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--Well, this just pisses me the f*ck off:

Olson Twins to NYU

A couple of issues with this...

1) Are the two of you ever going to do a g*ddamn thing separately? There are Conjoined Twins out there who would flip (not literally) for the chance to be away from each other for fifteen minutes, something that seems an outright impossibility with you guys. On one hand, this is mortifyingly annoying; on another, it's sorta creepy, unless it leads to some kind of porn career, which I'm down with. Start with each of you doing a different movie, then you can reunite to have sexual relations with me once you turn 18, and then split again and figure out what it's like to be a unique person.

2) What the f*ck are you going to study in college? Acting? You're going to spend $40,000 a year to learn something that you're already getting paid gobs of money to do? Or are you going to try to learn something "real" and sell out, taking some kind of Sociology or Psychology crap that you'll never use? Want to do something good for the world? Take $1 million of your estimated $80 million personal worth, send 25 poor kids to a decent college for four years, and then suck it up and major in General Studies at Arizona State where you can drink your faces off, because Christ knows that's what you really want to do anyway.

3) As per the latter portions of #2, if you're just going to get the "College Experience(TM)", NYU ain't the place to do it. A day featuring Morning Yoga with Hilary Duff and her Lead Guitarist followed by Trignometry and Applied Anthro capped off with dinner at Tavern on the Green and a night of clubbing with Britney is not exactly "Slumming it through school".

4) Why the f*ck must you move the entire way across the motherf*cking country right as I'm about to move into your backyard? Curse the Gods, someone up in Heaven hates me.

--Had a very deep conversation with my good buddy T. Richardson Brown, Banker last night. T. Rich (as I like to call him) and I have had very similar experiences lately, and I would like to share with you all one of my most Ironclad Unconquerable Postulates: The Red Light/Green Light Sexual Allowance Treaty. If nothing else, I just hope to bridge the gap between genders.

Imagine this: guys, you are with a lady. Things are getting passionate. There is some amount of overtly amorous kissing. One party (it doesn't matter which) suggests a transplant to a more convenient locale, most likely a bedroom. Things progress. Let's say you go from laying parallel on the bed to a point where the lady has climbed on top of you and, as T. Rich has labeled it, starts doing a little "grindy pelvis" (accurate technical jargon). There is some amount of dirty talk. This turns into a large amount of dirty talk and very suggestive sexual innuendo. You remove the lady's shirt. She offers no resistance. At this point you figure all is a go. A move is made to enter the pant region of the female, and at this point, all hell breaks loose. The lady rescinds her efforts, asking what the hell you could possibly be thinking making such a move. The encounter is over, no one has been helped, and you likely have Blue Balls.

What has happened? The failure of the female to abide by the Code of the Red/Light Green Light Proclamation of 2722, BC.

It's simple ladies: if you don't want to do anything, don't act like you do. No grindy pelvis. No sexually-laden language. No allowed removal of shirts. Not if you're just going to cut it short in a snippy little tirade. It's as simple as the allegorical signal light: if you're not up for it, don't take it past the smoochies. If you are, let me know. Done and done.

Now of course, we've all stumbled into a situation where the hormones are screaming the affirmative but the old brain kicks in and curbs the proceedings with a negatory. This is understandable and can be exacerbated with a simple, "Hey, I'm sorry, but this is just too fast/not the right time/whatever." That's OK. Once. Maybe twice. After two it's just flat out teasing and unacceptable.

A variance of this is all the above mentioned, but then the lady stops and says, "OK, well I have to go," or, "Eh, I don't think I'm in the mood for this." Bullsh*t. No. F*ck no. It might be easy for a girl to float back to earth after getting revved up, but not a guy. Last I checked it takes four cold showers, seven shots of Ny-Quil and a basket of Blueberry muffins to stop the quaking.

The problem is this: if you're a male, it's been drilled into your head--and rightly so--that when the girl says stop, you f*cking stop dead in your tracks, lest you be labeled a sexual predator. The problem is that girls either do or do not realize what a powerful rule this is, and not being cognizant of the proper way to handle it can lead to disaster. So the message is simple: if you don't want it, that's OK; let us know at the outset and don't act like you do. Not fun. If you do want it, that's fine too, just try not to change your mind while I'm in mid-pump.

--Referencing the above, here is another thing I'm terribly sick of: chicks whining and b*tching when they f*ck a guy after the first or second week and he loses interest. F*cking stop the crying. As long as chicks tease, guys are going to Bang and Bolt. It's a rule of Nature.

You know exactly the girl I'm talking about. She's a veteran of the Three Week Ready-to-Bake Relationship where she meets a guy, gets overly excited about him, lets him bang her and then is clueless why she "can't find a decent boyfriend" and "why all guys are assh*les". This girl is usually a full-blown manhater and generally has nothing to offer to society at large. Note to Chicks: if you give it up right away, a lot of guys are going to blow right out of town. Not all, but some.

