wojr - words, occasionally sentences
Wednesday, May 26, 2004
ANOTHER BAD DAY?
Things could be worse:
Your anus could start whistling the song from "The Bridge Over The River Kwai." Without ever stopping.
Instead of getting a raise, the state garnishes your wages.
Your significant other could ask you to go on "Springer" because of a secret that begs to be revealed.
Beer could be sold only in ziploc bags.
Not only could both men and women menstruate, but they could do it via their tearducts.
There could be pictures of you torturing Iraqi prisoners of war.
There could be pictures of you with a bullwhip up your bottom.
All your favorite television shows could be off the air or moved back to 2005. (That one hurts me. Worse than the bullwhip.)
Your boss could change your Job Title to "Ass Pirate".
You could be like me and your girlfriend could get free front row concert tickets. To Dido. Tonight.
Fucking Dido.
HAPPY HAPPY HUMP DAY.
wojr
Things could be worse:
Your anus could start whistling the song from "The Bridge Over The River Kwai." Without ever stopping. Instead of getting a raise, the state garnishes your wages. Your significant other could ask you to go on "Springer" because of a secret that begs to be revealed. Beer could be sold only in ziploc bags. Not only could both men and women menstruate, but they could do it via their tearducts. There could be pictures of you torturing Iraqi prisoners of war. There could be pictures of you with a bullwhip up your bottom. All your favorite television shows could be off the air or moved back to 2005. (That one hurts me. Worse than the bullwhip.) Your boss could change your Job Title to "Ass Pirate". You could be like me and your girlfriend could get free front row concert tickets. To Dido. Tonight.Fucking Dido.
HAPPY HAPPY HUMP DAY.
wojr
Labels: Advice, My Writing, Snide Remarks
Tuesday, May 25, 2004
PRANK CALLING GOD
Call #1
RECEPTIONIST: Good Morning, St. *******'s Church.
CALLER: Is this God's house?
RECEPTIONIST: Yes, it is.
CALLER: Is He in?
RECEPTIONIST: God?
CALLER: Yep.
RECEPTIONIST: Well, God is in all of us.
CALLER: That's pretty funny.
RECEPTIONIST: Why would that be funny?
CALLER: Because I was feeling kind of bloated. I think God is trying to get out.
*Click*
Call #2
RECEPTIONIST: Good afternoon, Our **** of Perpetual ******.
CALLER: Is this the Church?
RECEPTIONIST: Yes.
CALLER: Catholic Church, right?
RECEPTIONIST: Yes.
CALLER: Do you get many Born-Again Catholics?
RECEPTIONIST: Well, some of parishioners have renewed their ties with God.
CALLER: And renounced their previous wanton ways?
RECEPTIONIST: I suppose that is accurate.
CALLER: So, they gave up any evil items that might lead them to sin?
RECEPTIONIST: I don't understand what you mean by "gave up"?
CALLER: Their porn. What did they do with THEIR PORN? Do you have it?
*Click*
Call #3
RECEPTIONIST: St. ****** the *******.
CALLER: Yes, I have a question on the commandments.
RECEPTIONIST: Would you like to speak to a priest?
CALLER: Nah, you'll do.
RECEPTIONIST: What is your query, sir?
CALLER: Well, the fourth commandment.
RECEPTIONIST: Honoring the Sabbath?
CALLER: Right, that's all it says, "Thou shall not break the Sabbath." Nothing about going to Church.
RECEPTIONIST: But attending Church is the best way to honor the Lord's Day.
CALLER: Can't I worship God at home though?
RECEPTIONIST: You can worship God anywhere, but our Church allows you to be..
CALLER: But, I don't like your Church.
RECEPTIONIST: Why is that, sir?
CALLER: You have one of those Hippie churches. Everything is made from wood. I like my Churches to be granite.
RECEPTIONIST: Sir, our Church is more than just building materials.
CALLER: No one nailed Jesus to granite.
silence
RECEPTIONIST: Would you like to speak to a priest?
CALLER: Nah, you'll do.
*Click*
I'm sure God has a sense of humor.
wojr
Call #1
RECEPTIONIST: Good Morning, St. *******'s Church.
CALLER: Is this God's house?
RECEPTIONIST: Yes, it is.
CALLER: Is He in?
RECEPTIONIST: God?
CALLER: Yep.
RECEPTIONIST: Well, God is in all of us.
CALLER: That's pretty funny.
RECEPTIONIST: Why would that be funny?
CALLER: Because I was feeling kind of bloated. I think God is trying to get out.
*Click*
Call #2
RECEPTIONIST: Good afternoon, Our **** of Perpetual ******.
CALLER: Is this the Church?
RECEPTIONIST: Yes.
CALLER: Catholic Church, right?
RECEPTIONIST: Yes.
CALLER: Do you get many Born-Again Catholics?
