Humma Kavula!

That's right. I watched the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy ... again ... this week. I believe that's my 50th viewing or so. I'm not proud. I just can't get enough of that flick - Sam Rockwell cracks me up. I'm humming the theme song right now ... so long, thanks for all the fish! And all you yahoos that want to tell me how much better the book is, put a sock in it. I'm even thinking of using "Humma Kavula!" as my new phrase for excitement. You've been warned.

Another phrase that needs to be used more ... "not for nuttin'." Here are some examples of use:

Not for nuttin', but your chocolate is in my peanut butter.
Not for nuttin', but I just dropped my crack pipe and a cop picked it up.
Not for nuttin', but your ass is on fire ... literally.
... and so forth. Get started.

Haven't done this in awhile ... let's have some fun with junk emails!

- Got an email from someone named "Vinyl Siding". I deleted it, because I don't know anyone by that name. I can assure you, however, that if I did know someone by that name, I'd tease them endlessly about it. Unless they were huge. Or a hot woman. Or both.

- Got an email from some person with the subject "Wanna F#ck?" I'm not really sure what this f#ck is, but I'm guessing maybe it's feck, and the # was a typo. Now I just have to figure out what feck means, to determine if it's something I want to do with this random, unknown emailer. Feckin-A.

So, I have this fake fishtank sorta thing on my desk. It's got bubbles and a couple of fake fish in it and some other nonsense, and the fish float around and around. It's quite the scene. The beauty is the other day, someone came up and told me they thought there were real fish in there. Um, the huge pink seahorse and the shark with the smiley face didn't give it away? I mean, I can understand them thinking that maybe the 4" dolphins were real, but c'mon. Nimbitz.

Strangely enough, I don't have much for a weekend recap. I didn't go out on Saturday, I chilled in DC with some friends on Friday, and Sunday it rained ... and then it rained some more ... and finally, it rained. I absolutely love rain, and I'm sick of rain. I won't even watch Rain Man. Yeah, definitely won't watch Rain Man. Yeah. 'Course, I'm an excellent swimmer.

How's this for pathetic ... lots of people sit in front of their sets and watch TV. I sit in front of my basement stairs and watch kittens. I just spent 20 minutes watching them eat and fall asleep. What entertainment! We're under 3 weeks and counting for the Weekend of the Great Capture. I like to be overly dramatic. I'm also going to miss the Cracker show in DC because it's the same night as Capture Night. Dag. Luckily, my boys are coming to Annapolis to toss their hillbilly slangish country-rock ditties around. Woot!

They have some new sorta Reese's out now ... it's in bar shape or something. Ok, basically, the Reese's conglomerate could mold their peanut butter cups into any shape, and I'd likely eat it. Roseanne's ass. A bug. Steven Tyler's nostil hair. It doesn't matter - if it has the name Reese's on it, I have to try it. Ridiculous.

Ok, so it's not exactly a secret that I'm a little wacked. But, I think I'm taking it to a whole new extreme. This was the song in my head when I woke up on Wednesday:

That coyote is really a crazy clown,
When will he learn he never can mow him down?

That's right, people. I had the theme song to the Road Runner cartoon in my head. Are you friggin' kiddin' me? Let's move on ... quickly.

Got woken up by some serious thunder last night. At one point, it was so loud that I thought Roseanne and Louie Anderson were having sex while falling down the stairs somewhere. There's your visual for the day. You're welcome.

I got my Verizon Wireless bill, and it's a little disturbing. I went over my text message allotment by 500 ... and I have 1000 in the allotment. 'Course, being the stats geek I am, I had to crunch some numbers. That's around 375/week, which is over 50 a day. Um ... yeah. Maybe I should work on my interpersonal relationships more ... or make actual phone calls. Funny thing is, when I got the phone, I laughed when they asked me if I wanted texting ability. My response? Why do I need text messaging when I can just call the person? D'oh!

