This Bachelorette Chick Really Sucks.

I promised my roomate I'd Tivo the last episode of the bachelorette for her while she's working. I've had it open on my monitor tonight as I've been working. And it's been painful. And I feel a strange urge to crank up a showtune while drinking carbonated mineral water which I don't fully understand. But it's almost over and I can honestly say - I want to watch Jennifer Schefft die in a boating accident.

She rejected not one, but two proposals tonight. "I want you to know that I was fully committed to this. I want you to know that." She's used that phrase 14 times tonight. She's a shallow, self-centered sow who likes herself an awful lot. "You're wonderful. You've been great to me throughout this whole thing." The fact that the two dejected bachelors are sitting beside her on the couch right now as opposed to urinating onto her face in tandem is a tribute to their restraint.

Thankfully, someone in the studio audience just stood up and asked her "Without sounding harsh, what is it going to take for you to be satisfied?" (Bear in mind she rejected someone on the bachelor before she was given this, her own show). She declined to answer that, and the next three questions she was asked. She's truly awful.

If it's bothered me this much, I have to assume that the legions of loyal women viewers who watch this show must be disappointed too. And that I'm gay. Somewhere, a casting agent is losing their contract with ABC.

The Thompson Sub-Machine Cannon.

"I hate to advocate weird chemicals, alcohol, violence or insanity to anyone... but they've always worked for me".

I was a little sad when Hunter S. Thompson killed himself a week ago. Discovering his books and essays while in University was an eye-opening and welcome break from the conventions of my American lit classes. Thompson made it clear to me for the first time that when it comes to writing and journalism, there really are no rules. Narrative, wordplay - you can bastardize it all, find your own voice and still wind up with something both entertaining, unique and if it's called for - informative. It also doesn't hurt to scribble while under the influence. Which is a relief, as I currenly have my pants around my ankles and a Wild Turkey IV pumping into my right arm.

Thompson remains original, even in death. He often expressed his desire to have his ashes fired into the sky by a cannon, and to honor that wish his family has sent out a nationwide call they hope the rare breed which are cannon-owners will heed. Move the snow-blower out of the way and dust off your best Civil War replica boom sticks. Hunter needs you. And just what do you get if you agree to help fire Hunter out of your cannon? Why, the honor of firing Hunter out of your cannon, of course. Anyone who agrees to make the trip, cannon in tow, will be financing the trek themselves. I paid $8 in shipping for a miniscule phone battery last month. So best of luck to the fortunate volunteer. They also have to win an essay writing contest and entries must be exactly 100 words in length and sent via snail mail.

My apartment is full of all kinds of crap I've collected over the years. But alas, a cannon is not part of the clutter. So as my own personal tribute to Thompson, I fired open a bottle of Retsina and forced 2 of my friends who'd never seen it to watch Where The Buffalo Roam on Saturday night. Bill Murray's hilariously accurate portrayal came to pass after he befriended Thompson in the late 70s and spent a lot of time with him at his Owl Ranch in Colarado. It's said that it took Murray months to get out of character and he 'continued to act Gonzo through the beginning of the next season of Saturday Night Live, to the consternation/annoyance of cast and crew members'. But at least he has never been Al Franken.

Friday's Quizzlet: Big Dummies And Fish-Eyed Fools.

Appetizer: Name something that makes you scream.
Cock & ball torture. Joining an online dating site with a cleft-lip, a wooden leg and a drinking problem before going out with 3 different women named 'BoSoxGirl78'. Thrusting my face into a hot jet of steam and receiving 3rd degree burns. Base-jumping 20,000 feet without a parachute into a dumpster behind the Gillette factory. Shoving saxophone reeds under my fingernails and then drowning a puppy in a briny pickle barrel. Margaret Cho. God knows I won't do any of those things again. Margaret - call me.

Soup: Who is a musician you enjoy listening to when you want to relax?
There's no better CD in existence for relaxing/suicide/fornication than Grace by Jeff Buckley. I was washing windows the day that he died. Venditti yelled up the ladder "Hey! That fruitcake singer you like drowned". He was right - and as I nearly fell backwards off the roof in shock, I realized my secret weapon (Jeff Buckley music) would forever be limited to that one album. And rohypnol.

Salad: What was the last book you purchased?
I haven't done much reading since I hooked my computer up to digital cable in my bedroom. I used to read voraciously every night before bed. Now I watch Tivo'd episodes of Sanford and Son. Voraciously. While I'm on the subject, that is hands-down the funniest sitcom that's ever been. Click here for a cool S&S soundbyte and synopsis. Or here for titties.



Main Course: If you could live one day as a historical figure, who would it be?
Sinatra. If you have to ask why, it's because you're gay.

Dessert: Talk about a time when you were lost.
I have a pretty poor sense of direction. I'll admit it. On the way home from my last trip to Canada, I took a wrong turn at Albany right before the Mass Pike and drove my sister and I a good 45 minutes out of our way. Having already been in the car 7 hours at that point, I was not popular. I was, however, covered in cat hair and french fries. The moral of the story? My internal compass is Amelia Earhart-esque, especially with a kitten in my lap and a mouthful of potato products. This is going nowhere. Have a good weekend.

