levity in his day. Staring at pictures of half-naked women like a boy in a treehouse staring at stolen Victoria’s Secret catalogues is about as much levity as he will get today. Fake-Rob opens a thread cleverly entitled “my favorite pronstars”. After giving a once over to the provided pictures, Fake-Rob feels a need to post. Her name is spelled “Abbey Brooks” not “Abby Brookes”. Also picture number 6 is not a picture of Rachel Starr, instead it is a picture of Rachel Roxxx. Fake-Rob then feels the deep need to kill himself for knowing these glaring mistakes.

At the same time, Fake-Rob knows that looking at these pictures at work is a fireable offense. This is why Fake-Rob is diving for the minimize button every time he hears a pin drop. Eventually, too many pins start to drop and his fun is over for today. He settles into reading the threads dedicated to the commenters talking shit on each other and not posting semi-nude pictures. Fake-Rob wastes the next hour doing this while pretending not to listen in on the mail room and their even more vulgar discussions.

He’s cute, but he just don’t have the *umph* I need. You know I like them big. Fake-Rob does know she likes them big. She has mentioned as such on a few occasions. She also introduced the phrase “titty milk” into the office quite loudly. Fake-Rob finds great amusement in the incredibly inappropriate sexual discussions the mail room has mere feet from the HR/accounting department. As she prepares to go into more explicit detail about how large of a *umph* she needs, Fake-Peter Facinelli interrupts. He is Fake-Robs other supervisor.

Are you busy Fake-Rob? I was wondering if you could help us out. It seems that one of the assistants upstairs left early because she was sick and someone needs to sit at her desk and answer the phones. Could you do that for us? What can Fake-Rob say? No. Fuck no. In actuality, Fake-Rob is very happy about this. He will not only get to leave his sneezing buddy, but the assistant whose desk is right next to where he will sit is Fake-Kristen Stewart.

Fake-Rob leaves immediately. He gets to his new desk in seconds. It is a corner of the office floor where the two assistants’ desks face all incoming traffic. Their backs are to windows, so Fake-Rob can look at any devious websites without anyone being able to sneak up on him. Even better the other assistant is the very alluring Fake-Kristen Stewart. She wants it. Fake-Rob knows it. So do all the guys in the office. So do all the girls in the office. As Fake-Rob approaches, Fake-Kristen Stewart smiles and they both exchange hellos.

Fake-Rob tries to continue this auspicious start with asking how she is doing, has it been busy today, the weather is so nice today and just about any other bland pathetic attempt. At some point, Fake-Rob realizes that this conversation is coming to a close. She smiles a lot, she’s cute, she’s friendly, but what next? We’ve only seen each other this time and that one time in the elevator a month ago. I’m at work, I’m sober, she’s sober. This is a lost cause. So, the conversation dies. Fake-Rob defeated turns back to his computer. There are 3 hours left in his day, but now he has a computer that no one can see what he is looking at. This can only mean one thing: anime.

Fake-Rob dials up a familiar website and spends the next three hours watching one episode after another of his favorite anime shows. Thank God for subtitles. There are no phone calls or at least none that Fake-Rob needs to answer. A phone call once every 20 minutes is easily answered by the executive that person is calling. Fake-Rob just sits in silence watching teenagers swing guillotine swords and shoot lightning out of their hands. Every so often he looks over to Fake-Kristen Stewart who is seemingly knee deep in work. Fake-Rob’s phone is pretty much silent, but hers is ringing none stop. I guess I could ask her if she needed any help. That would look good. I would get to interact with her more. I’d be helping her. She would be so grateful for my help that she would strip me in the Xerox room and… but then I would actually have to help her, right? Helping her do her work would seriously cut into my cartoon watching. Screw it. She seems to be handling everything pretty well.

Outside of the cartoons and the occasional phone call, Fake-Rob’s only other responsibility is to stare down any male suitor trying to chat up Fake-Kristen Stewart. Every so often a male co-worker of varying ages will just so happen to walk past Fake-Kristen Stewart and have some topic on the brain that they think she would love to hear about. She engages each one with big kind energetic eyes and a pleasant smile. Meanwhile Fake-Rob also engages them with his stare of a 1000 deaths. It takes longer for some, but their attention always gets drawn to the stare of a 1000 deaths. Fake-Rob will also give them the head nod of killing intent. Fake-Rob isn’t completely sure that his stare and head nod scare off his opponents out of fear of his fighting prowess or they are creeped out because they think he is gayly hitting on them. Either way, it is more alone time with Fake-Kristen Stewart. If I’m too cowardly to ask her out then no one will ask her out. Brilliant idea Fake-Rob.

