BREAKING Addendum

UPDATE: Addendum:

I need to clarify my statement that 70% of my traffic comes from misdirected google searches. I was only referring to hits that are not me personally clicking refresh. I do not think it is fair to count those as page views, even though I could because I take the time to re-read my blog every time I hit refresh.

So if you disclude the 17 hits that I account for, then there are 10 remaining hits. Of those 10 hits, 7 are from Eastern European pervos (no offense, pervos) and 3 are from a group that includes my girlfriend, my girlfriend's friends, my grandma, and myself, depending on who is checking that day.

So to my loyal readers, thank you for invading my privacy by regularly checking my blog for updates on my life. I appreciate your prying. To the rotating group of daily pervos, feel free to stop by any time. My parents go to sleep at 10.

BREAKING:

"I. Choose. BREAKING."

This is one of my favorite movie quotes of all time. It is from the movie Sidekicks, when the villain dramatically chooses the event in which they will compete for the grand championship of fake karate tournaments. I know what you're thinking, and yes, this movie does feature a young Danica McKellar. If you need further proof of its greatness, check out these lines listed under the Memorable Quotes section of IMDB:

Barry: Nobody likes me. Why would he?

Barry is the protagonist. He gets picked on by his classmates and he has asthma. His nickname is "Barry Warry." He is played by Jonathan Brandis, who would later hang himself in 2003.

So, yes. As it turns out. Nobody likes him.

Kelly Stone: Chuck Norris? Chuck Norris? He doesn't compete anymore kid, and the main reason, one of the main reasons he doesn't compete anymore is me. He doesn't compete 'cause I would kick his ass.

This quote becomes infinitely more enjoyably when you know that Kelly Stone, the instructor at the evil karate dojo, is Joe Piscopo.

Barry: Milk.
Kelly Stone: [loud laughter] Hey, how 'bout some cookies?

This quote comes from one of the many dream sequences in which Barry fights off 100 ninjas and assorted bad guys who are being gassed up by Mr. Stone. Barry waddles up to the bar like he's Clint Eastwood and defiantly orders a milk from the bartender.

I've seen the movie and even I don't understand the signifance of the milk order. I guess the joke is that he's a kid? So he would order milk at a bar? Does that really qualify as a joke? But he's in high school; he's not 8. And even if he really loved milk, why would you set up Mr. Stone for a great zinger like that?

Mr. Lee: I have something for you.
[takes off Barry's shirt]

Mr. Lee is the off-brand Mr. Miyagi who teaches Barry how to be a karate master using various household items. He throws dodgeballs at Barry, makes him juggle lettuce, and makes him nunchuck himself in the balls a few times all in the name of sharpening his karate skills.

But this quote is just insane. I don't remember the scene, but I'm guessing Barry Warry hurt himself baking cupcakes for karate class and Mr. Lee had to put some tiger balm on it. But out of context, obviously it looks like he is going to fuck Barry. *Spoiler alert* He does not fuck Barry. No matter how much they may flirt, he never fucks him. I'm starting to think the person choosing these quotes is fucking with us.

Jerry Gabrewski: My son has asthma!

Yeah okay they're fucking with us. What is this line?! They put this as a memorable quote?? So you're saying that if there is this group of die-hard Sidekicks fans who get together to watch this once a month and one guy brings popcorn, and one guy brings chips, and one guy brings soda, and one guy brings nothing because he's always the guy who brings nothing, and they put the movie on but are secretly resenting the guy who brings nothing as he eats everyone else's food and uses the bathroom for twenty minutes and leaves the door open when he leaves which is gross because the bathroom he used is right in the kitchen and they sit there shaking their heads because he didn't have the decency to take his business to the upstairs bathroom so now they all put the food down because they are disgusted and they can't even enjoy the movie.

You're gonna tell me that when the guy who brings nothing realizes that his company is no longer appreciated and tries to mend fences by recalling one of the movie's best lines for the group to warm up to him, that he is going to say, "My son has asthma!" as his go-to line?????

I highly doubt it. If he has any hope in being invited back for next month's Sidekicks movie marathon then he better drop a Kelly Stone line on them.

[a still somewhat asthmatic Barry is determined to join in the push-ups in gym class]
Horn: Gabrewski, if you die I'm going to shoot myself and come on after you!

Horn is Barry's gym teacher, who would still be his main tormenter if Barry hadn't foolishly tried to pick up karate. This line is a bit deflating after the Mr.-Lee-undressing-Barry line. I do appreciate the detail provided regarding Barry's physical state, though.

Horn is Richard Moll, a.k.a. Bull from Night Court. I decided to take a look at what Bull has been up to since Night Court. And the answer? Sidekicks. Apparently, Sidekicks is what he's been up to in the past 20 years. Interesting.

But I did find out that the director of this film is Aaron Norris. You may remember him from such films as "Forced Vengeance," "Lone Wolf McQuade," and "Hey you can't arrest me! Chuck Norris is my brother! I didn't know she was a he! Please! Chuck will kill me!"

Honorable mention? "White Water Rebels."

Chuck Norris: Come on, Barry. That's it. Use your legs.

Now you're really reaching. That quote is only marginally sexual. What are we to believe? That the line comes from a scene where Chuck Norris is trying to coax Barry into sex? And that Barry would somehow be willing to let Chuck Norris bang him? And that during, Chuck is trying to teach him some sexual positioning that involves using his legs? That Barry is on top of Chuck and using his legs to really work it? Or that somehow Barry is banging Chuck and Chuck is bent over and encouraging Barry to get more power with his legs? Is THAT what we are to believe?

Personally, I'm more interested in the literal explanation of this quote. If "use your legs" is helpful advice, then what was Barry doing before that? Throwing lettuce at the ninjas?

Well that is the last quote. But let's get to why I started writing this post in the first place.

I have BREAKING news. As you may know, 70% of the traffic on this site comes from misdirected google searches. Usually, these searches are illicit in nature, so I'm sure they don't stick around once they realize that there are, in fact, no vietnamese boys on this site. But I've gotten a lot of international visitors lately who have been google-image searching for Kaiser Wilhelm II. I don't know what makes my page come up under that search, but I welcome all my new foreign friends just the same.

Please enjoy all the entertainment you can handle in an updated-once-in-a-three-week-period format.

Brown is the New Black: Come for the comedy. Stay for the sexism. Leave for the racism.

Except you, Spain!

Programming Note

I had no idea the Grammy's were on yesterday. I mean NO idea. Zero. Was it even yesterday? Saturday? I don't know.

A real entry is coming soon.

Nonecdote Addendum

After I wrote that last entry, I sat back proudly as I thought I coined the word "nonecdote."

It turns out that this Urban Dictionary entry confirms I did not.

Unfortunate.

I still think I might have.

Nonecdotes

It occurs to me that these boring little two sentence posts would be better served on a Twitter page.

That's right. I found out what Twitter is.

More Work Updates

I saw a pre-made tuna sandwich wrapped in plastic in the cafeteria.

I should NOT have eaten that.

