Monthly Archives: June 2008

Ecards Of The Week

Thanks for our little roll in the hay
But there’s something I gotta say
Maybe it’s time for your yearly check-up
So make an appointment to get in the stirrups

Not for a second am I suggesting anyone of you needs this service but I have to point out that you can anonymously send ecards telling someone they may have drippy dick, pusy pussy or worse.

I, uh, hmmm. All I can say is, what would your personal message be?

I was the one that was in your bum
My dick wasn’t big but it wasn’t a thumb
I just want to say before it goes numb
Go pick up some pills and then swallow some

Do You Remember. . .

. . .rock and roll radio?


Have you tried all those other summer camps only to have your child hate it? Did it piss you off to waste all that time, effort and money? Well, fret no more! Have we got a camp for those ingrate brats of yours!


Thanks, George!

You’re Funny, But…

There are only a few worse ways to start a job interview than that. Once I had a guy make me wait until he finished typing then, with a flourish, pushed away from the desk and said,

“I was a horrible writer then I dated a writer now I’m a great writer.”

Huh? I fucked a brain surgeon but I’m still a little uneasy opening up brain buckets.

What kind of sex life did they have? Fuck to the rhythm of the preposition song?

“About above across after against among around at before beside between by down during except for from in into near of off on over to toward under until you cum.”

Oh, I know there are more but who can remember all the lyrics to the Circle Jerks hit?

But the ‘you’re funny, but. . .’ is a classic. That usually follows with a litany of horrible things I am perceived to be. None of which is based on anything other than what I’ve written. There are very few people who know me who’ll say much truly bad about me mainly because, although they know I’m not all that good, I’m not averse to pulling out the old skull scalpel.

This woman said she was uneasy meeting me because of what she’s read. She had the impression I’d walk in chewing on a newborn while strangling kitties. Oh sure, you audition for the new Gong Show with your killer set and you’re marked for like.

I ask this woman, who is in the industry where she has to deal with writers, if she understands about a writers voice? She assures me she does but (she’s butting again) that I seem mean and prone to attack.

I ask her why we’re speaking? She obviously has issues with me, my craft, and baby eating kitty killers in general. She explains the producer is forcing her to speak with me before proceeding. Let me interject here that we’re not talking On Golden Pond. We’re not talking On Golden Blonde either but it is somewhere in the middle. The bottom line is he thinks I’d be good whereas she thinks I should be strapped to a table and heavily medicated (okay, so we can all agree with that assessment).

It’s usually at this moment when I say I’ll sign anything to prove we spoke. Shit, I’ll even say she made a heavy push to get me but I just can’t pull myself away from the project I’m working on, a traffic cop who does trepanation on people who text while driving.

But I need something. This may prove she’s right about me but, as always, I feel justified in fucking with her. Sure, I say terrible things but only to horrible people. I never pick on those who haven’t dosed me with a few hits of ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ I tell her she’s wrong about me. I’m actually very spiritual. Very much in touch with the vibes around me.

“I’m very into positive visualization. Every day I positively visualize the death of my wife.”

She starts to get that look. The one that says, ‘See? I knew he was an asshole.” They get so smug about it. I explain it was just a joke. I’m not into any visualization shit and I’m not even married.

“See? That’s called writing. Or making shit up. Or, more exactly, lying.”

I ask what she’s read that makes her think I’d show up wearing only a GI Joe with a kung fu grip? And, I will admit, I was impressed. She’d spent more than her time with my crap and, that alone, could turn one against me. She explains she likes my work (wait for it) but, I’m too aggressive and, she feels, volatile for her. When gently prodded she couldn’t come up with one exact bit or fragment. It was more a general asseyness.

I explain I was fortunate to find my writing voice early on. That I found a way around my lack of talent to fool people into thinking I’m doing more than typing. But, when it’s necessary to be a reporter, write in someone elses voice, do a general assignment I can. As a matter of fact, I said, I worked for a greeting card company and blew away my editor when I wrote a serious bit. It ended up being their top seller that holiday season.

“Do you see that, to paraphrase Louden Wainwright, the guy writing these stories ain’t me. So, no, I’m not a boy who’s also a bug. I’m not a thrill killer. I’ve never killed anyone on the internet. As a matter of fact, right now I’m working on a script about a bass player in a huge rock band who’s also a serial killer.”

She’s silent for a few seconds so I add,

“I mean, come on, I’m not a bass player!”

I love that heavy silence when I’ve put people into a netherland. Are they right about me? Am I fucking with them? Have they fallen into that crevasse where they will be my next fodder?


B&G Movie Night

A rare night alone! The famdamily is at a show so it’s just me, the cats, and my own devices. What’s a boy to do? The Red Sox, after celebrating the recent Celtics championship, were in rain delay; there was nothing else on that interested me; I’d listened to the X-pensive Winos recordings a friend sent me over dinner, hmmmmmmm.

I got it!

The First Maybe Sorta Could Potentially Be Annual B&G Movie Night!

But what’s a boy to watch? Drama? Comedy? Action? Dramedytion?

It took a little while but I figured I’d drop in a little local flavor and see where the night took me.