It is finally 5pm and time for Fake-Rob to leave. He gives a very faint and half hearted goodbye to Fake-Kristen Stewart which she may or may not have heard since he was running to the elevator when he said it. He shoots out of the building and nearly kills two or three speed walking back to the train station. Once at the station, he runs for his life to catch the early train and just squeezes through the closing doors at the last moment. Fake-Rob’s heart is pounding from that minute of exercise. He collapses into some seats and closes his eyes. He has been beaten by the boredom of his day. He has no energy to do sexy eyes with Fake-Ashley Greene sitting across from him, but he does take a long mental note of her before he closes his eyes.

Another commute back to New Jersey is over. Fake-Rob arrives home and is greeted by his dogs. He lays on the couch playing with the dogs until dinner and then converses with his parents about who had the most uneventful day. In the back of Fake-Rob’s mind is one lingering thought that gets him through all these boring work days: I’m going to get so drunk this weekend.

Eventually, it is bed time. Fake-Rob crams himself back into the sleigh bed. He wraps himself in his comforter like a cocoon and rolls over on his stomach and closes his eyes with a relaxed sigh. And then he individually fucks Fake-Nikki Reed, Fake-Anna Kendrick, Fake-Elizabeth Reaser, Fake-Christian Serratos, Fake-Kristen Stewart and Fake-Ashley Greene IN HIS MIND! Happy?

Steelers lost. I’m fasting for Yom Kippur. The Steelers better start winning or my new slate of sinning is going to take a 48 hour fast to cure.

I’m no stranger to fanfiction.

I have referenced a few times my love for the ancient artistry of Japanese anime/manga. Generally, these stories focus on early high school aged teenagers jacked up on hormones and super powers. No matter the time era, these kids are our only hope at saving the world from some catastrophic evil entity that they must battle in one-on-one combat as either ninjas, samurai, roller-bladers, pirates, wizards or pilot sixty-foot robots built for war into each other. And in the midst of all that, there are always one or two wildly innocent love subplots and a megaton of wildly perverted subplots.

I’ve seen my fair share of fanfiction based around these anime/mangas. Typically, they are based in the universe that was created by the archetype original series and follows the laws that were set. Until I started this blog and was treated to “The Office”, the thought never occurred to me that one would write fanfiction of your favorite literary characters outside the walls of whatever mystical world they are in. Fanfiction I’ve read is trying to expound on those walls. New enemies, new good guys, new venues for their favorite characters as if they were missing chapters or bonus chapters to what they are already reading. “The Office” is 100% the opposite. It is taking the extraordinary and making it ordinary. It’s the Twilight peeps working shit office jobs, right?

I know they’re fucking. I am going to bring that up. That is the magic in that story. They’re not immortal vampires; they’re bored to death 9-5ers who just so happen to fuck each other’s living brains out every 8 paragraphs. I see that. I’ve seen that. In the fanfiction I’ve seen about the anime/mangas I read, they still are ninjas and they are still fighting evil ninjas and then afterwords they perform the weirdest sex acts on each other. But they’re still ninjas or samurai or robot warriors! Who knows how people unwind after a fireball throwing death fight with a demon on top of a mountain? They may unwind by banging each other’s brains out. I get that. But “The Office”?

I work in an office. I’ve worked in offices for years. The only one getting fucked over here on a regular basis is me and my 401k. Zing! Economics jokes. So today, I am going to write some fanfiction. Some REAL fanfiction. Based on my experiences at office work. This may or may not be nearly identical to what my daily life was several years ago working at a non-profit in their HR department. This is not about my current job. On the off chance someone from my work does read this blog and is just keeping it a secret to themselves. So I’m choosing to write about an old job. And… it will feature the Twilight characters in a manner of speaking. Things are about to get really real.

CHAPTER whatever


Fake-Rob’s cell phone screams like an air raid siren through his REM sleep. A cold rush of panic shoots through his now semi-conscious body. This attack on his system is coupled with the exact same thought this alarm triggers every morning he hears it: I’m still alive and that means I have to go to work. Why can’t God just finish this already? Can’t I just go peacefully in my sleep? But no, Fake-Rob has survived another night of sleep and is now awake. Well sort of awake. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet.

Fake-Rob’s arm rises from underneath the covers blindly and is clumsily drawn to his cell phone’s screech like a marionette on strings. His thumb clicks the “end” button and finally the wails of electronic pain cease. In this quiet, Fake-Rob contemplates quitting his job just so he can sleep in. This is the same negotiating Fake-Rob does every morning at this time and sadly reaches the same conclusion each time. I have to go to work.

Jammed into the sleigh bed his parents bought Fake-Rob when he was 14, he lets out a yawn so powerful that it almost makes him vomit. He sits up and flings his dead legs off his bed onto the floor. Fake-Rob has yet to see the morning with open eyes. This is in part because of how extremely tired he is and partly because there is nothing new to see. Fake-Rob has not updated his childhood room since he was in fact a child. His brief apprenticeship as an interior decorator started and stopped when he was in elementary school. He adorned his walls with sports posters of that moment in time and has never thought a second about updating them.

