I haven’t mentioned how much I loved watching the Steelers beat the Vikings, but I did. I’m actually still trying to digest it it was that wonderful. Like a perfectly grilled reuben sandwich. Steelers have a “bye week” this weekend, so I guess I won’t watch… ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!?! I watch all the games! Regardless of who is playing! Last year, I listened to more Buffalo Bills games on the radio than I think anyone ever including the guys calling the games. On the motherflipping radio! And the Bills suck! Seriously… I wish a football game was going on right now I could watch.

Today is supposed to be very busy at work. The actual work. The one that pays me in paper money and not compliments or hypothetical spy operations where I am “banged” and “found”, but not in that order.

So I will try to update if/when I have time.

Bend and Snap

Do guys really like the “bend and snap” move from Legally Blonde? First, I have never seen Legally Blonde. Oh shut the fuck up with your “OMG!”s or “WTF”s or “DHRSHNSLBTIJRETHIASGWHNRRTSTMA”s (Did he really say he never saw Legally Blonde, that is just ridiculous even though he is a straight guy who has no real reason to see that movie anyway)! How many times have you all seen Ravenous? HUNH!?! Tell me! I bet it’s less than 8 times. Probably less than 1 for most of you. Or how many times have you seen The Beat That My Heart Skipped? One of my favorite movies of all time! Some fans you are!

Anyway, thankfully youtube had the “bend and snap” scene and I did watch it. From what I gather, a girl (or gay man apparently, but for the purpose of this explanation I will focus on the girls even though I not-so-secretly think you want me to focus on the gay guys because it would be much crazier) bends over at the waist and then snaps back up to a posing position to get a man’s attention. Do guys like this? Let’s go step by step:

1. Bending over at the waist – if you are facing the guy then there is a chance of thee ole’ “down the shirt” shot for the guy. Guys like boobs as mentioned in many many many of these posts. So a clear view of them is good times all the time every time no matter if it is day or night time or in the nick of time or in the movie with Johnny Depp and Christopher Walked also called Nick of Time or Greenwich Mean time or The Land Before Time because when boobs are present it is always party time.

If you are facing away from the guy then he is getting a nice view of your ass. This has been mentioned a lot, but not as much as the boobs because cleavage shots seem to be more acceptable than a bent over shot, but dudes like chicks’ butts. I don’t think Homer,  Faulkner or Maya Angelou could have written any better explanation.

So as of right now, the “bend” is a big hit with guys regardless of angle.

2. Snap into position – As far as I could tell, the “position” that Reese Witherspoon believes women/gay men should “snap” into is back arched, chest out and head up. I’m pretty sure, remember I never re-read, about a minute ago I wrote guys love boobs. Is that right? Damn this faulty memory filled with Dolph Lundgren, not trivia, FACTS. Dolph Lundgren represented the USA in the modern pentathlon in the 1996 Olympics as well as made a movie called Pentathlon. So #2 gives guys another starring role in Boobs Watcher 2: Son of Boobs Watcher the Watcher of Boobs.

In essence, “bend and snap” is a two step process for girls to get a guy to stare at their bodies. Guys definitely like that. Another effective and even simpler two step process would be:

1. Stand infront of guy

2. Say these words loud and clearly – “Stare at my tits and ass”

I am a doctor and that would work.

Getting a guy’s attention is a lot less work than you would imagine. Getting a guy to be into going to the mall to shop, watching girly movies like Legally Blonde instead of epic films like Showdown in Little Tokyo, or not to love his favorite sports team more than you – well that falls under the “either date a straight guy and get over these unrealistic hang ups or start the process of convincing your gay best friend to sleep with you” life category.

Also, Kristen Stewart doesn’t need to do the “bend and snap” to get a guy’s attention. She wants it so bad that the rods and cones in our eyes begin to shake uncontrollably causing us to only see black in all directions except in hers. A bright shining light of vivid colors and a backdrop of gold illuminates a path to her where we are all drawn to walk along. Arriving at her feet we see a vertical halo appear around in each eye  focusing our gaze until a sudden flash blinds us. That last image seered into our memories. And when one questions what do we remember of the world when we had sight? We will take pen to paper and draw them Kristen Stewart’s visage in that glowing silhouette in perfect detail. They wil cry. We will cry. And we will be one under one banner. Crying.

E Pluribus Kristenus Stewartum.


Did I answer your question?

I think I should be on Oprah or Ellen. Seriously, I’m a 26 year old straight guy writing comedy seemingly for women. Can’t one of you bring this up in the “women’s of the world” meeting you all have once a month via conference call. I think you all have covered the “overtime in any sport is not a good thing, but something that the guy should be punished for” clause. I think you all need to cover new material like “why isn’t Jordan on Oprah and/or Ellen?”

If you have other questions about guys, I’ll surely answer them.

I’m not sure how the “updates” will go, but as far as I can tell this has been well over 800 words which at one point was good enough for a full day’s post. I may update as the day goes. Like I said this is supposed to be a busy day and has been a little bit thus far. We’ll see.


Update One and Done

1. Oh yeah, it is Halloween weekend. I don’t think I’m dressing up. But if any of you are and want to send me pictures of you dressed up in your costumes or out of your costumes that would be cool. I’m just saying I think it is the least you people can do.

Don’t worry I won’t post them on the site unless you want me to. I’ll just send the pictures to your local police claiming you are stalkers or kid touchers or haiku addicts. Something clever.

2. Right now, I’m passively rooting for the Philadelphia Phillies. And by “passively”, I mean that I didn’t watch a full baseball game all year and I could honestly give a flying fuck if the entire sport of baseball was cancelled in its entirety. I do hate the Yankees though. I don’t want to see them win, but it isn’t like Yankees fans are going to get more obnoxious if they win because I already believe all of them to be wildly irrelevant.

I was a fan of baseball back in the dizzie. My fascination with baseball was extreme when I was a child. I read a book which I can’t find called Baseball Shrine or something which was all about the MLB Hall of Fame. I must’ve read it a dozen times and memorized it. I used to love baseball players and write reports in school about them. I even remember that in my Jewish Sunday school I had to write two reports. Each one was supposed to be something concerning the history of the Jews. My first report was about Sandy Koufax and the second was about Hank Greenberg. Or vice versa. Either way. I did love baseball.

Then the 1994-1995 strike happened. I may have been 11 years old, but I became a very cynical and angry 11 year old. They fucked me and they fucked America with that strike. Ken Griffey Jr, Frank Thomas and Matt Williams were having stellar years. And Frank “The Big Hurt” Thomas (who I love/d) was on his way to maybe winning the Triple Crown (not the race). I haven’t given a shit about baseball since. 