Name My Unfortunate New Medical Condition.

I love having a site like this - interactive, current, communal - but this stress exists to come up with good content each and every day. I know I'm not the only one who suffers from this fun new bloggy plague. If a site ceases to be 'sticky' people no longer show up every day to get stuck. Some days, I'll post 3 or 4 different articles like it's nothing. On others I could be channeling Steven King, who could write 16 pages about a popcorn kernel, and wouldn't be able to think of a single word. It's easy when you have a sports or political blog because there's always fresh fodder for your typing fingers. But when your common thread of choice is simply humor - 'tis a whole 'nother ball game. Still - Pye In The Face has been going strong for 9 months and 300 posts, so I'm still a 'functioning' ____ (insert my new medical condition's name).

There's also this other annoying distraction that keeps me from musing more during the work week. It's called a job. Before I get back to it, however, I feel the need to coin a phrase coming on. What could one chisten 'the stress induced by pressure to come up with blog content'? I await your suggestions.

How High Is Denver? Very.

PITF favorite Gary Puppa has been in Colorado pitching his innovative services to various NBA teams - and just sent me a couple of photos from an All-Star Game party he snuck through a kitchen ventilation shaft to attend. I'm only kidding, of course. Gary was obviously invited. The other attendees only thought he'd snuck in. After the misunderstanding was cleared up, and the rest of the guests realized Gary was indeed supposed to be there, they immediately asked him if he still talked to Corey Haim.



Method Man (a.k.a 'Meth' a.k.a 'Johnny Blaze') seemed to take to Puppa (a.k.a 'Pupp' a.k.a 'Corey Feldman after a bender') like he was a box of White Owls. The fast new friends were later seen observing a moment of silence for ODB before swapping do-rags. I find it fascinating that although these photos were taken 2 minutes apart, Meth has managed to change his entire wardrobe about 8 times. So, so fly.



And just when Gary thought the evening couldn't get any fawnkier, Redman burst onto the scene like a glaucoma patient's capillary. While the 'Funk Dr. Spock' gave the camera the NYC salute, Meth took a swig of his Motorola and called Ghostface on a Budweiser. Great pics, buddy. When's the release date for the first Pu-Tang Clan album?

Introducing The New Gallery Section!

Slowly and surely I've been devising a way to incorporate photo galleries into this site. There are many easy external/3rd party options, but the trick was to keep the gallery experience as fluid and seamless as possible. I've settled on a system that's a bit clunky, and involves a lot of work on my part, but it looks good. So I'm proud to finally introduce the new gallery section of Pye in the Face!



Fans of the old site are probably wondering: Where all the devestatingly funny captions, you witty bastard? Well that's easy - they're on the old site, dummy! You'll be happy to know, however, that I'm working on a way to allow anyone to caption any of the photos you'll see in this new gallery. And more than one person will be able to take a crack at the same picture. Click the photo of Katherine's motorcycle cake at the beginning of the Thanksgiving gallery to see what I have in mind. And stay well clear of my camera. Unless you're dressed as a topless mime and I've already paid you.

The 10 Greatest Rock N' Roll Myths.

Since this past weekend has left me shivering like Keith Moon after a JD enema, and we spent last week discussing the merits of naming fish after dead rock stars, I thought I'd kick things off with this list of the 10 greatest rock myths of all time. Let's talk about #10 for a second:

10: Led Zep and the mud shark
'A pretty young groupie with red hair was tied to the bed,' claimed Stephen Davis in Hammer of the Gods. 'Led Zeppelin proceeded to stuff pieces of shark into her vagina and rectum.' Not quite. Zep did catch sharks from the window of their hotel, but the pesce in question was actually a red snapper, while the perpetrator was road manager Richard Cole.

I am so relieved that was just a myth. I mean - can you even begin to imagine Jimmy Page standing over you trying to shove sushi up your chute? Thank goodness it was only Richard Cole and a snapper. Because as opposed to Robert Plant coming after your bum with a bucket of chum - that's completely acceptable.

Yuck. Anyhew, I've been working on a new Pye In The Face gallery section which will debut sometime tonight with photos from Saturday's Mardi Gras party. Thank you all for coming, and I'm glad it turned out to be such a silly bead-slinging soiree. Stay tuned for my next debaucherous creation, the 5th annual Cinco De Mayo party which will be held at the SideBar on Saturday, May 9th.

Gettin' Tanked - In So Many Ways.

What a wonderful Saturday in human history. Not only is the big Mardi Gras party tonight, but the new fish tank is up, running and populated! Monster and I drove to the Galleria this morning and stocked up on supplies. I got a new light, food, 2 underwater Mayan castles, a net and even a new scratching post for the Boss. And what of the fish, you ask? You'll remember earlier this week I was all excited about getting to choose what sort of fish I wanted. I even asked for suggestions. It turns out, the nice lady at Petco told me what sort of fish I had to buy. And they're scarcely bigger than ants. I was disappointed. I'll explain.