Sluggishly, Fake-Rob, through sheer muscle memory and not sight, grabs his towel off the back of his door and a pair of underwear off his desk. His underwear, undershirts and socks are in three neat piles on his desk because he maturely refuses to put them away in any dresser drawers.

Now equipped, Fake-Rob walks into the bathroom and starts the shower. At this moment, standing across from the vanity mirror he unhinges his eyelids and allows himself to see for the first time this day: his utterly depressed face. Ugh. Why am I doing this to myself? Why am I wasting my youth at this job? Why couldn’t I have been born in a time and age where my youth was celebrated? Why can’t I just run through fields of golden wheat chasing young beautiful women in revealing white togas? Why can’t I do battle with my enemies using sword and shield? Why can’t I sit around with fellows discussing the answers to the universe in long elaborate hypothetical word problems? Why couldn’t I have been born to a filthy rich family where I got a disgustingly stupid inheritance just for turning 18? Ugh… fucking parents.

Shower, brushed teeth, and first morning piss which is so pleasurable it makes him arch his back and stretch up on his tiptoes. Back in the bedroom, Fake-Rob has dressed himself in a striped button up shirt and a pair of khaki pants. One last look at his lonely too small for him sleigh bed and he heads downstairs.

Instantly, his dogs attack him. As a rogue burglar that they can only kill with wagging tails and licks to the face, he is attacked. They jump at his legs and mark him with their shedded fur. The big one, the golden retriever, stands her full length and hits Fake-Rob hard in the chest sending him into the pantry. She will knock him down for the other smaller dog warriors to get their chance at him. Fake-Rob succumbs for a moment to the dog saliva and dander, but remembers one word: “work”.

He thanks his mother for the finely brewed cup of coffee which he snatches and drinks in one stupid gulp burning the roof of his mouth like every morning. He makes one last check that he has the holy quadrinity on him: cell phone, keys, wallet and iPod. He is out the door in a sprint. He is at his car. He is driving the speed limit through the suburbs of New Jersey to his goal: the New Jersey train stop by his house. He parks. He runs as the train is approaching in the distance and meets the train on the platform just as it arrives.

Once on the train, Fake-Rob slides his headphones on and collapses into the nearest seat. He skips through his gigabytes of music for something that will soothe him and feed into his chronic morning depression: Elliott Smith. He turns the music up so it drowns out all other noises. He removes his monthly train pass from his wallet and places it on his chest. And then he proceeds to try and fall asleep on the train like a young well-dressed hobo. He can’t sleep though. Fake-Rob was never a good public sleeper, so he just hangs in a purgatory for the first leg of his NJ Transit ride.

The train stops at Newark and Fake-Rob exits. He stands on the platform deaf to his surroundings with his iPod turned on high surrounded by the morning rat race heading into New York City . He glances around with his head on a swivel. He is looking for extremely brazen muggers or hot chicks. He spots one. A hot chick, not a mugger. There are no muggers. Newark Penn Station is completely safe. But if you walk two blocks from it you are immediately killed. But back to the hot chick, Fake-Nikki Reed.

Fake-Rob runs his eyes along every curve of her body. Tracing her profile from head to foot. Fake-Rob rubs his face and prepares himself for his best move: “sexy eyes”. Sexy eyes are the same as “creep eyes” depending on the other person’s subjective opinion on them. One move can easily become the other move without Fake-Rob doing anything. It is all about Fake-Nikki Reed’s interpretation of them. Fake-Rob engages sexy eyes. Fake-Nikki Reed minding her on business standing on the same platform 20 feet away looks to her left and catches eyes with Fake-Rob for a moment. Oh it’s on. After that moment, Fake-Rob adverts his eyes making Fake-Nikki Reed question whether or not they intentionally caught eyes. The plan is working perfectly.

The train pulls up and Fake-Rob and Fake-Nikki Reed have shared numerous glances. They both get on the same car of the train. Fake-Nikki Reed is now like a paranoid spy constantly looking over at Fake-Rob to see if he is looking back at her and sometimes he is and sometimes he appears to be just getting a head count of everyone in the car. This eye love affair is about as close as Fake-Rob will get because Fake-Rob has a severe phobia of being rejected in public.

Once in New York City, Fake-Nikki Reed exits the train to the left and Fake-Rob to the right and at that moment Fake-Rob feels his heart in pain. He watches her leave his sight interspersed in the millions of other New York City travelers. Fake-Rob thinks to himself, I would have loved you forever Fake-Nikki Reed. We could have gotten married and had children and we would have been so happy together. I loved you and I will love you forever until this exact thing happens with some other hot chick on the ride home tonight or the next morning or…

After a mile walk through the urban jungle that is Manhattan, Fake-Rob has fallen in and out of love a dozen times. Fake-Rob arrives at the foot of his work building. He turns off his iPod and can now hear the symphony of cursing, car horns, cop whistles and inane cell phone conversations that this wonderful city provides. He buys his second cup of coffee and a bagel with cream cheese from a street vendor and then enters the building. After a short elevator ride and serpentine walk through the cubicle maze, Fake-Rob is ten minutes early to his desk at a job everyone else shows up an hour late for.