I’ve had years where I’ve definitely watched more than others. But for the most part I don’t care and I don’t watch it. Plus it is boring as hell. Going to a game is fun. It is perfect that they call it a baseball “park” because it is exactly like going to a park. You lay around, drink, get some sun, and you lose track of time and the next thing you know it has been 18 hours. Baseball is boring. Look at the players on the bench in the dugout or the pitchers in the bullpen. Those guys are all half asleep if not completely asleep. People say football is boring and those people are 100% wrong. Check out the sideline of a football game. There 800 guys and they all looked like they are wired on coffee. 

Anyway, the gayest/greatest thing in baseball is when a player in the dugout decides to sit on the steps leading out of the dugout. They tuck their legs on the stair underneath their butt and they lean on an elbow or two onto the field. It is the gayest pose ever. Imagine they panned to the dugout in the middle of the game and A-Rod was blowing Jeter with his mouth (instead of his eyes and mind which he does all game) and, at the same time, Texiera was sitting in that pose on the steps. Instantly your first reaction would be “Wow look at how gay Texiera is! Who knew he was gay? Jeez, I never would’ve guessed he was gay, but look at how he is sitting. And wow, A-Rod really looks like he knows how to give great head. Good for him or should I say Jeter. He is really going to town on Jeter’s weenjack. Christ, I hope he doesn’t hurt himself or Jeter because that is the most enthusiastic blowjob I have ever witnessed. I wish my wife was that enthusiastic because lord knows she isn’t. I mean seriously does Jeter’s dick naturally sweat peanutbutter cup ice cream? Because from the way A-Rod is using tongue, that has got to be the tastiest penis ever. I’m just brainstorming, but if his pecker tastest like peanutbutter cup ice cream then his balls must taste like…. Pretzels! Nothing would be a better combination. No wait. Chocolate covered pretzels! Yeah? I love peanutbutter and chocolate too and then mix in the salt of pretzels. Yeah it is great. What inning is this? 4th? Are you kidding me!?! We’ve been here for 5 hours! Whew, I guess I should get another beer. All this talk about Derek Jeter’s ice cream flavored penis and pretzel flavored balls is making me thirsty. Really? No. None of that was gay. It was just factual. Let’s get a beer.”


Now I should be on Oprah  and Ellen. I figure after I get on those shows and I am rich and famous I can make those other bullet points about three-ways with celebrities a reality.

3. Guys hanging out naked in showers together is not cool.

Have a nice weekend.





I started writing this last Thursday night and was going to post it on Friday morning. Somewhere around the 900 word mark I thought to myself “I haven’t packed for this trip which I’m going on in a few hours”, which is coincidentally something that happens in the following story. So I stopped and packed because I’ve matured minorly since the idiocy below. But I’m finishing the story right now and I didn’t need to tell you about any of what I just told you about, but I did anyway. Also, am I the only one who thinks this guy is unhappy about receiving emails from this woman?

I’m guessing that is supposed to be his mom or even grandma, but he seems pretty un-psyched about her being able to email him. Or that is his lover and he is equally un-psyched that everyone who has a Yahoo email account knows he has an older older woman fetish. I’m taking the latter. That right hand placement is suspect.

Was this post supposed to be about geriatrics having secret sex with mentally scarred young people or about a story from when I lived in Los Angeles? Who knows? Who cares, am I right? On with the senior citizen fuckfest… actually on with the LA story.


Does that meet my quota for the day? The above mistakes are actually an elaborate code that when cracked answers all of life’s questions. That answer: The Bible and arrogant elitist white people are all the greatest and all correct about all of life. I fucking hate Dan Brown.

In honor of me having just gone to Los Angeles, I thought I would tell one of my favorite stories from when I lived in Los Angeles. I did not live in LA for too too long. It was only for a summer during my Junior of college. It was apart of a very intricate exchange program for super duper secret spies…. whoops. I probably shouldn’t have typed that and not deleted it and then kept writing the rest of this post and clicked “publish”. BAM Ahhhh I was shot with a poisonous dart and for some reason I typed the noise as well as my scream of pain that I’m sure sounded manish and not at all girly. Also that assassin somehow must’ve went back in time to kill me, but still allowed me to hit publish. He did a terrible job. I’m slowing fading like t.h..i…s…. j……o……k…….e…….. .

It was a film internship and films be in LA. The internship was through another college that I didn’t go to. I didn’t know any of the fellow interners before I went to LA, so I made these friends when I was out there, awwwwww. They put us up in the Oakwood Apartments. Four people to an apartment. That wasn’t entirely necessary for me to tell you all. But later when I’m running around the apartment in a frenzy in this story I just want you all to realize there were exactly three people watching me make a fool of myself. Anyway, there was a time limit to all of this. I had to come back to the East Coast to finish up senior year. My friends were older and were all staying out there in LA. So, needless to say my friends and I celebrated our last night in Los Angeles together the way we celebrated most nights we were in LA together: retardo drunkedness.

We started out the night like most of our drinking nights with “The Dresden”. Which you should remember because it was prominently featured in one of my favorite movies “Swingers”. The Dresden is real and it is exactly like it is shown in “Swingers”. Old school, lounge, Rat Pack-style bar. It’s a little expensive, but it’s nice. Also the older woman and older man lounge singing act from “Swingers” is also real. Nothing too remarkable happened at “The Dresden” that night. I guess I could have made something up. Uhhhh… I have to make up something on the spot… pfffft… uhhhh… Emilio Estevez gave my friend a handjob? Wha? Yeah, that works. That’s pretty “remarkable”. So, after Emilio’s handjob on my “friend” and about 3 or 4 Long Island Iced Teas we were off to the next bar.

“The Burgundy Room” is a rock and roll bar and guess what? It is burgundy colored. Shocking. I really loved this bar when I was in LA. It was a small hallway which the actual bar took up 65% of. That one room was dark with alternating wine red and black all over. The first time I was ever in the place I was greeted by AC/DC blaring, which means it was Heaven. That’s not me patronizing the Aussies neither. I love “TNT”, “Dirty Deeds”, “Thunderstruck” and all the other AC/DC songs that sound identical to “Highway to Hell”, but worse as time goes on, but are still rocking so I love them.

The best part about “The Burgundy Room” was they used to light the bar on fire. Excuse me? Yep. As if this was something out of a movie, they would light the bar on fire. They had a strip of metal running down the length of the bar. The bartenders would spray lighter fluid all over it and then light it! VFOOM! FLAMES!!!!!!! As noted prior, the place was tiny. The flames were big. Jane hurt. Need Tarzan. So, the huge blazing fire was only a few feet from you no matter where you were in the bar and the flames would easily be a few feet high.