But, on that note, fun with text messages! This was my personal favorite from the past weekend. Please note that the sender lives in Brewer's Hill and the Domino's sign is on the other side of the harbor, for those of you not familiar with (C)harm City:

I'm behind the domino sign ... And I not swim home

Classic.

The Saturday recap involves one word - Goutfest! What's Goutfest, you ask? I'm glad you did. Let's see if I can describe it. I have a good buddy who is quite possibly the tallest Filipino I've ever known - I think he's around 6'3". It's kinda like a fat Asian dude with red hair - pretty rare. Anyway, apparently, he has issues with gout, and he gets gout (or "dagout" as we like to call it) from eating too much salty food and drinking too much booze. Therefore, Goutfest is born. It's basically a party where he does all the evil stuff he's not supposed to do.

This was also an anniversary of sorts for me. At last year's Goutfest, I ended up in the back seat of my car with this toasty woman for an extended makeout session ... at 5 pm or so ... and I wasn't even drunk. People were walking into the party and noting that we were outside getting it on. I'm quite proud. 'Course, I sent her a text to note the anniversary.

Fur update ... the shorties have taken to growling when I pick them up. Doesn't make them any scarier, just funnier. We're 3 weeks from trapping weekend, which should be a rocking good time. Oof. As a bonus, Cracker (that's Cracker, not Uncle Kracker, damnit!) is coming to the 9:30 Club the night of the trapping. Dag.

I have a new insult word, since dorknerd didn't seem to take off. Nimbitz! It's a cousin of nimrod. I might have to do a focus group to see if it catches on.

The Aqua Bar has re-opened! If you dunno, that's the club in my gym that's cheesier than a piece of cheese ... with nacho sauce on it ... in a vat of cheese ... hmm ... ok, this isn't really working. Anyway, it's a Jabroni-fest in there. The funny thing is, there's this hecka hot that wants to go there with me, and I might have to oblige. I'd swim through cheese for a hecka hot. Another visual for ya.

Weekend coming! You've been warned!

That's right, it's 8:19 in the AM, and I'm writing a blog. I came very close to BWI last night ... that would be Blogging While Intoxicated ... but I became more interested in the pizza pretzel I was holding. The pizza pretzel - ruining men's concentration for decades!

Dunno if I have much of a recap from last night, cuz it was kinda boring. Apparently, Steve, the bartender at Portside, has taken every hot woman over the age of 25 to Dewey with him. And the next time it's College Night at Claddaugh's, could someone warn me? What's that? It's every night? Oh. That explains it.

So, a few weeks ago, the question was asked - do you drink in the shower? My response? Um, is there a better time to drink? I thought about doing the "does the Pope wear a funny hat?" thing, but I don't think the Pope's hat is all that funny. If he wore a floppy hat, that would be a funny hat. Kinda like a Gilligan Goes To Church sorta motif. Where was I? Ah, yes, the shower. Put on a playlist in iTunes and you can have a full party in there, I'm telling ya.

Let's go to the notes from last night:

"Burly dude singing It's Tricky" ... this was at Portside. There's this burly dude ... didn't I just say that? ... who knew every single word and was shoutin' it out. He's also pasty white, and generally wears a hat backwards, which just adds to the comedy.

"Pixie stix equals 69" ... you read that right. I have no idea. I think that might be from a few weeks ago. I wish I could remember, because it sounds like a load of fun! I mean, I like pixie stix and I like ... um, let's just move on.

"RHCP - Hey" ... go get the Peppers song Hey. Yes, yes, I know, you used to like them and now you don't and all that nonsense. Just do it. Trust me. It's mofo groovy.

So, I'm working my keister off trying to find a TNR program around here. That stands for Trap and Release, which is basically trapping a feral cat, having it spayed/neutered, then releasing it. Is there a more perfect program for people? Tom Cruise, front and center! I mean, he won't have any more offspring, it's likely he'll stay off of Oprah's couch, and he can still play himself in movies. Perfect.