Part II of this epic journey will be posted tomorrow!

I was in the city for work yesterday and didn’t get a chance to finish what I was writing before I left my offices in Nueva Jersey. I did write a post for yesterday. Actually, if I knew how to write short posts you would have gotten one, but I write long posts and this one is very long and you didn’t get a post yesterday. But if I wrote short posts rather than long posts then it wouldn’t be me. And I wanna be me. Anyway, the post I wrote yesterday will be Monday’s post. It is long, epic and hopefully entertaining.

On that same note, let’s have a group prayer that today’s post is anywhere near as entertaining and educational as you all going crazy in the comments section yesterday.

God we pray to you. We pray to you that this one very fallible man can produce words that delight the hearts and minds of this beautiful nation we call Earth. We pray his jokes produce laughs, we pray his facts produce thoughts and we pray that one of these lazy ass horny commenters finds and subsequently bangs him because his car doesn’t get the best miles/gallon ratio and there has been a rattling noise recently when accelerating up to 30mph that is disconcerting to say the least and he isn’t too comfortable taking the car on a long trip. We pray to you God for all of this. And, we thank you God for the fruits of your labor in particular the television show Community and It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Thank you God, we love you. Goodbye for now because we will definitely be talking to you again during the Steelers game this Sunday. GO BLACK AND GOLD!

End prayer.

Onto the mothereffing post….

I take requests.

There is a new addition to the currency. We live in an ATM culture and I haven’t seen this much Andrew Jackson since the Battle of New Orleans. Wowzers! A Bikini picture was and still is the $20 bill around here at KSWI, but I’m going to add a $10 bill. Move over Alexander Hamilton and bring on pictures of you wearing lucha libre masks! You read that right. I got a picture of one of your fellow readers in a Mexican wrestling mask. I don’t know where you get a Mexican lucha libre mask (Mexico, probably), but if you have one take a picture of you in a bikini and the mask and I may die faster than Aaron Burr after he was shot by the previously mentioned Alexander Hamilton.

So the point is, I’m not going to say who, but her request was for me to write an educational post today. How the hell could I say no to that? This is already making me laugh typing this because honestly this post could be about anything, right? Judging by what I have written thus far, literally anything could be the subject of this post. You fabulous readers have no vantage point to be able to even venture a guess at what this next 2000 words will be about. Frankly, it is nuts.

Today’s post that will hold you until Monday will be about…. Charles de Gaulle.


Giving me no real leash and just a vague desire, I tried to think of something to write. Philosophy? Maybe utilitarianism, maybe bad faith. Sociology? I love Max Weber and I hate Emile Durkheim, maybe something on that. Then I thought maybe a historical figure like the Catherine the Great post. But from what country and from what time frame? There has been so much history and so many people in it. How will I choose? Eventually my mind wandered on a topic I love in history: assassinations. There are so many great assassins to choose from and so many people who were killed by those assassins. What a conundrum?

I settled on Charles de Gaulle in a very pragmatic utilitarian way; he is the most bang for your buck. There are 31 documented assassination attempts on Charles de Gaulle’s life and they all failed. 31!?! Talk about wanting it! They wanted that man dead. D-E-A-D dead. There have been an awful lot of awful people in this world and there have been just as many men willing to do awful things to get rid of them, but 31! Fidel Castro and Adolf Hitler also had dozens of assassination attempts on their lives and even more rumored. The key with de Gaulle is that these are all documented. We actually know the exact details for 31 of them and there are countless rumored ones as well.

Add this piece of information to the insanity, all these attempts took place between 1944 and 1968. In 24 years people tried to kill this man at least 31 times. That is roughly 1.3 times a year someone tried to kill Charles de Gaulle. So I guess we can consider that a bullet for the head and a bullet for the leg every year like clockwork for 24 years. Spoiler alert – none of them worked. Charles de Gaulle died when he was 80 watching television at home with his wife. That might have been more torturous. I bet she was yapping away in French: “Charles could you help cut the vegetables for the salad? Charles? Charles, are you even listening to me!?! I know you can still hear me because none of those 31 assassination attempts damaged your ears!” In fact, not one assassination attempt injured him more than a scratch, which I will get to later.

But who was Charles de Gaulle? And why did these people so badly want him dead?

Charles de Gaulle was born in France in 1890. He is easily the most influential and controversial French … well, uh, person of the 20th century. Charles is most famous for being the 18th President of France from 1959 – 1969. Prior to that, he served as the Minister of Defense, the Prime Minister, and as the first President of the Provisional Government of the French Republic during/because of World War II. Probably my favorite of the “World Wars” was WW2. So many good video games were made because of it and Band of Brothers rocked. But did Charles de Gaulle want it?