OH MY GOD I GET IT. OWEN. WILSON.

The office lady who told me I look like Owen Wilson (both of those conversations really happened) just walked by my desk.

She said, "Hello, Mr. Olsen."

I assume that she meant "Mr. Wilson" or "Owen Wilson," and not my neighbor "Mr. Olsen." She got it wrong the first time she tried to tell me too. She said "You look like that actor. What's his name? Wilson Owen."

I don't know. She's from Barbados or something.

You Know Who You Look Like? Part 8,451

Office Lady: You got a haircut.

Brown: Yes.

Office Lady: You still look like Owen Wilson.

Brown: I do?

Office Lady: Yes. I just confirmed it with another woman here. She agreed.

Brown: ....Ohhh I get it. You hate me.

Office Lady: Yes.

Brown: Very well. ...Did you watch the Super Bowl?

Office Lady: Could you go sit back down now?

Brown: But I'm not that bad of a guy.

Office Lady: Are you going to change your face?

Brown: My face?

Office Lady: Yes. Are you going to change your face?

Brown: I don't think so?

Office Lady: Then I don't care if you're a good guy. You are just a guy whose face I hate.

Brown: Is this about something else?

Office Lady: No. It's about you and your face. Nothing else. How have I been unclear?

Brown: Well it was a little unclear with the whole Owen Wilson angle.

Office Lady: Well I hope I'm clear now.

Brown: It kind of makes me think you really just hate Owen Wilson.

Office Lady: No.

Brown: Because you don't even know me.

Office Lady: I don't want to know me.

Brown: Why not?

Office Lady: I could come up with a million reasons. And then I would pile those reasons on top of each other to form a pyramid. And at the top of that pyramid would be the most important reason. And that reason wouldn't be in words, it would just be a picture of your face. And then I would smash that pyramid like I want to smash your face right now because I can't stand to look at it even when it's illustrating my own point.

Brown: This is about Owen Wilson isn't it.

Office Lady: God I hate you.

Good News

I fixed the internet in my house so I can go back to blogging.

And by "fixed the internet in my house," I mean stole someone else's internet.

And by "blogging," I mean losing money at online poker.

And by "good news," I mean no one really cares.

Lying In Bed Just Like Owen Wilson Did

I was walking past this woman's desk and she goes, "You look like Owen Wilson."

And I said, "Really? Umm...thank you?"

And she said, "Yeah. Right after he tried to kill himself."

I said, "That seems overly harsh. How long ago did it take you to think of that?"

She said, "I just thought of it now."

I said, "Last night?"

She said, "Earlier this morning."

I said, "Ah."

She said, "Seriously, though. Get a haircut."

I said, "I know. I have been meaning to."

She said, "Fuck 'meaning to.'"

I said, "Whoa, whoa."

She said, "Okay sorry. But are you going to?"

I said, "I could tell you I am, but I would have said that last week and I still haven't. So what do you want me to say?"

She said, "I don't care anyway, I don't even know why we're talking about it."

I said, "You had to make your stupid joke."

She said, "Well this whole thing seems contrived anyway."

I said, "Maybe, but I really don't want to go back to work."

She said, "Well you probably should unless you want to get fired."

I said, "Maybe I do..."

She said, "No you don't."

I said, "I know. Soo....whatelse, whatelse, whatelse.."

She said, "Go sit down."

I said, "Okay."

She said, "And fix the internet in your house."

More Work Updates

This coffee tastes like pencils.

It always tastes like pencils. I've resigned to drink pencil-flavored coffee for the rest of my life. I don't really know how to make it. That is all.

In Case You Were Wondering...

I haven't been posting because the internet in my house isn't working. I know that sounds like an excuse but it's the truth. I am posting this from work because they let me out of my cage for 15 minutes of Internet Free Time Minus Any Sites Containing Porn, Pornographic Images, References to Porn, the Word "Porn," Pornography, or Anything Mildly Interesting. I've talked to them about changing the title of our breaks. I took my suggestion under advisement. And I was beaten.

Fortunately, since this blog doesn't contain anything mildly interesting, it is not blocked! So I am free to write from work during my 15 minutes.

Unfortunately, nothing of note really happens at work, unless you count answering phone calls and going to the bathroom, so this post might not be as thrilling as my usual blogs.

Fortunately, I do consider going to the bathroom blogworthy, so that's what you're going to hear about.

Unfortunately, my girlfriend is the only person who reads this.

I have a short list of the stalls that I prefer in the bathroom at work. Both are against a wall, which helps to minimize the noise in the event that there is a grunter in another stall on the line. I'm not sure why these people have to make noise while shitting, and that is coming from a guy who often has intense stomach problems. Even during the most explosive episodes, I have never felt the urge to moan out loud. A guy once told me that groaning through it makes it feel better. I said that I don't think that's something I feel comfortable discussing through the partition.

So when I speedwalk into the bathroom, I usually head for the first stall on my list that is open. Then when I walk in and close the door, for some reason, I immediately pull my pants down. I don't mean down to my ankles like a 5 year old, but just down past my ass. Gentleman style. I don't know why this is because I never sit down immediately. Even if it's an emergency, I am not going to sit on a toilet seat full of pubes.

As disgusting as this is now sounding to me, I have to clean the toilet seat of whatever collection of pubes, piss, or boot scuffs, all with my pants down. Again, I don't know why I'm telling you this and I don't know why I do it. I find myself bending over in a stall, half-naked at work, cleaning another man's asspubes. It's the most depressing part of my day, and it happens 5 times a day.

That is all for now. Yep, that is what that entry was about. I wish I could tell you it was some form of meta and that I'm writing some above the rim comedy. I am not. I am writing about cleaning bathrooms naked not because it's funny but because it happened. I took a moment to try and think of something funny and all I came up with was a Larry Craig joke. I failed. This is what my life has come to. And my 15 minutes are up.

Honey, I'll see you at home.

Hurry Up And Die -- Carl Pavano

That's the look of a leader. The look of a champion. The look of a Carl.


It just goes to show you. Hard work, dedication, and guts can get you a million dollar contract.

But laziness, apathy, and generally being a pussy works too, apparently.


Oh and I almost forgot. Happy birthday, fuckface!

What Are You The Rug Doctor?

Whenever you feel like you've got nothing to write about, you can always count on MSN Lifestyle to provide you with hours of entertainment. The Lifestyle section deals mainly in relationship advice and diet tips usually reserved for the cover of Cosmo. You'd think these articles would be weak, tepid fluff pieces with little or no redeeming value. But you'd be wrong. They're abominations of human culture and sure signs that the end is rapidly approaching.

Today, I found a piece on Lifestyle called "Is She Cheating?" Well that depends. If by "she" do you mean "every woman ever?" Then the answer is "Yes." A resounding yes. All women flirt. All women cheat.

And yes I am aware that my girlfriend reads this blog. In fact, she's probably reading it right now, since I force her to read it while I watch her and gauge her every reaction. But, Xmas Girl, I don't want you to take this blog entry as some sort of implicit threat regarding our relationship. It is an explicit threat. Cheating will not be tolerated, even if you have good reasons.