RECEPTIONIST: Well, some of parishioners have renewed their ties with God.
CALLER: And renounced their previous wanton ways?
RECEPTIONIST: I suppose that is accurate.
CALLER: So, they gave up any evil items that might lead them to sin?
RECEPTIONIST: I don't understand what you mean by "gave up"?
CALLER: Their porn. What did they do with THEIR PORN? Do you have it?
*Click*
Call #3
RECEPTIONIST: St. ****** the *******.
CALLER: Yes, I have a question on the commandments.
RECEPTIONIST: Would you like to speak to a priest?
CALLER: Nah, you'll do.
RECEPTIONIST: What is your query, sir?
CALLER: Well, the fourth commandment.
RECEPTIONIST: Honoring the Sabbath?
CALLER: Right, that's all it says, "Thou shall not break the Sabbath." Nothing about going to Church.
RECEPTIONIST: But attending Church is the best way to honor the Lord's Day.
CALLER: Can't I worship God at home though?
RECEPTIONIST: You can worship God anywhere, but our Church allows you to be..
CALLER: But, I don't like your Church.
RECEPTIONIST: Why is that, sir?
CALLER: You have one of those Hippie churches. Everything is made from wood. I like my Churches to be granite.
RECEPTIONIST: Sir, our Church is more than just building materials.
CALLER: No one nailed Jesus to granite.
silence
RECEPTIONIST: Would you like to speak to a priest?
CALLER: Nah, you'll do.
*Click*
I'm sure God has a sense of humor.
wojr
Labels: My Writing, Religion, Snide Remarks
Monday, May 24, 2004
MORE BAD POETRY
It burns
When I tinkle
I found it kinda funny
And I laughed
My laughter was
Contagious so
I laughed harder
So hard
That a little pee
Dribbled out
It's OK though
I'm a masochist
It's kinda funny
wojr
It burns
When I tinkle
I found it kinda funny
And I laughed
My laughter was
Contagious so
I laughed harder
So hard
That a little pee
Dribbled out
It's OK though
I'm a masochist
It's kinda funny
wojr
Labels: My Writing
Monday, April 26, 2004
It's Not Like I Want The Taxes To Be RETROACTIVE
Saturday, I was trying to cross the street when this car pulls up in front of me. The vehicle contains three quasi-elderly women so I have no real fear of being robbed or raped. (Hope, but no fear.) Thinking they needed directions, I leaned over so my eyes are at their eye-level instead of my crotch. And what did they do?
Offer me some crappy pamphlet in addition to salvation in the Almighty Lord Jesus Christ.
Which just puts me in the worst mood ever.
First off, I want to know what aspect about me says that I need, let alone want, salvation? Don't I just exude content with my sinning ways?
Secondly, does Jesus need the extra public relations? Do people not know who Jesus is? Hasn't Mel Gibson fixed that problem?
Lastly, do we really need drive-by conversions? (Also, why didn't the salvation of my soul at least warrant them parking the car first and coming up to me on foot? No, all my ever-lasting soul gets is a California roll.) Are churches and synagogues camouflaged now? Do we not know where the Gods live anymore?
I'll concede that the literature distribution must net them some converts. These people have been doing it for way too long not to have any success. If it didn't work, they would have stopped by now. Their batting average can't be that good though, but once they get you. OH BOY. They've got you. Lock, stock and barrel, man. Let the tithing begin.
Now don't get me wrong, I am all for freedom of religion in this country. I think any church can set up shop, open the doors, put an ad in the yellow pages and see who shows up. I may bitch about the advertising, but they just need some wittier slogans for me to get over that. Telling me I'll burn forever in a lake of hellfire won't make me a fan too quickly.
My problem, however, is with the money. In my opinion, our country gives way too much money to religion. Especially the South. Religion is big business. Has been for the last five, six hundred years and I accept that. If there is a market for it, well, you can't blame the business for selling it. But we can tax them. WE CAN TAX THE HELL OUT OF THEM.
I mean, I'm not the biggest fan of defense spending. But it helps the nation's economy. It means more jobs for Americans, more capital in the marketplace. Defense contractors while probably overcharging the government, have to pay taxes on that income. Their employees have to pay income taxes as well. The money comes full circle. It ends up helping education, research grants, more defense spending, flying G.W. out on another family vacation.
Now, I know some money given to churches goes towards social programs, food programs - various things that help the community. Kudos to them. But not all the money goes there. Who pays for those huge cathedrals & synagogues, the solid gold tabernacles and Stars of David, payoffs to families of the sexually assaulted, or whatever it is the Hare Krishnas need? But hey, it is the churches' money, let them spend it as they see fit. But why should they be excluded from paying taxes? If not income tax, how about sales tax? Hey, if it reduces the taxes of their worshippers, that should mean more discretionary income for their followers which should mean more donations in the offering basket. Right?