Yeah he did. Chuck de Gaulle wanted it. He wanted it like a World War I prisoner of war who writes a book about his experiences while in prison wants it. Yeah that’s right. All you lazy writers out there (me included) who have aspirations of writing a book, but can’t find the time to because you’re too busy watching The Shield on DVD, well Chuck wrote a book when he was in war prison in Germany in WWI and was only 26. He didn’t stop at one book either. Between the 30’s and 40’s, Chuck wrote numerous books on military strategy with bad ass titles like The Edge of the Sword and The Army of the Future. These books were rife with imagination about armored tank divisions and military aviation. Poor Chuck, he lived in a country who at the time didn’t believe in a professional army, so it all went to waste. Pussy French bastards, right?

Chaz de Gaulle started off as a colonel in World War II. His superiors hated him for his books and thoughts. Damn you genius IQ! I have a lot in common with Chaz. Not one of my superiors has given me a promotion because of this blog. I wonder why? Nevertheless, Chaz led some of the only successful French attacks on Germany. You know how idiots yell about how America saved French’s ass in WW2? Well… we did, but that’s because Germany ran roughshod over France. Chaz’s few victories promoted him through the ranks quickly and he became Brigadier General. Anyway, long story long, Chaz became a pretty big deal in WW2. He helped coordinate with the Brits and as mentioned was elected to President of the theoretical country of France. And as you all know that the Germans eventually lost because Americans are so big and strong and say witty one liners and ride horses with Colt .45 revolvers and we have sex with all the beautiful women and drink whisky and smoke cigs and we win shit.

So what about people trying to kill him? Charlie became a big deal in the military and then after WW2 he became a really bid deal in politics. Charlie was a man of strong opinions and strong actions. He was insanely pro-France. He fought to re-establish France as a super power and diminish the USA’s influence in Europe. He also recognized Communist China and believed in having a strong foreign policy with countries outside of the US and England. He pissed off a lot of people as well. The most divisive move that Charlie made in his tenure was freeing Algeria from French control. This was not a popular decision with people who wanted to kill him. They really wanted to kill him because of it. Friends and co-workers wanted Charlie dead. The main man who wanted good time Charlie de Gaulle dead was Jean Bastien-Thiry.

Main man? Well, Jean Bastien-Thiry helped orchestrate at least 5 assassination attempts on Chuckster de Gaulle from September 1961 to August 1962. That’s some hardcore playa’ hatin’, right? Bastien-Thiry was actually awarded a medal by the Chuckster for missile engineering before this whole I want to kill you business. Bastien-Thiry didn’t act alone. He was helped by the French OAS or the French Organization of the Secret Army. These people did not want Algeria to be a free country and as mentioned Chuckster did want it. Needless to say, they were not keen on debating with the Chuckster about it. Unless by debate you mean “I kill you with machine guns” or “blow you up with a big ass bomb”. But, did Jean Bastien-Thiry want it, ladies?

Hell yeah, he wanted it. He wanted Chip de Gaulle deader than all these dead celebrities that are dropping like flies over here in America. How are we going to have hilarious ironic cameos anymore if there are no ironic celebrities alive to do them? The five assassination attempts on Chip by Jean Bastien-Thiry all involved cars. He wanted to blow up Chip in a car, he wanted to shoot Chip in a car, he wanted to eat green eggs and ham with Chip in a car as long as the green eggs and ham some how pulled a gun and shot the shit out of Chip de Gaulle. But none of these plans worked. Not even remotely. They had an extremely bright military engineer and a whole secret army, but they couldn’t hurt Chip.

So a lot of the attempts on Chuckles de Gaulle’s life involved him getting killed driving to or from some event. Those five attempts on Chuckles’ life are as follows: a bomb in the road, the same bomb in the road, an ambush, a drive-by ambush, and another ambush. All failed. The first and second attempts were cost effective though, they used the same bomb. I can’t remember specific quantities, but Jean and the OAS took a shit load of TNT, plastic explosives and gasoline and mashed it all together. They then dug a hole in the road and put the bomb in that hole. They knew that Chuckles was going to drive down this road and they thought that Algeria would be back under France’s control. Also I think Wile E. Coyote might have been involved.

On the first pass, the limo went straight over the bomb, but the bomb blower-upper with the switch lost his nerve. French pussies, right? But thankfully for the killers, what goes up must come down and Chick de Gaulle was going to go on the same road for the return visit. On the second pass, the limo went straight over the bomb and the bomb exploded… sort of. Apparently, plastic explosives have an expiration date much like milk. Isn’t that silly? So only the gasoline and TNT exploded causing a fireball to engulf the limo. But Chick’s crazy ass limo driver just drove through the flames and didn’t stop. It was 1961 and in France and he was a “professional driver” so he was probably drunk meaning he didn’t panic and just calmly drove through a huge fireball heading straight for him. Good move.