You have a great gal.

So great, in fact, that I am reading an article titled "Is She Cheating?"

So great, in fact, that she attracts packs of men who try to capture her attention or, worse, coax her out of her clothes.

How are those two separate ideas? What kind of rational is it to draw a line between "trying to capture her attention" and "coaxing her out of her clothes?" Is there a man in the world who is so naive as to think that someone would simply want to get her attention and then stop short of having sex?

They could be platonic friends. Or they could be interlopers, scourges bent on emasculating and circumventing you.

"Vacillating between wanton courtships like a mercurial perfidious coquette!

Sorry. I got a thesaurus for Christmas and I get a bit carried away."

What to do?

Definitely don't follow her to another house and then watch her from your car in the WaWa parking lot across the street using night vision goggles. Did you know that's considered illegal?

"Everything starts with having ground rules, open communication, and strategies for how to proceed," says Janice Levine, Ph.D., a psychologist in Lexington, Massachusetts, and the author of Why Do Fools Fall in Love?

Why Do Fools Fall in Love? is the follow-up to her first book, the smash-hit General and Elementary Guide to Problem-Solving.

Either blowing your lid or turning a blind eye could create more problems than addressing the situation head-on.

But no more problems than following her and camping out across the street in the WaWa parking lot with your survival gear will create. I'm tellin ya. Do NOT do that...

The following tips will help you know if there really are signs of a cheating wife or girlfriend and stand your ground without devolving into a raging, soon-to-be-single maniac. Read on: Your love life could depend on it.

If you have to encourage your reader to "read on," you're probably not writing a very compelling piece. Now let's continue with the article.

THE OVERLY INTERESTED BOSS
Worry when . . . she's focused on pleasing him, not doing her job.

She's focused on pleasing him and not doing her job? That's a "sign?" I think we're beyond worry if she wants to "please" her boss. Maybe I'm just an asshole boyfriend but that's creepy out the gate.

And not to quibble (it's really not my style you know) but if she's focused on pleasing him, doesn't that make this category "The Overly Interested Employee?"

Not when . . . he's a kindhearted mentor.

Oh! Is that when not to be worried? Phew! I've met her boss and he is surely just a kindhearted mentor who is 97 years old and in a wheelchair. But I didn't know if I should be worried or not until you just let me off the hook!

His motives could be sincere, and if she's happy at work, she'll be happy at home, says Jeffrey Bernstein, Ph.D., a psychologist and the author of Why Can't You Read My Mind?

If she's happy at work, she'll be happy at home.

That is the laziest dimestore non-psychoanalysis that I've ever read. If this "writer" actually contacted a "doctor" for his professional opinion about the relationship between someone's work life and their home life, and he said THAT, then he is basically saying FUCK OFF.

Let me ask you then, Doctor: if she's happy at home then is she happy at work? Is that even remotely true? Does that fall under the transitive property of I-Never-Really-Went-To-School-To-Be-A-Psychologist-But-I-Read-A-Lot-Of-Redbook?

You are the worst Dr. Jeff since Dr. Jeff Gardere.

Your move: Lead with concern for her, not your issues. If she thinks you have an agenda, she'll become defensive and fail to see any negatives, just to prove you wrong.

None of this advice is specific to this category.

Say, "It seems your boss is really helping you. How's that going?"

Then when she says, "That was the most transparent ham-handed segue I've ever heard," you start sweating profusely. Then start stammering an explanation to buy yourself time. Follow that by urinating in your pants, hiccuping uncontrollably, and then blurt out, "Are you fucking your boss yes or no yes or no?!?!?!?" THEN drop to your knees and start bawling hysterically.

Follow my advice to the T, and you will have artfully coerced the information out of her that she was not in fact sleeping with her boss, but she is now.


THE EX SHE'S STILL FRIENDS WITH
Worry when . . . they talk frequently and secretly. Regular contact sends up flares. Covertness fires a cannon.

Not when . . . she has a once-a-year, 15-minute phone call. There's a lot of history -- some good.

Okay wait. So wait. Wait.

What IN THE FUCK does that line mean?

I'm not even going to touch on the horrible construction of that sentence, but I have no idea what he is saying with that line. Is he saying that there is a lot of history between your girlfriend and her ex? Well I highly doubt that is true. My girlfriend went out with a guy for three years and they never talked, hooked up or even met. I don't think girls have much history with their ex-boyfriends.

But let's just assume that is true. How would some of their history be "good?" Do you mean good in the sense that they might have enjoyed each other's company at some time? Well, as I'm sure that's true and as enjoyable as that is to picture, WHO THE FUCKS CARES ABOUT THAT NOW.

Your move: Calmly say, "I have a problem with the relationship, because I don't understand it. Can you tell me what it does for you?" suggests Jackie Jaye Brandt, M.F.T., a psychotherapist in Universal City, California. You're not being invasive, you're just gathering information. An ultimatum leads to resentment -- or abandonment. Be ready to walk out the door if she picks him.

Be ready to walk out the door if she says she wants to be with another man and you aren't him and she doesn't care for you and your stuff is packed and outside of the apartment. Is this article written for men or women?

THE EX SHE STILL PINES FOR

...What the fuck is going on here. Am I in Baby Land? Am I in a fictitious land for babies where the most simple of life lessons are spoonfed to people in supposedly adult relationships? That has to be it. I must be in a land for FUCKING BABIES WHO WOULD HAVE A DIFFICULT TIME DECIDING WHAT TO DO IF THEIR GIRLFRIEND STILL WANTED TO BE WITH HER EX-BOYFRIEND.

Here's a spoiler for the .02% of you who might actually need advice in this situation because you are mentally retarded. When your girlfriend wants someone else, GET RID OF THAT BUS STATION SKANK. THAT'S IT. YOUR ONLY DECISION IS WHETHER OR NOT TO THROW A GOODBYE FUCK BEFORE YOU TELL HER THAT YOU ARE THROUGH. THE END. THE DISHES ARE FUCKING DONE, MAN. MOVE ON TO THE NEXT MORALLY BANKRUPT HARLOT WHO WILL SMILE UP IN YOUR FACE AND FUCK HER EX WHEN YOU GO TO WORK.

Worry when . . . she drops his name in subtle or obvious comparisons to you.

It's never really subtle, is it? And if it is that subtle, presumably the guy doesn't even notice it. Soooo, hi. Where am I?

If he initiated the breakup, there's a big chance she's holding on to the fantasy.

Not when . . . it might be just fond memories, so the threat could be all in your head.

Okay. So. Worry when "she drops his name in obvious comparisons to you." And don't worry when "it might just be fond memories." I'm asking for your sage advice about when not to worry and you tell me "when it might just be fond memories." OF COURSE IT MIGHT JUST BE FOND FUCKING MEMORIES. THAT'S THE WHOLE FUCKING PROBLEM IS NOT KNOWING. YOUR ADVICE IS THAT THE TIME NOT TO WORRY IS WHEN THERE ISN'T ANYTHING TO WORRY ABOUT. THANKS.