Since Cherie couldn't seem to get this right last night, I've got a question for the dudes. I guess this could work for the women, too ... here it is. You're in a bar, you're drunk, and you see someone you dig. Would you prefer that person to be stone sober, as drunk as you, or hammered? Yes, this is a test and yes, you will be graded.

Worst commercial ever ... there's this Pepto Bismol one with these rappin' sorta dudes, and they're doing that stupid nauseau, upset stomach, diarre ... diarea ... I can't even spell diarrhea. Anyway, it's so damned bad it's hilarious. It's like I got into a time machine, went back to the movie Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo, and someone has an upset stomach in it. Actually, that was likely most of the crowd after viewing the movie. And yes, I did see Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo ... in the theaters no less. I'm quite proud.

Yeah, yeah, everyone wants the blog. Well, I done been busy, people! I have cat duties, doncha know.

Ok, so updates on the furry situation. Everyone's doing well. Mom's cool with me picking them up and handling them, Dad checks in every now and then, and the li'l midgets are as cute as ... well, as cute as kittens. Duh. They're little tough guys, too. Went to pick them up for the first time, and they all hissed at me. Heh. They're like tiny little water sprinklers. Guess I'm sorta like Godzilla, considering their size and mine. Well, Godzilla without the bad breath and a few less scales.

There are pics of the whole family here if you're interested.

Speaking of cats, that's part of the reason why I've been limping all week. Looks like Blimpy and I have something in common ... except he doesn't limp anymore and I think he eats better than I do. Anyway. Had a couple two/three/five/seven drinks in me last Saturday, and I decided to leave the house via the back door to check on the furs on the way out. Realized after I closed the back door that I forgot something, so I had to go around to the front (I only have a key for the front door - brilliant!). Now, here comes the fun.

I realize when I get to the front door that I've locked the screen door, so I have to break into my own house. Imagine someone my size climbing into the front window of a row home. The great part is not one of my neighbors noticed. If there are any criminals reading this, just ignore that part.

As I get in the window, I jump down and twist my ankle on the landing. I guess I should re-think my career as a gymnast. It hurt. A lot. Even drunk. Never a good sign. So, I'm sitting on the floor grimacing, and the motion detector goes off. Unfortunately, I didn't have a stick in my eye to complete the annoying and painful trifecta. Instead of turning off the alarm, I crawled over to the bottle of Captain and made another drink. Priorities, people!

Another beauty from Saturday night came when I looked at my credit card statements this week. I managed to spend no less than $40 in 4 different establishments. I mean, I go out alone! What the ... ? I do remember buying drinks for the hot chick from the gym and her friend, and I bought a drink for another hottie from the gym and ... uh ... her other friend. Hmm ... I think we have figured out the problem here. I need to stop going to the gym. Problem solved!

Had a softball game Sunday, and I played like Roseanne on crack. Bleh. After it was mercifully over, we went to the Federal Hill Whatever-They-Decided-To-Call-This-Week's-Festival ... uh, festival. I managed to see not one, but two of my exes while I was there. Fabulous. Hey, at least the ice cold stares cooled me down on a hot day. I also saw this hecka hottie who is a friend of a friend (who is also the world's worst wingman, so I'll never meet this woman), who has the same name as a classmate from high school. Kinda threw me for a minute.

Those things are also awesome for people watching. What I saw:

- a dude who looked like a cross between Howard Stern and Ric Ocasek ... very handsome
- lots of boobs ... well, no surprise there ...
- a woman with a shirt on that said "What the duck?" that cracked me up for some reason. Ok, so it was the hot friend of a friend that was wearing it.
- a girl who supposedly looks like Lindsay Lohan ... problem is, I don't know what Lindsay Lohan looks like ... makes it a little tough to compare, doncha know
- Mariah Carey ... I swear it was her in disguise ... see, the best disguise for someone famous is to go somewhere random like that and make yourself look not quite like yourself

By the by, speaking of Mariah Carey, she's lost a ton of weight ... I wonder if she's lost a ton of crazy, too, cuz she's bonkers. Not that that's a bad thing ... the crazy ones are the best in ... um, ah, never mind.

