Author: Sharkey

Some trader on the NYSE got fined 1000 clams for smuggling Gallagher onto the stock exchange floor, so that the *ahem* comedian could smash a coworker over the noggin with a watermelon. What a glorious sense of humor those bloodsucking bottom feeders have.

Arthur Gross smuggled on to the floor an oddball comedian who goes by the name of Gallagher. The comic then removed from his jacket a huge piece of watermelon and smashed it over the head of another trader, Peter Tuchman. Why? Ive got no idea, says my informant. There was no obvious symbolism, and nor did it have anything to do with Gallaghers act. But hiring a comedian to hit someone with a watermelon is contrary to NYSE regulations . . . which clearly cover a wide range of eventualities.

I guess he couldn’t manage to sneak in that hilarious gigantic couch from his act. I know funny kids, and take it from me, adults sardonically sitting on giant things is fucking side-splitting. Take porn starlets for example.

I was driving past the mall today, and I saw a bum standing on the side of the road. At least, I thought he was a bum. Then I looked a little closer and saw that he was clean, wearing a fairly nice shirt, and better shoes than the old Vans I’ve got on. As I rounded the corner, I got a better look at his sign which read, I shit you not: “Please help, need rent.”

At least the bastard was being honest. Well, unless he wants it for crack, which is always a possibility. But for fuck’s sake, he’s in a fairly conservative area, dirty yourself up a bit. Nobody I know would give money to a lazy prick in nice shoes just because he can’t afford the rent. If I’m going to give my money to a lazy jobless prick, I’ll stuff it into my own pocket.

Yet again LP pulls through for us (after an extended hiatus from me) with currently all-over-the-fucking-news Sarah Jessica Parker.

Can’t talk, got a party to hit. I’ll probably post once more when the beast is in me.

Stupid Sharkbot I whipped up to post for me while I was away malfunctioned five minutes after I left. That’s a lesson for you, never make your Sharkbot out of used Aibo and Furby parts. If the fuckers don’t get love and attention every five minutes, they trash your place, shit on the rug and put hidden cameras into the showers of your hot neighbor’s bathroom. That last bit is what I’m going to tell the jury on Thursday, anyway.

So I’m a man who has to complain (not really) about too much vacation. It turns out that I’d completely misjudged the date of my trip to Oregon. Seems that it is this Saturday, one week after my return from Mexico. How does a man so horribly misjudge timing? Do I not have a calendar? On the contrary, I have two. One is turned to February, the other stuck in May. Most people I know call me lazy, personally I think it’s that my brain is so overloaded with obscure movie quotes and random facts involving monkeys that it has no time to actually calculate… well, time.

All of this bullshit is really my way of saying that if you didn’t like the silence of the last few days, tough cookies. At least you weren’t sued by DirecTV this week. Thankfully DirecTV was too expensive for my tastes, or I’d be up for a Big-Brother delivered wiretap. If I don’t have one already. If so, they’ve wasted a lot of your tax dollars listening in on phone sex lines and that Moviephone guy. Oddly enough, both were used for the same purpose.

Customs, customs, customs. If there’s one souvernier that made my 4 grand well spent in Europe last year, it is my lovely, lovely passport. I say this as I look back at a line about 1000 people long who only have a birth certificate, while I cruise right to the front. Too bad the little bastard kid who’s parents thought it would be cute to bestow a ukelele also has a passport. Perhaps he is my penance for expedited service.

We’re on our way from Catalina to Ensenada right now. Everyone I know is asleep, the fucking pansies. I just enjoyed a hot tub with a bunch of 17-year olds here with their parents. These two morons (one going into the Army and the other into stoner oblivion) are hooking up with chicks they met while on vacation with their parents, can you beleive that shit? I was like them at one point, probably less of a complete fuck-up, but I wasn’t completely beyond comporable stature. Now I’m the drunk twentysomething prick sitting in their jacuzzi talking about how when I was their age bla bla boring fucking bla.

That’s some depressing shit right there. They are sleeping with fresh 17-year old honeys, while I have to go back downstairs and share a bed with a decaying old 19-year old. Sheesh, I am an old man.

I’m kidding, of course. I’m on a fucking Royal Carribean cruise with a blonde under 20 while you sit with your dick in your hands hoping that I’m posting another Slice Of The Day, which sadly, I am not. I know, I’m a mean drunk, but that’s why you love me so much.

By the way, this whole cruise has renewed my hatred of all mankind, which means that world domination gets it’s long-deserved jumpstart upon my return. If you don’t want to get hung by your thumbs, I suggest you read the archives and study your anti-tard technique. Meanwhile, your fearless leader is going to find the last open bar down in the casino before passing out in a hallway somewhere. Leadership is hard work bitch, take a cue from my actions and exude initiative.

I don’t know if the wobbling is from the waves or last nights alco-fest. It was the formal night, so I had my one chance to bust out my new $300 suit. Now that I have displayed my fucking sexy sexiness, it can be retired to the closet with the one I wore at that 8th grade dance.

Were on the little boat that shuttles you to Catalina. There were plans of parasailing and scuba diving, but its too damned cold so we’ll probably take advantage of the rest of Catalinas amenities, namely miniature golf and the boat ride back to the ship. I love this place though, I have no idea why. Probably because everyone drives golf carts everywhere, like palm springs without the elderly or the scorching heat.

Finally we’re docking. Since I’ve wasted this much of your time already, let me take a minute to increase the google rankings and Ill be on my way. *ahem*.

ass ass ass ass ass tits pie christina aguilera fucking tony danza. Thank you, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

Well, I am now standing on the deck of the Monarch Of The Seas wearing a dorky life preserver amidst a sea of similarly fated vacationers. I figured as long as I’m being forced to abandon fun for a few minutes, I may as well channel my spite in your direction.

So far the trip has been great. The gf’s brother snuck us ahead of the four hour line by charming the pants off a platinum club level check-in girl. The whole thing seems pretty fucking awesome, free food and whatnot. Unfortunately I did not hit the bar prior to this demonstration, which has turned a party-happy crowd into a bunch of whining crybabies. Sorry kids, but I drown any sorrows I come across in liquor, and I don’t need a lifejacket to pull myself back out. There are paramedics for that.

Whoops, they’re teaching us how to use the buckles now, id better pay attention. Nate, Jacko, and everyone else I’m too lazy to acknowledge by name: the site is in your hands for a few days. I expect fresh cookies upon my return. Butter-toffee, if possible.

Is it wrong to post a gallery of a girl because her new movie has just come out, even though you know that the movie is going to be such a pile of shit that not even her sweet, delicious ass could get you into a theatre? Why fucking bother with the hard questions, dumbass. Eliza Dushku is waiting.

So aside from the pie, I’d just like to voice my dissappointment in the lack of kudos received for my excellent five-minute Screech ‘shop job from a couple of days ago. Personally I thought it was fucking golden, but some people just don’t appreciate that extra effort it seems.

Here’s my quick and simple movie review for this Spike Lee joint: My girlfriend sucks, but not as much as the movie she chose. The greatness of Edward Norton could not save this piece of shit. I think Spike Lee’s rapport with the rest of the world is not at all unlike that of a couple who’s child got dropped on its head a few too many times as a baby. The kid keeps making shitty crayon drawings over and over again, and the parents keep placating him. “It’s good honey, go show daddy and let mommy enjoy her chardonnay.”

Of course, I’m the prick who supported him by renting the fucking thing, so I’m patting him on the head and putting it on the refridgerator with a little magnet just like the rest of America. Is it too late for adoption?