Who would play you?

Who would play you in a movie? Just curious. This is my monthly "who the fuck is reading this" post. Also, I didn't have anything creative to write. Not that I ever do, but this time was especially non-creative.

For me, I'd say Drew Carey, Andy Richter or maybe Jim Gaffigan. Awww...I just made myself sad.

Cory, I think this guy would do a pretty good job playing you.

(face)

Don't taze me, Pa

An Oregon man has been arrested for using a stun gun on his kid...who is 18-months old.

I know what you're all thinking. You're thinking that this guy is some kind of animal. Who could use a stun gun on a child? But hey, let's not jump to conclusions. We don't know this child. This kid could be a real asshole.

I can't remember if I entered the bus from behind or not...

Last night, with my belly full of bbq ribs and some mac and cheese, I slept curled up in my nest. I can't see myself when I'm asleep, but I imagine it was a pretty adorable sight. During my sleep, I had a pretty unusual dream. Before I start on the dream, I'd just like to go ahead and say that I have already turned over my testicles to the proper authorities. Apparently, I won't be needing them, according to this dream.

So I was on this bus. I was just minding my own business, but there was this guy a few seats in front of me playing some kind of hand-held game really loudly. I could see people getting pretty pissed off so I went and sat by him and said something like, "Hey man, there are people trying to study. Could you turn it down a little? You know, before they get mad?" Pretty diplomatic, I thought. He turned it down and I went back to my seat. Then this woman sat next to me. She said, "I really like what you did there. Will you walk me home?" I said ok and we made our way to the front of the bus. I figured she was either going to kill me or touch my dong. Both were fine since I was going to do one of the two to myself anyway. As the bus stopped and the doors opened, I glanced at the driver. It was Mrs. Carouthers, my school bus driver. I hadn't seen her since high school about eight or nine years ago. I said hi and she kind of frowned. I was puzzled, but moved on 'cause...you know...the dong touching thing.

So I get off the bus with this woman and she looks at me and says, "Will you carry this beehive?" and she hands me an empty glass jar. Makes no sense, right? It's a dream. I don't get it either, but I carried it. We walked down the road for a little while and we eventually came to this huge beehive with a door. I know...no fucking clue. She invites me inside. Once inside, she starts taking her shirt off. That's when I looked at her and said, "You know, I really should go back and tell Mrs. Carouthers thanks for all the times she took me home. I don't think I've ever said thanks."

And that, my friends, is where the dream ended. Apparently I would rather tell a 60-year-old bus driver thank you for doing her job than have crazy honeycomb sex with some dream lady.

I woke up shortly after. It was a little after 5 am. I was pissed and perplexed all at the same time, but I needed to go home today to get some more of my stuff, so I went ahead and left. When I got back to my hometown, I passed by my old school bus, but Mrs. Carouthers wasn't driving. It was some other lady. I don't know what all this means. Is Mrs. Carouthers still alive? People I know from home, can you find this out for me? In the meantime, I'm going to look at naked lady pictures just to make sure I haven't turned into a homo.

Dear Jimmy's Sister...

I would just like to weigh in on your "situation." So a hot girl said she wanted to, among other things, kiss you. I don't know why you view this as such a bad thing. If anything, I think you should be flattered. I know there's always the "if you were in my shoes" argument. Would I be flattered if some dude was admiring my dong from afar? I can't say whether I would be or not, but that's not the point. The point here is that this is awesome for you. This is possibly a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Don't just dismiss it. I say embrace it (and her.) What if this is what you've been looking for? What if that?

I say you give this poor girl a chance. Do it for yourself. Do it for this girl. And most importantly, do it for me. Also, take my camera. I just put new batteries in it. You just click it over to "general picture" and it's ready to take pictures. There's also a high-speed setting. I'm not sure what you'd use that for, but if you could find a way, that would be fantastic.

Thanks,

D.B. <3

Just some random things 'cause I can't sleep and this porn is downloading waaaay too slow

It's 4 a.m. and I can't sleep. Why? Who knows. Too awesome? Probably.

You know what I hate? People who leave comments on dead people's myspace pages. I'm going to write more in-depth on this later. It just bothers me. I don't see the point. You could just as easily think whatever it is you are going to write. It'll have the same effect, which is NOTHING 'CAUSE THEY'RE DEAD. I guess people see it as a way of keeping their memory alive, but if you can't remember somebody without the aid of myspace, then you were a really shitty friend/relative and you should kill yourself so other douches can write, "really missed u at xmas" on your facebook page. FUCK.