WELL GUESS WHAT? LET'S SOLVE THIS LITTLE RIDDLENIGMA RIGHT NOW. THEY ARE NEVER JUST FOND MEMORIES. IF YOUR GIRLFRIEND IS LOOKING OFF INTO THE DISTANCE AND PINING FOR HER EX-BOYFRIEND AND YOU STILL DON'T KNOW IF SHE'S CHEATING ON YOU, THEN YOU NEED A DICTIONARY TO LOOK UP THE WORD PINING. OR THE WORD PINE. SOMETIMES THEY WILL ONLY SHOW THE ROOT OF THE WORD. THEY'RE ANNOYING LIKE THAT.

Your move: Say, "I just need some reassurance here."

You know what she will do? REASSURE YOU. But in the words of Nice Guy Eddie, "If you fucking beat this prick long enough, he'll tell you who started the god damn Chicago fire, BUT THAT DON'T MAKE IT FUCKING SO."

When, in history, has a guy said "I just need some reassurance here," and a woman said, "No. I'm sorry. I can't do that. Nothing is going on with my ex and I want nothing from him. But I can't reassure you." Of course she is going to reassure you whether she's blowing him or not. How does that help us?

She should respond definitively that you're her man, Levine says. If she pauses, follow up with "I'm not trying to control you. I just want to be with someone who knows what she wants."

That line has never failed to define and solidify a relationship.

She needs to think it's something to fix. If she doesn't, walk.

I. I'm sorry....What?

She needs to think it's something to fix. If she doesn't, walk.

Hmm. Ummm. Nahh still not getting it.

She needs to think it's something to fix.

I'm gonna take a stab at it here. Okay. Sooo she needs to think that talking to her boyfriend a lot is something to fix. In other words, she needs to know that she shouldn't be pining for her ex-boyfriend..? I'm guessing?

Well if I may take over as the head instructor in Baby Land for a moment, there is no "fixing" the fact that she is pining for her ex, or anyone else for that matter. Have you ever tried to tell a friend why they shouldn't like someone? That has never ever worked in the history of the world.

In conclusion, if she is still pining for her ex, the only fix is to let that bitch go. Or you could tell her that you want to "be with someone who knows what she wants" and try to get her to fix her feelings away. Let me know how that works out.

THE HANDS-ON PERSONAL TRAINER
Worry when . . . she spills intimate details about his life. Chances are, the sharing goes both ways. "The relationship should be friendly, not familiar," says Rita DeMaria, Ph.D., a marriage and family therapist in the Philadelphia area.

Not when . . . he's just pumping her up.

Well done.

It's his job to give her encouragement and attention.

Is it?

Your move: Once again, share your discomfort and watch her response.

Brilliant.

If she's open and says, "I didn't realize that," she's not drinking in the man's attention, and she respects your feelings. If she's defensive, she might be guzzling it,

I'm not even going to bite on your "guzzling" setup.

so back off for a few weeks and see how she deals with it. It's up to you how far you push.

Here's another lesson from the new Mayor of Baby Land. NO PERSONAL TRAINERS. EVER. Now I know what you might be saying. That "Baby Land" was a poor choice of a metaphor and that it's not really funny and it doesn't make a hell of a lot of sense. Well we're already in Baby Land and there's no going back now.

THE SMITTEN SUITOR
Worry when . . . she's ignoring the situation because she hates conflict. That's bad for your relationship, because this issue will recur.

Oh word?

Not when . . . she's simply working at her own pace to let her admirer down easy.

When her pace is weaning him down to one blowjob a week, don't worry! That's just her own way of letting him down easy!

Your move: If you've given her pace a chance, let her know you're uncomfortable. Offer to help. If she allows you, meet the guy: Put your arm around her and introduce yourself as her boyfriend. That should be enough.

Yes, that should be enough. Assuming, of course, that you are living in an 80's movie. Just put your arm around your girl and tell him, "Back off, rodent!" Then take your two fingers and push him in the chest. His eyes will sink to the floor. This is the time to start berating him about how poor he is and how rich your dad is. Your friends might jump in and say, "Cool it, Chaz!" But you just say, "Butt out, Joey. This aint none of your business!" His only defense is to propose a challenge to you in some sort of competitive event. Now this is important so listen closely. No matter what he challenges you in, your only reply is, "You're on!" You can throw a "chump" in there, if you like, or add another insult about his family being poor. Then turn your back and cackle as you walk away with your girl, arm still around her shoulder.

If it's not, say, "I think it would be best if you limited contact with her," Levine says. Use restrained strength, not tough-guy tactics.

Use restrained strength, like screaming through your teeth. Not tough-guy tactics, like screaming how you're going to kill her as you're being tackled by WaWa employees until the cops come and they cuff you up against the squad car facing her as she comes out of the house with her new boyfriend and you yell to him that he's a dead man and that you "know people" who will set his house on fire while you're in jail. NOT that.

Merry Belated Christmas

Can you wish someone a Merry Belated Christmas? I really don't think so. And yet, here we are, days after Christmas, and I'm wishing you a merry one. So you put it together.

I promise I have plenty of blogs to come. Real entries with real comedy attempts at comedy. I've just been busy these last few weeks. I'd like to tell you that it was because of my girlfriend, and shopping, and holiday parties, but it was mainly drinking and gambling. The good news is I'm up 3k. The bad news is I have Adult Fetal Alcohol Syndrome.

If you know my track record, then you probably don't believe my promise. But you know what? Believe whatever you want. I'm not beholden to you. You want to believe that we are celebrating the 2008th birthday of a carpenter but you won't believe me that I have another blog entry before New Year's? Well you know what?? You're probably right. There it is. I won't be posting again. You can still get fucked.

In the meantime, I know you come here for your bi-monthly dose of week-old news. So here it is. These individuals are celebrating a very Merry Christmas this year...without the use of poker and JD.

Tell em Busta:






WE GETTIN A-ROD MONEY!!!!!!!!!



WE GETTIN A-ROD MONEY!!!!!!!!!



WE GETTIN A-ROD MONEY!!!!!!!!!



WE ARE TO RECEIVED MONIES EARNED FROM CONTRACTUAL AGREEMENTS WITH PIRATEERING ORGANIZATION FROM CITY MADE OF STEEL!!!!!

Adam Jones and The Game of Life

Adam Jones' Brain: Connect four.

Adam Jones' Hands: Wait.....hold on............

Brain: You see, it's diagonal. I started in the corner and-

Hands: Hold on wait......how......and then the red one went here and......awww FUCK!

Brain: Sorry.

Adam smacks the game off the table.

Hands: Yo I hate dis game! Why we gotta sit inside all day playin pussy games? I wanna play dat old game we usedta play. Memba' dat? Shit, what was it.

Brain: I don't know. It was so long ago.