"You're going to start off with three Tetras." The lady turned her back to me and walked over to the tank she had in mind. I immediately balked - "I am? These guys are miniscule. May I ask why?" She didn't appreciate my questioning her ultimate fishy wisdom. "Because. They're hardy" came the strained reply. Obviously she meant that the little buggers were resilient, and a good way to kick off a new tank and balance out the PH levels before introducing more delicate additions. "What, like they solve mysteries together?" That got her laughing, and she ended up being quite helpful in the end. As opposed to the fat twat I initially took her for.



So she gave me three Tetras to start off with. Any more than three fish introduced at a given time can cause toxic shock to the rest of the community. They're tiny (for scale see the one circled above to the right in front of the sacred Mayan temple) and indistinguishable from one another - so I've decided to call them the Hansons. Hopefully they won't wrap foil around their fins and bash new fish into the glass. All in all, I think my little ecosystem is off to a 'swimming' start (LOL, ROFL, ROFLPM!) and I'll keep you updated when I add new citizens. Cornett, Jodice and Jim will be here in half an hour for the party pre-game - at which point the Hansons won't be the only residents of the apartment up to their eyeballs in filthy liquids.

Friday's Quizzlet: Raiders Of The Lost Backbone.

Appetizer: Name 2 things you do that you consider beneficial to your health.
If you live in Boston, you've been to Haymarket. "Caahn on the caawb! Foaah fer a dollaah!" In addition to being a T-Stop, it's an open air collection of farm stands which are assembled late every Thursday night and remain until early Saturday evening. It's primarily composed of fruit stands but there's a flower guy who looks like Frank Stallone, a row of fish stands the stench of which would make Quint's eyes water and it's the only game in town if you like to watch Asians fight over rotten kumkwats. Anyway, once or twice a month I go down there on Saturday morning and buy bags of carrots, apples and celery. I fire up my juicer like Jay Kordich and the aforementioned combination makes for a lovely, energizing bevvie chock full of vitamin C, potassium and Absolut. That still leaves 1 more thing, huh? OK - #2: actually leaving my apartment to walk to Haymarket.

Soup: If you made a New Year's resolution, how's it going so far?
My New Year's resolution was to, over the next 12 (well, 10.5 now) months, to complete all of the half-finished websites I have floating around out there. There's the dog sweater pattern site, the boston interior designer site, the halloween site, the personal injury attorney site, the free condom site, the boston bar site, the cigar humidor site, the mesothelioma site and about 5 others. So yeah, as you can see it's going wicked-well.

Salad: Name something that has happened lately that bothers you.
Don't get me started. First off - Trump fired Danny last week! He was the only one on the college team with any creativity, whatsoever. Then Brigitte went to America with Foofie-Foofie, leaving her poor fiancee Matteo with little more than a broken heart and some proscuitto. And to top it all off, Da Brat is the only Surreal mansion resident who got a VH1 development deal. And I thought that Tsunami shit made for a bad week.

Main Course: What is your favorite quote, and who said it?
I just covered this last week. So I'll provide my second favorite instead - from the movie Rushmore. It's funny cause it's true:

"But here's my advice to the rest of you: Take dead aim on the rich boys. Get them in the crosshairs and take them down. Just remember, they can buy anything but they can't buy backbone. Don't let them forget it. Thank you." -Herman Blume (Bill Murray).



Dessert: What do you collect?
I collect MP3s, DVDs and emotional baggage. I'll have you know that I once earned a collector's badge in Boy Scouts for my sensational photo album full of Raiders of the Lost Ark trading cards which I still have. Complete set. The cards are in perfect condition and as I'm writing this I'm slowly realizing they are probably worth something. Which is good - because the admission that I still have this childhood artifact in my room will likely force me to start paying for sex.

Our Lives In Song.

Viral blog quizzes are cutesy and somewhat embarrassing to read, but I accidentally found one on a friend's site that caught my eye. Please feel free to get all interactive-like and fill out your own in a comment. Here's the rub:

Choose a band/artist and answer only in song TITLES by that band.

Are you male or female: Nimrod's Son
Describe yourself: Oh My Golly!
How do some people feel about you: Gigantic
How do you feel about yourself: I'm Amazed!
Describe your ex girlfriend/boyfriend: Something Against You
Describe your current girlfriend/boyfriend: I've Been Waiting For You
Describe where you want to be: All Over The World
Describe what you want to be: Blown Away
Describe how you live: Head On
Describe how you love: Make Believe
Share a few words of wisdom: Distance Equals Rate Times Time

That was fun. Now take your favorite band and give it a whirl. BTW, I don't currently have a girlfriend - hence my choice of titles for those questions. Unfortunately the Pixies never wrote a song entitled 'Non-committal Man-Boy'.

I'm Glad Someone Had A Good Valentine's Day!

