Every unnecessary thing I've said on Facebook thus far in 2009

You know what's stupid? All of my status updates on Facebook from January 1st through December 22nd 2009. I made some I regret, I made some that helped land me a new career, and I made many that I no longer understand in the slightest. I professed love, confessed utter heartbreak, laughed, cried, got hungover, and all that wack shit in between. I made updates that made people genuinely worried about me. I made another status update that received a comment from somebody else entirely that a woman I cherished claimed was enough to never love me again (yeah...somebody else's comment. retarded).

It is a damn good summation of my life in the oh nine. When you look at it as a whole it's quite the life diary. Or proof that I'm a fuck nut.

Hopefully I made y'all laugh. If i didn't...don't waste your time.

Obviously I wasted enough of mine for the both of us. Without further ado...


JANUARY
is so much more enjoyable than O'Doul's.
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is as well.
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is too hot for TV.
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is ready to co-host the shit out of a cocktail party.
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is is havingg a rager of a saturday. Facebook is a partay.
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is making a Monday "can do" type of day, but wishe it was fondue type of day instead.
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is making Monday a "can do" type of day, but wishes it was a fondue type of day instead.
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is getting into the groove with his screenplay. Finally.
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is on the hunt for Windsor and Newton Spectrum Red
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is fresher than an infant. Slighter than an instant.
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is no longer fresher than an infant. He is now sicker than a dog.
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thinks its rad Chuck got his blog on CNN. Way to go player. http://www.cnn.com/video/#/video/bestoftv/2009/01/19/ntm.ideas.by.chuck.cnn
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is like woah, blossom. it's like freaking cold this morning and stuff in lala. yo.
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is sick of being chapped and dry.
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is has was and will be
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is enjoying his girlfriend's full blown addiciton to Mario's Peruvian's hot sauce. She is feverishly trying to recreate it in the kitchen to satisfy her jones.
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is watching his love work out the new design scheme of her abode. With seriousness.
FEBRUARY
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wants a winning lottery ticket.
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is feeling grody. Forrizzle.
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is blop.
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saw a man collapse and seemingly die right before my eyes at the bank today. It makes my problems seems smaller and my love for friends and family greater.
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is on the hunt for his next assignment.
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is already missing his better half.
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napped in the CAT scan room in abandoned hospital in the ghetto yesterday. Sweet dreams.
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is alien relics.
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is wishing his fantastic girlfriend a most joyous Valentine's Day
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is cold and wet, right in the towards the end of an alien blood war.
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is cold and wet, smack dab in the middle of an alien blood war,.
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is trudging through the greenhouse's organic waste, fearful of the alien locusts that have invaded the once peaceful operation.
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is really into this crisp air, clear sky thing.
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is coffee, eye muck, back crack, stretch, morning yawnin'
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is 'bout to rock the wardrobe truck like that.
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can see it is grittier in whittier.
MARCH
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is ready to turn the corner, climb the ladder, and make her believe.
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is sniffly
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is going to finish his screenplay this weekend, Gods willing.
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finished his screenplay. The Gods were willing to cooperate. He feels like his brain was just dragged through several gnarled and bumpy miles of a briar patch.
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is wishing his lovely lovely a happy happy 23rd.
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hoping his lovely lovely had a happy happy 23rd yesterday.
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has muscles, brains, charm, wit, and zero accountability.
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has lost his will his love and his strength
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is thankful for the calls, texts, messages and love from his friends and family.
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says no to late night computing
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is watching MR. T's infomercial that hawks the new Turbo Super Wave Cooker. The Foreman Grill is so last year.
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swam and it was cold.
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is not the strongest beach volleyball stud muffin.
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got St. Pattied in the first round.
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has Wildcat Fever. Both Men's Arizona Basketball & Women's Old Lyme Basketball (State Champs, y'all)
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is missing you
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is ants see.
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has the tenacity, audacity, emotional capacity and dedication to that assity to make it work.
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is steady hump day coastal camping it.
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recommends not biying a Coleman tent without checking it before camping AND not bringing an air matress into the wild without first checking for holes. But camping still kicks ass.
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Simon recommends not buying a Coleman tent...ever, but especially without checking it before camping AND not bringing an air matress into the wild without first checking for holes. But camping still kicks ass.
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is Neil with the deal.
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is employed. Yay.
APRIL
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is so blahp they had to rewrite the definition in Webster's
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is two doses of Ratatat with a side of headache
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is St. Vincent tonight, absorbing the echoing sweeping melodies across Hollywood Forever Cemetery.
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is all about Sean Miller. New era. Can our Cat's drama end now?
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passed a camel walking down Martel Avenue this morning on his dog walk. I'm serious. A camel...
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had a very full twenty-five hours.
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is 168 hours away from Coachella...
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is still in the editing bay as Friday night looms.
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thinks this week won't be forgotten for quite some time. And to think it all started with a camel. Prophetic.
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wonders if he'll eat any hard boiled eggs today.
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is back in the douche bag lab
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wants Facebook to add a "dislike" button.
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is a hump day, tax day spectacular.
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can't wait. Desert. Pool. Music. Motherfugging....yay.
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ace hotel me.
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is post-Coachella holocaust.
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is urf.
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was attacked by Mothra on his morning commute to Douche Bag Central.
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is committed like a nut job.
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will always be there, unconditionally.
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is watching Missy cut cardboard
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is watching Missy cut cardboard as frustration mounts.
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Diana Jeanne Bingham. November 3rd, 1948-April 25th, 1995. Miss and love you, mom.
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is architecturally sound. Though he needs to make sure his ratio is on point.
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is most likely elevating 'til the moon is replaced by the sun.
