SO MUCH TO SAY

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Alright, so look, I have been a busy little beaver lately. Lots of work, little else, which is annoying at times but also profitable, so you're not going to hear me complain. However, it leaves me little time to write - though a lot of time to think about writing - so there are, like, literally thousands of things (I've never exaggerated ever) that I've thought of to talk about that I haven't made a comment on. That's going to change this afternoon. Here are some things that I have pondered that I would now like you to ponder:

--Why is Lou Holtz allowed on television? Three or four times a week I'm subjected to his mush-mouthed, incoherent rambling on ESPNNews and it drives me insane. Look, it's fine to have an old coach sit there and try to pump up his old program, but there's only so much Notre Dame d*ck-sucking I'll tolerate. Instead of contributing some kind of insight that might be valuable from a former head coach's perspective he talks incessantly about Jesus's Team, most of the time unintelligibly, and then adds something crazy like, "Tony Fisher may have been the best college football running back in history." And yeah, maybe he didn't actually say that, but would anyone be surprised?

Today was my last straw with Lou, as he openly mocked the South Carolina football program just because he wasn't a good enough coach to do well there. You stay classy, Mr. Holtz. The worst part of this fiasco is that he's literally little more than a senile old man at this point. Putting him on TV is something ESPN should be ashamed of. Similarly, if I ever take a Down's kid, put a calculus book in front of him, tape the resulting primal struggle and broadcast it for millions, I expect someone to flog me relentlessly.

--Speaking of football...I mean, just try being a Penn St. fan AND a Cleveland Browns fan at the same time. Excrutiating on several levels.

The Nittany Lions are doing well this year, but what in the blue blazes of f*cking hell was the deal with the Michigan game? Between the phantom penalties, the referee's absolute refusal to give PSU an accurate first down spot, a similar refusal to review a play that clearly saw a Michigan receiver touch a heel out of bounds on a 15-yard pass play on the final drive and the collective balls to allow Lloyd Carr to pull an extra two seconds out of a hidden time bank in the outer cosmos...well, let's just say that I experienced several decades of heartbreak in less than ten minutes and probably shaved a good 5-6 years off my life. I will forever hate you, Lloyd Carr, and if you think I'll forget about this you're wrong.

Somehow the Browns, who are 2-4 and basically out of any postseason contention already, have made me happy this year. First of all they've been WAY more competitive than anyone expected, and aside from the first bomb against the much-improved Bengals there's no reason they couldn't be 5-1 if some key plays went a different way. Whatever happens the rest of the way the new management is taking this team in the right direction, Romeo Crennel is a genius, and even though I yell and try to skewer my eyes out with toothpicks every Sunday I'm confident in the future.

--Does anyone else here visit Ain't It Cool News? I do quite frequently - they've got a lot of spies that get information on upcoming films WAY before it gets filtered down to me through the studio - but I've just come to a point of exhaustion with all of these talkbackers.

I mean...what an absolutely, pathetic bunch of d*uchebags. Go read any of the posts on the website and then look at what thankless losers these people are that respond to them. Apparently there's some kind of d*uchebag honor in being the first to respond to a post, and as such there's always a rash of basement-dwelling morons in a rush to throw up their "FIRST!" exclamation with absolutely nothing else to offer. It's so sad that I actually feel bad making fun of these people for a millisecond.

But the worst part is how these people pick apart every film, script, idea and rumor that comes across the wire. Do you jackasses realize that, much as you complain and whine and let the snot bubbles form in your nose...you'll never get anywhere near the entertainment industry? Newsflash: you couldn't make a decent film if you had Kubrick on tap, so please, PLEASE shut the f*ck up. In fact, you're the same mental midgets - and I know this for a fact in several cases - that submit 100 pages of nothing to producers and then cry when you get bad notes. Hey, you're talentless, and that's no one's fault but your own. Please stop the blabbering.

These people have literally driven me up the wall on several occasions. Remember before when I talked about how much I hate music snobs? These people are of the same ilk but on a whole different level for me because I'm smarter than they are and I know more. I really hope they all die, because I can't take the stupidity anymore. There's always that old joke that's like, "Hey, move out of your parent's basement and get a life!" It's cliched, it's old, it's redundant, and it couldn't be more true.

On another note but still related, if I see one more music reviewer analyze guitar on a particular album as "crunchy" or describe the melodies as "luscious" I'm going to dig my testes out with a tuning fork. Music critics are bigger idiots than film critics.

--I can't believe no one has ever brought this up before, but I had this thought a few weeks ago and I can't shake it: did anyone ever consider Morgan Freeman's last name? Is there a more possibly-racist last name in existence for a black man? Does anyone know if there's a Kelvin Usedtobeaslave? Because I think that's the only way to eclipse this. Jesus, no wonder everyone hates white people.

--If you're on MySpace, join me in trying to get them to take away this whole Top 8 deal, because it's really going to ruin some friendships. If you don't know what I'm talking about it goes like this: on your MySpace profile (here's mine, just as an example) it shows eight people out of however many Friends you've accepted. It used to just be generated randomly for you, but now you get to pick the eight people, which as I see it - and based on the way some people have been acting - might lead to the destruction of all relationships as we know them.