Dana Jacobson, ESPN anchor, recently said, "Fuck Jesus" at a celebrity roast for Mike Greenberg and Mike Golic (Mike and Mike.) ESPN has since suspended her. Why say that? I understand it's a roast and you are supposed to go a little "blue," but "Fuck Jesus?" Seriously? I don't know anybody who could pull this off and get a laugh. Kenny tries, though. I think that Dana is mad because Jesus' dad made her face look like this. I'd probably say things like that too if I had to look in a mirror day in and day out.

Imaginary Girlfriend #6,379: Ana Ivanovic

Ana Ivanovic has won my heart...in straight sets. From the moment I saw her, it was 15-love. You guys see what I did there? With the tennis references? Fuckin' genius.

Anyway, yeah. She's pretty hot. I'd definitely let her backhand my balls cross-court. Or forehand. It's up to her. I don't watch a whole lot of tennis. I'm not really sure if she's that good. To me, tennis is to sports what Buck's Pizza in Nacogdoches was to pizza. Sure it's still pizza, but with all the other, better options available, why eat there? On a related note, Buck's was pretty nasty. I ate there once and my ass literally turned into a fountain. I threw a penny in for good luck. And by penny, I mean several rolls of pennies. You know, for extra luck.

So Ana, if you read this and can comprehend English, you just keep on winning (if you were winning in the first place.) Then you swing by and pick me up. We can head back to your home in Serbia. Where is that? Like Virginia or something?

(I have a job interview tomorrow. Pray for me to whatever god you believe in. Well, except for Buddha. You'd just be wasting your time. We had a falling out a couple years ago.)

toothbrush

Peace out, Heath

Heath Ledger dead at the age of 28. Details of his death are sketchy at this point. The number one suspect appears to be shame from getting cornholed by Donnie Darko. Police are also checking into the whereabouts of this guy.

It's me in video form

Who's that douche in the box up there? It's me! Yes, I realize this was a pretty toolish endeavor, but I went with it anyway. Probably the last of its kind. We'll see, though. Depends on the feedback I get. I already got, "I think you're queer, but it actually is kinda funny," from Jon. I'll take it.

Take special notice to how fat my neck has gotten. It's like a neck made up of other entities. It's like the Voltron of necks. When I have to use my neck, the call goes out to several Japanese kids who drive a portion of my neck. They all come together to form my neck...and to occasionally fight crime.

It's a sad day for people who like obscure movies with not-very-good actors

I was floored earlier when I heard the news that Brad Renfro had died. A celebrity who has had a history of drug and alcohol abuse dead? At an early age? Unheard of! It really is a shame when somebody really rich dies of some type of self-inflicted thing. My heart really goes out to them.

Brad, I'll always remember you in such cinematic masterpieces as that movie where you were a camp counselor with the Mac guy and that other movie where you killed the kid from Man Without a Face. Rest in peace, Brad.

Brad Renfro: Dead at the age of who really gives a crap.

Kidneys? We don't need no stinkin' kidneys.

Chase, Jon and I played the "who's gonna die first game" by using the blood pressure machine at wal-mart a little while ago. Needless to say, I crushed. I'm like the Babe Ruth of "who's gonna die first." I cheated a little. I thought about falling up for like a minute before I stuck my arm in the thingy. I took the above picture on my phone so they'd have something cool to put in my funeral collage.

Job applications

I've never actually applied for a "real" job, but I've filled out a ton of applications for retail places and stuff like that. There's always that section that freaks me out. The one where I think they are secretly doing some kind of psychological test on me and I get hired depending on how I answer a single question. Some examples from an application I just filled out:

1. You felt you were always treated fairly in your previous jobs.
I checked "yes," but I wanted to check "no." It kind of sucks that you can't explain. If you ever worked for my first boss at the paper, you'd know why. He was a piece of shit. He made me do all kinds of crap jobs nowhere related to my job title. I was a reporter that often found himself pumping out the rain water from the loading dock hole thingy. See? I don't even know what it's called. Bana can back me up here. I think he made her get him coffee or something. He would also make crude remarks about how huge my wang must be. Ok, not really, but if he had, he'd be fairly accurate, ladies. WUH-HOOOO!

2. You think you deserve more than you get.
This one seemed pretty self-explanatory, but I thought too much about it. I mean sure, I probably deserve a little more, but more out of what? Life? Everybody deserves a little more out of life. A bed, for instance. I hear those are nice. A girlfriend who looks like Amy Lee and enjoys a well-crafted poop joke. A raccoon vaccine so that fluffy little fella with his adorable bandit mask would still be with me today. Everybody deserves more, probably, unless you're Paris Hilton or somebody like that. I didn't want to check yes, though, because I didn't want to make it seem like I have some crazy sense of entitlement or something. I'm sure that's not what they meant, but I didn't want to take any chances.

3. You've done your share of trouble making.
This question was retarded. Who would answer yes to this question? I'm sure they're not talking about good-hearted scampery. I wouldn't even qualify for this one anyway. I'm the most boring person in the world. They only trouble I've ever caused anyone was to the occasional buffet owner.