It's my distinct pleasure to welcome Cole Thomas Peden into this crazy world of ours, and it's a better planet for having him. Best wishes to Steve, Jen and their new family. "He's honestly a wee miracle," says the proud new Dad, and apparently Jen is taking to motherhood "like a duck to water". I'm not sure quite how Steve is taking to it, but I'm going to use this opportunity to drop in my personal favorite "like a fat kid to a Smartie".



He was born at 4pm on Valentine's day, and weighed in at 7.7 lbs. I fully expect Cole to be running his own print shop by the time he's old enough to fire his maiden paintball. Nice work, kids. I look forward to meeting/scaring the heck out of the little guy. Yes it's true, babies love me. And be sure to click here for a Pye in the Face exclusive - Cole's very first music video.

Crazy Mardi Gras Party Developments!

As you know, I'm throwing a Mardi Gras party this Saturday at Tiernans. Read my previous related article or visit the Evite for more information. I want to give everyone an update on some breaking special arrangements and surprises just in case you're still on the fence about whether or not you plan to attend/binge drink.



First and foremost, the Corona girls are definitely coming. They'll be running around in their skimpy little tanktops promoting Corona Lite and buying a whackload of it for party guests. They'll also have giveaways, brand schwag and large breasts. In addition to my DJ who'll be spinning from 9-2, a well known WBCN personality is coming down in the station's Hummer to give away a bunch of very cool prizes and run some Mardi Gras themed contests. The station is also running 4 radio spots between now and then, billing the event as 'WBCN & Corona's Late Mardi Gras Bash'. I am billing the event as 'Pye & WBCN & Corona's Late Mardi Gras Bash' since it was my goddamn idea, but who has time to be petty on a night like this is shaping up to be? I've been told that they've spent 10K on the event to date - so get your fast asses down there for a great time and some free goodies!

30 Tall Tales #6: Vermont Academy Tomfoolery.

The previous article on the Vermont Academy reunion really got me thinking about those strange days, and I realized that there are a wealth of stories which combined would make a great Tall Tale entry. Memories that grow dimmer and dimmer with each passing year - and it's been 13 already - so with no further adue...

I was 17 years old, fresh after graduating from public high school - only to be dropped right back in to do my senior year all over again. This time with the added bonus of getting used to living away from home for the very first time. It was called a post-graduate year and was a way for me to trade my time on the VA football field for a partial scholarship and the opportunity to get my grades up (way up) in order to get into a better college. It was also called 'what I had to do in order to avoid spork vivisection by my father' and, in spite of the remote location, strict rules and rigid schedule - was still a very favorable alternative. Don't let the Baby New Year photos fool you.

The number of people I still keep in touch with whom I met during that one short year is testament to how formative it was. Every single one of the PGs were stuffed onto the same floor, and we were all former public school party-monkeys flailing to adapt to our new life in the gulag. Up at 6... 8 hours of class... 3 hours of sports... 3 hours of study time... bed. Each and every single day - including Saturdays. We could be expelled for smoking, dipping, drinking or fighting - usually with just one strike. As most of us excelled in all of the above, it took a lot of getting used to and all we had for amusement was eachother. There were many friends made and many, many mischievious evenings born of our collective boredom. Idle hands... the devil... you see where this is headed.

I could seriously write a book about my time at VA but for our purposes here I'll just touch on a few of the more memorable moments. And it will be hard to pick and choose. To really do this justice, I'll add one or two stories a day for the rest of the week. I may add new unrelated articles on top, but will keep updating this one - so check back if you dare. I mean 'care'.

Lessons in Leaners
Many of our more creative moments stemmed from the fact that we could get kicked out of the school for so much as belching at an inopportune moment. If, God forbid, revenge needed to be meted out on some disrespectful 4 year student it had to be done very anonymously. There were three particularly memorable reprisals that I want to share. The first involves my least favorite floormate, Eric. Eric liked make a lot of noise and keep me awake at night. A skinny little soccer player, he also liked to flaunt the fact that I could do absolutely nothing about it should I want to remain enrolled in school and out of juvenile detention.

The dining hall served Chicken Cordon Bleu about once a week, or 'exploding chicken' as we affectionately called it. When you sliced into the breast, which was stuffed with cheese and ham, a hades-hot stream of molten provolone would shoot out and burn the back of your hand (or worse). But I didn't plan on burning Eric - No, rather I recognized the true reprisal potential of poultry. I ate half of my portion and then stuffed the remainder in a napkin before returning to Slum 3.

Eric was a soccer player and had a very expensive pair of cleats that he was quite proud of. Soccer season had yet to begin, and I knew that said cleats sat unused and out of mind in his closet. We weren't allowed to have locks on our doors (leading to many thefts by the extremely dodgy and maladjusted 4 year students leading in turn to many of the described revenge tactics) so I waited until Eric went to the bathroom before striking. I kneeled down inside his closet and quickly jammed handfuls of chicken up inside the toes of both his beloved soccer shoes. I returned to the empty hallway and went back to my room - the perfect crime.