Since that Summer, take a wild guess what happened? They stopped. No the place didn’t burn down. But eventually some asshat ruined the party and now something about fire codes and a complete lack of safety, so they don’t do it anymore. I’m saying this so you won’t rush to LA to see a bar on fire and blame me when it doesn’t happen. Unless you set it on fire. Either way, they used to set this bar on fire and they did it that night as well. The place was lit up and we were all drinking Bud Heavies and Jack Daniels and Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire” was playing.

We somehow made it back to our apartment complex alive at like 2:30am. Another note for later, the apartments were in the Hollywood Hills. The apartments near the bottom and the parking near the top, so you had to walk up an asphalt hill to get to your car. Anyway, instead of going to bed we headed to one of the apartments where a party was being thrown. We ended up continuing drinking and staying up even later. At this point does anyone remember that I mentioned this was my “last night” in LA and that tomorrow I was flying back to the East coast? Let me drop this bombshell on you. The flight was at 10am and I haven’t packed.

I had been living in LA for months and I had enough clothes for it too, but none of them were in my suitcases. And that is suitcases with an “s”. I also brought my laptop, a Playstation 2, a buttload of DVDs and on a drunken whim I bought an Xbox when I was in LA. Those needed to be packed too. Probably around 4am or so I stumbled into my apartment and died on my bed. I then promptly woke up at 9am in a drunken, hung over, and cold sweat sober panic. I need to pack, drop off my rental car and make my flight somehow in an hour! Even though that was completely impossible to pull off, I had to try because I’m man. And that’s what we do. Fuck things up? Sometimes. Try as hard as we can even in the face of obvious failure? All the time.

I fell asleep and woke up in the clothes I went out in. I stunk of booze, sweat, cigarettes and that greasy sleep smell. I was a mess. I ran around the apartment grabbing everything that was mine and shoving it into one of my four suitcases: 2 big suitcases and 2 carry-ons. All the clothes into the two big suitcases and any technology bullshit shoved into the 2 carry-ons. I was making rash decisions with my stuff. I know one of my roommates got a box of cigars. Whatever wouldn’t immediately fit into a bag I was giving away to them like door prizes. Now it was time to get this shit in my car.

It was the summer and in Los Angeles, so it might as well have been Africa. I was already drenched in sleep sweat, drunk sweat, hangover sweat, running around my apartment in a panic sweat and now it is hot as shit out sweat. I make a dead sprint up hill to get my car. For whatever reason, Oakwood apartments feels it necessary to water the asphalt. I know in part it was to clean it and maybe in part because it is black asphalt that is being boiled by the hot sun all day. Either way, it is like running on ice up hill.

I slip on a speed bump about half way up the hill and crash hard on my right knee and hands. My knee is split open and crimson pours down my shin like a nice peaceful Bob Ross waterfall of BLOOD! Meanwhile, my palms have that phenomenal feeling of scraping your palms across asphalt at a high speed. Also the black asphalt left black asphalt dirt all over my leg and my arms. So I smell of booze, cigarette smoke, sweat, grease, dirt and I have an open wound leaking blood.

I throw my bags into my car and I yell goodbye to my friends and I peel off in my rental car flooring it. Surprisingly enough I made it to the airport in amazing time. I dropped off the rental car quickly explaining to them that all the bumper damage from when I accidentally backed into a cement poll was completely cool and they didn’t need to worry about it. I jumped on the shuttle to LAX, checked my two big bags and ran through LAX with my two carry-ons slamming around behind me just to get to the gate in the nick of time! … or 20 minutes late.

I missed my flight.

Covered in black dirt, blood, sweat, and booze from hours earlier, I approached the lady closing up shop at the gate. She informed me that I missed my flight and that the next flight wasn’t for another 12 hours. Also, that flight was a stand-by. The only guaranteed flight wasn’t for another 24 hours after that. Great news, right!?! Fuck my life. She leaves and I’m left alone at the gate. I take a seat and call my friends and family telling them what happened. It wastes an hour or so and now I just have another 11 left until I may or may not miraculously make a stand-by flight.

I make a quick assessment of what my situation is. I stink. Real bad. I stink and look like the most affluent homeless person. If homeless people wore Abercrombie and Fitch cargo shorts and short-sleeve button up shirts and carried around two bags full of hundreds of dollars worth of high end electronics then that was me. I had no clothes to change into, but I had all the right equipment to throw one hell of a Halo gaming party. So I did the only reasonable thing I could think of. I put my headphones on and turned on some music and fell asleep on the ground in between a row of seats in the middle of the gate.

A few hours later I woke up from the feeling that people were walking over top of me. Because they were. Again, like a homeless person, people were just walking all around me and stepping over me as if I wasn’t there. I sat up and took a seat in a chair. There was a flight leaving that gate going to Miami. I took my headphones off and started thinking about my next move then two barely teenage girls sat down next to me and wanted to talk. I don’t know who the parents of these two girls were, but they did a shit job.

I am a good guy. I am trustworthy. I am generally very responsible. I am a perfectly suitable person who wouldn’t do anything wrong to your kids. But MY LEG WAS COVERED IN MY OWN BLOOD! Yep. I hadn’t cleaned up or anything at that point. Unless these two girls had the innate ability to see into my soul or read my aura, I was a big, dirty, boozey, bloody stranger and they should have never talked to me. But they did for whatever reason. What did they want to talk about? The OC season finale. Crazy enough I had seen it. I was actually the perfect guy for them to talk to and for them to tell me about how much they loved Ryan and thought Seth was the funniest. At some point, the girls left and I decided it was about time to try and make myself look presentable if more underage girls wanted to talk to me about television shows I have no business watching.

After the ghetto shower in the airport bathroom sink, I ate a hundred croissants from the Starbucks next to the gate. It was either that or a chilly dog from the place next to the Starbucks, which wasn’t happening. I sat around until the stand-by flight which I didn’t get on. I caught a cab and stayed at a motel next to LAX. I ordered a Domino’s pizza to my room and I ate the whole thing and passed out. Woke up the next morning and showered to only put on the exact same clothes I was wearing for the past two days.

I called up one of my roommates and told him the deal. He picked me up and we did errands together for his new apartment all day. That night he dropped me off at the airport and I got on that flight. I ended up getting home real early the next morning. Meanwhile, I had a friend who drove back from LA to Philly and I think I beat him by two hours. Ridiculous.

The End.