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was lucky enough to park his shiny whip under what must have been the roost of a flock of queasy pterodactyls last night.
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says thanks for the b-day wishes. I'm drowning in your e-love, peoples. You ARE my peoples. And I love you back.
MAY
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is prepping for a red meat sesh.
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is pregnant with a street hot dog.
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is swing swing swing chop chop chop.
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is a twelve-gauge double-pump and a fistful of Skittles.
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is neck deep in Reebok Pumps, Armani Exchange, fake tans, and faux-hawks. Ooof.
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is remembering the disappointment millions of children experienced on Christmas morning several years ago when they finally opened their Laser Tag and realized it sucked ass.
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is pizza coma
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slow down
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says, "Oh, the unbridled enthusiasm of Trekkies is something to behold."
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has his basketball Jones turn into an eight game winning streak and a sore from head to toe kind of Monday.
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is fobble-dobble.mcsnibblee-bobble. Truth .
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is fobble-dobble-mcsnibblee-bobble. Truth.
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is dry
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is baffled by the sad fact that it's only Wednesday.
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is feeling the fury, riding the wave, and putting lightning in a bottle. Just because.
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Friday. Friday. friday. Friday. Friday. Yes...friday.
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is down with noodle pants and the half-ton teenager.
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thinks The Wrestler is brilliant-pants, but wow...Darren Aronofsky's movies are not the best thing to watch before you go to bed. Heavy. Makes for a restless night of sleep.
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is unsettled.
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is too much douchebag/not enough me and you time.
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is too much douchebag/not enough you and me.
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is magnitude 3.9 right under my ass. Ride the wave.
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is magnitude 4.1 right under my ass. Look like they upgraded the bad boy.
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is magnitude 4.1 right under my ass. Looks like they upgraded the bad boy.
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is experiencing technical difficulties and it is flubbering up his workflow.
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is long weekend. Woop.
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"The only people who should really sin are the people who can sin and grin." -Ogden Nash
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Just say no to the rebirth of plaid. That shiz dies with Cobain.
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Just say no to the rebirth of plaid. That shiz died with Cobain.
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is in awe that Hooters of all places in God's expansive domain could provide one with such an enriching and wholly magical experience is beyond me. Simply put, a net shirt, pink balloon, and haunting eyes don't even begin to cover it. WOW. Life is magic-p
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Chapter 1: Sun. Basketball. Sausage. Topanga Canyon.
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"If all the cars in the United States were placed end to end, it would probably be Memorial Day Weekend." -Doug Larson
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is happy for no work and down for his homies up in the Iraq-enstein.
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can safely say Billy Idol can still make 'em dance.
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over it.
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is missing an important interview right now. Blop.
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is Seacrest in.
JUNE
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Can you dig it? I said can you dig it?
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Beware snuggies. Now there's the Wearable Towel and it's gonna step all over the market you've supposedly cornered.
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Free your mind and your ass will follow.
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I had a dream I was walking up a massive water slide at a placed called Doddie's Fun Park. A very large and portly man was plummeting down the slide towards me at a breakneck speed. Just as impact became eminent, my alarm sounded. I was actually disappoin
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Let the rain wash it all away.
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is alive.
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is watching Elvis Aaron Presley bake clams like a boss.
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is post-Laker (faker) madness.
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has super powers that will just straight blow yo dome, sucka'.
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has found a portal behind the well vodka at the Kibitz Room that leads to a very rocking 1981. And it is choice. And it is boss.
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is at his 15th high school reunion! Only...he didn't graduate in 1994...and this isn't his high school...and these people are all strangers. But it's great to see what's become of everybody! And there's a bucket of swedish meatballs!
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is sick of June Gloom.
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can see the sun
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is back on board the MANswers train. Whoop whoop.
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Half a day at MANswers=72-ZZZ bra-sized boobs, blue enema paintings, and polyester underwear on rats. Welcome back.
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is clunking his shovel through the loose internet gravel.
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is shedding
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Insert dagger here.
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Watchin' girls go passing by, It ain't the latest thing. I'm just standin' in a doorway. Out of these girls passing by, the tales they tell of men. I'm not waiting on a lady. I'm just waiting on a friend.
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murdered it.
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is upping the ante.
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saw Stevie Wonder at the mall. Dude looked right at me.
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wins.
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says Skype is hype.
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got discipline, baby and I use it a lot. Got discipline, baby, whether you do or not.
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Aye. Gangstarr testifies the truth.
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got discipline, baby and I use it a lot. Got discipline, baby, whether you do or not.
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is drenched in a thick wave of useless factoids relating to sex, drugs, and torture. How we do.
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This is it. This is it. This is life, the one you get So go and have a ball. This is it. This is it Straight ahead and rest assured You can’t be sure at all. So while you’re here enjoy the view Keep on doing what you do So hold on tight we'll This status contains special characters. It won't display properly in the collage.
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is dreaming of you, Microsoft Office.
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is Michael Jackson really dead????
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I ain't gonna say goodbye to MJ 'til CNN sings.
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MJ is in a COMA. Not dead. Yet.
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If you didn't grow up in the age of Thriller, you might not understand how disco-dynamite MJ was in his prime and why CNN, Twitter, and the LA TImes websites all crashed today. MJ tribute dance party in effect.
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I wish there was mj in the clouds
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is meat and potatoes.
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is legally changing his name to Lone Wolf McQuade.
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is really...no...totally weekend.
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More.
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Yesterday's highlights included a seven-man brawl, the world's largest and wettest burrito, a heaving gargantuan wielding a meat cleaver on a basketball court, and an underground roller disco. Just another Saturday in The Wood.
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so much for the upset...
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met the future.
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Awake chaos, we have napped.

