Category: News

So after yesterday’s episode with the floor, I figured I’d call my doctor to see if he could get me some lovely antibiotics or something. Maybe some sweet painkillers to pass the time, if I’m nice enough. His office was, of course, closed for the day. I suspected this, so I browsed around looking for a walk-in clinic.

The website was quite vague, so I just called back the doc’s office and hit the urgent option button. I’ll spare you the 8 phone calls I had to make, with not much of a voice left mind you. It’s not that it wouldn’t be comical, or that I lack the literary faculties to convey said comedy, it’s just that I became so enraged during that series of phone calls that I began hacking up foreign substances that I’d never seen before. Rather than rile myself up again, suffice to say that I told one guy that his name would replace “Wii” as my final words of spite were I to expire thanks to his indifference, and told another woman that I’d be by to cough into her non-whip half-caf mocha latte (really hard to say when your voice is gone) if I didn’t see results.

So after all of that, the doctor on call told me (secondhand) that he wouldn’t see me, and that he wouldn’t authorize a walk-in visit. His reason? I belong in the ER. That’s right. The fucking ER. He said that my symptoms warranted a trip to the hospital (to which I’d have to drive myself) rather than an easy office visit and some antibiotics. I told the receptionist that I’d sleep on it.

Still alive bitches. Not only that, but the receptionist at my actual doctors office gave me the walk-in referral immediately because, according to her, they were taking off early today. I’m glad its such an easy breezy afternoon for them. I’m going to go sit in a walk-in lobby for awhile and make people vaguely uncomfortable with my angry presence.

So if you’re wondering why the posts have been so sparse the last few days, it’s because I’ve been home sick with the flu. Now I’m normally not a puss when it comes to illnesses, but this one hit me kinda hard. I didn’t really realize how hard until I sucked it up yesterday, and went to work because we’re on some pretty rough deadlines. Sadly, the office is a fucking icebox and I apparently made the situation way, way worse.

So today I stayed home, tried to get some R & R in before the weekend. I passed out somewhere around noonish, due to exhaustion and the copious amounts of nighttime flu medication in my system. I had drank at least five tall glasses of water prior to passing out, so at least I’d be properly hydrated during my slumber.

…or so I thought. I woke up at 4:30, feeling like I had to piss like a racehorse. So I got up to use the can, and as I stood there draining fluids out of me I started to feel incredibly lightheaded. I’ve never really been dehydrated before, but I immediately realized that my decreasing grip on reality was directly proportional to the amount of pee that I was emptying into the toilet.

So naturally, I finished up as fast as I could, and ran to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. No bottles left, so I nabbed the Brita filter thingy and attempted to raise it to my lips. I got about an ounce of water into my mouth when my legs started to wobble, and I put my head on the counter. I fumbled around above me, hoping to magically open the cabinet and retrieve a tall drinking glass, but alas, it was going to be more of a battle than that. So I lifted my head, defiant to the illness, and reached for the cupboard. That’s when the legs completely gave out, and I began my descent towards the cold kitchen floor. And as I plummeted to the tile, I still had the mental capacity to realize that I might need to pop out a final cry of anger and disdain, so I went with the one thing that made me angriest today:

“Wiiiiiiiiiiiiii!” (wheee)

Damn right. If I’m going down, I’m going down cursing Nintendo for tarnishing my childhood. Thankfully I was able to muster up the strength to get up, pour myself a dozen glasses of water, and subsequently sweat more than a marathon runner on crystal meth.

So yeah, I’m thinking a doctor visit is in order.

Wow. Nintendo just wants us to mock them openly, don’t they?

For those of you too lazy to open the link, the Revolution has been renamed to:

*drumroll*

The Nintendo Wii.

Pronounced “We” by the way. And no, it’s not a joke.

While we’re on the excellent Youtube video subject, here’s one that I just cannot stop watching over and over again. And for the curious, here’s the best story I can drum up on the video thus far:

I remember this from a real crime show–whether A&E, Court TV or Discovery, couldn’t tell you. The name was Teri (some version of it) and it is filmed in a courthouse at some point in a murder trial. The woman punched is a relative of the defendant, and she is saying that the murdered girl was not so innocent as she has been portrayed. Basically, saying because she had been smoking weed she was a somehow “deserving” victim.

If that’s the case, she deserved the pop in the mouff. If not, I don’t care. She took it like a horrified champ.

This one goes out to all my USC alumn friends.

Charlie Sheen must be having a pretty shitty month, after soon-to-be-ex Denise Richards dropped this bombshell.