4. Other people's problems are their problems only.
I didn't know how to answer this one either. I clicked "disagree" or whatever. I like helping people out with their problems. I've always wanted to be a counselor. I think it would be kind of fulfilling to see someone through a bad time. I hope they didn't mean "you always get in other people's shit, you nosy bastard."

5. If you could do one thing in life, what would it be?
I wrote, "My cousin. The one with the big boobs." I know what you're thinking, but it's ok. I'm in Nacogdoches. That shit flies here. Flies like an arrow.

Anyway, I had a dream about this job. It's my destiny to work at this place. More on that if I actually get the job. I think I should. I had all the needed experience. We'll see, though. If I don't get this job, however, anybody in the market for a kidney? Maybe a testicle? They're in mint condition.

(Completely unrelated, but would anybody know where I could get a St. Benedict Medal? I'm not Catholic, but I kinda want one. I don't want to buy a religious symbol-type thing on ebay, though. Also, would a priest think it was weird if I got it blessed seeing as I'm not Catholic? Just curious.)

When one door closes, another nakeder door sometimes opens, Katharine

My love affair with Katharine McPhee is well documented (mostly in the pages of my Strawberry Shortcake diary I keep tucked under my pillow.) According to the superficial, she got dropped by her record label.

That kinda sucks to see someone's dream dashed just as quickly as it began. If you need a shoulder (or other body part) to cry (or do other things) on, I'm your guy, Katharine. But speaking of dreams, here's a dream I have for you. Maybe it's time for you to do other things. And by "other things," I mean me. It's time to do me, Katharine. I think I've earned it. Enough with this whole singing charade. Yeah, I saw you sing the National Anthem the other day at the Patriots game. That was cute and all, but seriously, it's time to move on from the singing thing. Ooh...you could do porn! That's respectable and they make a lot of money probably. I bet you'd be great. Oh, and that whole eating disorder thing you used to have...yeah, maybe you should get back on that. Nobody likes a chubby porn star, Katharine.

A step above homeless

So I moved out of Hardin. I loaded up my truck (or in this case, Cobalt) and moved to the Beverly Hills of Texas: Nacogdoches.

I haven't had a chance to move my bed here yet since I don't know anybody with a truck that's willing to move shit for me out of the kindness of their heart, so I bought an air mattress. A wise investment, I thought at the time of purchase, but that seems to not be the case at all. I can't find an air pump that fits the hole on the mattress. So now the air mattress resides in the corner of my very sparsely furnished room, deflated along with my hopes of getting a good night's sleep in the next few weeks.

My room looks like a homeless man lives there. There's a pile of clothes in the corner. Some folded, most not. I haven't had a chance to move a dresser either and the previous occupant of the room still has a lot of his shit in the closet. No hurry or anything, RICHARD. There's a weight bench that I can't even pretend with a straight face belongs to me 'cause if it did, that's where my clothes would be. Might as well get some use out of it.

There's also a makeshift bed fashioned out of a Steelers' blanket, two pillows and a comforter. That's right. I'm a grown man who is sleeping in what basically amounts to a man-nest. Maybe I don't want to use the word "man-nest." Sounds a little gay. You know, I thought things would go a little something like real bed: inflatable woman, inflatable bed: real woman. So far they aren't working out that way.

I'll fix it, though. Thanks for reading a really boring post. Stay tuned to see what kind of wacky situations I get myself into here in the "oldest town in Texas." Probably none, but I'll make something up. Like the time I kissed a girl. Wooooo......

Thank God for American Gladiators. I was getting pretty tired of masturbating to Little People, Big World

Dear Venom,

I'm pretty sure I love you. I don't know what it is. Maybe it was the way you manhandled that little Filipino woman. Maybe it was that no-handed cartwheel thingy you did right before you smashed that lady in the face. I'm not sure what it was, but I felt something, Venom. I had a funny feeling inside (and also in my pants.) Was it love? Who's to say? I'm pretty sure you felt it too, despite the fact the show was probably taped a long time ago.

I bet some guys are intimidated by you. I'm not, though, my little cupcake. If I discriminated against every woman that could kick my ass, well, I would be dating even less than I am right now, so I would be dating in the negatives. No, I'm not intimidated at all. I can see us walking hand in hand through the mall on our way to watch a movie. I bet a romantic comedy. Something tells me you like those. We'd stop by GNC so you could pick up your supplements. If some jackass was talking during the movie, you could kick his ass for me. It'd be a perfect relationship.