The third attempt was stupidly thwarted by another limo driver. There was an ambush set up for Charcoal de Gaulle’s limo again. This time the limo driver decided to take an alternate route to the event and not tell anyone. Some may say that is breaking protocol to take the President of a country not the way you said you would and go some other way and not tell any of the rest of the security detail. But hey it worked. That must’ve been a sad sight though. Imagine all those secret army killers and poor Jean Bastien-Thiry with their machines waiting around and no limo shows up. Maybe they played some word games or “eye spy” to pass the time between them hypothetically murdering the President of their own country.

Jean Bastien-Thiry and his gang of ruffians weren’t all bad. Their fourth attempt was thwarted by innocent bystanders. The plan was for a bunch of gun toting Algerian hating nut jobs to get in a car and follow Charley de Gaulle’s limo. When they got to a certain point along his route they would sidle up to the limo and the shoot the effing shit out of it. Good plan. Seems flawless up until the moment when a car full of unsuspecting citizens actually pulled between the murderers’ car and the murderee’s limo. At a stop light at some point in 1962 there was a moment where morality won. A car full of killers with machine guns in one lane, just some person in the middle lane and Charley de Gaulle in the other lane. The OAS decided that they would not kill any innocents and gave up on the mission. Awwww… they’re such sweet hearts. A bunch of teddy bears.

The final attempt is the most amusing. One last ambush attempt was set in place. Charles de Gaulle was at a function with his wife and a few others. Jean Bastien-Thiry gained access to the event and Bastien-Thiry watched Charles. He was going to signal the ambush to get ready when Charles left the event. On this ride home in an unarmored limousine fully loaded with the President of France Charles de Gaulle, his wife and his “entourage” an ambush finally sort of worked. A series of OAS men did ambush the limo and spray hundreds of machine gun rounds at the limo. In some case of divine intervention, not one bullet hit anyone in the car. Can you believe that? Not one.

After the machine gun fire subsided and everyone dispersed, there was not a single person hurt in the car even in the slightest. Actually the only injury to be suffered was upon exiting the car. Charles had broken glass covering his suit jacket. Charles tried brushing some of it away with his hand and he slightly cut his finger on the glass. VICTORY! I bet the OAS and Jean Bastien-Thiry were happy with their success of barely BREAKING HIS SKIN! I kind of picture Charles de Gaulle as Mr. Magoo just going about his day. He spies a shiny object on the ground and bends over to pick it up and an atom bomb whizzes past right where his head was the second before. He stands up straight without a moment of panic and goes about his day.

In the end, Jean Bastien-Thiry was caught, tried and convicted on these attempts and was sentenced to death. Jean completely admitted to the attempts in court and argued that this was all a case of tyrannicide like St. Thomas Aquinas would have believed in, a man after my own heart. I digress; Charles de Gaulle held no hard feelings for his would-be assassins and usually commuted their death sentences to life in prison, except for lucky Jean. He was executed. There are a few ideas why Charles had him executed. Maybe it was how many attempts, maybe it was because Charles had praised Jean as a military engineer and awarded him a medal, maybe it was because Charles’ wife was in the limousine on the final attempt, but the most popular was that Jean wasn’t even man enough to be there to actually shoot Charles. Jean was the lookout man who just signaled the ambush to take place. He wasn’t even there when it happened. You have to love the ego on Charles. If you’re going to kill him and want his respect you have to at least be in the general vicinity.

Well, I had fun writing about this. It isn’t too often I get to talk about assassinations. I hope my lucha libre mask wearer enjoyed today’s post. I hope you all did. Another interesting week of posts on KSWI, I think at least. I hope you all have a good weekend. I’ll be back Monday unless I’m stuck at the South Street Seaport watching Obama’s motorcade drive down the FDR.

Yeah, she still wants it. Kristen Stewart wants it so bad.

Don’t freak out

September 24, 2009

I won’t be able to post until much later today.

Also by “later today” I mean tomorrow.

I did save the other 11 pictures to my desktop inside the clever “New Folder” folder. Also your “you can write about it because I guess you’ll make it funny” responses gave me enough motivation to ……………. actually it didn’t motivate me that much. I guess I deserve it. I’ll give it the good old college try because lord knows this college education of mine is not being used for anything AND I MEAN anything else.

In the two years I have been working at this current company coupled with the four or so other jobs I have had, I have not used my brain once. Like really used my brain. Well that’s a rough estimate. I don’t think I would be too far off though if a statistical sheet of my brain usage was presented to me by some omniscient intern at this moment. Although, I do use my brain regularly. At the same time at work, I write this which is some clever shit. I’ve written other stuff too. Also outside of work my friends keep me on my toes. Do you know what we discussed while watching Monday Night Football?

Social Darwinism.

No fucking joke. Social Darwinism. I don’t know if that is something to be happy about or depressed, but it’s true. We didn’t talk about it the whole game, but there was a solid half hour. We also talked about the dirtiest thing we know a person has done at strip clubs with an “s”, multiple clubssssss (spoiler alert – it is fucking disgusting). What can I say? We are complex creatures.

