This Is My Commercial

Hey Everyone! I have suckled on the mighty teat of capitalism, and completely sold out to the man. Here's the commercial I filmed a month ago! I hope you like it. Personally, I think I look terrific in red. Anyway, here it is:

Get this video and more at MySpace.com

Chain-chain, Chaaaaaaaaain...

There are one things that I love in life:

A) Furniture

B) Television shows starring "Tony Danza"

C) Monkeys dressed like humans

D) The "Back" button on the Internet Explorer web browser.

In fact, I'm so excited about the Back button, I drew this little homage:

And if you're wondering how long that took to draw, I'll tell you: a really long time. Days. Weeks. Hours. Years. Um...what other kinds of time measurement are there? Yearometers? (I'm pretty sure thats what the metric snobs out there call "years").

Point is: Back is great. It's so great that it's "grrrrrrrrreat!" I mean, where else in life does one get the chance to go backwards? Other than in a gymnasium, I can't think of a single place...which is one of the main reasons why I love this button so much. Right?

But here's the problem...and I think I've alluded to this before. When I go to blog here, any time I've finished my post and I give 'er the final "once-over" (because God knows I could never live with myself were a typo published in thsi fine waste of time). Well, because of my love affair with Mr. Back button (I'm going to give him the nickname "Backy," because it sounds really stupid), I just give Backy a gentle tap. Unfortunately, Backy and MySpace don't like each other that much, and all those brilliant words I've been typing are, when I use Backy, completely erased. Years worth of wit, wisdom, comedy, brilliance, insight, and cheddar have been washed completely away because Backy and MySpace refuse to love each other.

I really dont know how to make this any better. I've introduced MySpace to Mr. Ctrl-C, but you have to invite Ctrl-C places, or he just forgets to come. It's a sorry state of affairs...sometimes I get so sad about it that I rub lotion on my forearms...but nothing seems to help!

Chain-chain, chaaaaaaaaain...

Dance, you fool! DANCE!

Things that I have observed that have nards:

A) Your mother

B) National Agricultural Research and Development Systems

C) Nerds without spellcheck

D) Wolfman

If You Don't Have Anything nice to Say

So she says "What do you have against Jews?"

"Juice?"

"No, Jews."

"Juice?"

"No, Jews."

".......Juice?"

"NO! Jews!"

"I'm sorry, are you saying 'juice?'"

"No, I said, 'What have you got against Jews?'"

"'What have I got again juice?' What does that mean? That doesn't even make sense!"

"Jews!"

"Juice?"

"JEWS!!!"

"Oooooh. You're saying 'juice!'"

"NO! I'm saying 'Jews!' Jews! Jews! People of the Hebrew faith! Jewish people!"

"............juice?"

"Oh, now you're just doing that on purpose."

"Doing what? Juice?"

"No, you're just trying to make me mad. Well, it's not going to work."

"I honestly don't have anything against juice."

"I'm not talking about juice."

"What are you talking about?"

"Jews."

"Oh. I thought you were saying 'juice.'"

"I know."

"I don't have anything against Jews? What made you think that?"

"I'm not sure, actually. It's just...they way you look, I guess."

"I look anti-Semitic?"

"I guess."

"Well, I'm not."

"Oh. Good."

"Want to watch Dawson's Creek re-runs?"

"Sure. Here's your toast."

Super Power

If I had only one super power, it would be to have the ability to summon the a capella group "Rockapella" simply by shouting:

"DO IT ROCKAPELLA!!!"

Any time...any place.

For instance, if I were standing on the other side of a green Dutch door, something like this may happen:

Because Erika Said So

Now, I don't mean to be too "dry" here, but I have a confession to make. I am losing my hair. There. I said it. It out there in the world now, so there's nothing more I can do about it.

Now I'm sure I'll pass a young man on the street and he'll say, "Hey, I hope I never start to lose my hair like that guy."

I'll turn to him (because I have overheard his dig) and say, "Hey! Kid! You know what!?" Then I'll get all puffy and red (like a big, red, puffy dinosaur). I'll point my puffy, red finger at him, and yell, "You're the one who's losing his hair!"

Then I'll just walk away. No doubt the kid will be too stunned to even respond, because...really...how do you respond to that?

I'm sorry if that's not a good blog entry, but that's all I have right now. I had a great, 30 minute long entry that got erased by MySpace...because after I hit "Preview & Post," I saw an error that I wanted to correct and I hit the "Back" browser button instead of the "Edit" button. It was, honestly, the worst experience of my life.

What was the old blog post about, you ask? Chess. Yes. It was 30 minutes of "chess comedy." No. Seriously. I explained the joke found here.