A few days later, Eric and his roomate were sleeping in friend's rooms, as the vile stench of rotting chicken had driven them out - despite their best attempts at locating the source. About 5 days went by before a janitor thought to examine the shoes. Suspecting 'foul' play we all got a good talking to from our dorm parent Mr. Shapiro, who knew full well that Eric's frequent annoying behavior had left him with the equivalent of a bullseye painted on his back as far as the PGs were concerned. The event, like the stench, blew over fairly quickly after that and Eric started keeping to his end of the hall after lights out.

Vermont Academy Reunion In Brookline.

Back in October, Wardy organized a Vermony Academt reunion at a Vietnamese restaurant in Brookline. I'll update this entry with more details after I talk to him as I can't remember what the place was called. It was multi-year, so classes from 1992 all the way back to 1942 were represented. I met a lot of great people whose names I really wish I could remember now. If it weren't for these photos that I just found on a CD while cleaning my room, I'd continue to think it was all a dream stemming from bad pork.



First we have myself and the illustrious Billy Kelleher, who lived across the hall from me on the 3rd floor of Alumni Hall - or Slum 3 as it was affectionately known - in 1991-1992. Billy and I were both 'ringers' brought in as post graduates on scholarships to play sports. Billy's hockey talents far exceeded my fruity meanderings on the football field, and he went on to captain the Dartmouth team for several seasons. He currently lives near me in the North End, and we get silly a few times a year.



That's Doug Rumsey on my right, another former Slum 3 boy. Doug is a successful model whom you've probably seen in AT&T Wireless and Gap ads. And lookie here! A quick web search reveals that he is also a Vermont Stud, which I will be sure to tease him endlessly for the very next time I see him.

Q: Since you said you weren't shy, where's the strangest place you've had sex?
A: Wow, that's very personal, so how about I tell you about a kiss? I kissed someone underneath a waterfall in the Virgin Islands. There's just something about the ocean and the water.

Oh my God you're so busted, Rumsey.

The headmaster, Jim Mooney, asked me if I'd like to visit VA sometime soon and do a Q&A with the students about what I do for a living. It would take place at one of the morning meetings where I'd stand on stage in front of the entire school like I did several times 13 years ago. The faculty would want me to talk about online advertising. But all I'd want to tell the kids about is the silly shenanigans we got up to when I was a student there. I'd like to do it eventually, but first there are several statute of limitation laws I'm going to have to look into.

Going Sledding? Try Using A Hill. And A Sled.

Janet sent me a photo of her sledding this past weekend up in Vermont. She looks like she's having a great time, but I've been sledding a time or two in my life and can't help but notice a few key elements seem to be missing here. I used to tear up Nashawtuc Hill in Concord with my Super GT Snow Racer. Damn straight. They called me 'The Avalanche'. They also frequently called me "Hey big, drunk 16-year-old who is far too old to be sledding - you're hurting our children". Which I never thought was that catchy.



Now, if Janet had said to me instead that she'd been lying in a snowbank while up in Vermont, I wouldn't take issue with this photo. Is this the training hill? Do they take a couple of dry runs across a parking lot before working their way up to an incline of some sort? Will they actually give her a sled next weekend? Yes, the sledding's changed a lot since I was a lad. But not the drinking.

Way Too Excited For Fish.

Nick finished moving in yesterday, and the fishtank has officially arrived! I am far more excited about this than anyone should be, and I have to assume I've become a bit too complacent and easy to please. Next I'll be writing about my undying devotion to 2000 Flushes toilet pucks. Regardless, we're setting it up today so the tank has all week to get itself up to speed. Apparently you're supposed to leave it for a week before adding fish or something. Nick's the one who read the fish book, not me. Of course Nick is also the one who killed all his existing fish during the move, so it might be time for me to lead an investigation into our new marine life's habitat like Richard Dreyfuss. I've already talked him out of dropping in a toilet puck.

I thought as sort of a fun little Monday exercise you all could give me a few tips, pointers, fish breed suggestions, name ideas, etc. And please don't say 'Nemo' or 'Jaws'. I'm currently planning on naming all of the fish after famous drowning victims. We'll definitely have Jeff Buckley the Guppie, Natalie Wood the Fantail and Mary Jo Kopechne the Bubble Eye. When the tank is set up and populated, I'll add some photos here. I'm thinking me, with my shirt off, covered in peanut oil.

Blogger Gets Their Shit Together.

Blogger has finally developed a better way for people to post comments - and in doing so has rendered the hack I installed last month for the same purpose completely inoperable. I'll have to make some changes to my template code over the weekend to get comment functionality back up and running, but it's good to see they've finally started developing the application again. Here's hoping category tags are right around the corner!

In the meantime, keep your silly thoughts to yourself. Or save up a bunch of them and just ejaculate all over the site Monday morning. Actually, on second thought don't do anything remotely akin to ejaculating anywhere near me. Thank you.