A'ight, so I know ya'll tune into this nonsense to hear all kinds of stupid stuff about me being drunk and ... uh ... stupid. But, I have big news today ...

I had kittens!

Well, ok, actually Squibble had kittens. I noticed she was putzing around my basement stairs quite a bit, so I took a peek down there, and three pairs of eyes were looking back. Apparently, she's been getting busy with another local stray, who I haven't named. Let's see ... he's black and he limps ... we'll call him Blimpy. Gotta give him props ... not many dudes can get action with a limp like that.

The kittens are the cutest, too. Well, duh. What kittens aren't cute? Mmm, well, those hairless ones are a little wiggy, but the ones with fur are all cool. Two black, one gray tabby.

Ok, enough smarm talk ... on to the recap! Started out at Bay Cafe, where I had to watch two of my friends eat non-de-veined shrimp. Bleh! I haven't been able to do that since that scene in Tommy Boy. Yeah, that one. You know the one I'm talking about.

I also was informed by the Hot Neighbor that I apparently used a line on one of her friends in a bar. The line? I asked her if she was on Myspace. See, the thing is, I ... don't ... use ... lines. If I ask if you are on Myspace, it's cuz I think you're on Myspace. If I ask if you washed your pants in Windex, cuz I can see myself in them ... um ... never mind.

Get this ... I managed to get drunk at the BC. Shocker! From there, went up to Granite, which is quickly becoming a favorite joint of mine to chill. As a bonus, this hottie from the gym that I kinda dig was there. It turns out I've been pronouncing her name wrong. I'm thinking I'm just going to start calling the women in my life by numbers, because either I get names wrong, misprounounce them, or forget them. Flooey.

So, I'm trying to talk to hottie, and this incredibly drunk dude keeps trying to talk to me. Um, hello? I know guys are dopes, but this is beyond dumb. At the least, c-block me and talk to the females. Needless to say, I got pretty much nowhere with hottie.

From there to Claddaugh where there were more hot women from the gym. Apparently, it was Hot Women From The Gym Night, and no one informed me. Dangit. I took a quick dive into Portside ... which I'm sure will shock you. At PS, I met this attractive woman and got her number, which is in the 302 area code. Um. Right. I have no clue where that is. For all I know, she lives on Mars. As a bonus, all I remember of her is (1) she's hot and (2) she's kinda tall. Allrighty then!

This just in ... the finest frozen pizza in the world is Totino's. The only problem is it takes a whole 12 minutes to make them, and that's something like 8 hours in drunk time. See if you can guess what my late night snack was. As a bonus, I also managed to get pizza crumbs all over the house. I'm still finding them - in the bed, on the couch, in my hair. Crimeny. I also managed to fall asleep without locking the door or turning on the alarm. Pure genius!

By the by, I'm not a big fan of my future wife Fiona's new CD, but Get Him Back is fantastic. Pure Fiona ... she's an evil little vixen, that one. Just in case you were wondering.

Went to the gym today. I'm shooting hoop and the hecka hot from the last blog decides to shoot as well. Needless to say, I couldn't make anything. Crimeny. I think I was blinded by her hotness ... or something like that. Fortunately, she wears very little clothing in there, and it's usually something tight, which really helps.

3 hours to shampoo buzz time!

So, I took a spin class tonight. I haven't taken one in some time because they all seem to play the same music. It's like some rule that they are all required to play certain tunes:

- That one Beyonce song
- That tune that sings about all the great bands from the 80s and 90s, which is sung by some band that can't hold a candle to any of them
- "old school" rap, which no one listened to back when rap was popular
- Green Day
- this one song that you'll only hear if (1) you're in a spin class or (2) you're in an X club ... I'd post the words for ya, but there aren't any

So, anyway, I'm in there, and I realize that I also forgot about the Hoot Owls. What are those, you ask? Well, you might not have asked, but I'm gonna tell. The Hoot Owls do this during the class:

Woot!
Yeah!
Hooah!
Yip!
Etc.