People are freaking out. I won't name names, but I've - yes, we're talking about ME - been getting Messages from people losing their minds: "How come I'm not on your Top 8? You're on my Top 8!" Is there anything dumber than getting worked up about this? Anything? First of all, no one in their right mind should have me as one of their Top 8 friends, MySpace or no. Second of all, they should be even less concerned about being in MY Top 8...and frankly, let's be honest here, maybe you want to worry about the implications of Social Suicide (TM) if you are.

Please get a grip. I can no longer tolerate the lunacy.

In other MySpace news, there's this trend I've noticed recently of getting emails from porn fronts. They take a picture of a scantily-clad lady, send you a message saying that she's new in town and likes to get to know people, and that she doesn't check her MySpace Messages a lot but can be reached at hotcuntforu00985tnvdexzzzz@hotmail.com. Oh, and she has a webcam. Now I can't imagine that even the most novice Internet user might fall for this ruse, but apparently I am a very stupid idiot because I get like two per day.

Is there some chapter in the Porn Webmaster's Bible (TM) that denotes something about fat bearded guys being easy targets for poorly disguised adult-related spam? If there is, I'd like to protest it and possibly get it changed, because the next time a girl sends me a picture of her ass I'd just rather that she be a regular old whore from whom I can pick up syphilis the old-fashioned way.

--A lot of people have been writing to me asking for the significance of the I'M FOREVER BLOWING BUBBLES lyrics and where they came from. Well, the significance is that it's the team anthem for the West Ham football club in the English Premier League and was featured prominently in GREEN STREET HOOLIGANS, probably my favorite film this year. It can be found online by searching for the song's title and if you live in England you can even download it as a ringtone for your cell phone. For myself personally, it's the mantra I repeat every time I want to punch someone in the face, which has been quite often of late.

--Go here and scroll down to the post from 19 October 2005 about karaoke types. You al know my love for karaoke, and this guy has the featured players down to a science. It's f*cking funny and, fortunately or unfortunately, I can't tell, all so very true. Brandy swears this guy, Jason Mulgrew, is my brother, and if that's the case he's the successful talented brother that people pay attention to because his site is getting WAY more traffic than mine.

Incidentally, I bet he actually has to worry about his MySpace Top 8.

--This thing scares the absolute BeJesus out of me, but if they actually build I am going to have to go and experience it, because how could you not? I might need a therapist and some smelling salts on hand, but for me this will be the equivalent of a normal person who's not a complete p*ssy going skydiving.

--A big shoutout to my good friend Jen M., who I fully plan on sleeping with once I get back to Pennsylvania, finally ending my impossibly long tango with celibacy.

--This might be a little bit of a tease, but I'm planning big things for GooseTown's Blogspot location. And those big things are going to be a systematic cataloguing and reviewing of the finest softcore porn titles that Pay Cable (Showtime, The Movie Channel, and Skinemax) has to offer.

We've started watching a lot of softcore porn in this apartment, and there's several reasons for that:

1) We're drunk a lot.

2) There's nothing erotic or even remotely arousing about it, so it's not like watching porn with actual hot chicks where there's a good chance you'll drop some wood and embarrass yourself in front of your buddies.

3) The simulated sex is so poorly...well, simulated, I guess...that it's the highest of high comedy.

I'm thinking of several categories I'd like to cover in each analysis, but the one I'm most excited about is tracking the ratio of fake breasts to real breasts in each "film". Look, we've all talked about the fact that, in general, I hate implants. You have to agree with me that at LEAST 9 out of every 10 boob jobs end in complete failure, with the female looking like a Cereal Bowl Bug crawled underneath her skin and gave birth to two massive, frightening babies. However, it appears that there's no shortage of girls with distracted doctors auditioning for these things, and man I have I seen some doozies. The worst is when the scars around the nipples are still fresh enough that they puff out and look like rivers on a roadmap. And the really frustrating notion is that there was likely nothing wrong with their breasts before they went and got them done. I'm going to do you all a favor and clue you in to a secret here: while some guys really dig big, goofy implants (we like to refer to them as "Southern Rednecks") most guys are much happier with a smaller, perkier breast as opposed to something that appears swelled with anger and looks like it will try to beat you up if you don't attempt to float on it.

On the converse, a good implant done right (You females know that you can get the teardrop-shaped implant now, right? They tell you this kind of thing and give you a choice, yes?) can be a really, really wonderful thing and is worth noting. Especially since the balance of natural-breasted "beauties" in these films seem to have nipples the size of large puppies, and that's pretty much a disaster for everyone.

Anyway, this new section of GooseTown Blogspot is now in the works and, when the flow of scripts slows down, I'm going to get on it. For you. The reader.

--Before I go, my good friend Staci came back into town this past weekend, and at one point, drunk in her hotel room, we decided that what we needed were the vestiges of an awkward high school ritual: the Prom. The picture below is what followed. Minutes later, Staci offered me money and various sexual favors to get rid of the beard. I stood my ground. It lives on, and though one Ryan Quick may attempt to sully my reputation by claiming that he somehow has a more manly beard...that is folly, my friends.