That joke?

Bc4 Italian. Bb5 Spanish. Ba6 Belgian!

And then, through a series of hyperlinks and pictures, I explained the joke. Maybe some day I'll get up the energy to explain it again...but probably not.

Don't worry -- the punch-line of my post was that "chess isn't funny." You know what else isn't funny? Talking about something that wasn't funny.

That reminds me. I came up with a quick list (just now) of phrases that good stories should never include. If you end up uttering one of these phrases, you have just told a bad story. Guaranteed.

-- "I guess you had to be there."

-- "It was pretty funny at the time."

-- "Wait, I think I told that wrong."

-- "So...yeah...that's the story."

-- "Chess nuts boasting in an open foyer."

Let's Just Call This a Mish-Mash of Ideas

Im a big fan of people who, instead of saying "Bye," or "Goodbye" on the telephone, say "mmmmbye" or "mmmmguh-bye" when they conclude the conversation. It's classy, methinks.

How did I miss this "growing your hair shaggy hair is cool" style? Do you know how much money I would have saved from all the L.A. Looks bottles I went through in Junior High? Sucks!

I'm eagerly awaiting the day that the greased comb-over becomes the chic hairstyle for the bald dude.

Pretty soon we'll be out of "Packs" that rhyme with the word "Rat." From the research that I've done, the next "Packs" to be filled will have to be either the Scat Pack, or the Fat Pack. Good luck with those two, Hollywood.

Oh, and I recommend Vincent Gallo, Crispin Glover, and Skeet Ulrich to be the founding members of the Scat Pack. Kevin James, Jason Alexander, and Nathan Lane can take er easy as the initial members of the Fat Pack.

I think it should be an entry requirement that the Scat Pack has weird names, and the Fat Pack has normal, inoffensive names.

I'm of the opinion that every sandwich should have mayonnaise in it, somewhere. And if not mayonnaise, at least horseradish sauce.

I just learned that the Horseradish Capital of the World is Collinsville, Illinois. The Opal Capital of the World? Coober Pedy, Austrailia.

I am shocked and disgusted at what passes for "accidental nudity" nowadays. Where are the explosions? The passion? The threadbare blouses?!

You want to know a good way to make someone slack off at their job? Tell them they are getting laid off in 3 months. Bingo.

There are very few foods that I would kill a person for. One of those few: a good pork loin sandwich. With horseradish sauce.

I'm not a master of any one thing. I'm more of a person that is below-average at everything. Especially croquet.

You know what tastes awful? Sawdust.

It's not that I dislike Anthony Hopkins. Honestly! I don't even know the guy!

I mean, yes, Times New Roman may be a boring font, but its sooooooooo easy to read!

How long until we get the 5 bladed razor? I'm counting the weeks!!!

I hope I never have to utter the phrase: I'd like to speak with my lawyer first.

Shakespearean insults are very intriguing, but I'm still a huge fan of the more modern kinds. They just seem to hurt so much more. I mean, would you rather be a "Clod of wayward marl," or a "Dumb, ugly douchebag?"

I don't consider myself a racist person, but I really, really hate people born in Laos. Wait! That does make me racist, doesn't it? Damn! Well, it could be worse -- I could be Laotian.

Favorite King: King Mindaugas, founder of the Lithuanian state.

Have you ever used food to scratch your back? I imagine a "pineapple" would be the best thing to accomplish this task, followed closely by a "back-scratcher-shaped-potato."

For some reason I think the boys in the band Barenaked Ladies may have a sense of humor that is very tongue-in-cheek.

Sometimes I just want to stand up on a chair, in the middle of a crowded room, and just scream, "Goddamn it! Can everyone just relax, for Christ's Sake!??!"

For some reason I try to refrain from using the words fuck or shit but if you ask me to take the Lords name in vain? Absolutely. With relish.

And mayonnaise.

I keep getting tripped up by the fact that mayonnaise has two n's in it. That is just tricky, tricky stuff there.

Is God really going to send me to hell for saying the phrase "goddamn it"? What if the god I'm damning is Shiva? Wouldn't he want me to damn Shiva?

If doing humanitarian work is wrong, then I don't want to be right, baby!

Then again, the whole reason that I don't do humanitarian work is because I think its wrong. Oh boy, am I confused now, or what?!

All the ladies in the house say "Yeah!"

They should include matches in every sewing kit that they sell, because I cant tell you how many times I've found a stray string on a piece of clothing and thought, "Aw dammit! Hell! I need to burn that little bitch so it doesn't unravel any more." I curse a lot in my head -- but its all PG13 cursing, so it's okay.

Motherfucker.