It seems to make sense, but it may just be me. I can be bitter. I have an afterlife of fire and brimstone to look forward to.
wojr
Saturday, I was trying to cross the street when this car pulls up in front of me. The vehicle contains three quasi-elderly women so I have no real fear of being robbed or raped. (Hope, but no fear.) Thinking they needed directions, I leaned over so my eyes are at their eye-level instead of my crotch. And what did they do?
Offer me some crappy pamphlet in addition to salvation in the Almighty Lord Jesus Christ.
Which just puts me in the worst mood ever.
First off, I want to know what aspect about me says that I need, let alone want, salvation? Don't I just exude content with my sinning ways?
Secondly, does Jesus need the extra public relations? Do people not know who Jesus is? Hasn't Mel Gibson fixed that problem?
Lastly, do we really need drive-by conversions? (Also, why didn't the salvation of my soul at least warrant them parking the car first and coming up to me on foot? No, all my ever-lasting soul gets is a California roll.) Are churches and synagogues camouflaged now? Do we not know where the Gods live anymore?
I'll concede that the literature distribution must net them some converts. These people have been doing it for way too long not to have any success. If it didn't work, they would have stopped by now. Their batting average can't be that good though, but once they get you. OH BOY. They've got you. Lock, stock and barrel, man. Let the tithing begin.
Now don't get me wrong, I am all for freedom of religion in this country. I think any church can set up shop, open the doors, put an ad in the yellow pages and see who shows up. I may bitch about the advertising, but they just need some wittier slogans for me to get over that. Telling me I'll burn forever in a lake of hellfire won't make me a fan too quickly.
My problem, however, is with the money. In my opinion, our country gives way too much money to religion. Especially the South. Religion is big business. Has been for the last five, six hundred years and I accept that. If there is a market for it, well, you can't blame the business for selling it. But we can tax them. WE CAN TAX THE HELL OUT OF THEM.
I mean, I'm not the biggest fan of defense spending. But it helps the nation's economy. It means more jobs for Americans, more capital in the marketplace. Defense contractors while probably overcharging the government, have to pay taxes on that income. Their employees have to pay income taxes as well. The money comes full circle. It ends up helping education, research grants, more defense spending, flying G.W. out on another family vacation.
Now, I know some money given to churches goes towards social programs, food programs - various things that help the community. Kudos to them. But not all the money goes there. Who pays for those huge cathedrals & synagogues, the solid gold tabernacles and Stars of David, payoffs to families of the sexually assaulted, or whatever it is the Hare Krishnas need? But hey, it is the churches' money, let them spend it as they see fit. But why should they be excluded from paying taxes? If not income tax, how about sales tax? Hey, if it reduces the taxes of their worshippers, that should mean more discretionary income for their followers which should mean more donations in the offering basket. Right?
It seems to make sense, but it may just be me. I can be bitter. I have an afterlife of fire and brimstone to look forward to.
wojr
Labels: Advice, My Writing, Political, Religion, Snide Remarks
Thursday, April 22, 2004
'Have the Dogs Stopped Screaming, Clarice?'
On the way to work, an odd thought occurred to me.
When you walk by a house with a dog or when a car goes by with a dog hanging out the window, you know how, more often than not, those dogs will just start barking at you? There are just dogs that will just bark themselves silly, like their very existence depended on it, trying to get your attention.
What if those barks are actually cries for help?
I'm not saying all of these dogs are being held captive against their will. But what if it is true for only 10% of the dogs? That 10% still totals over 600 thousand dogs in America alone. And we don't even eat dogs here.
But don't get me wrong, I'm glad dogs can't form words. Because if they did, you know they would never shut the hell up. And it goes a little something like this..
"Hey, where's my food? Hey, where's my bone? Hey buddy, want to go play catch? Play catch? Play catch? Wanna go for a walk? Man, that leash is tight. Can't you loosen it up? How about I shit in your slippers if you don't loosen that leash up? You know what? I hate dry dog food. How about the moist stuff? How about some steak for that matter? Don't look at me like that, brother. You snipped my balls. I can't get laid no more. So for sure I'm going to talk your ear off. Just remember I'm man's best friend. I'm the best friend your sorry ass is going to get. Now, how about some cold water here? This dish has been out in the sun all day long. It nearly scolded my tongue. Man, this hotel sucks. The service is horrible. Your leg looks good though. If I could get it up, I would hump that like there was no tomorrow."
Scary thing is - I had to make myself stop typing. I could have gone on and on and on.
So, next time a dog barks at you for no reason, don't be afraid to call animal services. You might be saving a life.
wojr
On the way to work, an odd thought occurred to me.
When you walk by a house with a dog or when a car goes by with a dog hanging out the window, you know how, more often than not, those dogs will just start barking at you? There are just dogs that will just bark themselves silly, like their very existence depended on it, trying to get your attention.