Is it weird that the laziest part of my writing process is filling in the “tags” section? YOU-JEE-AY-CH-UH. I finish writing some 2000 words of gibberish and then I have to write another 20 words. Oh crapes! It is too much I tell you, just too fucking much. Tags “Kristen Stewart wants it”, “Kristen Stewart”, “wants it”, “dinosaurs”, “Martin Luther King, Sr.”, “Euripides”, “propeller planes”, “Twilight”, “Pepto Bismol”, “Marc Bulger”. Seriously, isn’t there a way that WordPress could just key in on heavily repeated words and take a wild guess with all its brainy computer software that that might be an appropriate “tag”? Who the hell am I kidding? WordPress sucks. Roast time!

WordPress’ software is so old Jesus owes it a dollar! WordPress’ software is so stupid it took it 2 hours to watch 60 Minutes! WordPress’ software is so ugly they had to tie a steak around its neck to get the dogs to play with it! WordPress’ software is so fat it went to the movies and sat next to everyone!

Now for the techies…

WordPress’ software is so old Timothy Berners-Lee coded it! WordPress’ software is so stupid it could trip over a wireless connection! WordPress’ software is so ugly even in WQXGA/2560×1600/16:10 aspect ratio it is still fucking ugly! WordPress’ software is so fat I need two TWO monitors to see it all!

Honestly, I should be allowed to stop the post right there. I think I deserve a pat on the back or inner thigh for something that clever. “Yo mama jokes” about WordPress and then the nerd versions of them. Come on! You’re not reading this shit anywhere else on the webz. And it is on fucking Kristen Stewart site. Frustration isn’t the word, but it is damn close.

I had an epiphany this morning that I think no other man on Earth has ever had: I want to hear what a woman has to say.


Craziness, right? Only in America folks! That woman in particular is Kristen Stewart. Well I don’t really want to “hear” what she has to say as much as I can’t hear what she has to say because my work computer that I’m writing on has no sound card, as mentioned one billion times before. Stephen Hawking makes more noise than this computer. So I want to read what Kristen Stewart has to say.

You may have noticed I talk a lot about what Kristen Stewart looks like, what she may be thinking and her wanting it so fucking much that I fear that it will cause a second gravitational force to pull in asteroids, the Moon and nearby planets to dive bomb the Earth. But I have not written in awhile about the words that literally come out of Kristen’s mouth instead of the word’s I imagine come out of her mouth.

I did read that Interview Magazine article, but good Jeepus it is long. It took me longer to read that article than it took Lu Chao to recite the 67,890th decimal place of Pi. Zing! So, I took a short cut and typed “Kristen Stewart quotes” into Les Googles and I got a result that was fascinating to say the least. Fascinating like blah blah blah blah blah blah Jonas Salk! Wowzers!

What I learned from these classic K-Stew quotes, is that the two of us have a lot more in common upstairs than one would imagine myself (a 26 year old, Jesuit educated Philosophy major, who doesn’t have a drinking “problem”, but a drinking “solution” (keep drinking until you forget about the problem), who thinks Bill Cowher should be canonized, who thinks Phil Anselmo’s scream at the beginning of Great Southern Trendkill is one of the greatest achievements of man, and who has spent somewhere around 200 hours of his life playing Final Fantasy VII and maybe shed a tear or 1200 when Aeris was killed by Sephiroth. SEPHIROTH!) and Kristen Stewart (a 19 year old, fanciful forest elf/human who was bestowed the powers of the Gods to combat the ancient evils of the underworld) would have. Take it away Kristen:

Kristen: (about “Twilight” co-star Robert Pattinson and his female fans) They covet Rob. I think half of them are so jealous that they hate me. Girls are scary. Big groups of girls scare the crap out of me.

There is so much truth in this quote I want to yell it from the top of the Shinra building at the center of Midgar! Ahhhh… kill me. Anyway, what Kristen is alluding to an age-old dilemma of “bitches hatin’ bitches”. This has been discussed on many occasions in my life with Dawgz. Derived from the Latin “bitchius hatinius bitchae”, this phenomenon is experienced in all parts of the world.

The premise: if 2 or more women are present then they hate each other. This hate is only exponentially worse when there are more women and if a male is present.

Kristen is in the worst situation of “bitches hatin’ bitches” because she is one girl versus seemingly millions who are all focusing their hatin’ on Kristen because she is with Rob. These women who want Rob and are hatin’ on Kristen have formed the intellectual decompositionist identity against Kristen known as “She think she cute”. This is very hard for Kristen to overcome because once a woman believes that another woman “thinks she cute” she is treated as a hostile combatant until she shows great humility to the female wolf pack.

I agree Kristen. Girls are scary. I fear for Kristen’s safety against the swelling numbers of crazed Rob fans and the burgeoning Taylor fans. She is in the crosshairs of a lot of unstable women who have shrieking powers that when amassed into a Voltron-like capacity in the stands at a red carpet at maybe a teen choice awards could cause such a sonic blast that would be able to blow a hole through concrete. There is a secondary attack in which all the generally rogue women of the world will form as one moving cerebral sexual unit to lure the man away from the woman.

Thankfully, Kristen Stewart has the want. Kristen Stewart’s want is equally powerful in her ability to push and pull. She can use her want to not only counterattack a sonic screech blast from a gaggle of tweens who have discovered “love” in the form of drunken unwashed Rob, but she can use her want to continue to keep hold onto Rob’s inebriated affection.

Kristen (on her favourite designer): Oh, I don’t know­. Anything that’s beat up. I kind of like to look like a hobo.

Excellent. I too like to dress like a hobo. That is, of course, when I’m not forced to dress in suits. I find that I have two looks: 1. suit and 2. dirty clothes. It is an incredible disparity between what I look like at work and what I look like 5 minutes after I walk in the door from work. Immediately to my room I go, off with the suit (ladies) and on with athletic shorts (perfect to lay around in) and an old t-shirt. It is getting colder so sweat pants counteract that well with a sweatshirt or knit shirt that has sleeves that are too long.

Kristen (on wearing pajamas for so long while filming the movie “Panic Room”): Wearing pajamas for four months was weird, but very comfortable.

I know exactly what she means, but that four months of my life wasn’t called Panic Room. It was called “fall semester of freshman year of college”. Followed by “spring semester of freshman year of college”.

Kristen (on how she started acting): I had to act in a school play when I was about ten years old. I really didn’t want to do it. But everyone had to do it so I didn’t have a choice. A talent agent came and watched it and later gave me some work. It’s funny because I’d always known that I wanted a movie career. I just didn’t think that I would be in the movies.

Our lives are nearly identical. When I was in 7th grade, I acted in a play and I didn’t want to either. It was the Mikado (which I think is pronounced “me-kah-doo”, just a guess) and I played a sort of pivotal role called the MIKADO! Are you fucking kidding me!?! Seriously. It gets better. “Chorus” was mandatory and everyone in “Chorus” had to be in the play. I didn’t want to be in “Chorus” or a play. I’m in 7th grade and I don’t want to memorize the role of the Mikado so I gladly nominate myself to be the Mikado understudy because there was an idiot kid who actually really wanted to play the Mikado. So I thought I was all set just sleeping in class while everyone went around fagging it up in some play, am I right? But how does an understudy of a play in the titular role for a one time performance end up in the performance?