UPDATE: All fixed! Comment away! (That means you, P-Cips. And yes, you're a geek.)

Trailer Park Baby New Year.

My father sent me these photos a couple of weeks ago. I chuckled, shook my head and then vowed I'd never show them to a soul - for fear that such strange nuances of my ancestral lineage may one day exclude me from public office. Now that I think about it though, I've pretty much ensured as much all by my lonesome. Still, I figured I'd keep the snaps to myself for fear of embarassing the old man in public. You can see why for yourselves...



The photos were entitled "babynewyear.jpg" so I can only assume the stories I've heard about my Dad being the Trailer Park's resident Foster Brooks are true. Gordo is basically the wind-up entertainment for this portable Floridian community. Kudos to him for enjoying his retirement, however disturbing it may be to the rest of his kin. He makes a superb baby new year, and it looks as though there was at least one costume change involved as well.

But then I got word that he had actually been checking the blog on a regular basis, and was miffed that he had yet to be featured! The old man reads my site? Jesus, that changes everything. Actually, we're talking about Gord here. I don't need to change a thing. And since we're on the topic, I'll share my favorite exchange with him from last summer:

"Hey Dad - I didn't know you liked Mike's Hard Lemonade."
"Well, actually I enjoy a nice bottle of it every night while I watch the sunset."
"You know what it is, right?"
"What?"
"Malt liquor for chicks."
"Fuck off."

Friday's Quizzlet: Please Excuse My Pubes.

Appetizer: What do you want for Valentine's Day?
Receiving something on Valentine's Day means that you have a significant other. Which I do not. Nor am I particularly shopping around at the moment. Sorry ladies, but you'll have to get your daily dose of indifference elsewhere. I can, however, always count on a Valentine's card from my Mother. I believe she may be trying to creep me out enough so I'll get married. It's working.

Soup: If you could change the color of something you own, what would it be?
I'd love to change my white leather couches back to white again. They're comfortable and I love them, but they've been through the wars. Many scuffs, stains and general wear and tear have left them looking like giant eclairs covered in ants. Like gym socks stuffed with tennis balls and then rolled in jimmies. Like rolls of toilet paper stamped on by boots covered in nutella. Like a single section of a pan flute, increased 300 times by some sort of raygun and then hacked at with a shovel. You know what I'm talking about.

Salad: What's your favorite day of the week and why?
Friday - hands down. Around 3 p.m. I get the angel and devil duking it out on opposite shoulders. The angel knows that if I go straight home after work and behave, the weekend will be productive and relatively inexpensive. The devil likes to remind me that although I'll wind up broke, sleep all day and possibly wet myself - I'll have a damn good time doing it. I recently paid for the angel to attend debate classes, and it's the best money I ever spent. You'll find me tonight, for example, playing video games or watching Tivo'd episodes of CSI. That sounds pretty pathetic to the casual observer, but believe me - I've lived a wonderful, wild life thus far and I've decided to start picking my battles more carefully. So be sure to come see me next weekend when the angel will be away visiting relatives in the outfield.

Main Course: What excuse do you use most often?
My father was always after me about the importance of not making lame justifications for things. Some of my friends still impersonate him by saying: "You know what those are David? Those are excuses!" He was relentless, and to this day I know intrinsically when I myself am about to make one, and the lame excuses of others stick out like sore thumbs and drive me mad. "I'm tired". "I've been really busy". And then there's the catch-all that the British use: "I can't be asked". I can honestly say that a make a bare minimum of excuses for myself, and I certainly don't have one that I use most often. Except that particularly effective one involving pubic lice.

Dessert: Name something or someone you feel sorry for.
I hate to patronize people, as I'm no bargain myself. I guess the easiest answer would be victims of the recent Tsunami in Asia. They never stood a chance, they never saw it coming and they certainly didn't deserve it. That was some biblical shit, man. Oh, and Jan Michael Vincent.

Quite Possibly The Greatest Quote Ever.

Pound for pound, Winston Churchill can lay claim to the best collection of soundbytes in human history. But here's a little gem I've had hanging over my desk for the better part of a month. It really tugged at my regret-strings when I accidentally read it while perusing Rob Riggle's website (he's my favorite new SNL castmember who also happens to be a decorated Marine,) and I wanted to share it with you. Translation: another busy day here at work with little time for blogduggery.

"Nothing in the world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan, 'Press on,' has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race"

- Calvin Coolidge

I really do read this every morning before sifting through 172 emails whilst murdering a sweet cheese croissant. That actually sounds like a boxer's nickname. "No one reminds me more of a young Joe Louis than relative newcomer, Sweet Cheese Johnson". Anyway, I hope you got something out of it. More toilet humor/less quotes from dead Presidents tomorrow. Promise. "Sweet Cheese! Hit him where it hurts!"

Why, It's Silly Kitty Photo Day!