JULY

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The Unbearable Lightness of Being Oh So Fly.
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I'm from El Pueblo de Nuestra Senora La Reina de Los Angeles de Porciuncula, trick.
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I wanna be a professional waffle maker.
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Sunshine. Holiday. Holler. Blam.
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I write stories about boobs and they reward me with cupcakes. Life is grand.
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This long weekend is money...hey...wait a second. Is this an office? Aw hell.
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is jealous of the millions who are not in work or school today. Shlumparoo.
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be the ball.
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holds it together with cyber-glue.
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Venice IS a bbq, loc-dog.
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thinks Tom Cruise makes a lousy nazi.
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will.
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Flarffle Sandwich with a side of large Shlumpsteins.
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is all hopped up on robo-honey.
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MANswers combined with Roscoe's will make your arteries explode like C4.
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Alex and Taylor had a baby girl!!!! Charlee Pinson. 20" long. 8 lbs. 2 oz. born at 8:59 am. Mom and baby both healthy. Life is beautiful.
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thinks of coffee as the physical embodiment of a Mayan God's might.
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is penning tales of colorblind drunks, slutty Chihuahuas, and camouflage honeys.
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I want magic.
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www.simonhasthebestcurlygoodness.com/youknowyouwantthis
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wants some Old Lyme.
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is swimming in a very lazy, rare groove type of morning. Beam me an eggwich, Scottie.
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is neck-deep in this Summer business.
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Is clackity clack, don't talk back.
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Feel it. Deal it. Reveal it. Seal it.
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Sliced fruit rules my universe.
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Fat free products are great, but I'd really prefer it if the powers that be would start offering fate free fare.
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I've got summer on my mind. I also have Cerebrospinal fluid on my mind, but who the hell doesn't?
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needs to expand everything except his waistline.
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wishes they called it the hump day for other reasons.
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is kicking wit in its ass.
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is officially the new writer for Ryan Seacrest's radio show. Buh-blam.
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is oof.
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B.S.E. Bisexual snail entertainment? Big sloppy Englishmen? Brown stool excuse? Bull shit eternalized? Buff Swedish Endocrinologists? Baby snow egrets? Nah, son. BEST SUMMER EVER.
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I have free tickets to a sick double billing. RATT and Extreme at the Wiltern. Tonight. Monsters of Rock type ish. Any takers?
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B.S.E. Bisexual snail entertainment? Big sloppy Englishmen? Brown stool excuse? Bull shit eternalized? Buff Swedish Endocrinologists? Baby snow egrets? Nah, son. BEST SUMMER EVER.
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prefers chunky over smooth, spicy over bland, and weekends over weekdays.
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is @#$%^&*!
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is having one of those days Monica sings about.
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Thank God for Time.
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is Flash Gordon at a flash mob performing a flash dance preserved on his flash drive in a flash.
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My love affair with Juanita of the fabled Short Stop-neighboring bacon-wrapped hot dog cart has been replaced by Lupita of the vitamin-enriched fruit cart of Vine and Lexington.
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is ghost riding his office chair.
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is jealous of Shelley's invite to the It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia wrap party. That show is giggle worthy.
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Anybody down to rock Grace Jones & Of Montreal at the Hollywood Bowl on Sunday? Hit me up...
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Get your skiis shined up Grab a stick of Juicy Fruit The taste is gonna move ya Move you up Move you out The taste is gonna move ya when you pop it in your mouth Juicy Fruit - it's gonna move ya It's got a taste that gets right through ya Juicy Fruit - th
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My dad's ER horror stories are better than your dad's.
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The difference between 4am and 6am is roughly 7,000 smiles annually. I am quite the happy camper regarding these additional smiles.
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Sunday funday=brunchy, oil changy, Grace Jonesy, beachy, beerish, tanned, and happy.
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Grace Jones Captivates.
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is Lavar Burton in the paint.
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will miss his MANswers peoples...but will miss you most of all, Dugong.
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is ankle deep in this chapter of life and about to swim for the other side of the ocean.
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is swimming in a training bonanza.
AUGUST
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is enjoying the time with his family for the next 48 and preparing to be tossed into the fire in 72.
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is rolling through Ojai with a fistful of Binghams.
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has one of the bigger career days of his life thus far tomorrow. And away we go.
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Live national radio is BONKERS. But good.
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met a near hundred year old lady who only eats a dozen slim jims and a bag of cheetos daily.
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Do any of my pretty lady friends need work? I need a celebrity escort for an event tomorrow. Easy fun money. Call a brother.
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meets Friday with open arms.
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is eggs into tomorrow's script into laundry fold into (hopefully) reggae at the Hollywood Bowl into bed into 4am alarm into...
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thinks getting done with half of your work day before most of your friends have even started it fresher than summer berries
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when somebody asks you "cinqo y five?" what is the proper response?...Carrots?
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drinketh from the cup.
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is becoming frighteningly aware of the lyrics and intricacies of America Top 40 radio songs.
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The password was, "Del Taco Factory Outlet." It should have been, "Hurty Tomorrow."
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is still not used to getting Pizza delivered for lunch at 8am. Though it is free...from the W Hotel...and MAD delicious. I suppose I can adjust....
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Six cups of coffee, a bagel, a hectic show, and a proud addition into the pop culture vernacular: a fat Kevin Federline..."K-Over-Fed."
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is scared of cupcake in a jar...
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is wowseroni.
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is blackberry manilow
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double-pump bop-gun with a fist full of (peanut) shells.
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11 years to the day...homey moved to LA...it's been bumpy and grey...and sunny and gay...but all I can say...is I'm still on my way. Yay.
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3 scripts in three hours. MADNESS.
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studio air conditioned. outside not so much.
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's weekend starts...right...NOW. Holler.
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can't sleep past five. My clock is on Bermuda time now.
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Drinks by the pool...or drinks by the beach? Life decision time.
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Half drafting. Half writing. All hurting.
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Mind your dreams, unless that's what you want them to remain.