Hands: Fuck, Brain, don't play me. You know dat game. Wit the runnin and the brown thing and the tacklin bitches..... Oh, touchdowns! I remember touchdown. What game has dat?

Brain: Sorry. Doesn't ring a bell.

Adam Jones' Legs: That's football, son.

Brain: Legs!

Hands: YYYEEEEEAAAAAA. Football, nigga! Yo I luuuudddd dat game. Why you holdin out on us BRAIN?! I know yo' thinkin ass knew what I's talkin bout.

Brain: What's the point? We're done with football. Commissioner Goodell suspended us, so we have to stay away from anything related to the NFL. There's no sense living in the past. This is our life now: staying home, staying sober, and staying out of trouble.

Hands: Yo but look. We could tell Commissioner Gordon dat we aint been drinkin or smokin or nothin. And you know how we fuck em up? It be true!

Brain: Well maybe you should have thought about doing that before we got suspended and then we would still be playing the game you "lud." But it's too late and we are done with the NFL. We have plenty of board games we can play.

Legs: But why does it always have to be board games?

Brain: BECAUSE. Board games. Are. Fun. Now what is it going to be, guys? Candy Land or Shoots and Ladders?

Hands: Candy Land.

Legs: No, Hands.

Hands: But I wanna hit up Gumdrop Mountain and get me some peanut brittle!

Legs: No I mean I'm done watchin Brain beat you in every kids' game we got in dis house. I'm restless as shit. I'm takin us outside.

Brain: No, Legs. NO. Do not leave this house. DO NOT WALK US OUTSIDE.

Legs: Fuck it.

Adam gets up and walks to the front door.

Brain: Legs! Don't forget I do control you!

Legs: Oh word? Control me then.

Brain: Well, I'm sayin...I'm not sayin I would, I'm just sayin that if-

Legs: See if you can stop me from running through this window. Let's see what happens.

Hands: Yeah! And see if you can stop me from juggling these knives. Let's see what happens!

Brain: Guys! Stop. Please. Why does it always come to this?? This is what gets us in trouble! Why do we feel the need to fight until we hurt ourselves?

Legs: Aight, Brain. We good. But I'm still walkin outside.

Brain: Okay, fine. But just for a little fresh air.

Adam opens his front door and steps on the newspaper.

Legs: I stepped on somethin. Hands, pick it up.

Hands: I got it. Yo what the fuck is dis? Dis be the shittiest magazine I ever SEEN. Haha it's all grey and shit. Shit's all fallin apart look. Aint even glued together right.

Brain: You know what, Hands? You're right! That sure is one crappy magazine! Let's just throw it out and play some more Topple.

Legs: Shut up, Brain. Hands, it's not a magazine. It's a newspaper.

Hands: Oh.

Legs: Yo look at the front page.



Hands: Yo dat's dat nigga Plax! Read dis to me, Brain.

Brain: Wouldn't you rather go inside?

Legs: I'll read it. Aw, shit. Plax was totin in the club and when he reached for the whistle he let off on his own leg.

Hands: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Oh mah god. OH MAH GAWD! Dis nigga shot hisself in the LEG. He shot hisself. HISSELF. Wit his own gun! Brain. BRAIN! DIS NIGGA SHOT HISSELF IN THE LEG.

Brain: Yeah. Saw that. I just hope him leg is okay..

Legs: Hands, you pull any shit like that wit me and we gon be da first nigga to chop his hands off wit his own feet.

Hands: Nahhh don't you worry bout dat, playbwoy. You know Hands good wit da heata'. Mah gunplay tight. You saw me in da club. Memba dat? Dat stripper was like "Ooh lemme get dat cash," and Hands be like, "Sho' bitch. Don't forget deez shells." And I'm like blakka, blakka, blakka. I dead all dem bitches. Didn't hit mahself once.

Brain: Hey, Hands. Maybe you can call the commissioner so he can enjoy that story as well.

Hands: I would but he don't give me the number to dat Bat Phone.

Brain: Can we go back inside now? We have a lot of chores to do today and football isn't a part of our lives anymore.

Legs: Does it say which thigh he hit? God, I don't know if I had to choose...

Adam flips through the pages of the sports section.

Hands: Nah I don't see where-....YO DAT'S PACMAN!!!

Legs: What?!?

Hands: YO! DAT'S PACMAN! IN DA GREY MAGAZINE! PACMAN BE IN DIS GREY MAGAZINE!!!



Brain: Ahhhhhhhh shit.

Legs: This says we reinstated in the league, Brain. What the fuck, man. Why you aint tell us?!

Brain: BECAUSE THIS IS WHAT ALWAYS HAPPENS. We always get into trouble, we sit out for a while, then we go back to playing. Well I don't care if you guys tricked Goodell into reinstating you because I DON'T WANT TO PLAY ANYMORE. I can't stand babysitting you..A-HOLES all day, just so that we can play a neanderthal game for a few weeks and then fuck it all up again next time one of you decides to befoul a limousine or rob a bank or whatever the frick you guys are gonna do next! What about what I want to do?! What about my dreams?!? I want to see a musical. I want to go on a camping trip. I want to write a romance novel. But do we ever get to do what I want to do?? NOOOOOOOO. And we never will, so long as we stay in this freakin cycle. So I'm done. I'm done with all it! I'm done with all of you!! And I'm done with football!!!

Legs: ....I'm walkin us to the Hummer. We gon drive to practice. Hands you got the wheel.

Hands: Yee-uh. Yo I got madd drivin skills. I'm gon drive and shoot at the same time like GTA4. Blakka, blakka, blakka.

Brain: God I hate you guys. I'm gonna call Plaxico. Maybe he could have some use for me.

The Kinda Annual Mostly Uninformed Movie Review!

At one time in the past, I wrote a movie review entry. In keeping with my typical lack of motivation, creativity, and funny ideas, I never wrote a second installment. You'd think that it would be pretty easy to write a simple follow-up entry, but then you wouldn't know me very well.

As in the original, I do these reviews using information from commercials I may have seen, things I may or may not have heard, or general feelings about the actors and/or title of the movie. My opinion is often insulting, philistine, and racist. But no moreso than any of these movies. Enjoy!


THE SECRET LIFE OF BEES

This movie ventures to address one of the burning questions facing the future of our country.

Will Dakota Fanning make it through her teens unscathed and transition from cute kid to hot girl?

Will she glide gracefully into her 20's like Natalie Portman? Will she start strong and then burn out like the Olsen twins? Will she completely shit the bed in a blaze of pimples and greasy hair like McCauley Caulkin? Watch the Secret Life of Bees to see Phase 1 of the Dakota Fanning evolution!





QUANTUM OF SOLACE

Bond girl. Bond girl. Bond girl. Please finish reading the entry before you end up spending hours looking at her pictures. Trust me. I'm on hour three of a ten sentence blog entry.





SOUL MEN

Samuel L. Jackson: I like exclamation points!

Bernice Mac: Shit! Me too!

Jackson: Let's exclaim everything for an entire movie!

Mac: I'm in! You think they'll make a movie like that?!