What if those barks are actually cries for help?
I'm not saying all of these dogs are being held captive against their will. But what if it is true for only 10% of the dogs? That 10% still totals over 600 thousand dogs in America alone. And we don't even eat dogs here.
But don't get me wrong, I'm glad dogs can't form words. Because if they did, you know they would never shut the hell up. And it goes a little something like this..
"Hey, where's my food? Hey, where's my bone? Hey buddy, want to go play catch? Play catch? Play catch? Wanna go for a walk? Man, that leash is tight. Can't you loosen it up? How about I shit in your slippers if you don't loosen that leash up? You know what? I hate dry dog food. How about the moist stuff? How about some steak for that matter? Don't look at me like that, brother. You snipped my balls. I can't get laid no more. So for sure I'm going to talk your ear off. Just remember I'm man's best friend. I'm the best friend your sorry ass is going to get. Now, how about some cold water here? This dish has been out in the sun all day long. It nearly scolded my tongue. Man, this hotel sucks. The service is horrible. Your leg looks good though. If I could get it up, I would hump that like there was no tomorrow."
Scary thing is - I had to make myself stop typing. I could have gone on and on and on.
So, next time a dog barks at you for no reason, don't be afraid to call animal services. You might be saving a life.
wojr
Labels: Advice, My Writing, Snide Remarks
Tuesday, April 20, 2004
The Odd Paths to WOJR.COM
From now through the end of the month, things are going to be rather hectic in the Wojciak household. A down to the wire script deadline, a massive school project, finishing up this site as well the regular rigmarole of being me are going to postpone any possibility of real sleep to May.
But I can still find time to be an utter geek.
One of the more interesting aspects of manning this site is seeing how people actually find it. Some use book marks. Some click on links. Others mercifully click on the links I email them (if you're a friend, it's technically not spam). But the ones I really feel sorry for are the ones that stumble here via a search engine.
Now, I don't mean the ones that enter in "wojr" and are surprised to find my site. I'm talking about the following people:
Someone looking for "high speed police chase-procedure" stumbled on my comic script, Dichotomy. Hope you enjoyed it.
Two people also found Dichotomy by typing in "randolph and mortimer." I'll assume they were both Trading Places fans.
One poor soul was looking for an "article on linda cardellini in sunday's paper" and found this journal entry. Hope you weren't a Scooby Doo fan.
Another wayward internet surfer was looking for "that girl grace" and found Lost Monuments. I think my Grace is much cooler than "that" one.
Not sure what the person that entered "sentences on confronted" was looking for, but they got the end of my Larry Flynt story.
One person actually typed in "Michael Wojciak." What the hell were they thinking?
Some Jack Black fan actually typed "if laura and her bourgeois lawyer friends can't handle it" into a search engine and for that they get my respect.
But lastly, some person in their search for "high school gym shorts" was lead to my obituary. And that gives me pause. Am I going to live a life that some person will forever associate with gym shorts? Well, there are worse things to be associated with.
Like the thing growing on this woman's chin.
God, I just can't get over that thing. It calls out to me.
wojr
From now through the end of the month, things are going to be rather hectic in the Wojciak household. A down to the wire script deadline, a massive school project, finishing up this site as well the regular rigmarole of being me are going to postpone any possibility of real sleep to May.
But I can still find time to be an utter geek.
One of the more interesting aspects of manning this site is seeing how people actually find it. Some use book marks. Some click on links. Others mercifully click on the links I email them (if you're a friend, it's technically not spam). But the ones I really feel sorry for are the ones that stumble here via a search engine.
Now, I don't mean the ones that enter in "wojr" and are surprised to find my site. I'm talking about the following people:
Someone looking for "high speed police chase-procedure" stumbled on my comic script, Dichotomy. Hope you enjoyed it. Two people also found Dichotomy by typing in "randolph and mortimer." I'll assume they were both Trading Places fans. One poor soul was looking for an "article on linda cardellini in sunday's paper" and found this journal entry. Hope you weren't a Scooby Doo fan. Another wayward internet surfer was looking for "that girl grace" and found Lost Monuments. I think my Grace is much cooler than "that" one. Not sure what the person that entered "sentences on confronted" was looking for, but they got the end of my Larry Flynt story. One person actually typed in "Michael Wojciak." What the hell were they thinking? Some Jack Black fan actually typed "if laura and her bourgeois lawyer friends can't handle it" into a search engine and for that they get my respect. But lastly, some person in their search for "high school gym shorts" was lead to my obituary. And that gives me pause. Am I going to live a life that some person will forever associate with gym shorts? Well, there are worse things to be associated with.Like the thing growing on this woman's chin.