Mo’ funny please.

Woof. I don’t know who all these people are, but the internet is my friend and he/she has all the answers for me. The internet is most definitely a he/she hermaphrodite cross dressing TS sex demon that also can be educational. I do know most of these peoples’s’s’s’ names, but that doesn’t mean I watch their shows or what have you. For example, I hate Entourage. Hate it. I hate Entourage, but I find it unavoidable finding out these doofusses names and an even harder time forgetting them once I associate my hate with them.

I know Michael C. Hall who is the spaced out mannequin looking one of the two. He was on Six Feet Under which I loved. The female is on Dexter with him. If I look up Dexter on my crack addiction (IMDB) her name is Jennifer Carpenter. I’ll forget her name. I have pure antipathy towards her minus her bulging gallant right arm. I’m transfixed by it. It looks lean and like it should be palming a basketball. Everything else outside of that right arm appears lifeless and slightly pathetic in this picture. I bet Michael C. Hall can slow his resting heart rate to 0. He would be great in one of those emergency situations where you are locked in a room and need to conserve oxygen. He could just zone out and stop breathing altogether.

I fulfilled one request. Tina Fey and the original Tina Fey, Julia Louis-Dreyfus. Both are sexy and funny. See I don’t think only the 20 year olds are hot. It’s like there is a cap limit for you all about how many hot people can be in the intersubjective “hot bank”. More the merrier in my opinion. They’re all hot. Who cares? It doesn’t make one more hot or less hot. I’m not gauging this all on a sliding scale. Blake Lively is hot, Leighton Meester is hot so are all the other girls I’ve seen on those Gossip Girls commercials. It is more like a pass/fail system. 

Anyway, Julia looks like she wants it and is egging on Tina Fey by twisting something in her back. Julia has been comfortable being attractive/funny/quirky/nuts longer than Tina so she just needs that added fist in the spine boost. Tina is hesitant. She’ll learn. By the way, they are both funny. Really funny. Like as if they were men funny. Oh damn you Jordan and you saying something like that. You rascal.

Blam! Jenna Fischer is hot. See? It doesn’t effect how hot the others are. Jenna Fischer’s hotness is completely independent of all other hotnesses. Oh Christ she’s hot. She wants it and her cleavage does as well. They want it so bad they’re nearly leaping out of that dress. This Dean Winters look-a-like I don’t know. I don’t even know how I would figure out who he is regardless. Whatever website I got these pictures from I’m not going back to look up who he is. I remember it having to mention he is a “writer” in parenthesizes. Fuck that guy. I’m a “writer”. I could sit there in a black suit next to hot ass cleavagey Jenna Fischer looking at the camera and saying with my eyes “You’re kidding me right? I know. She wants it. If only God could some how exert the effort for just a bit more gravity at this moment.”

Skeletor and Cruella de Vil. Get these people some ice cream! I think this is the best time to mention I’m 100% opposed to the remaking of Footloose. I don’t care who is in it. It will be terrible. The original is perfect. There is not one scene that could be improved upon. They can’t make a shot-by-shot remake because the original only makes sense in its sheer original idiocy. The movie makes no sense, but it is perfect.

I don’t know if you realize how much 80’s movies make zero sense, but not many of them do make sense. Actually not a lot of movies make sense, but 80’s movies ridiculousness makes them all perfect. They’re pure unadulterated lunacy. Why do they play beach volleyball in Top Gun? Why is a wolf good at basketball?… I’m talking about Teen Wolf. Why is Ren McCormack (Kevin Bacon’s name in Footloose… I don’t know how much hand-holding I need to do with these references) amazing at gymnastics and karate?

I don’t know, but why question it? It makes the movie better. Who knows what will happen next? Either way, the remake will blow. The movie is nuts. The town collapses in on itself at the mere thought that some new highschool kid wants to dance! They throw bricks through his window, there are book burnings, he has to release all of his anger by running around a lumber yard doing flips, guys are hitting women, Sarah Jessica Parker with a ponytail, Bible references, Slaughterhouse Five is referenced. They can’t remake that.

AnnaLynne McCord wants you to want it. She’s hot in that “this is the hottest prostitute ever” way. She kind of has a Farrah Fawcett look as well. I mean she looks hot and sexy and if she gets famous enough will fall into the wildest tail spin drug problem known to man. She appears to have a plastic exoskeleton as well, which is neato. Maybe that’s just me. Also this picture doesn’t do her any justice. It really doesn’t show off her amazing…


I’m not complaining, but I think you forgot to wear the bottom half of that dress. Zing! Burn sauce all over your almost visible vag… Eh, you might want to keep the burn sauce away from where ever. It’s “sauce” that “burns”. Might just want to keep that bottled up in the pantry.