Jackson: Why the fuck not?! They made Soul Plane, muthafucka!

Mac: That movie was an insult to the black community!

Jackson: I know! But why did they love it then?!

Mac: We're gluttons for punishment!

Jackson: That's an unfair generalization of African-Americans!

Mac: Then why all the black-on-black crime?!

Jackson: Shit this is too much fuckin thinking! Let's get back to makin that fuckin movie!

Mac: Amen, muthafucka! Let's get Eugene Levy in it to comically offset our old school blackness!

Jackson: Now you're talking! The best revenge is having the white man pay us to make shitty movies!

Mac: Hell yeah! This is so much fuckin fun, it makes me wish I wasn't dead!

Isaac Hayes: Me too!





ZACK AND MIRI MAKE A PORNO

According to IMDB, Kevin Smith once shot a pictorial of his wife, Jennifer Schwalbach Smith, for Playboy. According to an extensive search of the internet, she has a landing strip that you could land a 747 on. We're on hour six of writing this blog entry.





HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL 3: SENIOR YEAR

Are you a teen male who is confused about your sexuality but doesn't want to come out of the closet without knowing how your friends will react? Then High School Musical 3 is the movie for you! Ask your friend if they want to see HSM3 with you. If they say yes, then put on a pot of coffee, you've got a long overdue conversation ahead of you!





MADAGASCAR: ESCAPE 2 AFRICA

I originally thought this sequel was going to be in the spirit of Escape from New York, where a bunch of animals are trying to band together and escape to safety. I was a bit off. It seems that it's more of a vehicle for the Back-to-Africa Liberian movement.

Hey, where are you guys going? You just won the election!





CHANGELING

Who says a bad title can dry up any interest in a movie? Oh. The American public. This movie has been out for a month and it has yet to recoup half of its budget. Fingers crossed for a big comeback!

And Angelina is hot and all, but she can't really act. So if she's not getting naked in this, and I haven't found any evidence to the contrary, then you may need a better title to draw an audience. Hour eight of this blog.





SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE

From the website:

Jamal Malik, a penniless eighteen year-old orphan from the slums of Mumbai, is one question away from winning a staggering 20 million rupees on India’s ”Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?” But when the show breaks for the night, suddenly, he is arrested on suspicion of cheating. After all, how could an uneducated street kid zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

So this is an independent movie? About an Indian child? On an outdated game show? Well, say no more! It's like the producers read my mind. I've always wanted to see a movie about the slums of Mumbai! I hope they visit the Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya!





SAW V

A leaked script of Saw VI has already hit the internet. In the next installment, serial killer Jigsaw sets up an elaborate trap where he holds an unprecedented 300 people captive and forces them to watch Saw I through V.





BOLT

I don't know what this movie is about, but there are no naked girls in it. Like none at all. Not even any hot girls with clothes on. Just a terrible, terrible movie. A complete waste of my tenth and final hour of this entry.



Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go see Slumdog Millionaire and find out what happens to young Jamal Malik. God I hope he wins those 20 million rupees. He'll finally be able to afford his father's operation!

Mercury: The Roman God of Hubris

As you all know, the Tennessee Titans are undefeated ten games into this NFL season. 10-0 is a very impressive mark at this point in the season. In fact, it's perfect. But nothing in the NFL is truly impressive until Mercury Morris weighs in on it.

You see, Mercury Morris played for the 1972 Miami Dolphins, the only NFL team to ever complete an undefeated season and win the championship. But of course, you already knew that, because this douche never shuts up about it. Morris and all his survivors teammates from the '72 Dolphins are so proud of their accomplishment that they have a party every year when the last undefeated team in the NFL takes its first loss.

Beyond that, each year Mercury also takes it upon himself to become the resident NFL expert. He analyzes the last remaining undefeated team to see how they compare to the '72 Dolphins. And wouldn't you know it, they are never quite as good as his beloved 'phins. So now that the Titans are 10-0, it is time to start hearing from Mercury Morris again.

But you see, things have always been this way for Mercury. And the world.




JUNE 1512. VATICAN CITY. SISTINE CHAPEL.

Mercury Morris looks up at the ceiling.

Mercury Morris: Yeahhh. I see what you did there.

Michelangelo: You do? Which part are you referring to?

Mercury: Well. Ya know. All of it.

Michelangelo: All of it?

Mercury: Sure, sure. It's great, man. Seriously. It was a great try.

Michelangelo: Grazie, grazie. I really thought--wait. I'm sorry. Did you say "great try?"

Mercury: Of course. You really gave it a great shot. I mean I see what you went for. Bible. God. Jesus. Paint. I get it. It was truly a valiant effort.

Michelangelo: Effort?? But, sir. I have been painting this for four years. It's taken an enormous toll on my body. I've given my life to this project!

Mercury: And I surely respect you for it.

Mercury puts his arm around Michelangelo and walks with him.

Mercury: Hey. You gave it your all. No one can take that away from you. Some of us are just bound for perfection, while others splatter paint on the ceiling of a chapel and call it art. But you still gave it your best. Now you go ahead and keep that in your pocket for a rainy day.

Michelangelo: What on Earth are you saying?!? Splattered paint?? Who are you to judge what is perfection?!

Mercury: Well, I didn't want to bring it up but... A few years back, me and a couple buddies got together and painted the ceiling of our church. Just a bunch of old school dudes, watchin each others' backs, and paintin' ceilings. Well it took us eight long weeks, but when it was all said and done, the townspeople decided that our church had the nicest painted ceiling of any church in town. It was a proud day for me and the boys. In fact, we still get together every so often to look at other church ceilings, and celebrate that ours is still better.

Michelangelo: Let me get this straight. You only painted for eight weeks?

Mercury: It doesn't matter how long it took. What matters was that it was perfect.

Michelangelo: And your competition was other churches within your own town??

Mercury: Yeah but that was a tough town, man. Not like the weak watered-down towns you guys got now.

Michelangelo: And you yourselves are now the judges on what could possibly live up to your own creation???

Mercury: Of course, Mike. Who better to judge perfection than the perfect ones themselves? I'm not saying you could never be perfect. You just aren't now. And. Even if you were to ever be perfect, you still wouldn't really be perfect because we did it first. So you would still be second place to our perfection.

Michelangelo: You are not perfect. No man is perfect. God is perfect.

Mercury: Now hold on. I gotta stop you right there. Let's be clear about a few things. I am not perfect. You are not perfect. God is not perfect. The only thing that has ever been perfect in this world was me and my buddies during that one Spring when we painted the ceiling of our church. Now don't get discouraged because you're not quite there yet. Think of it this way: you made it to the party, but you still gotta pin the tail on the donkey!

Two members of the clergy drag Mercury out of the chapel.




JUNE 1941. FACTORY IN DRESDEN, GERMANY.

After the conclusion of a brief pro-German announcement over the loudspeaker, Mercury tosses his gloves and puts his hands on his hips.