I'm not much of a Hoot Owl. I pretty much just watch the clock and wonder how much longer I have to listen to bad music. But, if I were to become one, I think I'd prefer my own twist on the hoots:

Flib!
Dooz!
Quilp!
Brap!

Now, THAT would be a fun spin class. Trust me. Try it out the next time you're in a bar, and you'll see. I might also be able to get a second job as an expressions writer for the new Batman show ... if there was a new Batman show. There should be. So there.

For you Seinfeld fans, the instructor at one point said "it's go time!" I was half expecting Mr. Mandelbaum to come walking in.

Another beauty is that some of the instructors like to sing along with the song. When I was in college, we had a great setup for people that did that.

We: Hey, who sings this song?
Singin' Fool: Um, Green Day
We: Right. Hey, why doncha let THEM sing it!?

I've also noticed two interesting patterns of behavior in the gym.

(1) Seems that the larger a woman's breasts, the more trouble she has with keeping her hair in a bun or scrunchy. It's fascinating. Apparently, the largeness of the breasts pull on the hair or something. I haven't quite figured out the physics yet, but it's an important project, and I'm the man for the study. What's that? Oh, you think they might want to draw attention to their chest? What an interesting concept! Give yourself a gold star!

(2) There's this hecka hot in there, and she's got hair that's a bit below her shoulders. For some reason, she always seems to be pushing it back, as if it's in her face, although it doesn't seem to be in her face, if you know what I mean. What's that? Oh, you think that's related to your solution for situation #1? Interesting theory. Another gold star for you, fine reader!

So, I'm in a bit of a quandry. It's confirmed that Chrissy Hot has moved into my neighborhood. So, now I have the Hot Neighbor and the Chrissy Hot Neighbor. I'm so confused!

Speaking of the HN, I'm trying to get her to take in the latest stray that has moved into my back yard. I've named him Squibble ... although he complains so much, I should probably call him Quibble. His currently resides on the stairs to my basement. No luck yet on getting him in the HN's house.

Oddness - I like the Joaquin Phoenix version of Get Rhythm better than the Johnny Cash version. It's only a matter of time before I get struck down by lightning, I'm tellin' ya.

One of the finer inventions ever - yoga pants for women. Yumma. Humma. I'd put that invention right above Funyons and just below Pez on the brilliant inventions list. I might have to put chandalier and hoop earrings fairly high on the list as well.

Is it just me, or does anyone else think the AFLAC duck needs some anger management courses? I mean, I know it's a sucky gig being an insurance salesman (uh, salesduck?), but chill the frick out.

Here's a tip for the dudes ... jumping rope with boxer briefs on is not a good idea. For you larger up top ladies, it's similar to jogging without a bra. Not so good. All boys in that area were not too happy after the festivities were over.

Haven't done this in a bit ... slogan time!

Atlantic City ...
... we're the Jersey version of Las Vegas
... if you love multiple burning sensations, come see us!
... we've thought about changing our name to Jabroni-ville
... come see Donald Trump's hair!

As for Myspace ... what's creepier than stalkers? 18 year old girls pretending to be freaks in bed! I've gotten teen chick spam every day this week. I even responded to one for funs. Here's the noise ... oh, and this li'l girl claimed to be 24. Right.

"Well, the honorable Elijah Muhammad (whose best known conversion was Malcolm X) has stated that the perfect age for a man's mate is 1/2 his age + 7 years. Let's see ... 38/2 = 19 + 7 = 26. Guess you'll have to write back in 4 years! Thanks for the email, and g'luck!"

I haven't heard back from her since. I thought women dug it when nerds talked math and Muslim stuff! Another tremendous opportunity missed.

