Rage Against The Paycheck

It must be nice to have seven figures dangled in front of you and be able to turn down: Audioslave over?

Seven figures = $x,xxx,xxx. Fill in each "x" with whatever digits you want and I think it is safe to say I'd take it ... doing almost anything.

U-S-A! U-S-A!

"I'm so happy I made it to the semi-finals of the Miss Universe Pageant, I could just shit! There, that feels better. Yes!"

Next Time I'll Get It To Go

Last night, I decided to enjoy a little burrito action at Chipotle so I cruised down to the location on St. Mark's. I got a seat at the counter by the window which normally makes for some interesting viewing while munching solo.

Not this time.

I had some St. Mark's urchins having a makeout fest on the steps right below me. It's about a thousand degrees, the stairs are dirty as hell, they're dirty as hell ... fucking unappetizing to say the least.
He's not gonna pork her, Russ.

Scat-tastic

Scroll right on past this if you aren't interested in bodily functions. More specifically, my bodily functions. Even more specifically, shit.

As you may have read, I'm having a battle with a parasite or I guess parasites. My good friend AP, who likes to see me in discomfort thanks to a history of errors committed by me at his expense (e.g. being a Yankees fan, busting up his knee, letting my iguana crap on his bed and sweatshirt), inquired about the testing procedure to determine what is attacking my innards:

Tell me you had to submit a sample of your poop to make the diagnosis. Please, please tell me that.
-AP

I will tell you. Yes, the basic procedure did involve poop samples. I had to scoop some poop into three separate vials that had some sort of mystery liquid inside. Fill to line on container, shake, bring to doctor, make joke with doctor about carrying shit around with me in my backpack, wait for results. Luckily for you, AP (and those of you who were curious, but not gross enough to ask), I anticipated such inquisitive concern and snapped some photos documenting the at-home procedure. No actual poop scooping photos, but photos nevertheless:

Here's me prepped for the unpleasant scooping task
(contrary to popular belief, summer heat does not help the situation).

The tubes waiting for their precious cargo.

Done and done. Gross and gross.
The best part is that I get to repeat this procedure again a few weeks after I finish the medication I am on to see if I killed my enemy. This time though it is just two vials instead of three. You are invited to help if you want. If not, don't worry. I'll keep you updated.

Microscopic Stowaway

After some trips to the doctors and various tests, my doctor has determined that while in Honduras, I managed to pick up some internal fun in the form of a microscopic parasite called Blastocystis hominis. Despite not being thrilled about this, I am at least pleased that I now have some reasoning for being so sluggish and sleepy as of late. My favorite part about this is that nobody seems to really know how to treat it. Medication has been prescribed, but it doesn't always work. Plus I can't drink while on it (and that's why I'm not starting it until Sunday). Fucking parasites!

Anyway, for all of you who like to say things to me like "Why can't you go on vacation somewhere normal?" or "What, are you to good for Cape Cod or Disney World or Toledo, OH?" or whatever it is you say to me when I go to such "strange" places, I guess this is where you can say, "I told you so."

Thanks.

Drinking and Bouncing

This weekend I am heading upstate for a friend's birthday party that should be filled with cursing, boozing and lots of immature behavior. To make certain this is the case, there is going to be a keg and a bouncy bounce. By the way this friend is turning 30. I think his neighbors are going to love it.

I had this conversation with my wife the other day:

Wife: What's the story with Tom's party this weekend? Is it a barbecue or catered or just whatever?

Me: I don't fucking know. All I care about is that there is going to be a bouncy bounce.

Wife: You're going to have to keep it under control after you get some drinks in you.

Me: It's a fucking bouncy bounce.

Wife: Well, let's make sure that Frank The Tank doesn't wind up in the bouncy bounce, OK?

[crickets]

Wife: OK?

Me: Hmmmm.

Three Enter

Everyone who ever stops over at my apartment always seems to have to comment on how my fish tank is filthy or green or gross or whatever. Geeez! So much judging. Get off my case.

I would clean the tank once in a while, but being near the window makes the algae grow with the quickness, so it was sort of an uphill battle. The fish didn't seem to mind so, whatever. I didn't find it to be that huge of a crime for things to be a little cloudy.

To those of you who love to bust my balls, take a peak to the left. The tank has been cleaned. That shit is clean! Also, a new air pump has been installed, so hopefully it will stay that way a little longer than usual.

Recently, my two goldfish, Blackie and Chompers died (not due to the water cleanliness -- the coroner's report has cleared my name), so today, I went out and picked up three new friends. As you can see I like to keep my fish tank diverse. All races live in harmony.

So, presuming these three idiots survive the night, they'll need names. This is where you come in. I'm looking for suggestions. I'm not guaranteeing your suggestion will become the legal name of one of these fish, but perhaps if you have a good suggestion, and the board approves it, you will be able to go to sleep at night with the warm, fuzzy feeling inside that you can only get from knowing that a fish that you named is swimming around a tank in my apartment. Now wouldn't that feel nice?

Ride The Lightning

"I woke up and blood was coming out my ears."
Lightning Strikes Teenager Listening To iPod

Ouch.

Know H2O

Dear terrorists,

Bomb tunnel, flood city? Really? Let me let you in on a little physics secret: water generally does not flow up. It's true. Sure, blowing up the Holland Tunnel would make for a major mess -- death, traffic issues, mental issues with tunnels, etc. -- but flooding the Financial District it would not. The river sits below the land here in NY, just like it probably does where you live.

Oh, and in the event that the Financial District did flood? We own these things called pumps. They suck the water out of an area that has water in it and dumps it somewhere else (like back in the river). It's amazing.

Thanks for being such idiots.

Sincerely,
Me

Did I Go To Sleep in New York and Wake Up in Mississippi?

When did New York become part of the Bible Belt?

New York Court Rules Against Gay Marriage

How fucking embarrassing.

Rock On

Just a quick prediction on the winner of Rock Star: Supernova. It was quite a turdfest week one, with singing from some that was bordering on sounding like something that I could produce with my ass.

Predicting after one showing is a bit tough, but I'm going with Dilana Robichaux. Maybe it won't work out, but at this point, she was the only one that sounded good, worked the crowd, catered to the band /judges and fucking rocked it.

Another prediction ... Jill Gioia won't make it to the end, but she will wind up in Playboy. Or at least Maxim (which will probably be way more skanky than Playboy).

It has been spoken.

Canadians Do It Best

Someone got here today searching for canadians fucking dogs

Just any ol' body fucking dogs isn't enough? They need to be Canadians?

Happy 4th

I'm not a big fan of this clown, but I wanted something "American" to post and I found this in a hurry. I figure there's not much more American than red, white, blue and camo (and God knows you don't want to see me dressed like this).

Happy 4th everyone. Happy birthday U.S.A.

Everything in a Machine

A friend of mine sent me a link to this page a long time ago: http://www.photomann.com/japan/machines

Sometimes I really wish I had access to an egg vending machine.