Mercury: Man, what's all this I keep hearing about this Germany being the best Germany ever. Man this Germany aint shit. Back in my day, we had us a real German Empire. Yall don't know about Kaiser Wilhelm II. He puts all yall to shame. Dude had a spike on his helmet. You believe that? Who's that guy you got now. Adolph Nippler? Zing!

German Guy: Adolph Hitler. And I wouldn't let him hear you say that. He would have you and your entire family murdered.

Mercury: ...A spike on his helmet. A motherfucking SPIKE. Shit, you younguns just wouldn't know about how we did things. Our war was serious.

German: This war is much bigger.

Mercury: Oh, really? How can it be better than The Great War? They called it that 'cause it was the greatest! They're callin this World War II 'cause that's just what it is--second place.

German: You are offending my typical German sensibilities of reason and order.

Mercury: What you know about this, my man. In my day? Our war totaled over ten million casualties. Ten million.

German: I predict that by the end of all this, we'll have fifty million dead.

Mercury: Ha! Ho, ho, ho! Mr. Prediction Man. Fifty million! How's that Charlie Chaplin-lookin motherfucker gonna manage that, huh? No country can kill that many in a war. Shit he'd have to start straight exterminatin people if he plans to hit that number.

The German man begins writing.

German: Go on...

Mercury: Look, brotha. Maybe I can help you better understand. Let me put it to you like this:
(rapping)
So you think that Hitler is really keen
Well I can tell you now he aint so mean
The Great World War, that was the best
Doesn't even matter that we lost that mess
Today yall Germans are just pretenders
I heard Hitler himself was quite the bender
Kaiser would surely kick his butt
Cause he aint nothin but a quarter-jew mutt

Two SS members swiftly drag Mercury out of the building.




JUNE 1994. AOL HEADQUARTERS WITH STEVE CASE.

CEO Steve Case finishes a presentation about the upcoming release of AOL 1.5 for Windows 3.1. As the clapping of Board members wanes, Mercury Morris continues slow-clapping with his feet on the conference table.

Mercury: Ha ha ha. So the internet, huh? That's it? Ooh-wee. Yall are pretty easily impressed for some executives. Now I know why they call it "tech-no-logical."

Mercury winks.

Steve Case: I'm sorry?

Mercury: Man, this internet aint shit. Cmon now. World Wide Web? Umm, maybe yall forgot about a little invention called the telephone? Those things reach all over the world. The phone did it way before the internet. And it did it better.

Steve Case: With all due respect, I'm not sure I know what you're saying.

Mercury slaps his thighs and stands up.

Mercury: Well I'll tell ya what I'm sayin, son. I'm sayin the phone is the best there was, the best there is, and the best there ever will be! If you want to talk to your wife, you don't wanna to get caught in no web! If you want to talk to your dad, you don't wanna get dragged in no net! You wanna make a call, you use the phone, because it's the best of all.

Mercury folds his arms.

Steve: Right, but the internet can provide so much more than a telephone conversation can. You can use it to email, sure. But you can also use it to shop online. You can use it to expand your business. You can look up virtually any fact and have it right in front of you in seconds.

Mercury: Man, you want facts? A phone can give you facts! Watch this.

Mercury picks up the phone.

Mercury: Beep-beep-boop-bop-bop-boop-beep. Hello? Yes, hi. Can you tell me who the first president of the United States was? Abraham Lincoln? Ah thank you!

Steve: Well, actually that's not correct. The first president was George Washington. Also, you didn't dial the phone. You just picked up the phone and started saying boops and beeps with your mouth.

Mercury: (into phone) I gotta go.

Mercury hangs up the phone.

Mercury: Look, we can argue over who the first president was all day, but there's no way to find out for sure. The only thing that's important is that everyone here understands that the phone is better than the internet.

Steve: But we didn't invent the internet. We're not saying we invented the internet.

Mercury: Now there ya go. That's it. Champions stay humble. Humble like the perfect Miami Dolphins of 1972.

Steve: (frustrated) Furthermore, why are you saying the phone is better than the internet. That's like saying an apple is better than a pencil. I don't think they even compare.

Mercury: Exactly. The net cannot compare to the perfect phone.

Steve: ...All we're saying is that this will be a great tool we can use to make our company the best in our field.

Mercury: Ah, ah, ah! You're not the best yet. No, sir. Let's just say this: you're in the right ballpark, but you still gotta find your seats!

Two security guards drag Mercury out of the building.




November 2008. New York, NY.

Mercury: This recession aint shit...

An Open Letter to Black People

Hi! How are you? Waaazzzuuupppp? It's been a long time, so I just wanted to reach out and touch base with you. First of all, let me be the first to say, "Congratulations!" Well perhaps not the first, but I can't even tell you how happy I am for you. I hope it's everything you dreamed it would be. You're in for a wild ride!

In an effort to facilitate the transition into the presidency, I thought I would write this letter to go over some issues that may be relevant now that you are in power. Hopefully this will clear the air and help us better understand each other under the new "arrangement."

First I'd just like to ask: is it okay to say "black people?" Do I really have to say "African-American?" It's not like you're really still African. So you're cool with "black people," right? It just saves time.

Let's move on with a compliment. You have the funniest comedians in the world. It's not even a contest. Please continue making me laugh. I just have one word of advice. The funniest comedians are black people, but not all black people are the funniest comedians. It just might help all of us in line at the DMV who are being held captive by five Steve Harveys fighting for the spotlight.

Before we go any further, I just want to be clear about something. Slavery is illegal now. I hope you know that. Don't try any funny business.

If you forgive us for creating DWB, we'll forgive you for creating FUBU. That's a good offer. You guys made that the coolest thing to wear in high school and I was expressly forbidden from wearing it. I was forced to wear Old Navy for four years of high school. That's not right. As far as DWB, well, I'm sure FUBU contributed just as much to racial profiling.

While we're on acronyms, let's talk about CPT. I can't speak for all white people, but I'd just like to let you know my position. I'm cool with it. Keep doing what you do. It's no fun rushing around trying to be on time for things. If I could pull off CPT, I would.

But speaking of which, how come you guys run so fast but you walk so slow? Please advise.

White people don't have rhythm. We just don't. You know it and I know it. But please stop making fun of us!

In regards to basketball....winners out or losers out?

In regards to OJ....truce?

In regards to the N word...sorry?

Fried chicken is delicious. I think we can all agree upon that.

I will apologize for this if you apologize for this. These videos serve to culturally- ah, fuck it. I love both of them!

I watch the Wire. I just want to put that out there. So just in case you have something big planned...I can be a better friend to yall alive.

And on to the final apology. I'm really, really, REALLY sorry about this:



To me, that is more offensive than slavery, and I sincerely apologize.

On the other hand, if you guys would have voted last time, that never would have happened. So I think we can share the blame on that one. What do you say. Even Steven?

Well that's all for now. I hope this letter will open a dialogue and help us better serve each other. That's serve each other. Not one race serving the race who is in power because that would be wrong.

Take care and good luck. But most importantly, have fun with it! Enjoy your time. It goes all too fast. Trust me!