There's a small percentage of my readership who appreciates gratuitous animal photos. They're also probably the same segment who enjoyed all the baby photos from last week and are also chicks. Since I'm too busy today to write anything noteworthy, and as a sort of antidote to all of the breast jokes from the Mardi Gras Party piece, I give you Silly Kitty Photo Day! And probably a violent bout of nausea.



First, I offer up photographic evidence to support the popular conspiracy theory that James Earl Ray did not act alone. I'm also simultaneously supporting the probability of me getting stabbed to death behind a liquor store in Mattapan.



And finally a police photo documenting the sad reality of the Iams/Purina cocktail - or 'speedball' as it's known around the scratching post. The real tragedy is, this victim was only 4 weeks old! Awareness begins at home beside the litterbox.

Mardi Mardi - We Likes To Party... Gras.

It's been 3 months since the Halloween bender, and I'm gettin' all itchy for another par-tay. I don't think it's a personal hygiene issue. But rather a desire to rage against the dying of my New Years resolutions. Actually rage towards would be a more accurate description. Join me, won't you?

Unless you suffered a head injury in a snowmobiling accident over the weekend, you've probably surmised that it's a Mardi Gras theme. Just what does that entail? Glad you asked. We're going to have Eric the DJ spinning until 2, the Corona girls wandering around encouraging debauchery, some door prizes courtesy of a local radio station, a specially themed drink menu and as always there is absolutely no cover! I should also probably mention that it's Saturday, February 19th at Tiernans.


                Titties 'Till Fat Tuesday - Get those beads ready, boys.

So bring your beads, Girls Gone Wild camera crews, silly hats, disturbing masks and all the other trappings of a proper Mardi Gras celebration. I get ribbed a lot because I plan for parties way in advance. Well this time around you've got a little under two weeks. Get a babysitter, a designated driver, a tetanus shot - whatever you need to get yourselves down to Tiernans for the festivities. You won't be sorry.

I'd love to see anyone who's interested at the bender in question, and you can click here for more details. Feel free to add yourself and your friends to the Evite. Come one, come all. Unless of course I owe you money or have at any point impregnated you.

Patriots and Cheeky Monkeys.

I'm happy to report that I managed not to set fire to myself for the remainder of the weekend. I spent most of yesterday working on this boston hairstylist site, and then Monster and I went out to Concord for Jim's super-duper-bowl-party. About 20 of us ate, drank and were very merry as the Pats secured their... actually I refuse to say the 'D' word anymore. People will think I'm one of the Mings or something. Jim's corn/chili chowder was the other highlight of the evening, as was seeing Jodice's daughter Nicole - who is the most adorable little munchkin I know. Maybe next time though we'll find a game to play other than 'spit in Dave's face after eating 3 oatmeal raisin cookies'.

Far be it from me to pass along silly internet videos, but this is one Colin sent me that you have got to see. The premise is this: extremely dexterous monkey torments three young tigers in the jungle. They bumblingly try to catch him as he swings down from the trees, pulls their tails and tweaks their ears and noses. The funny thing is, the monkey serves no purposes by risking his life in this manner. He's just messing with the youngsters. A truly mischievous and cheeky little bastard. Check it out.

I'm The Firestarter.

Life is good this week. My old roomate is out and a new one is on the way in. Everything is back the way I like it, and my pad is once again it's clean, spartan old self - sans mounds of useless curio crap that left with its owner. I've been painting, sweeping, mopping, consolodating, dusting and this place just looks amazing if I do say so myself.

That is until I just set fire to it.



I'm hiding in my room right now as the nasty burnt nylon/goosedown smoke clears. I had a candle near my new $160 jacket which apparently burst into flames simply due to the heat. I was downstairs loading what crap the old roomie didn't take into the basement when I heard the fire alarm go off. I rushed upstairs to find the entire coat ablaze. A few good puffs from yours truly and it was all over, but my newly restored sanctum has been putrified.

The funny thing is, I heard that Thursday night the old roomate's new bedroom caught on fire too. Has anyone seen Drew Barrymore walking around the North End?

Double Secret Probation. And Death.

John Vernon, one of the most consistently effective onscreen villains of all time - best known as Animal House's Dean Wormer - died Tuesday at the age of 72. Born in Zehner, Saskatchewan, Vernon played baddies opposite legends like Lee Marvin and Clint Eastwood. He then spent his twilight years doing voiceovers for popular cartoons and video games, working right up until the time he cashed in his chips.

One of his last appearences was for 2003's DVD release of Animal House, where he participated in a 'where are they now?' segment in character as Wormer. I've seen it and it's hilarious. Also funny is that I just watched this movie just last weekend whilst playing 'Asshole' with Seamus and Meredith. I laughed for 2 minutes at the quote below, until remembering I was 31 years old and drinking heavily at 3 in the afternoon.


"Fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life, son."

Then I kept right at it. What would Blutowski have done? Oh yeah - dead at 33. Forget I brought it up.

Friday's Quizzlet: The Purple Pyeman.

Appetizer: If you were a dog, what breed would you be, and why?
My breed would be irrelevant as I'd be constantly holed up under a porch licking myself.