SEPTEMBER

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Los Angeles is on fire. I have been to the mountain top. I have seen it. It is close.
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Life is mad types of bonkers, yo. Straight banana muffins. You wouldn't believe the flavor in my powdered drink mix. It's tangy, son. But a bit sweet. Drink the essence. Lord knows I do.
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is having a chick-fil-a-gasm.
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just survived "Printergate"...barely.
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wrote lots today...about ..a teenage boy...that make tween girls..go bonkers...and you've probably never heard of him. But I have. Oh...and Friday..by the way...is nigh. I'd like to acknowledge that...because that's good stuff.
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I'm droppin' R Kelly / Crackin' a bottle of Ripple / 72 hours of freak-nic / Let's get milky like a nipple.
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Screw Burning Man. Where's Swimming Man being held this year?
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sink your teeth in.
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is sandy, full, and dandy.
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would be lying if he told you otherwise.
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rode the train and took the simulator back to 1995.
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was right in the middle of the tornado.
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more hours please.
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Chicken Alfredo...inside of a bowl...made of pizza dough...at 8am. 2000 calories...of barf.
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Now Dodger Dogs...at 8am...for brekkies?!? Thankfully I abstained. I don't want my arteries to be pumping pure animal fat by year's end.
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With Energy Expended Knowing Enjoyment's Not Determined
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elipses...are...my...business...
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absorbs it better than Brawny.
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Aaaaaaaaaaah....football.
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the joy of wrapping your day at 11:15 far supercedes any pains associated with it commencing at 4am. shockingly.
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When they patent the technology behind freshkins, I want my cut.
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Somebody who was very emotional just called me on my phone and freaked out and asked me how I stole their phone.
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Queen Latifah...parfait...and near-coffee.
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Coffee by the gallon...a sweet Rock Band session with Queen Latifah on drums....and going toe-to-toe with The Soup's Team Funny=Thursday morning.
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Eff our I.D, eh? Why? Yes, ma'am. With butter, please.
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broke the early bed time world record last night/afternoon.
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Perfect fades away.
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It's official. Awards Shows ruin my weekends.
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is dreaming of dreaming.
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Yo Dodger Blue...I'm gonna be sharing a bagel with Tommy Lasorda tomorrow.
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is craving an adventure he can chew.
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god blesss the seven hour vacation.
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is gonna get the skinny at the Kinney.
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is buying MORE in bulk.
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How on earth does a grape end up in your pants? How?
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there is no karma only conscience, no cosmic order only cosmic slop,
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there is no karma only conscience, no cosmic order only cosmic slop. the beauty lies not in the infinite balance, but the risk, mystery, and opportunity in every passing moment.
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Dreams fade...jeans fade...other things...not so much.
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is out of funny things to say about Jon and Kate Plus Hate. Tapped.