Love,

Brown

The Catholic Church Makes Amends

Father Paul Minnihan stands at a podium before a crowd of people outside of his cathedral.

Father Paul: Today, the people of the world face an uncertain future. The global economy is in recession, our political leaders are divisive, and the moral decay of our families and neighborhoods seems rampant. Now, more than ever, people need The Church to help guide them through these tumultuous times.

But people are not always ready to accept The Church in their lives. They aren't always open to the idea. They aren't always willing.

I understand that We haven't always been perfect in The Church. We have given plenty of people plenty of reasons not to place their trust in Us. And I understand that it may be difficult for those people to embrace The Church back into their lives. But We believe in saving every soul. We believe that you are all Our children.

So, today, it is The Church that asks for forgiveness for Our past transgressions. We are here to present a gift to the victims of those unspeakable acts that took place on the grounds of Our churches. We hope it eases the pain and suffering of all of you, and welcomes you back into the arms of The Church.

A curtain drops to unveil The Church's gift.



The crowd applauds mildly.

There we are. I hope we can all move beyond all the sordid allegations of the past, those both true and fabricated, and walk together, hand in hand, into The Church. Thank you.

Father Paul attempts to step out from behind the podium. A man raises his hand and stands up in the crowd.

Man in the crowd: Uh, I'm sorry. What is that?

Father Paul: Hmm? Oh yes, my child. Did you have a question?

Man: Yeah. Umm. What is that?

Father Paul: Well, you see it's a rock. And it's our gift to you.

Man: Your gift. Is a rock.

Father Paul: Yes.

Father Paul gathers the papers at the podium.

Man: Yeah, sorry, hold on there. Still not quite getting it. Your gift...to myself and all your other victims here and across the world...is a fucking rock?

Father Paul squints disapprovingly.

Father Paul: What is your name, my child?

Man: Okay. Not your child. But my name is Tim Boyd.

Father Paul: Well you did not let me continue, my sweet Timmy Boy. We got something else for you all. Take a look behind the rock in the garden. We got you something extra special.



Tim Boyd: Uh-huh. Right. Sooo...this and the rock?

Father Paul: Yes. Happy now? I mean, that should give you some peace, my son.

Tim Boyd: This says, "Planned by survivors." I don't remember planning any of this. Did any victims really plan this?

Father Paul: Well maybe not technically, but We had your thoughts and feelings in mind, when We planned it.

Another man stands up.

Victim #2: Does that actually say "we remember?" Isn't that kind of weird?

Father Paul: The Church wanted to-

Tim Boyd: Holy shit it does. I didn't even read it at first because I figured, ya know, what the hell are a few sentences going to say to wash away a lifetime of sexual abuse, but my god. They actually admit they remember.

Father Paul: Well yes We remember, of course. We like to think of those times often...in order to dissuade Ourselves from ever doing that again.

Victim #2: I dunno. Still kinda seems like the type of thing you should be forgetting. I mean we remember, ya know? My god, we remember. Hard to forget all those late nights...cold...and alone...ohh god. But, uh, I think it's not really something you guys should be reminiscing about.

Father Paul: Look, We're saying We remember it so that you know that We sympathize with you and We know what you're going through.

Victim #3: Oh DO YOU?

Father Paul: Cheese and crackers! We're trying to extend an olive branch here. I think if you'll give it a chance you may really like it. It's not just the rock and the plaque; it's an entire garden. We even have two benches: one facing The Church and one facing away from The Church if you feel like you still can't just let it go.



Tim Boyd: Wow. There's more. So let me get this straight. Your plan in all this is to get us to come back to The Church where we were sexually molested?

Father Paul: No. Well, there was never a plan, as such, it's just-

Tim Boyd: And presumably bring our families with us?

Father Paul: No, no. Well, yes! I mean, if you have children of course We'd always love to extend-

Tim turns to the crowd.

Tim Boyd: Hey, guys. Anyone here ever go to church again after they were sexually abused? I mean willingly go to church, not like when you were forced to go because you couldn't share the horrible secret that you were molested by your priest.

Victim #2: Nooo.

Victim #3: No way!

Victim #4: Are you serious?

Victim #5: Douche chills!

Victim #6: YES.

Tim Boyd: What? You do?

Victim #6: Well, yes. But I'm a pedophile now, sooo. It's just business.

Tim Boyd: Fair enough.

Father Paul: Guys, guys. You don't have to come back to The Church, okay? I don't know what I was saying with that. I think I overshot it a bit. But, look, We gave you the rock, the plaque, the garden. That's gotta be worth something, right? So whattaya say. Can we call it even?

Tim Boyd: Oh yeah. Of course. Even Steven.

Father Paul: Thank the Lord.

Tim Boyd: Sure, sure. So long as that rock can unrape me.

Father Paul: What?

Tim Boyd: Well that rock- that rock you gave us. That can unrape me, right? That can undo the years of sexual abuse I endured, no? I just figure that's what you gave it to us, right? To erase all the physical and mental torture? The rock that has the power to right the wrongs of a thousand priests molesting a thousand children? Even Steven?

Father Paul: Son, I know you're hurting but-

Victim #7: I was raped with a broom. Can it undo that too?

Victim #8: I'm looking for full coverage over here. Kinda don't wanna get into all of the details but...

Father Paul: I really don't think this is the time for a discussion like that. Perhaps tonight we can meet in my rectory and have a more private-

Tim Boyd: Oh my god, are you still angling for that? You guys never learn. I'm like 40 now, pal. Consider me off the market.

Victim #9: I'm sorry I'm still a bit unclear on what that turd is doing in the middle of the garden.

Tim Boyd: What turd?

Father Paul: That's not a turd! Ahem. That's a rock.

Tim Boyd: Big upgrade.

Victim #9: Well, if you were going to give us a rock, then why is it all cracked.

Father Paul shuffles papers on the podium and then peers down through his reading glasses.

Father Paul: The shattered stone represents the shattered lives of the victims.

Victim #9: Seriously?

Father Paul: What. I thought it was nice!

Victim #9: I would have rather had the turd.

Father Paul: How is a turd better than a rock?!

Victim #9: At least a turd takes effort.

Victim #10: Excuse me, I haven't made an observation yet.

Father Paul: Jesus fucking Christ, I've had enough of you people! We try to do something nice and all you do is bitch, bitch, bitch! Goddamnit what do We have to do to get you to stop crying?! We're sorry, okay?!? SORRYYYY!! NOW GO SIT ON YOUR GODDAMN TURD ROCK AND FUCKING FORGIVE US!!!

The crowd sits back in stunned silence. Father Paul clears his throat, adjusts his collar, and walks off stage toward Father O'Hagan.

Father Paul: Ohhh this is bad.

Father O'Hagan: You're goddamn right it is.

Father Paul: Thisisbad. Thisisbad.

Father O'Hagan: We have to go into damage control. The rock didn't work. How else can we buy back their love? What does everyone love?

Father Paul: Ipods? Beer? Cash?

Father O'Hagan: I've got it!