So, I only have to wait five more years before The Tonight Show is watchable again. Not soon enough, if you ask me. Fuck Jay Leno.

Gold!

Well, now I know what to get everyone for the holidays.

The Sect of Homokaasu - The Gematriculator

Uselessness stolen from GC. Behold:

I finally get British humour. Too bad it's only tongue-in-cheek. This could be the best thing to happen to art since, um...since...soup cans?

(C) 2004 Scott R. Kurtz

You know, I used to be a hardcore Star Wars nerd, and still consider myself a fan despite the now-tarnished "legacy" (fuckin' Jar-Jar). But I'm starting to find my fellow Star Wars fans to be more intolerable than the changes being made to the movies themselves. Look, if you still have the original, unblemished versions on tape, pop those in and enjoy. But to piss and moan because the new movies aren't as good as the originals (duh) or because Lucas keeps fucking with his movies is pointless. Despite your ability to recite the movies in your sleep and make your genitalia look just like Bib Fortuna, they are not YOUR movies. Let it go. Jesus.

Now I'm depressed. It sucks to lose a hero. RIP, Mr. Meyer. If heaven is anything like I picture it, you should be right at home.

Oh, for crying out glayven!*

*Note: Not Simpsons related, merely nerd related. The use of Frink, therefore, is appropriate.

Sustained.

The World's Shortest Blog

Ridiculous and hilarious. If my site didn't make it abundantly clear, this makes it official: there are too many blogs.

3-0, fool! What?!

Strangely, I feel no different. I think when you jettison artificial deadlines for your goals in life, milestone birthdays such as this are neutered for the most part. I don't feel old. I don't feel unaccomplished. (Not to say neither is true, I just do't feel it.) I'm just one year closer to being able to legally date women "half my age." And that can only be a good thing.

I don't feel like I'm getting stodgy, either. My tastes have not ossified/pussified. I actually feel better conditioned, physically, than I have in quite some time. And, of course, my pimp hand is stonger than ever. Intelligence remains low, but confidence creeps ever higher.

Anyway, the intent here is not shameless self-promotion/deprecation (well, not with this post; obviously, this blog, like most personal blogs, is a big fucking vanity project). Just a few meager ruminations on turning thirty. I'm the first in my group of friends (at least local friends; my out-of-towners all beat me to it) to hit this mark, and it's not as earth shattering as I once imagined.

I think today, because I can, I will use this phrase wrecklessly (complete with mock-Japanese accent): "Please to moustache ride?"

And the countdown is on...

T-Minus 117 minutes and counting.

Will this spell the end of my tenure with my current employer?

And if so, is Damian Vegas gonna have to choke a bitch?

DOOOOOM!

So, a strike seems inevitable. Oh well. The only positive I see from this is the remote possibility that some of the managers in this place could suffer from some hot, picket-line violence. I want to see cars overturned, baby!

In semi-related news, I may resign from my position before this week (day?) is up. When you become increasingly furious as you walk to work, you know it's time to change jobs.

Stuck To ODB

Like you clowns won't watch this.

Outstanding.

Only the first part of this applies to me.

I haven't heard anything official, but I'm pretty sure the strike is a-happening.

If the hell that was my day on Friday didn't make me more sympathetic to the cause, a flyer that was posted by union members today surely did. I don't have it here (I thought about picking one up to scan, but I did not want any union members to think I was trying to silence their voice), and describing wouldn't do it justice. Needless to say, it was a parody that was, if not worthy of The Onion, at least as good as The Modern Humorist.

I think I may have quoted this before, but this line is still gold:

"Well aren't you little crackers just as cute as the dickens."

Ahhhh...good evening. Boozin' mit JG and Los O's. Slept past my metro stop. Fortunately, I woke up at the stop after, and there was a train going in the other direction at the next station.

Now I'm here, eating a KitKat and watching South Park. This much I know: no showering for me tonight. It's just not worth the risk.

Surprise of the night: not one hooker spotted on my way home. I must have hit the lull time before they're out in force, which should be in about 20 minutes or so.

Bedtime soon.

Football season is here, folks. And it already sucks. (For me, anyway. Fuckin' Dolphins.)

"Buncha savages in this town.

Lord, help me...

I can't get "Love Shack" out of my head. And it's not even the whole song, just the goofy Fred Schneider bits.

Dammit!

For Greg.

Now that's what I call special sauce....

Booooo!

The weekend, prior:

Friday: Dinner with mother and youngest sister out in Maryland. A little bit of shopping (finally replaced my ghettotastically beat-up wallet) and some clothes from mom (six new shirts, and none of them suck. Go mom!) later and it's back home. I de-boarded the Metro sometime around 12:45am, meaning that it was too early for K St. Hooker saturation, though I did pass one who was built like Will Sasso. (And this time, that's not a compliment.)

Saturday: down to Alexandria to meet with JG for a trip to South Central PA (not nearly as gangsta as that sounds) for a birthday party. Los O's followed us up there, as well. A good time was had, with plenty of cooked flesh and beer to sate our lusty needs. Beer pong is an okay game at which to suck (as I do) if, and only if, you're playing against people who don't. Otherwise, it can be a Bataan Death March with no beer consumption to speak of.

That night, shortly apres the departure of Mr. and Mrs. O, JG and his crew and I went to another house (read: the beer had run dry!) for more beer consumption. We also played a little 'Hole, watched some TV (split action between college football and Chappelle's Show), burned things (well, that was mostly MH) and got some more food into us. For the record, Domino's may not do pizza very well, but their wings are pretty decent.

Sunday: after crashing at JW's spot, he and I (and Goose!) hit a diner for breffuts. An eggs benedict later, we're back at JW's watching the DVD section of Triumph the Insult Comic Dog's hilarious Come Poop With Me. Soon after, JG arrives to haul my sorry ass back to DC. On the way, we make the stop: Hoss's. Boy howdy, is that good eatin'! An hour and change later, I'm being bundled onto the Metro, soup (homemade, from the family JG) and sleepover bag in hand. The rest of the day was spent melded to my PS2 with some HSG:F! action.

Monday, I give to you in haiku form.

Virginia suburb
Fried chicken and The Simpsons
Drama by Dick Wolf.

And that's it...