OCTOBER

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Timbaland's pissed...boss is pissed...my alarm didn't go off...printer didn't work...Z100 didn't send me the right pages...BLOP. "Just one of dem days..."
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Wow...this day gets crazier by the millisecond. 1st...alarm doesn't sound. 2nd...printer breaks...3rd...Z100 doesn't send me a weeks worth of material unti an hour before our session...then Timbaland shows up unannounced & unhappy...then my boss passes out face 1st....WOW
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We've got the Starbucks instant coffee Challenge set up at work. All I can say is...Instant Coffee has arrived. Thank you, Caffeine Scientists
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For Reasons Innumerable Drinking's A Yes
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is pre-poolside magic delight.
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Can you say fuzzy and blurry?
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throws friends down hills for a laugh.
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David Duchovney just ruined my mini-holiday.
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's life is a b-side.
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The wet wipes provided by Roscoe's...can easily remove the residual gravy...and fried bits of joy...but the shame seems to remain...despite vigorous attempts.
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foster's...red hook ...IPA...dewar's...alize...yum.
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been there, done that. wish i could again though.
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Adventure-time in Adventure-town.
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lives by the spoonful.
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They need to sell coffeee by the keg.
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please complete this thought. "Tina Fey is the hottest thing with four eyes since.
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thanks the heavens for the 2nd alarm.
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Matt Lauer sucks at Rock Band.
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dreams about dreaming. And lettuce.
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will deliver.
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Freaky...Randy...Itchy...Devious...Adventrous...Yee-haw.
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wonders exactly went down.
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White shoes and a diamond encrusted watch and chain would really make this outfit zing.
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oooh, girl. My silk tiger print shirt rubbed me in all the right places.
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I will suck your soul and lick your funky emotion.
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He's famous for his hook shot...his bouncy hair...and his lovable demeanor. And...it's just been announced...he's been hired to write...his 1st award show. Here to present the Biggest Braggart Award...ladies & gentlemen...Mr. Simon Bingham
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's patience is as short as this day is long.
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I REALLY can't wait to kick it with my dog Pee Wee Herman in about 45. Pictures to follow
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No Pee Wee Herman. How can I go on?
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is bearing the burden and the blame like a donkey trampling a cabbage patch.
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My room is filled with golden light. It's like god is taking a beautiful pee.
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This life-size Rod Stewart poster reveals much abut the man's anatomy.
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My magic powers involve color commentary and knuckle cracking.
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Maybe I'm a numb nuts but this Live Feed / News Feed makes as much sense to me as elective surgery.
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Organic Fast food=All Natural Mud-butt
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Wake up LA. Stop slacking.
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Did you know...Rob Zombie was a PA...on Pee wee's Playhouse?
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I've got an extra ticket to the world premiere of Michael Jackson "This is It" tonight. Supposed to be a crazy star-studded type thang. Anybody wanna join?
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It's cold and I'm all Michael Jacksoned out.
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So I guess I was on the BBC last night...
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It was sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo cold this morning....at least LA.
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So for Hallow's Eve...the boss man wore Ponch's actual CHIPs outfit from the show. You gotta admit...that's pretty ulta-suede.
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Sometimes perspective is forced, in life and in art.

