And it makes sense. If you’re nice and polite to the bank teller, she’s not going to give you bags full of cash–no matter if you’re still pointing your gun at her.

And who’s Hollywood’s bigest star? Well, Pauly Shore, of course. I know what you’re thinking–”Pauly is such a cool cat, today’s Cary Grant, how could he be considered a jerk?” Well, how do you explain the enhanced intorrogation techniques that were Biodome, Son In Law and Jury Duty? Without those crimes against humanity, Pauly Shore would not be the cinematic icon he is today.

Which brings me to the crux of this dribble of a post–yes, there is a point…blunt and dull, but a point nonetheless–you have to ask yourself a question: do you want to be an ordinary person, or do you want to be a Pauly Shore?

Since your answer was undoubtedly that you wanted to be a Pauly, then what are you willing to do about it? Are you willing to force-feed rice to little children like Mother Theresa did? Are you willing to cause traffic delays like Princess Diana? Are you willing to spend 27 years trying to live rent-free like Nelson Mandela? All horrible acts, but they forged the greatness inside those mean, selfish people.

So rise up to the challenge. I believe in you. You too can be as great and successful as Pauly Shore. Go do something horrible today–greatness is waiting and the world will thank you for it later.

So now I’m left trying to clear the air about all those vile online rumors:

• I’m not broke because I gamble. I gamble because I’m broke.
• That was my evil twin brother on Cops last week being taken down in his tighty-whities by the K-9, not me.
• If it was ruled “entrapment” by the judge, it doesn’t count.
• You can’t divine someone’s intention, so “intent to sell” is really subjective.
• If you don’t know what the word “trespassing” means, how can you be expected not to do it?
• If you don’t have a really, really long ruler available, how can you be expected to stay 200 feet away from schools and parks?
• I was young and needed the money.

There, that should take care of some of them for the time being. False rumors are vile and hurt people…just ask our foreign-born Muslim president.

So join me in abolishing false Internet rumors. If you want to spread a false rumor, do it the old fashioned way—write it on a public bathroom stall wall. It’s better that way and it gives me something to read while I’m in there.

Thank you…now I have to go because my wives are calling.

We get what we deserve. 

We complained that 25-cent coffee was crappy and tasted like chicken diarrhea. We got Starbucks coffee that costs $6.50 and a kidney.

We complained that Wal-Mart was too big. We got Wal-Mart Supercenters.

We complained that television focused on the unrealistically beautiful. We got More to Love.

We complained high-priced escorts were too expensive. We got a really bad rash. Aloe Vera my ass…and now on my ass too.

We complained that we had a president hell-bent on attacking other countries. We got a president hell-bent on attacking our own.

We complained that kids weren’t getting enough attention. We got Twitter.

Like I said, we get what we deserve. Unfortunately, we don’t learn our lesson. We continue to complain. Case in point—I’m complaining about complainers. And since you’re reading this post, you must have done something horribly bad to deserve reading this.

As Americans, we are extremely wasteful. How many children are there in third world countries that can’t afford cocaine? And here we are…not only throwing it away, but throwing it away on top of money. Wasteful. No wonder we’re hated.

Hold on a second. Let me wipe the snot off these twenty dollar bills before I continue…there…much better.

And it’s not only our cocaine that we’re wasting. Other studies have shown that there are traces of various pharmaceuticals in our drinking water. I guess we either thrown them or flush them away, or more likely pee them into the water system. Wasteful.

If we all worked together to more thoroughly ingest our drugs, this would be a much better country. For one, drug prices would go down, since we would be more efficient users and not reducing supplies as quickly. Second…wait, I think that’s the only benefit.

Wait, wait…since water and money wouldn’t have drugs on them, they would be cheaper to buy. You could probably get a hundred dollar bill for like $72, based on cocaine’s street value. Just saying.

So next time you’re snorting, shooting up, lighting up or using suppositories, remember the little third-world kids. If only those kids could get high, they wouldn’t be sitting around complaining about abject poverty, famine, drought and government corruption. We would live in a much happier world.

Then something unexpected happened along the way. People started reading it. And for some utterly inexplicable reason, some even went as far as following this blog and setting up RSS feeds. My first reaction was—What the hell are you guys thinking?