That fucking kid gets so worked up about stage fright that he throws up the whole night before the show and doesn’t show up to school the next day. I hate that fucking kid! So, I get a call telling me guess what? I have to star in the play that I have looked at the script for in the two months or so they’ve been practicing.

Skip to that night. I’m on stage dressed up as the greatest Chinese stereotype with my script in hand while the rest of the morons are running around saying their memorized lines because they were all the kids who wanted to be in the play and they had been rehearsing. I refuse to see the Mikado still to this day because of that night, but all I remember is standing front and center throughout almost the entire thing with the lights shining such a bright white hole into my retinas that I think my natural color balance is still fucked to this day.

There wasn’t a talent scout in the audience that saw me and then thought I should be in the movies. Instead there was my dad who was videotaping it because my mom was busy for the one time in her life to miss this ridiculous experiment. That night before my mom came home, my dad and I taped Arnold Schwarzenegger’s classic True Lies over my Mikado performance thinking we were taping over the blank half of the VHS tape. All true.

These are some great and profound quotes from Kristen, but how do her quotes stack up against one of the greatest quotists of all times: George Bernard Shaw?

“People always get tired of one another. I grow tired of myself whenever I am left alone for ten minutes, and I am certain that I am fonder of myself than anyone can be of another person.”

BORING! I’m bored already.

“Patriotism is your conviction that this country is superior to all others because you were born in it.”

True. The U-S-A is the best, but heard it before. Got any new original ideas Bernie?

“Life isn’t about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.”

Yuck. Tell it to the judge, am I right? Say it, don’t spray it! Am I right? Am I left?

“The secret to success is to offend the greatest number of people”

This I agree with up until the point where I don’t want to be alone for the rest of my life in a mansion full of money and just buying people to entertain me and then sending them away when I’m finished… on second thought that sounds just about perfect! Thanks Georgie.

But I can’t leave off with a slightly stimulating Shaw selection.

Kristen (on pursing acting as a career): I’d like to. But that’s definitely not all I want to do. It’s not the most intellectually stimulating thing that you can possibly do. I want to go to college. I’m going to take four years off. I don’t want to miss that. I want to be a writer. I think that’d be awesome.

Oh naïve Kristen Stewart. College is just an excuse to get crazy drunk and have promiscuous sex with young people while having no responsibilities and acting like an arrogant prick thinking you know all the answers to life’s political/philosophical/religious questions because you took the first round of general requirement classes. Kristen you can do all that and probably do all of that already being an actor. It is pretty similar.

And being a writer? That ain’t awesome. Trust me.

Plus you have a gift to want like no other. Don’t ruin that by going to college. Only those trust fund schmucks, scholarship nerds and steroid injected meathead jocks would be able to bathe in the glow of your want. As an actress we all can sharity in your want charity.

So fuck college. Just make a movie about being in college. That’s probably the same thing at this point anyway. They may even give you an honorary diploma for it.

Take it sleazy

October 27, 2009

So I’m back you motherfuckers, did you miss me?

When I was getting off the LA to Newark plane late last night, the middle-aged man who was sitting next to me said his final words to me, “take it easy”. It made me think how much more I would have loved that man if he had said, “take it sleazy”. What a classy way to say goodbye. “We have not known each other for a long time. In fact, we did not start talking to each other until you were forced to turn your iPod off during our final descent. But we did share common heritage in growing up in New Jersey. You and I had similar beliefs on the weirdness of Californians. We both came to the same conclusion that when living in Los Angeles one must surround themselves with transplants from other major cities instead of meeting actual locals. Lastly, we both agreed that the in-flight movie I Hate Valentine’s Day was an insulting choice by Continental Airlines and we both refused to watch it. And with that I shall bid you adieu; take it sleazy.”

I will do a little bit of a recap of my trip from Friday to Monday. I will focus on some celebrities and people of sorts who I came in contact with and talk about how much they want IT. Before I begin the hilarious observational humor let me begin the beginning by giving a big thank you to the commenters who continued to comment during my much needed absence. Hopefully people will show up to read today and every other day and not think I died en route back to the East Coast. So thank you to the commenters for keeping this blog afloat and to Emma Watson for wanting it. No hyperbolism, you are truly the wind beneath my wings.

For my OCD’s sake, this is all in chronological order and not in order of hilarity. You may edit in your heads or cut and paste into Microsoft Word for better results. Way deep down south, where we play this game. It’s them KSWI Jordans and you, we call it the Want IT train!

Oscar Meyer

He fucking wanted it. When getting on the shuttle destined for Enterprise from the LAX airport, a young woman got on board with two bags: one was a mid-sized rolling carry-on and the other was a purse that was just big enough to house a long haired miniature dachshund appropriately named Oscar Meyer. Get it? Dachshund? Weiner dog? Oscar Meyer? The cleverest. But it did take the Enterprise shuttle driver a good 10 minutes to figure that joke out. I got it instantly *pats himself on the head and gives himself a doggy treat*.  

I did not get the woman’s name who was Oscar’s caretaker, but if there is any chance that she is reading this blog I just wanted to say a couple things. First, you are sooooooo pretty. Really really really pretty. You had such a wonderful smile and disposition. Even though the crazy shuttle lady was saying all these weird things to you and about you, you kept your composure and smile and didn’t fly off the handle like I would have “What!?! What did you say to me shuttle lady!?! I’ll fucking go right now! This is LA, bitch! I get crazy when I’m in different time zones! AHHHH!” But instead you just sat there with your pretty smile, pretty face, pretty long brown hair and a very nice body that would look amazing in a bikini. Oh yeah, and your dog. I love dogs.

Oscar wants it. He kept looking over his shoulder at me with these longing eyes. Probably because he was kept zipped up in a purse with a vent to breathe out of stuck under the seat in front of the pretty lady who had no leg room for 6 hours. He wanted it. He wanted air not filtered through a handbag, he wanted attention, affection, food, water, some place to poop and pee in freedom. Pretty much everything I wanted when I got off that plane plus alcohol. Zing!

In the 5 minutes or so it took to drive from the airport to Enterprise the shuttle driver kept incessantly directing odd inquiries and comments to the pretty woman (I don’t think she was a prostitute, but who really knows in today’s economy) about Oscar. One question/comment was about Oscar liking his ears rubbed. The pretty pretty lady from New York City who lives in the Wall Street area said yes and that Oscar liked to have his belly scratched. And the pretty lady followed that with a coyly “I do too”.

Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god!! If she had turned and winked at me when she said that I probably would have fainted or began a Hulk like transformation “AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I WILL RUB YOUR EARS AND SCRATCH YOUR TUMMY!!!!!!!! MISS PRETTY BLUE EYES!!!!!!!!! JORDAN SMASH!!!!” I probably would have fainted.

Enterprise Rental Car

Holy fuck do these people want it. Jesus, it was awkward in that place. They were the flirtiest flirts who ever flirted. What the eff? It was completely unprofessional and just startling how flirtatious they were. I was scared to ask for a cup of water because I thought they were going to roofie it. There was a slow moving line leading up to a chest high countertop and when you got to the front you were compulsively hit on by some douche bags in cheap suits and then no booze. It was like being at the worst bar ever.

While standing in line, next to pretty lady and Oscar, there were two pretty cute young blondes from Montana at the counter renting cars. Do you want to hear some dudes “spit” some serious “game”? Enterprise by LAX airport is where it’s at. Besides “people watching” which I am Prestige Level Grandmaster at, the best spectator sport is listening to guy’s pick up chicks in odd venues or, better yet, not pick up chicks. So to set this up, each girl was renting a separate car so each had their own weirdly flirty Enterprise guy typing up their information. The guys were seriously acting like they were in a wingman-esque situation where they were picking up chicks in some inebriated social setting.

They were being aggressive and sarcastic. They were trying to play the funny dick role where they are teasing the girls and being suggestive at the same time. Whatever, but you’re renting them a fucking car and I’m standing in line waiting! But these guys weren’t great at it nor were they in a proper situation to be since the lights weren’t low, Black Eyed Peas wasn’t blaring and no one was drunk or at least those two girls weren’t. The best part was when the one guy made a “joke” about not needing a copy of the girl’s driver’s license because he’ll just cut her hand off and keep that. LOL LMAO ROFL. Funny guys! All girls love to hear a good dismemberment joke when they meet a strange guy. I wonder if they met up later and boned because how could she pass on a dreamboat like him.

As for me, I got handshakes, high-fives, old comedy references (“Eh, that’s-uh niiiccee.” I love Borat, but it’s over), but little to no help in using the GPS system. Thanks Enterprise.

Roselyn Sanchez

Roselyn Sanchez wants it. She is also confused why she is standing in line. So is I. While waiting on the “will call” ticket line at the UFC 104 event at the Staples Center, there were a few celebrities that I saw. One was Michael Rapaport, which was not the first time I’ve seen him at a sporting event. I’ve seen him at Knicks games before in New York. I really like Michael Rapaport as an actor and a human being. I think he is funny, genuine, and I like him in about everything I’ve seen him in. On top of that, he was hanging out with some Asians, which is cool. Do your thing Mike.

It wasn’t surprising at all to see him with Asians and/or at a sporting event. I think people of all races are comfortable in Michael Rapaport’s company especially at sporting events. It is pretty obvious at this point that if aliens did land on the planet we would send Barack Obama and U2 to greet them. But if I could suggest another person: Michael Rapaport. I think aliens would find him friendly, humorous and know he wasn’t bullshitting them. Did he want it? Not really.

Either way, did Roselyn Sanchez want it?

Yeah she did. As for the confusion, she was following around some blonde tipped, faux hawk, Hollywood looking pretty boy. It was her, him and some other cute Hispanic chick and he was not waiting in line for his complimentary tickets. She was tiny in person. I wasn’t expecting her to be big, but she was tiny. She was very hot to be expected. More or less the “it” she wanted was direction at that point. Where am I going? Why? What is happening? Why do we keep walking past the same set of lines over and over again? What is cagefighting? Why is that 6’3” guy with wrist tattoos wearing an Arnold Schwarzenegger t-shirt staring and panting at me?

Roselyn definitely wants it in photoshoots. And she seems to want it a good deal on the red carpet too. I have seen my fair share of Without a Trace episodes, my parents seemingly use terrible television shows to deter me from visiting them to get free dinner and laundry, and she wants it on that show. If I was a criminal, I would instantly confess to her or Poppy Montgomery. They just want it and also I really want to please hot chicks in an effort that they feel some pity on me and they decide against all natural reasoning to sleep with me. I am a very complex person.

Roseyln’s want is delicate like the little Hispanic flower that she is. I didn’t even notice her until she was pointed out. I instantly recognized her after that. I’m quick. She didn’t really stand out in the crowd wanting it. But if you caught eyes to her when she looked over her shoulder through her long black hair you would swear you could hear her lightly “Yo quierolo”.

Kristen Stewart’s want isn’t a tulip’s petal dainty touch; Kristen’s want is a fog horn of deafening capacity. If Kristen Stewart was at the Staples Center I would have known. Not because I have some tracking device strategically implanted in one of her molars. Her want would have cleansed all the raging testosterone saturating the air worse than the LA smog. It would have been a bleach soaked wind of want pulsing from Kristen Stewart that singularly focused all attention on her and her alone. At that moment, Kristen Stewart would have addressed the awaiting masses of Tapout t-shirts and steroid muscles and spray on tans and said “What’s up? Where do I pick up my complimentary twitter tickets, dudes? I want them.”


I thought the fights were great on Saturday night. I really had a great time and, thankfully, had great seats which were provided by the UFC in a generous giveaway. Up close, I saw a few of the fighters like Nate Quarry, kind of wanted it, and Krszyszxtofaszx Sosdaysazxnski (sp?) who definitely wanted it. If you watched the fights then you saw Ryan Bader fight Eric Shafer in a pretty great fight. I saw both of them after the fight.

Ryan kind of wanted it, but not what was being given to him. Some “crazy” “lady” tried to give him some of her “beads” and lets just say he wasn’t too into it. You know what works well on websites: inside jokes. Anyway, if he did want those “beads” then he was doing a good job covering it up which is a sign of wanting it less than Kristen Stewart. She can not cover up her want; we’ve all seen her films. Also, it was right after he fought so his want may have been at an all time low because of all the energy he used in beating Eric up pretty easily.

Eric didn’t want it too much either. His face was a little beat up, but he seemed in ok spirits when I saw him on Monday. He was at the TUF 11 tryouts. I’m not sure if he was there to tryout or there to support someone who was. If he was there to tryout then I would bet all the money in the world he’ll be on the next season. He isn’t a “great” fighter, but he’ll smash those guys though. He has good ground game, can take a punch, decent enough stand-up, and will not give up. I didn’t see anyone all that impressive looking at the tryouts minus a small Brazilian who didn’t speak any English and in his 2 minute grappling session he forced the nobody he was rolling with to tap twice in the first minute. I hope that guy is on the show.