God, I just can't get over that thing. It calls out to me.
wojr
Labels: My Writing, Odd Search Results, Snide Remarks
Thursday, April 15, 2004
Wojr's Guide to Dating - Entry #3,567:
'As Long As You Aren't Ass-Raped, Prison Can Be A Lovely Dating Tool'
Even though my current dating status is 'Eternally Engaged', I'm pretty much an old married man. Carmel and I have lived together for over three years and have no intentions of ceasing that romantic arrangement.
So, I feel that I can start relinquishing some of my utterly stellar dating guidelines.
Today's tip: NEVER UNDERESTIMATE A CRIMINAL RECORD.
Most men prone to acts of moral turpitude like myself classify women via two categories, short-term and long-term. Long-term relationships usually equal "eternity", while short-term ones can range from "nanoseconds after the orgasm" to "nanoseconds shy of eternity."
When dealing with members of the second category, when you know marriage just is not an option, never overlook the usefulness of a solid criminal record; whether you actually have one or not. (Translated implication: if you don't have one, make one up.)
Not only do you get that bad boy vibe which is quite hard to muster otherwise, you are immediately slotted into their short-term category. This lower classification frees one from the numerous "where are we going?" discussions that men considered 'marriage material' need to suffer. With the criminal history, you are going just as far as she wants, which if you're receiving a consistent supply of nookie should suit you just fine.
Speaking of the macking, being viewed as dangerous does open up new realms in bedroom area. Even George Costanza knows that the best sex is the conjugal visit sex. Just be sure to be clear that you weren't on the receiving end of any jailhouse dick and that the only tossed salad you've eaten has been from McDonald's.
Yet another benefit of the criminal history is the utter readiness of foolproof excuses. Want to head back to your crib during the pre-dawn hours? Claim that you need to run off to do your community service; just don't tell her which highway you are supposed to be picking trash from. Stopped by for some after-work boom-boom but still want to meet up with the fellas? Tell her the halfway house you are assigned to has a curfew. Don't feel like calling for a week or two? Just explain that you were in 'County'.
The key to it all is the avoidance of specifics. There is no need to go overboard on the details. Her overactive imagination will fill in the blanks. Lines like "don't worry, it's only a misdemeanor", "I was just holding something for a friend" or "I was reckless, you'd think I would know better by now" will keep you and her afloat for several weeks. Afterwards, well.. who wants a relationship to last longer than SEVERAL weeks?
Stay tuned for the next entry in Wojr's Guide to Dating
'Alcohol & Your Penis: A Give and Take Relationship'
wojr
'As Long As You Aren't Ass-Raped, Prison Can Be A Lovely Dating Tool'
Even though my current dating status is 'Eternally Engaged', I'm pretty much an old married man. Carmel and I have lived together for over three years and have no intentions of ceasing that romantic arrangement.
So, I feel that I can start relinquishing some of my utterly stellar dating guidelines.
Today's tip: NEVER UNDERESTIMATE A CRIMINAL RECORD.
Most men prone to acts of moral turpitude like myself classify women via two categories, short-term and long-term. Long-term relationships usually equal "eternity", while short-term ones can range from "nanoseconds after the orgasm" to "nanoseconds shy of eternity."
When dealing with members of the second category, when you know marriage just is not an option, never overlook the usefulness of a solid criminal record; whether you actually have one or not. (Translated implication: if you don't have one, make one up.)
Not only do you get that bad boy vibe which is quite hard to muster otherwise, you are immediately slotted into their short-term category. This lower classification frees one from the numerous "where are we going?" discussions that men considered 'marriage material' need to suffer. With the criminal history, you are going just as far as she wants, which if you're receiving a consistent supply of nookie should suit you just fine.
Speaking of the macking, being viewed as dangerous does open up new realms in bedroom area. Even George Costanza knows that the best sex is the conjugal visit sex. Just be sure to be clear that you weren't on the receiving end of any jailhouse dick and that the only tossed salad you've eaten has been from McDonald's.
Yet another benefit of the criminal history is the utter readiness of foolproof excuses. Want to head back to your crib during the pre-dawn hours? Claim that you need to run off to do your community service; just don't tell her which highway you are supposed to be picking trash from. Stopped by for some after-work boom-boom but still want to meet up with the fellas? Tell her the halfway house you are assigned to has a curfew. Don't feel like calling for a week or two? Just explain that you were in 'County'.
The key to it all is the avoidance of specifics. There is no need to go overboard on the details. Her overactive imagination will fill in the blanks. Lines like "don't worry, it's only a misdemeanor", "I was just holding something for a friend" or "I was reckless, you'd think I would know better by now" will keep you and her afloat for several weeks. Afterwards, well.. who wants a relationship to last longer than SEVERAL weeks?