NOVEMBER

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I miss when I could sleep past sunrise.
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Crack open the Monday and start chuggin'
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Tuesdays are for loving.
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Happy Birthday, Mamma. RIP. I imagine you're getting your hair all frosted and such today in the big cloudy salon in the sky.
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just got word we're now airing in Windhoek, Namibia from 6-10pm M-F....for all of my dogs in good old Windhoek who wanna tune in.
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When life gives you lemons, ask how the hell life managed to do that. Life doesn't even have hands.
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is training NIkki Six's people. Odd.
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Gloom, doom, and Heidi Klum
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Fool, I invented the wheel.
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Every morning Lucy Liu greets me looking like Iceburg Lettuce and the Black Eyed Pead poison my ears. Snot tarts.
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Stirring...steaming...whirring....dreaming.
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Smooth it out now, smooth it out.
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Go Kayla Go.
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Wings made of gasoline
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is like a snake with no tail.
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Does anybody know any Illuminati or New World Order? I've got a great idea I want to pitch them for subversive world domination made easy.
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Did the entire world wake up on thewrong side of the bed this morning? America is grumpy.
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Copters and sirens and horns, oh my.
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And the worst part of the day is already over. And that's a beautiful thing.
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loves it when the work day winds up over breakfast burritos and lattes.
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Coffee ain't gonna do the trick on this one.
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There is absolutely no thunder in my mug this morning.
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is in love with Twitter Food Trucks. Thank you for bringing me some delcious fusion thunder to the office everyday. If this post makes no sense....move to LA.
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strikes fear into the hearts of trees everywhere.
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Oh where oh where has my cellular gone...oh where oh where can it be?
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This day shall be prophetic
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The sharp winds, blackened sky, and razor moon on this early Friday the 13th morning are giving me a serious case of Paraskevidekatriaphobia.
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wants you to say it with him...Paraskevidekatriaphobia.
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You know why I love the internet? Because now I know way more about polka dots than you.
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Some people never learn, just because they have to always be right. It's a damn shame
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is officially a morning person now. I just don't believe it.
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Stretch out for the horizon
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Driving into work this morning was like entering a Somolian refugee camp. Makeshift tents and lean-tos surrounded the property. Rabid looking teen girls screaming and freaking the F out. All this...for some vampire kid named Kellan Lutz that I've never heard of. What a Monday...
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the end of this Monday is far far away...thanks to vampires, werewolves, and pectoral muscles.
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I just drag raced a stretched limo full of a girls stopped next to me at a stoplight on my way to work. And this is a perfect example of how polarly opposite 4:45 in the morning can be for two car loads.
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has manged to force Thanksgiving into the now.
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Earth...please take a deep beath and shut the *$%# up.
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is getting his masters in the caffeine sciences.
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live love laugh languish lose let it be learn, repeat if necessary...
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is in the lab with Shakira and Anderson Cooper. Half news...half She-Wolf...all action.
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is sending you this message from the future. it's pretty much the same but with better breakfast cereal.
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had a nation of metal heads pull themselves from the recesses of society, don their leathers and denims, and surround him in a sea of swirliing, good old fashioned head bangin'
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Is in desperate need of some "Did You Know?" and "Huh!" types of Christmas factoids. Still need 30 of these wrapped and bowed holiday turds
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is a charter member of the brotherhood of the traveling pants
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hasn't got enough brain to go around for all this.
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I could have bought a baby for what that organic freerange bird cost me...
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is thankful it's finally thanksgiving.
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The bird is in. The coffee is brewed. Preparing to be surrounded by friends and family. Thankful for this life, this bird, these people, and this day. Happy Thanksgiving to all.
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is swimming in holiday.
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aaaaaaaaaah. and it's only saturday...
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Who knew the mating dance of crows was so spectacular?
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Blop blip blurp urp Monday...flurp.
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Don't make a wish, make a plan. Don't have a dream, have a goal. Stop clicking them heels. Get on that yellow brick road and lay down some treads, Dorothy.
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is Coachin' and Horsin' with Adrian Goodchild. Who's down for some British swill and chill?

DECEMBER

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Insert life. Shake well. Season to taste.
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Oh the joy of surgery
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Nick Jonas is serenading me with his acoustic stylings...
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Anybody want to play mini-golf on my face?
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is smurf pills and wounds.
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unlimited potential or unlimited potato skins? hmmm.
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Grey vintage tux jacket with the velvet trim. Suave new black pants. Bow tie. French cuff crisp pressed shirt. Purple Argyle socks. Fresh breath. Mustache primped. Hair slicked. With Timbaland on the ivories. This is why I'm money, bitch.
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Oh wow.
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Let's juice this Sunday like a grapefruit.
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is in the process of reinventing hiimself into Bongo McSweaters.
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is soaked and sizzling simultaneously.
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really wishes he was given his holiday dates before the tickets went through the stratosphere.
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Needs mittens, woolies, scarves, sweaters, jackets, and love.
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Perez Hilton= 100% Slithering Ass-clown
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I juice this post
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clarity is a rarity.
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How the detestment for writing promos for give-aways can change...when suddenly you learn they're giving 'em to you.
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One more script...one more 4am...one more American Top 40...one more day...'til Daddy is on one serous vay-cay. TO the bottles and cans throughout greater Los Angeles...prepare yourselves.
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Mamma's brought her tamales to us...bright and early.... Holler.
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How are you supposed to write about this decade when you don't know what it's called?!? Can somebody please tell me what the last ten years is annoucned as...as in "I Love the _ _s?"
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Vaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay Kaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay Shuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuun
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I think this is when I am supposed to stretch, and think to myself, "I actually made it," and start feeling this city's underbelly once again....
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Rain. Movies. Pizza. Snuggie. Amazing.
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Thank you sun, for showing up to party.
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Monday 8:30 and still in bed. I love you Santa.
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somehow got caught in a disco laundry inferno.
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There's a reason people don't go out drinking in The Valley.
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wants one thing in this world and all else pales.
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yo writers...looking for some freelancers to handle live writing for the emmys for my boss man. obviously a good opportunity. anybody interested please hit me up asap. would be a couple weeks starting in january. And yo...don't hit me up if you've never considered writing until this very moment.
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To the planet. Stop playing Farmville. NOW.
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it's like oxygen...
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is working towards his masters in the pillow sciences.
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How can Cheap Tickets suddenly change my flight to two days earlier and tell me "there's nothing we can do about it?!?" Has the world gone mad?
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is burning Skymall magazines and scattering honey roasted peanuts as offerings to the travel gods.
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finally got bitch slapped by Christmas Spirit today.
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I seriously recommend flying out of Ontario Int'l during the holidays. It was a ghost town.
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Welcome to Phoenix. Welcome to Winter.
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We straight clubbing at Ron Reagan International.
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is at last deep in the snowy magic.
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Jacuzzi under Orion. Black sky. Frozen air. Family. Perfect.

I bought a new computer.