I also got to meet the President of the UFC, Dana White. I didn’t get to say to him what I wanted to say which was “PLEASE HIRE ME TO DO ANYTHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” But I did shake his hand and so forth. He was nice and I thanked him for the tickets. Does Dana White want it? Yeah he does. The dude is methodically and ruthlessly tearing apart every other MMA organization. It’s like how Coca-Cola and McDonalds are number 1, but they spend more money on advertising than any other company in their field. Dana White won’t stop expanding the UFC until The Ultimate Fighter 28: USA vs. Mars’ coaches fight for the intergalactic Light-Heavyweight Championship: Lyoto “The Dragon” Machida (naturalized citizen at that point) vs. Gremleck “The Pitbull” Kluntard.

Oscar Meyer

Crazy enough, I saw him again. His handler lady was still as pretty as ever and they were on our return flight. The best part besides noticing her shoulder tattoo peeking out of her shirt, the crazy people on the flight who wouldn’t leave Oscar alone. The funniest part in particular was when the woman sitting behind Oscar noticed him for the first time. It was at the end of the flight right before the final descent. The Captain gets on the PA to tell us to sit in our seats and buckle up and so forth. This lady just noticed there is a dog on the plane and throws caution to the wind to spend time with it. Everyone is sitting with their belts on while the plane is shakily gunning towards the pavement and she is in the middle of the aisle “oh doggie doggie doggieeee!”

Not that I wanted anything bad happen to the plane that I was flying in, but seriously how funny would it have been if they had to make an abrupt stop or change of course and she went tumbling either up or down the aisles.

Plane tickets to LAX from EWR: $298.

Economy parking for four days at EWR: $66

Seeing some jackass go airborne and hurt themselves in aisle of airplane because they just had to say hello to a dog in a purse: PRICE-FUCKING-LESS


October 23, 2009

I may update this as the weekend goes on, but maybe not.

Sleep might be the best thing ever.

Is there a Kristen Stewart drinking game?

If one of the rules was “drink every time Kristen Stewart wants IT”, you would DIE.
I landed and I am alive.

The Enterprise people in LA are real flirty. Not saying it was a bad thing. Guys want to be flirted with too.

WordPress is not making this easy. Posting via the iphone has not been perfected on this blog much like comment placement. My right thumb is already tired, that’s what she said, from typing on this crazy contraption. Nevertheless, I feel comfortable knowing this does not impede my use of language and grammar no matter how much auto-correct tries to thwart me. I may be the first and only iPhone user to type “thwart” or then quote it. Thwarted motherfuckers!

My life is tough. I spent the last 4 hours in a heated pool.

Music choices on the plane flight:

The new Flaming Lips album is miraculous. Then a bunch of random oldies I love like Doolittle by The Pixies, Renegades of Funk by Rage Against the Machine and more new Flaming Lips. So good.

Anyway, it is almost 1am and I feel comforted that even though I am going to sleep in a strange bed that where ever Kristen Stewart is in this world that she wants it. And when I wake up she’ll still want it. No rest for the weary and no off-peak hours for KS.

Kristen Stewart wants it.


Saturday edition –

The Crow = phenomenal. Unforgiven = phenomenal.

I’m not sure how much the two overlap in story. Eric Draven is pushed for vengeance because he was murdered and his soon-to-be wife was raped and murdered as well. Munny and Ned go to kill the cowboys for money and minor moral retribution because they weren’t big fans of some guy getting away with cutting up a prostitute.

Also, Eric/The Crow is gung-ho on his vengeance campaign. Munny and Ned are not. The Crow takes a sadistic pleasure in the butchering of Top Dollar’s crew. Where as Bill and Ned nearly are crying killing the two cowboys. The other cowboys and Little Bill are killed by Munny when he is drunk. The Crow theoretically could be considered drunk on his new found powers.

The Enterprise guys were guys by the way.

More maybe later.

It is so early! Did anyone know the world even existed this early in the morning? This may sound a little conceited or egotistical or solipsistic, but I was pretty sure that everything in the world closed when I went to sleep. Technically, I’m sleep walking/typing right now because of how ungodly early it is and Dunkin’ Donuts was still somehow open. God bless those poor sons of bitches that made me a large coffee, bacon/egg white/cheese wrap, hash browns and, I finally caved, a PUMPKIN MUFFIN!

I am saving that muffin to eat in a couple hours. I’m hoping *fingers crossed* that the pumpkin will act as a sort of …. Cocaine … to keep me awake. I’m so effin’ tired. I may try to snort the muffin threw a rolled up Hamilton. That would be such a waste though. It is so big and sticky and sweet and I just want to wrap my hands around the base of it and shove the big head of it in my mouth. Pumpkin muffins, that’s what she said.

So today is supposedly “aggressive Thursday”, which has to be the dumbest blog promotion of all time. And today, I’m not sure how aggressive I am. I am really sweepy (not a typo). I just need rest! If I’m aggressive about anything it is that I’m so fucking tired. Also, I didn’t receive any bikini pictures yesterday. I’m pretty pissed about that.

There are several topics I feel like touching upon. Actually screw that. I’m too tired to “touch upon”. Maybe I can just lie upon these topics and after a couple minutes fall asleep on top of these topics or at least next to them. Maybe the topics can just touch upon me as I sleep. I’ll sign some statement saying it was consensual. I won’t claim rape on you topics. I don’t know how much longer my limbs will be active. My brain has stopped sending signals to my legs, so my arms cannot be too far behind. So I’ll just nap next to these topics. I’m losing all my energy now just imagining if I was asleep. I can’t control my jaw anymore. It is just hanging open and my tongue is just hanging out along with it. Maybe I’ll just lick these topics.

There are several topics I feel like licking upon today, so let’s get ‘er done!


You fucking bastards!!!!!!

T’WAS Haikus killed my PArents!!!!!!


Where are you going KSWI Jordan?

I’m taking a jet plane to the mythical land of milk and honey and smog: Los Angeles. This will not be my first time in LA and, most likely, not my last. I actually lived in Los Angeles for a little bit and I’ve visited there on half a dozen occasions. I will be attending a special gala of sorts. It is an event of the utmost glamour and sophistication. Some would say it will be as intellectually stimulating as a fantastical meeting at the acropolis with Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Ptolemy, Julius Caesar, Augustus, Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan, Marco Polo, Sun Tzu, Leonardo da Vinci, Leo Tolstoy, Thomas Jefferson, Teddy Roosevelt, Jim Jarmusch, Michael Irvin, John Fogerty et cetera and me. Of course, I am referring to UFC 104: Lyoto Machida vs. Mauricio Rua.