That was my second reaction as well.

Actually, that was the only reaction I had for a while.

Then it set in. Crap. There are people out there that are now expecting me to write something. So I did the only thing I could possibly do…I stopped writing.

Don’t blame me or think less of me. It is, after all, your fault.

So now I sit here again, nearly a year after I sold my presidential election vote on this blog, giving it another try. And by the way, I’ll happily give back the $2.57, Subway sandwich and assorted Pesos my vote fetched…in retrospect, it wasn’t worth it. So I’ll see if I can start writing again. If not, then maybe I’ll just come on and start transcribing music lyrics…any requests?

Okay, so here’s to lowered expectations and new beginnings. Let see if this time it sticks. Cheers.

I met Senator John McCain a couple of years ago in Houston Texas. We had both arrived on a flight from Panama City, Panama and were in the process of securing our luggage before hopping on different planes and heading out to our respective destinations. A few days prior to our happenstance meeting, I had read an article about Senator McCain’s harrowing experiences in Vietnam. I had never been a particularly huge McCain fan, but decided the man had earned some respect and that it was only right I should extend it to him.

I tried approaching him a couple of times, but he kept scurrying away before I could get to him. I’m sure he saw me—whether he was shy about engaging strangers (which I doubt, given his chosen profession), was scared of Hispanic stalkers (good luck avoiding Hispanics in Houston, Texas, and hey!, other people I’ve stalked haven’t minded), or having Vietnam flashbacks (the horror…the horror…), I don’t know—but I’ve never seen an old man move so fast.

I finally intersected him at the conveyor belt, where he was picking up a black leather suitcase baring the US Senate seal. I politely approached him and said “Senator McCain, it is an honor and pleasure to meet you.” He gave me a half-assed hand shake (okay, fine, it probably wasn’t very strong due to the torture he endured in Vietnam, but who’s doling out excuses?), quickly turned and scampered away without saying a single word…not even a “maverick.” I saw him approach two young teenage boys and quickly leave with them.

Being the smart, logical person that I am, I could only assume the obvious. He was embarrassed to be caught coming back from a Latin American country with two young boys with whom he had obviously spent a weekend of hot, perverted old-man-on-boy action in the sweaty jungle heat. I vowed on that day never to vote for the man.

It wasn’t until this summer’s Republican National Convention that I realized those two young teenagers were his sons, and that McCain, having been born in Panama, was probably just showing his kids the lands of his childhood.

Senator McCain, I apologize for starting all those nasty Internet rumors.

That said, a promise is a promise and I can’t vote for him. Not to mention the fact that he wants to buy up more properties than Mr. Moneybags and selects running mates like one would select a mail order bride—young, beautiful and inexperienced.

So I can’t vote for McCain.

On the other hand, I think I missed the day when they were handing out all the Kool-Aid, because I don’t seem to have either the sugar rush that clouds my judgment or the Jim Jones cult mentality that seems to ail most of Senator Barack Obama’s followers. If the man proclaimed “give me your firstborn in sacrifice,” I believe most people would…except, of course, McCain, who’s off gallivanting with his.

Senator Obama is a charismatic, enigmatic leader with a populace message, a gift for gab and an overestimated belief in his own self-created hype—has history not taught us anything? Speaking of Nazis and eloquent orators, Friedrich Nietzsche stated it best when he wrote that “The poet presents his thoughts festively, on the carriage of rhythm: usually because they could not walk.”

I know, I know, I know…I went too far comparing him to Nazis. After all, historians clearly document that Nietzsche was wrongly linked to Nazis by his sister after he had lost the mental capacity to defend himself from such defamation. So, for the second time in this post, I apologize.

That said, the quote still stands. Like poets, Obama presents his thoughts festively, in flowery oratory and prose. Yet upon close inspection, stripping the words from their elaborate construction and delving into the meaning of the statements, it is clear that they can’t walk on their own. They are either regurgitation of old class warfare, social engineering and wealth redistribution mantras, or merely empty words adorned to impress, allure and distract. Somewhat like Kool-Aid, which sweetens and colors the water without really giving it any additional nutritional value.