Totally forgot about this. On Friday, I'm in Portside, and this dude is making out with this chicky by the back door. I happen upon the same dude a little later, and apparently, he blew the deal! I mean, if you're making out with someone in the bar, it's pretty much impossible to blow that. You either have to (1) kiss a guy or (2) admit that you listen to Rush Limbaugh or (3) kiss Rush Limbaugh. I mean, that's the fumble of all fumbles. Jeez.

Went to Red Star for dinner the other night. The dinner was ok, but that's not what's important here. What's important is my only other memory of the joint. I was there a number of years back, when it was a dive bar, and I remember it because my date gave me kind of half of a strip tease dance in the back of the bar. Yeah, these are the things I remember. I can't remember if I've paid the phone bill, but I remember this woman stuffing her bra in my jeans. Explains a lot, doesn't it?

I may have mentioned this before, but I can't get past Rounders if it's on TV. I think I'm about to hit the 50 mark for number of times I've watched it. Along those lines, is there a cooler movie than Ocean's Eleven? Fuhgedaboudit.

Ok, go download some Replacements. Can't Hardly Wait and Alex Chilton are good choices for singles, for CDs go with Pleased To Meet Me or Don't Tell A Soul. Just do it. Trust me. One of the finer unsung band of the 80s/90s.

Yum! I feel like a hundred bucks ... in Canadian money. I'm not even sure if that makes sense.

I've stayed in a few Fridays in the past, and there's never anything on TV. Zip. Absolute bupkis. So, I'm flipping channels last night before I head out and I about fell out. Check out this friggin' line up of movies last night.

Silence of the Lambs
Being John Malkovich
This is Spinal Tap
Hoosiers
Goodfellas
Back to the Future
Dazed and Confused

My response? Jump back! I can't even find a good half-assed porno when I stay in, and that's the lineup when I go out. Bloody hell.

So, before I head out, I get a call from my boy Chunky, and he's all fired up. Why? He decided to TIVO Happy Days, and he ended up getting the episode where the Fonz jumps the shark! Nice! Yes, we are a couple of sots. Go look that word up - you'll like it.

Ok, first of all, let's get some business out of the way. I was informed last night by "V" that I shouldn't use the real names for "V" and "A" in the blog, I should just use their initials. "V" told me this because "A" was afraid that if she told me (I guess I shall be referred to as "J" from this point on), I'd get mad.

Hmm ... I have a better idea ... how 'bout if I don't write about "V" or "A" at all anymore? Done and done! Men are from Mars ... we solve problems. Or is that Venus? I could toss in a Uranus joke here, but I won't. That li'l pissin' hot dog Meano is still fair game, though ... at least until the scar he gave me goes away. So there. Friggin' hot dogs!

So, I'm in Portside last night, and I run into Chrissy Hot and her dude Scott. We get to yappin' about the usual nonsense - how hot Chrissy is, Scott and I talk gym talk, how hot Leah Hot is, etc. ... it's pretty deep stuff - and then we start talking about where we live. Cue the Twilight Zone music! CH lives all of 100 feet from me, and she's been there for a couple of months. Apparently, my nose for hot chicks isn't working any more, because I could throw a piece of beef jerky and hit her house. That, or maybe it doesn't work on unavailable hot chicks. Hmm.

I also committed a lovely faux pax. I haven't the slightest idea if that's spelled right. How about this - I also committed a stupid. Better. Anyway. So, I'm talking to CH and I notice a ring on her left hand, index finger, and I ask her about it. She tells me something about it (I can't really remember what she said, I was busy watching some woman dance, and I can't do two things at once), and I mention that the rest of the fingers on her hand are ring free ... right in front of Scott. Whoops! I think I owe Scott a case of drinks the next time I see him. Stupid me!