CAGE FIGHTING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I have mentioned before my love of all things mixed, martialed, and artsed. I will be attending this event to watch the raucous octagonal fisticuffs as well as some other activities on the left coast. This is why there will be no posts on tomorrow and Monday or maybe very small posts. I feel it necessary to at least show you the men who are causing your duress. Wer ist Machida? Qui est Rua? De donde es la biblioteca?

Light-Heavyweight Championship (205 pounds) – Lyoto Machida (c) vs. Mauricio Rua

The Challenger:

Mauricio “Shogun” Rua is good looking.

That’s why you all should care. If I had to say, actually, I don’t have to say anything – I want to say it. I say that Roger Huerta and Mauricio Rua are the two best looking guys in Mixed Martial Arts. Not only are they good looking, but they are great fighters which makes it a lot less awkward for me being a fan of both of them. “Shogun” is one of my favorite fighters. He is wildly exciting, he can be brutally violent and when he smiles it makes my heart flutter.

Hypothetically, if someone asked me how I think Mauricio Rua’s day-to-day life should be when he is not training for a fight I would paint them this picture. I think “Shogun” has sex with multiple women at a time on top of a giant bed purely comprised of women he has already had sex with. That’s how good looking of a man I believe “Shogun” is. I’m just saying.

The Champion:

Lyoto “The Dragon” Machida drinks his own piss.

That’s why you all should care. Lyoto is also one of the most amazing fighters ever. He is undefeated, he has never looked like he was losing any fight, he is fast as lightning and he is a strategic mastermind. It is really hard to imagine him losing. He picks apart his opponents like a game of chess. He is an enigma in both style and in ability. And as mentioned and shown, he drinks his own piss. That picture is of Lyoto and his father with what I’m guessing is warm glasses of their own urine.

Urine therapy is surprisingly more popular than you would think. Although I’m assuming you assume most people don’t drink their own urine. Yes, “urine therapy” is a classy ass term for drinking your own tinkle, pee pee, golden residue. It is not massaging urine into your skin, taking urine baths, or talking about your inner most feelings to a big bowl of your piss. But for a person who does drink the stuff, I couldn’t imagine that other nonsense would be too far behind. I really don’t care about whether urine therapy works or not, my question is what do the chicks think?

Most decisions a guy makes in life revolve around whether or not this affects me getting laid. What about urine therapy? Would a chick hook-up with a guy who drinks his own urine? I mean Lyoto is a phenomenal fighter, in amazing shape, the pride of the fighting world, a champion in his own weight class, he is making more money each and every fight, but his breath may stink of asparagus penis water. So who would do a guy who drinks his own piss? And better yet, how nuts are the girls who would? Who is crazier?

Don’t You Dare Call It “Frisco”

I will be in California, but no where near San Francisco, but I really want to talk about something that involves San Francisco. If only I had a blog that let me talk about anything I want no matter how off topic it is. Oh wait. I do have a blog. A bunch of ladies read it for no apparent reason every day even though I write about nothing that interests them. What a coup!?!

If/when I become the Emperor of the United States, did you know I would be the second?

Joshua Norton the very first. He was the first self proclaimed Emperor of the United States. What a fabulously true individual. Born in England and moved to the US in the late 1840’s, Joshua Norton was batshit insane. How lovely? Norton wasn’t always coo coo bananas. At one time he was a “business man”. But he made some bad investments in Peruvian rice and we all know how that inevitably turns out. Ker-ay-zee.


In 1859, Norton declared himself the Emperor of the United States. He sent letters to the local newspapers with this decree. At the time, he was a typical mentally unstable vagrant of the San Francisco bay community. But he had vision and apparently the title of Emperor. And he took the position remarkably serious. And so did the people of San Francisco.

The amazing thing is that the people of San Francisco loved Norton. Seriously, why wouldn’t you? But this is a strange world so it isn’t guaranteed what people will or will not like. They loved Norton though. He was the bestest crazy local celebrity. He was given that uniform by an American Army post. He would wear it around San Francisco inspecting the city. Cable cars, streets, the police officers. He would write decrees about what should be done in local politics or how the United States Congress should be taken by force. Some of his decrees were more lucid and talked of building a bridge to connect Oakland and San Francisco which did in fact get built. Norton was also well known for public speeches or at least ranting in the streets to anyone who would listen.

He also developed his own form of currency which people accepted. Pretty much everyone just let him do what he wanted. He ate for free, people gave him clothes and so forth. He also was a forward thinker about race and ethnicity. He believed in the integration of the burgeoning Asian population in San Francisco and later would add the title of “Protector of Mexico” to being the Emperor. He was even immortalized in literature as the inspiration for “The King” in Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. I know that one, but I just read that Robert Louis Stevenson also wrote about him and so did his stepdaughter. So that’s cool.

In 1880, Emperor Norton died literally on the streets of San Francisco. He collapsed on his way to giving a lecture. There are many rumors surrounding who Norton actually was. Some rumors mention royal lineage to foreign countries and unimaginable wealth. But he died a poor man and at first was going to be given a poor man’s funeral. A local businessman’s club raised money for a proper funeral for our first and only Emperor. Apparently, upwards of 30,000 people lined the streets to pay respect. And his grave to this day is marked “Norton I, Emperor of the United States and Protector of Mexico”.  

I can’t give my teachers credit for me knowing any of that. All credit goes to Neil Gaiman and his genius graphic novel The Sandman and, of course, the interwebz.

Other People Are Funny


I had mentioned before that I wanted to do an article on how Jessica Alba wants IT… sometimes, but her ass wants it all the time. Life magazine didn’t do that article, but their “Jessica Alba is bored” article is pretty funny.

It’s so true. In photoshoots, she looks hot and wants it because she is supposed to – that’s what she is getting paid to do. But most of the time Alba looks completely unenthusiastic. That’s the whole point of KSWI, I can’t find any moments even for a split second where Kristen Stewart doesn’t look like she wants it.

I could lie to you. I could only cherry pick images of people wanting it, but at some point that game would end. People would start flooding the comments section and my email box not with witty haikus or telling me they want to fuck me or bikini pictures. It would be pictures of that person not wanting it. That can’t happen with Kristen Stewart. She just wants it. All the time. Every time. We’re all here to laugh, but it is the damn truth! Kristen Stewart wants IT.

Kristen Stewart wants it like a great ball of fire that engulfs the world into a raging inferno of catastrophic proportions that incinerates the walls of your office and stops inches from your face and lowers its temperature not to burn you, but just to keep you a little warm and then you reach out and grab a handful of it and it is soft to the touch like a big comforter and you pull yourself onto it and wrap the excess of it around you like a cocoon and you sleep. Oh God, I want sleep.

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