And then I got tired and opened up iMovie for the firs time.. I proceeded to prove that I should be serving burgers for tips.

Falling in Love in LA

I searched for an image of a donkey fucking a squirrel as the capper, but came up empty.

Douchebags are like Rainbows

Thee are so many infinite kinds of douche-ka-teers. They are like the many hues of a leprechaun's rainbow that leads to a mountain of bat shit rather than a pot of forbidden treasures. There are indie douches, gym douches, jock douches, raper douches, DJ douches, red neck douches, Mass-hole douches, preppy douches, frat douches, hippie douches, average Joe douches, and every other variety of douche that one might conjure up in their pea brain that I haven't the time, exposure to, or patience to list right now.

I have been exposed to all these varieties of douche over the last few months. My brain is going to literally explode in a muck of chest hair, Armani exchange shirts, neon hues, Drakkar Noir, faux-hawks and Reebok Pumps. A bloody river of spray tan teeming with inflated biceps will flow from my nostrils. Stunner shades will propel themselves from the core of my soul like boomerangs. The fist-pumping army of chodes will march forth from my chest's cavity, chanting, "Fuck yeah, bro! Will we conquer-ington? Obvi! Wanna knuck? Best not!" They will take over the world, spreading their mantra of fucking anything with feet and popping bottles in the VIP like a swine flu/HIV love child.

Unshackle me from these gold-plated ice chains that weigh down my heart.

Truth? It's damn good fun. But I need a douche break.

TAKE ME TO BAKERSFIELD WITH THE WOMAN WHO OWNS MY HEART.

I need a weekend of cowboy and cheap eats with somebody who I love.

A New Job

I hate douche bags. I mean, I utterly loathe them. They are the bane of any good man's existence. They are arrogant, oppressive, ill-styled, abusive, repugnant, and...amazingly...usually swimming in a sea of desirable women. It is their arrogance and confidence and supposed style that is the key to their success, for there are many women who are drawn to these qualities to the point that they are blinded by the obvious detrimental qualities of said douche bags. They are so varied and diverse in their pockets of douche bag culture that there is seemingly no end to their proliferation and adaptation.

It is as obvious as Richard Simmons sexual preferences, I harbor resentment.

That is why I am thrilled with my new position. I am being paid to rip these fuckers a new, bloody asshole in front of a captive, national audience. Yes, beware, over-gelled Guidos, stinky indie-rocker fucks, primped prima-donnas, overzealous frat boys, and muscle bound ass faces, I am your worst enemy. I am the demon perched on your bed post, waiting until dark has blanketed the earth to slash your doucehy throat with my #2. My pen shall stab your soul. My quill shall kill your thrill.


My first project is to rearrange the digestive tract of an indie-rocker who's whole shpeal is too close to home. He is a creature that can be found in abundance mere miles from my domicile, begging for a spot in a photo blog that will ordain him too cool for school, neater than Peter, more hip than Chip. He has the clothes, a band, women at his feet, and an IQ in the single digits. Aye, he is almost cool...on the surface...he is almost, but then really not at all. Factually...he is a monumentally overwrought douche bag. I deal with this type of douche bag far too often and am therefore teeming with ecstasy and an eagerness to tackle his skinny frame and ego with zeal. I am going to enjoy slicing and dicing this dude into bite-sized chunks of greasy, ear-plugged, criss-cut coiffed, over-tattooed nuggets that I shall dip in sweet 'n sour sauce and devour with gusto.

Additionally, it is soooooooo wonderful to be employed steadily once again. I pray to the Gods of pen, ink, and verbage that they keep my qwerty from getting dusty and dirty. I am in a spot where I am hungry for vengeance against a planet of fucks that have too often turned my stomach and aggravated my core.

Beware, douche bags, I am your nightmare. My wrath shall be laid down upon you like 10,000 claws.

The Economizzle

So...this shit sucks.

I know, I know. Such blunt terminology lacks an eloquent punch but it sums up my internal angst better than any soliloquy of expressive verbage could. Growing accustomed to the monster that is Hollywood allowing me to successfully suckle off its teat for a few years makes it all that much more painful that the beast now bears its fangs at me and its syrupy milk has run dry. Dry points have been had before in my career but none like this since I was inexperienced and youthful. Now, along with millions of other Americans, I find my coffers filled with dust and my bills sent in red envelopes. The only people who call me are depressed, recent college graduates earning a minimum wage to hassle me about my unpaid debts. I can tell by their drab tone that this is a very busy and oppressive job right now. I pity them. At least they have gainful employment. Fuckers.

An opportunity to work with America's favorite freak family is in the works, but it seems to be run by people who don't have a care for keeping those they intend to employ in the loop. They've had me in for a series of interviews, even keeping me waiting in the lobby for three hours for one. They told me I was hired. I was supposed to start last week. So far...nothing. I shall strangle Tito just for the unbridled thrill of it. This shit sucks.

Two of my floor neighbors were mugged directly in front of my building. One with a knife, the other with what turned out to be a bb gun. I think crime is going to skyrocket in the city. Desperate times call for the disparately desperate to feed their needs and wants by any means necessary. Scary. Very. This shit sucks.