Stay tuned for the next entry in Wojr's Guide to Dating
'Alcohol & Your Penis: A Give and Take Relationship'
wojr
Labels: Advice, My Writing, Sex
Wednesday, April 14, 2004
NEVER LET A STRANGE MAN USE YOUR BATHROOM
Like Arthur Miller, I leapfrog quite a bit. Not only do I have a stack of unfinished ideas, but I have ideas with no true home; little snippets of dialogue that I have yet to find a story to fully utilize them. Here are a few for your disjointed reading enjoyment:
No setup needed.
MAN#1: Suddenly, my life has become a bad After School Special.
MAN#2: I don't recall any After School Specials involving dead hookers.
Explaining recent break-up.
MAN#1: She really liked Steve Miller.
MAN#2: What's wrong with that? Look at 'The Joker'. Great f-ing song.
MAN#1: No, she really likes Steve Miller. She wants to spend the summer following them cross-country.
MAN#2: Are they even touring?
MAN#1: I have no idea.
Food Shopping.
WOMAN: According to your list, you need chips, paper towels and bear.
MAN: I meant beer.
WOMAN: But it clearly says B-E-A-R.
MAN: I must have been suffering from alcohol withdrawal. I need beer.
(beat)
MAN: I wonder what bear tastes like though. Think we can pick some up?
Self-explanatory.
MAN#1: How was your date?
MAN#2: All right, I guess.
MAN#1: Get lucky?
MAN#2: No, but I did beat off into her facial scrub.
MAN#1: So, in essence, you gave her a facial.
MAN#2: Sounds like a pretty good date to me.
"I don't care who you are, that's funny. Gator done"
wojr
Like Arthur Miller, I leapfrog quite a bit. Not only do I have a stack of unfinished ideas, but I have ideas with no true home; little snippets of dialogue that I have yet to find a story to fully utilize them. Here are a few for your disjointed reading enjoyment:
No setup needed.
MAN#1: Suddenly, my life has become a bad After School Special.
MAN#2: I don't recall any After School Specials involving dead hookers.
Explaining recent break-up.
MAN#1: She really liked Steve Miller.
MAN#2: What's wrong with that? Look at 'The Joker'. Great f-ing song.
MAN#1: No, she really likes Steve Miller. She wants to spend the summer following them cross-country.
MAN#2: Are they even touring?
MAN#1: I have no idea.
Food Shopping.
WOMAN: According to your list, you need chips, paper towels and bear.
MAN: I meant beer.
WOMAN: But it clearly says B-E-A-R.
MAN: I must have been suffering from alcohol withdrawal. I need beer.
(beat)
MAN: I wonder what bear tastes like though. Think we can pick some up?
Self-explanatory.
MAN#1: How was your date?
MAN#2: All right, I guess.
MAN#1: Get lucky?
MAN#2: No, but I did beat off into her facial scrub.
MAN#1: So, in essence, you gave her a facial.
MAN#2: Sounds like a pretty good date to me.
"I don't care who you are, that's funny. Gator done"
wojr
Labels: Intoxication, My Writing, Whores
Tuesday, April 13, 2004
I'M GOING TO HELL FOR THIS ONE (IF I BELIEVED IN HELL)
Memo from God (aka Allah) to All Terrorists
"Hey fellas,
I think there has been some misinformation spread among you and your cohorts. There are no virgins in Heaven. We give everyone a 'go' at the Pearly Gates to make sure no frigid bitches make it in here. It's kinda like that Patrick Swayze movie, Road House, where the bouncers have their way with the underage lady bar customers. Man, I love that Swayze guy. I wish I could get my hair like that.
So, dudes, I'm sorry but, unless you're after the male virgins, I can't even spare you one 'unspoiled' piece of ass, let alone whatever ungodly number you've all been promised.
Get it? 'Ungodly'? Man, that cracks me up.
Sayounara Bitches, I'm off to pull me 'a Fredo'.
Big Poppa"
wojr
Memo from God (aka Allah) to All Terrorists
"Hey fellas,
I think there has been some misinformation spread among you and your cohorts. There are no virgins in Heaven. We give everyone a 'go' at the Pearly Gates to make sure no frigid bitches make it in here. It's kinda like that Patrick Swayze movie, Road House, where the bouncers have their way with the underage lady bar customers. Man, I love that Swayze guy. I wish I could get my hair like that.
So, dudes, I'm sorry but, unless you're after the male virgins, I can't even spare you one 'unspoiled' piece of ass, let alone whatever ungodly number you've all been promised.
Get it? 'Ungodly'? Man, that cracks me up.
Sayounara Bitches, I'm off to pull me 'a Fredo'.