So I sit here, less than two weeks before the election, unsure as to what to do. I can’t vote for a creepy child molester (even if I was the one who erroneously accused him of being one) and I can’t vote for a newbie who looks down on Sarah Palin, while proudly waving his equally thin and unimpressive resume.

Not voting would be unpatriotic and uncivilized, so that leaves me with one option—I’ll sell my vote to the highest bidder. This way I can justify voting for one of these two substance-devoid jokers (and have some money to pay for my higher taxes once Obama wins).

Buyer Beware: I live in California, which means that my vote really isn’t worth much—probably a $5 Subway sandwich and a couple of Pesos (if that much)—but bid at your own risk.

I will vote for the candidate of your choice, even Ron Paul or Larry Flint, who ran for governor here a couple of years back.

I won’t have my dignity, but I’ll have a mediocre sandwich to show for it! Let the bidding begin!

p.s. For the one person who follows my blog (which I haven’t posted to in months), I’m sorry (third apology of the post). As you know, I don’t typically turn this space into political jabber. I mostly spew inane ramblings…pretty much like this post, I guess. So no apology is necessary. I do promise to try to steer clear of politics as much as possible in the future. And I promise to keep that promise for as long as the winner of the presidential campaign keeps his.

1)         You are sitting at home, enjoying an ice-cold Corona while watching the latest episode of The Office on the tube. Your phone begins to ring, and against every instinct in your body (Dwight is about to explain why black bears are superior to Care Bears), you hit the “Pause” button on your Tivo remote control and reach for the phone. Caller ID identifies the caller as “Blocked,” but hey, you paused the show already so might as well check to see what’s so important. The person on the other end identifies himself as Parker and invites you to participate in an important phone survey that shouldn’t take more than five to seven minutes. From the brief introductory information, you gather that the survey is from a competing PR firm for a project that you were the lead in responding to the RFP (request for proposal), but failed to win. Before Parker begins with the first question, he explains that people who work in the marketing, public relations or public affairs industries may not participate in the survey. What industry do you work for?

2)         After years of procrastination, you finally decide to spend a Sunday morning cleaning out the garage. As you move some cobweb-covered boxes you don’t identify as your own—they must have been there from the previous owners—you discover a small trap door on the floor. You pry the door open and nervously peer inside. To your surprise, you find photographic evidence documenting the existence of the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus and a steroids-free Barry Bonds.  If you had your choice, which other fairytale entity would you like to prove real?

3)         What was the last book you read simply to make others think you were smarter than you actually are?

4)         You die in a freak toilet accident and have the opportunity to come back as a ghost to witness your own funeral. During the ceremony, 20 teary-eyed family and friends take the podium and eloquently speak about what a great human being you were and of the many great selfless works you performed.  What percentage of those speakers did you fool and how many of them do you owe money to?

5)         After a long day of work you make your way over to the bus stop and take a seat on the bench. You look around and can’t see anyone else…except for an old raggedy looking man about a block and a half away. Your stomach starts to grumble and you remember that you haven’t had lunch. Then it hits you! You haven’t had lunch because you forgot your wallet at home and have no money on you. Not even enough to pay for the bus. Suddenly the smell of urine attacks your nostrils and as you flinch back you see that the old homeless man has made his way next to you. He sits next to you, coughs and leans toward your ear. With a faint, quaking voice, he whispers in your ear, sharing the meaning of life. As he ends his last word, he gasps and falls over dead. You look around and there’s no one around to help. Do you take his wallet?

6)         You hear a voice close by saying “5.” It’s dark. “4.” A tall velvet curtain stretches in front of you. “3.” You hear loud screams from beyond the curtain. “2.” You feel the pick between your thumb and fingers. “1.” You expertly position your hand over the wooden frets “Showtime!” The curtain rises. The lights shine down. The audience screams. The cymbals crash. What is your opening song?

7)         You spend your lunch hour at work creating a time machine, which you use, ala Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, to travel through time gathering the greatest minds in history. You sit at a table with Einstein, Aristotle, Shakespeare, Franklin, Nietzsche, Patton and others…what game do you think you could consistently beat them all at?