I'm even willing to overlook your flaws. Say we're having sex and your roid rage kicks in and maybe you bloody my nose. That's fine. I'm sure I'll cry and cower in the corner for awhile until your anger subsides, but you know what, Venom? Tears and blood, well...they dry. You know what would ever go dry? Our love, Venom. Our love. Plus, I'd be pretty pumped to finally get non-bribed consent.

So let's make some half-fat, half-super strong babies, Venom. Whattya say? Take a chance. You don't need that American Gladiators show. Our love will see us through. You can move to Texas and we can start a happy home here. And sometimes, when you're in the mood, maybe we can joust a little, if you know what I mean. Just me, though. If you have a jousting stick, well...well, we'll cross that bridge when we get there, I guess.

I think this is a solid move for us, Venom. Just give it some though. If you really aren't interested, though, um...could I get Hellga's number?

Thirst Quencher

"Let's see. We've got o.j., cola, purple stuff, and *gasp* Unfortunate Turtle! Thanks, Mom."

"Unfortunate Turtle: the good stuff kids go for."

Some things...

It seems people thought my last post was in some way meant to be mean spirited. That's just not the case. Wishing horrible things on people I barely/don't know at all is just one of my adorable little quirks. It was all in fun. I love each and every one of God's creations. That's mostly the truth.

Also, the picture in my banner is photoshopped. I wish I was that skinny and stylish.

Have a great weekend. My life hangs in the balance. If the Steelers lose to Jacksonville, well, it might just be time to try that mint-flavored draino I've had my eye on.

On an unrelated note, Rhona Mitra...hottest woman in the world? It's a solid maybe. Aside from my good friend Bana, of course.

On yet another unrelated note, this is why the internet was made. It's not really a game, but it's fun for some odd reason. I don't do drugs, but if you do, I highly recommend this.

Awww...she thinks she's shopping. Adorable and not at all a FUCKING INCONVENIENCE TO ME.

I'm in wal-mart this morning after staying up all night and then driving to my eventual new home some two plus hours away. I was a bit groggy and I just wanted to get the shit that I needed (mostly Dr. Pepper and toilet paper) and get back to the apartment and take a nap. But I kept getting behind the same, dare I say, cunt of a mother and her idiot daughter. I don't just go throwing the c-word around thoughtlessly. I only use it in extreme cases of pissedoffedness. Today was one of those days.

This stupid lady was letting her daughter walk next to her pushing her own little plastic shopping cart. Cute and all, but they were walking EXTREMELY SLOW and taking up most of the aisles. I got behind them at least three times. I'm a pretty patient person, too, but today I almost lost it. What's the point? Does she drive a little mini car next to her mom when she drives? Maybe eat some plastic food while the adults eat real food? Just push the big cart. I don't care. Just MOVE.

If her mom wants to buy her something fake to prepare her for her future, then maybe she should buy her a little plastic penis that gives her money after she plays with it. That's right. Through my powers of wishing bad shit on people, I'm hoping that her daughter becomes a whore. Not a clean whore, either. Not a discriminate whore. I hope in her later years she has sex with dirty, homeless men with old, musty balls for money, and not much money at that. Mere dollars. Maybe she runs away from home in her teens and a few years later, her father, feeling a little down and possibly drunk decides to pick up a prostitute. Despite the fact that she looks familiar to him he decides to throw caution to the wind and do her anyway. "That'll be $7," she says to him after they're done. "That's really cheap," he says to himself, "and a little odd she didn't take the money up front. Wow. She must really be a dirty whore." Then a cold chill runs over him as he realizes that he may have just had sex with his estranged daughter. No, that couldn't be. She would have recognized him, right? Not with the amount of drugs she was on and the exposure to the elements, you know...being a whore and all. After he gets home, he looks at a picture of his daughter and slowly begins to realize that the super cheap prostitute he just encountered actually was his daughter. He makes love to his wife one last time before hanging himself with his belt from the bathroom door. Facing a life alone and penniless (her husband was the bread winner. She was a homemaker whose sole joy in life was taking her daughter to wal-mart with her fucking plastic shopping cart) she decides that maybe she can hit the dating scene again after she mourns her husband and the fact that her life is ruined. Maybe she can find a nice man to take her away from all this. But what's this strange rash? It's a rare strain of donkey herpes most likely transmitted from her daughter through her husband. She realizes she can't go on anymore and decides to shoot herself. But in another unfortunate series of events, the bullet fails to kill her and only damages the portion of her brain responsible for controlling her bowel. With all the stress she's been under, she develops a nasty case of IBS. She's forced to live out her days in a home, violently and painfully pooping several times a day without warning. Also, she lives to be the oldest woman in history with each day's poopings more violent and painful than the last until she finally passes away from natural causes. On her death bed she wonders what she had done to deserve a life so shitty. "It must have been the shopping cart and that time I annoyed that incredibly handsome man in wal-mart with my daughter's antics," she says to herself.