Every day on the news a new layer of gloom is oozing from the headlines. White and blue collar jobs are being slashed like teenagers' necks in a Friday the 13th flick. Unemployment filings are through the roof. People are literally killing themselves and their families to avoid debts. (Inept fools.) Stocks tumble. I bet being homeless right now is a real buzz kill, not that it ever seemed like a gas to me. Seriously, my change is not spare these days. Silver discs never looked so valuable. I bet these cats that usually scoff at pennies are gobbling them up like Pac-Man on a stoned binge right now. This shit sucks.


I've been forced to sell off several of my most prized possessions. My XL1 camera...gone. My MPC4000 drum machine...going on Ebay today. While I hate to lose these material items, the truth is they can be replaced and most likely will be when this dry spell has been pissed upon with a golden shower of opportunities. Ironically, my screenplay is still close to getting a solid start date for production, so while I weather this storm a bright, warming sunlight exists past the edge of the horizon. The problem is, I just can't see it right now. I know it's there, but this storm is really getting me all sorts of cold and wet. Daddy needs a tan. And a Mojito. This shit sucks.

So the moral of this story is...this shit sucks. No...I suppose it's grin and bear it. And find the beauty in your life. The love of my life, the most incredible person I've ever met, the apple of my eye, the person I've always imagined when I lay awake at night and wonder if there is somebody out there for me...this girl, she has been there with me this whole time. Despite the difficulty of this situation, she has agreed to persevere. It may have been difficult at times for her to remain with me, but she has. The irony is she has fulfilled me in a way I've never felt before despite my situation. Without her, there would be no sun. She is the reason I rise, the reason I keep faith. She is the kick in the ass I need from time to time. She is what motivates me to climb out from this shit hole and build myself back from rising debts.

So that's my blog for today. While I usually to prefer to make my people giggle, today I come with a gloomy exterior but I resolve to make my life better. It is because of my woman, because failure is not an option, and because I'm too god damned talented and able to not be running this shit by now. Wish me luck. Maybe...just maybe...this shit doesn't suck so bad.

Good bye Naomi

Sometimes when you're driving, cars catch on fire. That's what they say. Guess what. Tis true. Fucking pop snots.

Thanks to Jiffy Lube in Pasadena. Five minutes after we left there, my girlfriend's car caught on fire and burned to a stanky crisp.

2009

What will happen in 2009?
The light will shine on our illness and tight skizzills. And the economizzle will continue to wallowizzile in a massive recessizzle.
We will overcome. And Jen will finally get preggers.
Prince and the NPG will reunite for a one off in Kabul.
Irish Cream will be the new Vanilla.
Rap will become a movement again. After we murder all the bling blingers in a wash of overpriced champagne and diamond studded crosses that mock the very religion they're based on.
I'll get paid.
Old time drinks will become the shit, at least according to an airline mag I just read.
Drinks will fly down my hatch, but probably not as rapidly or frequently as in 2008 or other years.
Tesla will take Journey's spot as most over-visited band of the past.
Magic Johnson will finally get AIDS.
Cialis will be the new Ecstasy.
Obama Drama will replace Bush Shit.
Brad and Angelina will adopt children form every low income area of the world except that in their own backyard.
I'll get five haircuts.
PBR will be replaced by MGD as the BFD.
The Pacers will win the Super Bowl.
Black will be the new Black.
Many people who are old and made music or movies will die. A few young ones will too. Their names and faces will scroll during the appropriate awards shows after an introduction by some haggard and soon to die performer.
Big Mike Jackson will wear scarves over his soon to be non-existent nostrils.
We will all get older, for better or worse.
My man GWB will enjoy more quail hunting, less warmongering.
"Freshkins" will permeate the slang vernacular. At least I hope.
I'll think about how this is the last year of the decade of the new millennium. I'll listen to people who say, "Can you belive this fuckin' decade is already over?" and generally I'll agree with them. I'll then listen to people who will remind me that the world ends in 2012. I won't agree with them ever, and though I won't do it physically, in my mind I'll bitch slap them with my balls.
I will continue to thank god for the blessing of my life, Melissah Louise Bridge. That's why 2008 was the best 365 ever. If you ever have the chance to meet the girl, you'll understand why I stare at the ceiling wondering how I got so lucky.
My script I sold into development will actually get thrown into the can. A power hungry douche bag agent will see me as the next big enchilada and sign me. I'll bite down on my pride's chode and be hired to rewrite the new Herbie movie. I won't give a fuck because it will pay off my debt, ny car loan, and dress my boo in the finest of fabrics and garments. If you don't know already, I'm a writing whore. You pay Daddy, he dances like a five pence skeezer.
2010 comes next.
We finally decide what this decade is called. The 80s? The 90s? The...? What the fuck is this decade called? Seriously. Tell me. Please. My vote goes for "Double Ohs." My girl like, "The Hundreds." I no longer give a fuck. I just want a god damned answer.
The next retro fashion? The 1620s. Feudalism is ill like the plague.

We all get laid.