A FLAMING GOOD TIME

The other night, I was driving downtown, looking to score some ice cream. But what I got instead was anything but cold. That sounded like a line from World's Wildest Police Videos, didn't it? Anyway, I saw an apartment building on fire. It was great! For some reason, you don't think to feel sorry for the people who live there. You're too into the moment, enjoying the show. Fire is mesmerizing. I'll have to remember arson as an option the next time I'm looking to kill someone without all the guilt. Sociopaths are so lucky. Sigh.

"This wrong way driver just bought himself a one way ticket to a dead end jail cell. Damn, I'm good!"

Not only do I not feel sorry for those people, I actually envy them. Who wouldn't want to go out like that, man? I would've been up on that roof, doing one of those movie-stuntman-on-fire staggering falls off the edge. I'd make sure a friend was filming the whole thing too, so they could sell it to Faces of Death. Give me undeserved fame or give me death. Or both.

It hurts so good!

THANK YOU FOR SMOKING

In my search for a career that provides the most money for the least amount of effort, nothing holds a candle to voiceover work. We've all sat in movie theaters listening to that guy with emphysema tell us that only one man can stop the forces of lazy scriptwriting and movie star vanity from destroying the world. That guy gets paid a hell of a lot, in case you weren't aware. The only real drawback is that I would need to start smoking 4 packs a day to get rid of that pesky crack in my voice that just barely prevents me from sounding like Satan's apprentice.

Let's nuke our bodies for Christmas, everyone!

Smoking copious amounts of tobacco is the key to success and riches. Just look at Swayze. He smoked so much that his pancreas got cancer. It bypassed the lungs altogether. That's impressive. And his pancreas rewarded him with seemingly divine inspiration to make Roadhouse, the most hilarious movie of all time. Many people will argue that the film was not meant to be funny, but you, me, Swayze, and his pancreas know otherwise. Keep enjoying that smooth flavor, buddy. Nobody puts Swayze in a corner.

RETURN OF THE KING

What a fabulous vacation I had. But after the overwhelming and persistent demands of as many as two readers of the blog, we're back in production. Lately, I've really let myself go. My hair is unkempt and long, my beard has gone unshaven. I'm like the Geico caveman: hairy, unfunny, and annoying. And if you say, "Oh, I love those commercials," then you are officially gay. And not the hip, trendy I-like-dudes gay. I mean the super lame gay.

Caveman or Mickey Rourke?

Maybe I should start dating again. That might motivate me to raise my appearance from disturbing to slightly embarrassing. Would it be worth it? Absolutely not. But perhaps I'm bitching and complaining too much. As my BFF Clint Eastwood always said to me as we smoked cigars and played pinochle, "Stop bitching and complaining. The thing that was just spoken was said by me, Clint Eastwood."

True story.