Big Poppa"
wojr
Labels: My Writing, Religion, Snide Remarks
Saturday, April 10, 2004
UTTERLY AWFUL SATURDAY MORNING POETRY
Crow In The Palm Tree
Two Twin Sisters
Although Twins Do Come In Twos
Both In Their Golden Years
Both With Their Silver Hairs
Both In Their Shiny Sweatsuits
One Is Blind
One Can See
One Thus Leads
The Other Follows
When They Pass The
crow in the palm tree
The Bird Craws
Both Think It Odd
Though For Different Reasons
From Different Senses
I Look At Them And Wonder
Does The Blind One Know
That She's Dressed
Like Her Sister
And I Miss The
crow in the palm tree
But I Too Would Have
Found It Odd.
wojr
Crow In The Palm Tree
Two Twin Sisters
Although Twins Do Come In Twos
Both In Their Golden Years
Both With Their Silver Hairs
Both In Their Shiny Sweatsuits
One Is Blind
One Can See
One Thus Leads
The Other Follows
When They Pass The
crow in the palm tree
The Bird Craws
Both Think It Odd
Though For Different Reasons
From Different Senses
I Look At Them And Wonder
Does The Blind One Know
That She's Dressed
Like Her Sister
And I Miss The
crow in the palm tree
But I Too Would Have
Found It Odd.
wojr
Labels: My Writing
Friday, April 09, 2004
BUT HE WOULDN'T LET ME WATCH 'THE DAY AFTER'
As I type this, my best friend and his nameless girlfriend are flying back to the right coast.
Even though my 6'3" frame hates sitting on commercial airplanes, I like flying. When those wheels leave the ground and you realize (Thanks to John Cusack in Say Anything) most planes crash on take-off or landing, it is very soothing. You accept that you could die and there is absolutely nothing you could do to prevent it. For the last few years, I have stopped and weighed what I have done in my life. I know that I could die on that plane if that is what must occur and I take a great amount of pleasure from that knowledge.
Now, don't misunderstand me. I want to live to be 91 (and die on my toilet). I am in no hurry to die. I want to marry Carmel, win an Oscar, and have a bunch of miscreant children & coerce them into competing for my approval. I'm not ready to check out, but if I have to, if I just so happen to fly on the wrong plane, I can handle it. I can accept my lack of control in those circumstances, because I have lived a pretty happy life.
This was not always the case. I use to worry about many things that were outside my scope of control.
Back in my pre-pre-adolescence, my overprotective father let me watch a documentary about Nostradamus called The Man Who Could See Tomorrow. Hosted by the scary demi-god, Orson Welles, the documentary went over all the things this 16th seer predicted. Being as young and impressionable as I was, the idea that this man predicted the rise of Hitler, the death of the Kennedys and the French Revolution really blew my mind. But when Orson Welles with that booming voice of his told me that Nostradamus predicted a nuclear war before the end of the millennium, well, I had nightmares for years.
I was going to turn 27 in the year 2000. At the age of 8 or 9, the prospect of dying before thirty did not sit well with me. I didn't want to spend nearly all my life in school. Plus, being burned by nuclear fires didn't really warm the cuckolds of my heart.
Basically, I was scared shitless by a man in stockings that had been dead for over 400 years.
I can't tell you when these irrational fears went away. Maybe they survived through the millennium, I can't be certain. But I can say that I appreciate each day now. It feels like it is some precious thing, the flip side of some pre-adolescent nightmare.
Instead of being some pile of ashes somewhere, I get to sit here, stare at computer screen and try to entertain some non-existent audience.
Or I can go outside in the park and watch planes fly overhead. There, I can realize that I've lead a good life so far, but I still want that Oscar.
wojr
As I type this, my best friend and his nameless girlfriend are flying back to the right coast.
Even though my 6'3" frame hates sitting on commercial airplanes, I like flying. When those wheels leave the ground and you realize (Thanks to John Cusack in Say Anything) most planes crash on take-off or landing, it is very soothing. You accept that you could die and there is absolutely nothing you could do to prevent it. For the last few years, I have stopped and weighed what I have done in my life. I know that I could die on that plane if that is what must occur and I take a great amount of pleasure from that knowledge.
Now, don't misunderstand me. I want to live to be 91 (and die on my toilet). I am in no hurry to die. I want to marry Carmel, win an Oscar, and have a bunch of miscreant children & coerce them into competing for my approval. I'm not ready to check out, but if I have to, if I just so happen to fly on the wrong plane, I can handle it. I can accept my lack of control in those circumstances, because I have lived a pretty happy life.
This was not always the case. I use to worry about many things that were outside my scope of control.
Back in my pre-pre-adolescence, my overprotective father let me watch a documentary about Nostradamus called The Man Who Could See Tomorrow. Hosted by the scary demi-god, Orson Welles, the documentary went over all the things this 16th seer predicted. Being as young and impressionable as I was, the idea that this man predicted the rise of Hitler, the death of the Kennedys and the French Revolution really blew my mind. But when Orson Welles with that booming voice of his told me that Nostradamus predicted a nuclear war before the end of the millennium, well, I had nightmares for years.