Take a clue from Red Light/Green Light...if you like the dude and want to keep something going, just don't sleep with him. Sure, do other stuff if you want, but just keep it to a mild level. Say things like, "I don't want to jump into anything serious," even if it's a total lie. At least you've covered yourself and you're likely going to save him a case of Blue Balls. And then you don't get screwed, proverbially and actually, either.

--Something else I consider a disturbing trend is people getting married to the person they've dated since high school. I know more than a few people who have done this, and while at this point they all seem to be working out for the best, my personal feeling is that it's a very bad idea, especially if you have gone to college separately.

Allow me to expound.

You've dated someone since you were sixteen. You date them all through college. You are now 23 or 24. Still with the same person. Now you're getting married. What are the inherent problems here? Well, first of all, it's been eight years, and if you were totally faithful in all that time (imagine me making a big huge wink right here), you've never experienced anything else. So almost the entirety of your "growing up", per se, has been within the bounds of one physical relationship. Red flag. You think you haven't changed as a person since you were 16? If you haven't, you're an assh*le. If you have, can you really gauge whether or not the person you're with is not only making you truly happy, but is even still compatible with who you've become?

I'll never forget one of my teachers telling me this story, and she swears it's true, and I think it makes the point brilliantly (stick that in your pipe, Metz): As a kid, she used to go to Baskin Robbins once a week with her family, all the way through high school and college. Always went home and took a nap afterwards. For years she went and got nothing but vanilla ice cream. Nothing. Always liked it. Never got bored. Then one day Pineapple showed up. Huge pineapple fan. Wanted the vanilla, but really wanted the pineapple. So she tried it. It was absolute crap. Swore it off forever. Went in the next week, and they were out of vanilla. So she tried the chocolate. Loved it. Raved about it even. Went home and didn't take a nap. Why? She finds out years later that she had, in her adolescence, grown allergic to the vanilla bean. She took a nap every week because it ended up giving her a splitting headache.

First of all, is that not the perfect story for this situation? Second, this is not meant to say that you can't always stick with vanilla, that things will fall apart if you don't listen to me and life will go to hell. Certainly that's not the case. The problem is that we have a proclivity in our culture to believe that things have always been and will always be the way they are/were. We are forced, subconsciously many times, into situations that may not actually benefit us because societal norms are banged into out psyche from day one. Few ever examine what they are actually doing or, God forbid, find out what is on the other side of the fence, and THAT is the real issue here. People are so afraid to "lose something" or disrupt the status quo that they never take any chances. Sure, plenty of these marriages work, and God Bless you, truly, if you find someone you love and can make it last. All the best. But we have a 53% divorce rate in this country, and I dare you to sit there and try to convince me that many of these arrangements are not to blame for a chunk of that.

Want to see the sh*t really hit the fan? Ask someone who is vehemently religious to explore faiths outside their own. Want to talk about people who are walking in the pitch-f*cking-dark? Yikes. I have been wanting to breach this subject for months now, but it's almost impossible for me to put into words my perceived state of Current World Religion and just how sheepish I think people can be. Maybe someday I'll be able to come up with the correct verbage.

GOOSETOWN CINEMATIQUE

My buddy Carmen over at JustCarmen (aptly named, no?) suggested that we do a "Top Five All-Time Underrated/Underappreciated Films". This is a fantastic idea, and we will feature this soon. However, in light of the Xmas season, I decided that we are going to have a holiday themed GooseTown Xmas Cinema Poll:

Which is the greatest cinematic nude scene ever?

1. Fast Times at Ridgemont High: Phoebe Cates. Dear Sweet Jesus in Heaven. The pool scene in this film singlehandedly defined adolescence for males for the next 75 years. Period. I'm serious, was there a better set of boobies ever? WE are talking perfection here, people.

2. Mischief: Kelly Preston. Wow. Wow. If you haven't actually seen the film, the scene is the picture that's all over the internet of Kelly Preston's boobies. Wow.

3. American Pie: Shannon Elizabeth. Now I am not a fan of fake boobies, hers included, but this is more about the context of the nude scene rather than the nudity itself. Why am I associating all these nude scenes with teen-themed flicks? Hmm....

4. American Beauty: Thora Birch. A couple of things are wonderful about this one: 1) They're large and perky, an absolutely fantastic combo; 2) Seriously, if you were lucky enough to live next door to an attractive girl, what are the chances you'd not only catch her naked in her window, but that she'd actually be doing it for your benefit? 3) She was 17 at the time it was filmed. It was only allowed because her parents signed off on the scene, giving it their OK. Why is this significant? For many of us, it's the last time we'll see 17 year old breasts without getting jailed for it.

5. Wild Card: Your call. I've left some out intentionally to see if any of you mention them. Please do so.

Don't say I never give ya nothin' to think about.