Olivia Wilde remembered the bottom half, but forgot the back of her dress. It’s a nice back though. It starts and ends where it should. It is completely covered in the appropriate amount of skin. She kind of wants it I guess, eh not really. She is trying to play cute too much. She looks like she is trying to be innocent of the fact that she has no back to her dress. Whoops. Silly me. She’s hot though. I keep saying that about these people, but like I said there is no limit. I like Olivia Wilde. She’s opted to kiss other girls for America’s entertainment on at least two television shows that I know of. Possible “Congressional Medal of Freedom” in her future? Only if I was President. Damn you, Barry Obama.

This picture is bullshit. Chris O’Donnell is not that funny. No way is he that funny. He’s a good looking man and he is rather young looking for 39, but there is no fucking way he is funny. Look at Julia. She is laughing it up. Bullshit. She’s laughing up his boyish good looks. Fuck that. Keep on laughing Julia. Just keep laughing away. Laugh your way right into bed with ole’ Robin. Just inflate his already huge ego. Just laugh your way into a cheap hour motel. Keep laughing. Ugh you disgust me.

You know who is hilarious? All the chicks on Friday Night Lights. They are all so fucking hilarious. Yeah, that doesn’t work in reverse, does it? None of them are going home with you if you think they’re funny. None of them are funny probably. Who cares? I can make myself laugh.

I love it. Jason Schwartzman wants it. And his wife knows it. Yes! The reverse! This is straight from my brain-piece, but I think Jason Schwartzman can get all the ass. Or I mean love. He can get all the dirty condomless love he wants. He is hetero so he’ll probably want just the ladies, but I definitely think dudes want him too. Nevertheless, I’m venturing off topic. Unless you only want a muscle-y athlete guy, I feel like in real life Jason Schwartzman can talk just about any woman into bed or get her drunk enough to make that decision. Maybe that’s just me, but I think he could do it. I have faith in him.

Jason Schwartzman wants it. His wife knows he wants it and she’s the one getting it from him. Hell yeah! …….. I don’t know who his wife is. She seems to be a pretty smart lady to have gotten the Schwartzman. On the website it had as a caption: Jason Schwartzman and wife. If that vagueness was good enough for Life Magazine it is good enough for me.

That’s like a punch to the face. Mila Kunis’ hotness cold-cocked me. It isn’t as dramatic with the scrolling down the page action you all have, but clicking next and not knowing that was behind door number 10 was like knuckles right between the eyes. Look at those damn eyes. Wow. She’s like a comic book character or an anime character or a Japanese comic book character referred to as a manga character. Incredible. She is hot. And she wants it, but do you notice something? She’s holding back a smile.

Mila definitely wants it, but she is about to laugh and break the whole illusion. No doubt about her wanting it though. Mila’s wanting it is different from Kristen Stewart’s wanting it. It is a whole different beast of wanting it. Kristen’s want is like a laser beam to your cerebellum. It is powerful and focused and concentrated. It can cause injuries. This want is more effervescent and light and playful. Mila will smile and then we’ll smile, she’ll laugh and then we’ll laugh. Oh what a jolly time this is smiling and laughing and this general amicable wanting it. I feel like smelling flowers and eating cotton candy and Mila is so hot and she wants it so bad that soon as she leaves I’ll google up those pictures of her and Elisha Cuthbert and I’ll tear through a gallon of skin lotion.   

There isn’t enough gambling on this website. I’ll fix that:

– Over/under – how long after this picture was taken did Gary Shandling “expose” himself to Kathy Griffin? The line is 30 seconds and I’m taking the under.

– Over/under – how many times Gary Shandling has “exposed” himself to Kathy Griffin since they first met? The line is 38.5. This is a tough one. Odds-makers are really good at their jobs and I feel like they know something I don’t by throwing in that “.5”. Did Gary just show her his balls once? Does that count as “.5”? I don’t know. I don’t gamble much so when I do I gamble a lot, so I’m going with the over. I’m saying, whether she wanted it or not, Gary Shandling on at least 39 occasions has let the barn doors open on purpose for Kathy Griffin.

– Over/under – what percentage of Gary Shandling’s stomach is filled with scotch at that moment? The line is an aggressive 75%. I think the immediate reaction is “over”. He is definitely hammered and sweating the scotch out through his pores at this point. But! He is Jewish. There’s the kicker. Jews do not pass up an opportunity for free food snacking. It is an Emmy party so I’m guessing there is a nice spread of cheeses, crackers, salads, it is LA so there will be sushi and so on. What about shrimp? Jews can’t pass up cocktail shrimp. They have to eat the shrimp and comment on the size of them. That’s not jumbo! That’s what she said. So I’ll take the under on 75%. He’s probably drifting around 62%.

Lightning round…

He wants it.

She wants it.

I want it from her.

I want it from her.

He only wants it from dudes.

She waaaaannnntttttsssss IT!

And I’m spent.

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