Soup: What does the color purple make you think of?
A crosseyed Oprah Winfrey. A people-eater. Some guy who lived on Porcupine Peak and continuously tried to diddle Strawberry Shortcake. The L.A. Kings. Bondage videos involving testicles and shoelaces.

Salad: Approximately how long does it take you to get ready each morning?
That depends on how many people I have to drive back to the high school.

Main Course: How many cousins do you have, and are you close to them?
I have 7 first cousins and 4 second cousins. My mother was an only child so I suppose that's resulted in less than most. But when you're trying to buy their love at Christmas because you only see them once a year - less is a good thing.

Dessert: Take your initials (first, middle, last) and come up with something else those letters could stand for. (Example: SFO = Sweet Funny Otter)
I wish my initials were S.G. and that I had never been given a middle name so that my answer could be Silly Goose! But since that's not the case: Don Johnson's Penis. Come on, you were all thinking it.

Babies Like Crazy: Silas Wade Hodgson

There's just so much reproducing going on these days. Next up, congrats to Allison and Mark for managing to create the all-new Silas Wade Hodgson! Uncle Mike is extremely proud and wanted to share the clan's new bundle with the world/30 people who visit this site regularly. He's a strapping young spud, but that shirt alone would have gotten him blogded.



Will Silas grow up to attend CCHS and then haunt the baseball diamonds there? Will he pursue a career in law enforcement? Will he dip his pacifier in Natty Lite and then disturb shit at every given opportunity? I can't say for sure at this point, but I'm going to stick around and find out.

Number 13 Baby: Jack Errol Thompson.

Charles Thompson aka Black Francis aka Frank Black's wife gave birth to a baby boy on January 7th. He even looks like old Frankie - Congrats to you and Violet (because I know you read my blog religiously)!



Far be it from me to fawn over celebrity babies, but what an utterly amazing year in Pixiedom. This is obviously the capper - however I still hope Blackie F. and the gang give birth to a new album before they hang it up for another 13 years.

Monster's B-Day 2: Surprise Party Success.

It wasn't a surprise that the party was a success, I'm just saying that we successfully surprised him at... the... party. Anyway, Bobby and I threw up a smokescreen and told him we were going to Abe & Louie's for a quiet dinner. Then, since we had a very 'late reservation', we decided to hit the SideBar first to kill time - where about 15 friends were lying in wait. "SURPRISE!" When the staff realized it wasn't yet another health inspection, Sharon started serving up the bevvies and the wings which were enjoyed almost as much as her tanktop.



It's funny how the only birthday present that was given to anyone was from Peter to me - a Charleston Chiefs shirt he forgot to give me back on December 7th. Above we see Peter, myself and Sarah listening to Monster's increasingly liquored birthday prattle. If I look confused it's because I most definitely am. More thanks to Sebby for the spread and Betsy for the decorations!

After the SideBar closed we wandered across the street to Silvertone for a Dark & Stormy. A very tasty drink indeed - although most heterosexual bars don't carry ginger beer. I snuck out around 11:45 and was in bed watching The Surreal Life by 1am. I got in touch with Monster this morning to make sure he hadn't been incarcerated, and I'm happy to report he's already at the office - bleary eyed and boozy tailed. Many thanks to everyone who came! You made his day.

Revel In My PS Prowess: A Monster Of A Birthday.

When I first met the Monster, he was only 23 and enjoyed reminding me that I was pushing 30. Old-timer and Grandpa were terms oft-used to describe me, and there were many jokes based around Depends. Well the big galoot turns 26 today, and I take extreme pleasure in welcoming him to the second half of his fleeting twenties.



Happy birthday big guy. You test my nerves at times but you're a good friend. I'd offer to buy you a drink, but you're probably already sucking down a bottle of Petron in an IHOP somewhere. We'll meet up tonight for a few quiet ones, and I'll do my best to keep you out of the clutches of the Salem police. But I'm not making any promises.

I Welcome A Little Porn In My Work E-mail.

I am lucky enough to work in an office that walks a fine line between the formal and the informal. We have all the trappings of a strict corporate environment - dress code, office hours, vacation policy, bonus structure, etc. What we lack, thankfully, is a designated network administrator who spends all of their time filtering this and blocking that... Effectively ruining everyone's extremely inappropriate workday fun.

I'm obviously kidding. The internet is a hostile Petri dish of wormies and crickets - perhaps even more bacterially volatile than Courtney Love's last pap smear. We need vigilant network admins in larger environments - it's just that here we're all tech-savvy enough to know what sort of online activity is safe, and what's tantamount to shooting your PC with a 12 gauge. I was also recently able to determine, through hours of research - once and for all, that Virtual Valerie is not a real person.

Still, there's nothing quite like firing up Outlook on a Tuesday morning to unwittingly download photos of a lovely young woman who holds the record for the most consecutively employed marital aids. Honey - where do you go from here? Might I suggest a medicine ball or a SCUD missle?