I also found out that sometimes "heavily involved" = married. Um. Yeah. Here's a tip, chicks ... don't be afraid to tell me you're married BEFORE we start making out. Or even after. Or in between. Seems like a simple concept to me. I'm not so good at turning "heavily involved" into married with my pea brain. In fact, I don't think much at all when kissing practice is a possibility.

Portside was a tad rough last night. There were some extremely drunk people in there, and I wasn't one of them ... which makes Jack grumpy sometimes. To pile on, it started to rain oceans, so no new people were coming in to entertain me. To pile further, some hottie that I once practiced my kissing skills with apparently went temporarily blind and couldn't find me in there, as I found out later via text. Cripes.

Here's some logic ... what's a good tip on an $18 tab? Hey, how about $25!? Double cripes! No wonder Bo shook my hand before I left. The beauty of this is that I've set a precedent, and it's very hard to go back from tipping like that. I'm rarely mistaken for smart, doncha know.

So, here lies the epitome of my life. I'm at Portside, it's pouring rain, I'm bored, and it's getting close to closing, and 47 minutes later I'm 30 miles away walking someone's dog ... in the pouring rain ... and they aren't even home yet. At least I got a shower out of the ordeal ... eventually.

What's the protocol when you accidently break someone's bed in the middle of funnin' around? Are you obligated to replace the bed? Important things going on here.

The first 6 songs of the new Chili Peppers CD are fantastic. I haven't the slightest idea about the other ... uh ... 18 or so songs on the thing. Dag ... whatever happened to make an album with 10 tracks? Pearl Jam ... Ten. Easy peasy. I feel like I'm doing homework when I go to listen to the RHCP's new stuff.

I got tickets to the Foo Fighters acoustic show in DC in August. Let the jealousy pour over you and embrace it! Ha! Stay tuned while I get bird flu the week before the show.

Finkle. You heard me right. I said Finkle. Mmm, maybe I spelled it wrong. Finkel? Yup, that's the first thing I wanted to write for this go-round.

Ok, let's talk King Kong. The movie, that is. I watched it this week. I say week because I think the running time on it is somewhere around 2.3 months. Is there anything worse than a 3+ hour movie that could easily be an hour shorter? Cripes.

So, anyway, here's my thing about this flick. So, Kong does all this dumb stuff, like climb the Empire State Building, which essentially gets him killed, because he's in love? Um, no. If any other dude did dumb stuff like this, everyone would say we're "thinking with the little head." Yet Kong gets off the hook. Nonsense!

And don't give me that noise about love. We all know that if Kong was anywhere near Naomi Watts' size, he'd have tried to boink her. He'd be in some bar, thumping his chest, throwing down shots like nobody's business, and buying her drinks. You know it. I know it. So it is.

I love stuff like this. I'm in the WalMart Vision Center (that's right ... nothing but the best for my eyes - it's no wonder I get beer goggles!), and there's a sign that reads "we except all major insurance." Hmm ... except? Except what?

Another. I'm driving home from the gym last night, and it's about 8:15. It's a friggin' monsoon - lightning, thunder, the works. On the radio, I hear a reporter note that there's a Severe Weather Warning until 8:00 for Baltimore City. Uh ... is that Pacific time?

My DSL went down for a bit last night. It was a little bizarre. I had to go old school for my porn, magazine style. I felt like I was living in a log cabin or something.

The furballs are back in hell. I feel so badly for them when it gets toasty like this. The Fat One will spread out as much as possible on the floor. It's like a living bearskin rug or The Blob has invaded my house. They also triple the amount of fur that flies off their bodies as well. Nuttin' better than hopping out of the shower and immediately being furred.

Living alone is great ... except when you get out of the shower and realize you forgot to get a towel. Sort of a helpless feeling, standing there dripping away. The cats use this as a chance to cruise by the door and snicker. Twerps.

I woke up this morning with "Elvira" by the Statler Brothers in my head. Talk about an ominous sign. Giddy up a oom papa oom papa ma ma. My reaction when I realized that was in my head? Eep!