After that, I was in the mood to push the bounds of comedy a little further.

Where to go after that? I guess we know where I’d have to go. Further!

By now it was getting late so I thought I’d put on a feel good sports flick.

That didn’t quite work out the way I’d hoped. I really should read DVD boxes. I couldn’t get to sleep so what now? What will help get me to sleep? Hey, how about a documentary on the Golden Gate bridge? That should be calming.

Oh, I don’t think being left to my own devices is such a good thing.

Seriously, I’ve got to start reading the packages.

Did he or didn’t he?

I don’t know but I found a pretty funny video about it.

Before we go further I’d like to remind you of the words of Willie The Shakes in Henry IV Part 2: Act 4, scene iii:

“‘Tis needful that the most immodest word.
Be look’d upon and learn’d.”

I figured if I smarted it up a bit I’d get less shit.

Warning! Bad word coming. Most women do not like this word so if you’re a woman, man, three-toed sloth, Olsen twin, sentient being, lump of coal, humorless tight ass, or anyone who will take this an an opportunity to bitch, moan, or complain about what I’ve warned you is not for everyone, fuck off! Don’t hang around here. I’ve heard they play nice with your kind here:

The passage below is from this article – – in the Guardian newspaper:

Bumiller got off lightly. Others have been told, to their faces, that they are “shitheads”, “fucking jerks” and “assholes”. And they were Republicans. Cliff Schecter, a political blogger and erstwhile McCain admirer, relates in his book The Real McCain an incident from 1992 that he sourced from three journalists from the senator’s home state of Arizona. McCain’s wife Cindy was playfully twiddling with his hair one day.

“You’re getting a little thin up there,” she said.

McCain grew red in the face and replied: “At least I don’t plaster on the makeup like a trollop, you cunt.”

If you don’t like the word (what the fuck are you still doing here?), watch the bleeped version:

This one is uncensored. That means the very bad word (you read eight seconds ago) is going to be used many times for comedic purposes:


And not in the baseball way.

I’ve been spending some time coming up with TV show ideas to pitch to production companies and networks. It’s sometimes fun but it can become tedious rapidly. I don’t care how many people are working on it, after awhile ideas dry up. I came up with ten or fifteen fairly solid (by that I mean they weren’t idiotic) ideas and, basically, I’m done.

I’ve actually enjoyed working with this company because they’re pitching ‘reality’ shows so all I have to do is come up with an idea. Unlike when I come up with a scripted show (not that ‘reality’ shows don’t have some scripting). Then I have to do a synopsis, write actual scripts, then listen to people tell me how I could make it better by making the wacky neighbor a talking labrador with ringworm.

I came up with an idea, Facade, some time ago but, because pitching hasn’t gone well (bites but no takers), I’ve let it slide into the background. I have a script I’m working on but I haven’t opened it in weeks. If anyone would like to see it, wander over to:

Pitching reality shows is so different. You throw out ideas and see what sticks. But, at this time, I’ve exhausted all my good ideas so stopped talking. Maybe I’ll have more later but my tank is empty so I stopped.

Sadly, others don’t have that ability.

They keep tossing out ridiculous idea after even more ridiculous concept. When you hear the sixth idea for a reverse make over show (De-Pimp My Ass!) or cartoon with people (“Have people live in the Jetson’s house!”) I’m sure you understand how, um, what’s the word? Antsy, yes, that’s a nice polite word for it, I get.

So my mind wanders. As much as I try to rein it in, you know how unruly he gets!

“Hey!” I exclaim! “How about a show based on Shear Genius!” I exclaim having listened to people piggy-back on existing shows instead of coming up with something original for twenty minutes. “We’ll pit twelve deli workers against each other to find the Schmeer Genius!”

Oh, if they thought this brain train was shutting down they were sadly mistaken!

“How about adulting up a children’s game!” I say abusing my exclamation privileges. “We get twelve death row inmates to vie for special privileges until there are only two left. One will get a full pardon and the other, the last one standing, will get fried live in the game Musical Electric Chairs!”

I watch people watch me. Due to the fact some of the other concepts were just as idiotic no one moves. I blink once, twice before saying,

“Can we go home now?”

He does it better. . .

. . .but I know exactly how he feels:

I was in a meeting yesterday where the opening of the interview was,

“You’re funny, but. . .”

I could never tie them down to exactly what their problem was with me (too aggressive isn’t specific enough besides, I’ve written nice thing) and it was frustrating.

Story to come next week.

What’s weird is I’ve recently noticed I’ve been writing about writing and/or the after effects. I really haven’t been getting my ‘normal’ amount of loons filtering in. Oh sure, there have been some, including a guy who, due to blood loss (he was losing it before he arrived. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it) passed out at the counter, but they’ve generally been blank. Like there’s been some mass hypnotism. They’re still bitchy and annoying and cloying but it’s cookie cutter. Everyone’s rolling down the conveyor belt of generic complaints.

Maybe it’s also that I’ve been pimping my writing ass out there more (to little success) so that’s who I’ve been dealing with. As boring as I find writing about your own writing is I gots ta run with the bullshit that’s racing with me.

Wow, Dude!

Check out this cool new amusement park!