8)         You’re watching old reruns of Mama’s Family on TV Land late one Saturday night when a Time Life commercial comes on advertising a very special music compilation. For only four easy payments of 13.99, you can buy a 2-CD collection featuring the soundtrack of your life. What are the actual, real songs that would best describe your childhood, adolescence, present and future? (One song title for each phase)

9)         Name a movie that has actually, physically changed your life. If you can’t think of one, seriously, why aren’t you watching more movies?

10)       If you could have two super powers—one to use for good and one to use for evil—what would they be and how would you use them?

Bonus Question: Describe your most embarrassing moment. Spare no details. Act it out if applicable and present any photographic/video evidence if available.

Let me know your thoughts!

Why am I feeling so old? Tomorrow is my birthday. That’s right, I’m officially older. The oldest person alive…in my house. Tomorrow, I am turning…I can’t even believe I have to come to terms with this…32. Yes, I know what you’re thinking…”Goddamn that’s old!” I know, but you don’t have to rub it in, you…you…you young whippersnapper you. I’d kick your butt for being so disrespectful, but I’m too tired and can’t lift my foot past my ankle. 

Having lived all these countless years (well, not countless…32), I have much wisdom and advice to pass on to the generations that follow me. So young ones, listen closely:

·    When you lose the TV remote control, you can still change the channel. It may require getting up and walking to the TV, but it is possible. If you try really hard, you can also increase and decrease the volume and turn it on and off.

·    There was a time when every other word in the English language was not preceded by the lowercase letter “i.” It’s iEnglish for iGod’s sake—speak properly! Now where did I leave my iPhone?

·    Hannah Montana is not the greatest musical act ever. That honor is reserved for New Kids on the Block. Damn right, “The right stuff, baby!”

·    If you want to learn valuable lessons from someone, go talk to them. Don’t go on the internet and read blogs…wait, ignore that one.

That’s all the lessons I have so far. If someday I live to the ripe old age of 35, I may impart more. Unless dementia kicks in even further, in which case perhaps you can come over and change my diaper. Oh, and pay some of my bills, because chances are that I haven’t for a while…might as well start paying them now, if you don’t mind.

Hold on…be right back…

…

…

…thanks for waiting. It’s amazing how age shrinks your bladder. I had something really important to say…damn dementia!

So as I sit on my virtual rocking chair, swaying back and forth on my Second Life porch, I reminisce about years gone by…the good old days without all this worthless technology…oops, out of time. I have to go check my Twitter page, play some Scrabulous on Facebook, play GTA IV on Xbox Live and watch the game on HDTV, so no more time to blog about the good old days.

But that’s not such a bad thing…without the bottom 90 percent, those in the 90th percentile wouldn’t be there. Without second and third place, there is no first. Without gardeners, I’d have to mow my own lawn…then my back would hurt, and I would need a chiropractor…but there wouldn’t be any because they would all be orthopedic surgeons…and they would be too expensive just for a mowing-caused ailment…and I would go broke trying to pay for it…then I’d be in the bottom half…and not a winner. But as I said, they can’t all be winners.

Life is graded on a bell curve…for those of you who are not winners, the bell curve is a statistics concept used in college to grade students…under the bell curve model, there are an equal number of losers as there are winners, and most people fall in the middle—mediocrity. For those of you who are REALLY not winners, stop reading and go watch the Sponge Bob Square Pants marathon on Nickelodeon. Better yet, go mow my lawn.

But I digress…Life is graded on a bell curve…we need winners and losers, else we’d have chaos. Is it fair? Actually, yes. Winners and losers aren’t predetermined. The gardeners can become entrepreneurs, starting their own chain of successful gardening franchises and becoming winners. The rocket scientist can develop a sick infatuation with a fellow astronaut and be arrested, trying to kidnap her stalk victim’s girlfriend while traveling hundreds of miles wearing adult diapers. Yes, it happens. We’re not stuck in one category or the other. But we are in a category—no denying that.

So which category are you in?

They can’t all be winners. This post, some would argue, is a loser. But that would only be because people who think that are losers. If you agree with this post, you’re a winner…well, at least you’re cognizant about the reality. And as G.I. Joe says, “Knowing is half the battle.” Then again, G.I. Joe was a loser cartoon, so you may be a loser taking that advice.

So my parting words are simple: Be a loser. The more of you that are out there, the better the chance that I’m a winner.