Richards said, then shoved her to the ground and screamed, “I hope you f–king die, bitch.” As Richards, 35, tells it, Sheen was angry because she had told her divorce attorney about discovering details of Sheen’s porn-surfing practices. Richards’s declaration, filed in support of her request for a restraining order against Sheen, contends that Sheen “belonged” to “disturbing” sites “which promoted very young girls, who looked underage to me with pigtails, braces, and no pubic hair performing oral sex with each other.” Other sites visited by Sheen, Richards alleges, involved “gay pornography also involving very young men who also did not look like adults.” Richards claims that she also discovered that Sheen “belonged to several sex search type sites” on which he “looked for women to have sex with.” His online profile, Richards adds, included a photo of “his erect penis.”

I’m surprised, really. Not surprised that he does this, nor am I surprised that Denise revealed it. I’m frankly surprised that his sexual tastes aren’t way more fucked up than this. Once you’ve swapped fluids with the kind of scandalously diseased whores and unbelievably hot (and possibly also diseased) supermodels like Sheen has, how can your sexual tastes not lean to the more eclectic. And by eclectic, I’m talking about the kind of stuff that would make the average Japanese businessman by day/bukakke fan by night get a bit squeamish. I don’t know specifically, as my imagination will only let me go so far before I fear that my penis will no longer function properly. Maybe something involving midget clowns, vomit, a three legged gazelle, and Brownie Scouts troop #324.

I was hoping to learn something from Sheen today, now I’m disappointed. I’ll never watch Men At Work with the same enthusiasm again.

I like that Steve Jobs fellow, he’s alright.

In case you hadn’t already heard, Moby is a complete douchebag. I feel bad, because the guy looks like a leukemia case and I’m pretty sure I liked one of his songs like 8 years ago, but he just won’t shut the fuck up. A random visit to his journal turns up any number of factual errors and email forwards disguised as psuedo-intellectual bluster mixed with the odd self-promotional fluff piece. Now it seems that the guy is going to possibly produce Courtney Love’s next album. I’ll spare you the contents of the article, in which he makes every attempt to showcase the fact that he is blissfully ignorant of the actual status of his production possibilities, and skip straight to the bits that made me want to take a crowbar to his “I’m not going bald” bald head.

He added: “It’s actually really well-written songs that are very earnest, very passionate. So I’m sure she’ll make a wonderful record. It’s got a humble strength to it.”

Moby, who will release a career-spanning Best Of compilation later this year, is currently working on two soundtracks – ‘Southland Tales’ and the big screen adaptation of the classic Eighties American cop show ‘Miami Vice’. Speaking about the latter, he said: “It’s very dark and it’s got a lot of pathos to it, so the music is dark and laden with pathos.”

Wow. I respond to these two paragraphs with a quote from one of my favorite compromise chick flicks:

“Where do they teach you to talk like this? In some Panama City “Sailor wanna hump-hump” bar, or is it getaway day and your last shot at his whiskey? Sell crazy someplace else, we’re all stocked up here.”

Someone get this blowhard some fucking pills and tell him to calm down. There’s plenty of ten dollar words to go around, he doesn’t need to showcase his “versatility” every time someone shoves a microphone in front of his mug. Earnest and humble my ass, she shows her tits at every available moment and sold Kurt’s livelihood to the highest bidder after she blew his legacy on coke and liquor. That’s how you retire, not how you raise a child. Silly bitch.

OK, continuing with my “high-and-fucking-mighty” trip, I’m going to use this time to bring a few things to your attention:

1. It’s voila. Not wallah, or wolla, or any other retarded alteration. voi·là. Period. End of story. It’s an expression to show that something has been revealed or accomplished. Simple. I know it’s French, but we’ve all come to grips with that fact. I know too many people who use “wallah” instead, which means that it is gaining public support. With enough public support, that will become unofficially accepted. And that, my friends, will cause me to stab you in the fucking eyes with a rusty fork.
2. It’s is a contraction for “it is” or “it has.” Its is a possessive pronoun that means “belonging to it.” Please, for the love of God, try to get this one right a little more often.
3. They’re, their, and there is another common jab in the crotch. They’re is a contraction for “they are.” Their is a possessive pronoun meaning “belonging to them.” There is a place. Like Hell, which is where you should go to if you fuck up theyre, there, or their.

Please, use this page to voice your own grammatical/spelling gripes with the general populace. Maybe someone can learn something today.

You’ve got to appreciate celebrity sex tape day, no matter who the celebrity is. I hadn’t really heard of Carolyn Murphy before, but that’s probably because she’s a faceless nekkid model. So it’s an easy step for her to go from showing her box for Estee Lauder to showing her box getting nailed by her ex husband. It’s up over at SOTD in the members section, but I can’t deprive you.

Man, when girls dance around nude like total fucking idiots, it really gets me hard. Then again, I have some weird fetishes. My therapist cried when I brought up the one about the babies painted like clowns.