I was going to turn 27 in the year 2000. At the age of 8 or 9, the prospect of dying before thirty did not sit well with me. I didn't want to spend nearly all my life in school. Plus, being burned by nuclear fires didn't really warm the cuckolds of my heart.
Basically, I was scared shitless by a man in stockings that had been dead for over 400 years.
I can't tell you when these irrational fears went away. Maybe they survived through the millennium, I can't be certain. But I can say that I appreciate each day now. It feels like it is some precious thing, the flip side of some pre-adolescent nightmare.
Instead of being some pile of ashes somewhere, I get to sit here, stare at computer screen and try to entertain some non-existent audience.
Or I can go outside in the park and watch planes fly overhead. There, I can realize that I've lead a good life so far, but I still want that Oscar.
wojr
Labels: My Writing, Nostalgia
Saturday, April 03, 2004
REALLY BAD POETRY FOR THOSE SATURDAY MORNINGS
NOTHING TO RHYME WITH EYE-BOOGERS
Morning sunlight
On the floor
Newspaper print
On my fingers
Coffee rings
On the table
Stubble
On my chin
Stamp from the bar
On the back of my hand
Lipstick
On the collar
Alcohol
On my breath
Grin
On my face
Notch
On my belt
Eyes
On the clock
Feet
On the way out the door
Love
Nowhere to be found
wojr
NOTHING TO RHYME WITH EYE-BOOGERS
Morning sunlight
On the floor
Newspaper print
On my fingers
Coffee rings
On the table
Stubble
On my chin
Stamp from the bar
On the back of my hand
Lipstick
On the collar
Alcohol
On my breath
Grin
On my face
Notch
On my belt
Eyes
On the clock
Feet
On the way out the door
Love
Nowhere to be found
wojr
Labels: My Writing
Friday, April 02, 2004
THE LFP INTERVIEW - CONCLUSION
Click here for Part One
Click here for Part Two
Click here for Part Three
When we last left our intrepid interviewee, wojr was being led deeper into the inner sanctum of the Larry Flynt empire by his guide, a ridiculously tiny Asian man with sweaty palms and a massive wedgie. On their trek to the elevator, the pair maneuvered their way through the commonplace office, staffed by extremely short men and impossibly attractive women.
(And we'll now stop talking about wojr in the third person.)
As we finally made it to the elevator, I am again forced to shake Wang's hand in our awkward parting ceremony. They are expecting me upstairs and Wang has work to do down here. I must continue on my lonesome.
As it says above, the floor I was on, while a little too populated with porn magazines, was still a commonplace office. It really could have been the offices for any number of corporations (as long as you confiscated the nudie books).
However, when I got off that elevator, well, the offices stopped being ordinary. I was stepping into the extraordinary, as in extraordinarily BAD TASTE. Now, I had seen the movie, The People vs. Larry Flynt. I saw how his deceased wife, Althea (who was rather fond of the mind-altering narcotics), designed the offices. I thought I knew what to expect.
However..
It was like being confronted with Death. In that, until you lose someone close to you, you can never fully grasp the true scope of death. Until you are actually confronted with such bad taste, you can never really appreciate the full scope of it as well.
Everywhere I looked were garish combinations of various cultures and designs - statues of Greek goddesses standing next to Buddha standing next to a Samurai Warrior all with a pink Marble backdrop. Large columns lined the hall with even more beautiful receptionists placed in front of them, one for every bigwig's office. No wonder Wang didn't accompany me up here - the sight of these ladies might have sent him on a masturbation frenzy.
One of these receptionist goddesses led me into the conference room. Instructing me that the CFO would be in shortly, the pretty lady presented me with a cup of coffee and left me to bask in my surroundings. Now, I've been to Graceland and marveled at Elvis's bad taste. However, Graceland does not hold a candle to this room. Imagine Elvis and Liberace having a gay lovechild that grew up to be interior decorator for funeral parlors. That man could have only dreamed of constructing such a room. Not only did a nude painting of Althea adorn the wall, but the varied statue motif continued in here as well. More samurais and Buddhas joined Kali, the goddess of death, to keep an eye on me. Also, a giant gong rested off to one side. That's something every business conference room needs, a gong. Don't like a presentation, bang the gong. Unhappy with this quarter's financial projections, bang the gong. All they needed was Jaime Farr & the Unknown Comic and I might have thought I was on the, hold on - wait for it - you know it's coming - Gong Show.
After waiting for a half hour, the CFO finally decides to grace me with his presence. Now, I hate judging people as stereotypes (almost as much as I hate having to wait for someone at an interview), but sometimes a person so encapsulates a stereotype that you have to wonder how they got that way. But if you had to cast someone in the role of Tiny Bitter Jewish Moneylender, this guy is your ideal. This bitter little man strolls in with no intention of hiding the fact that he feels like his time is being wasted. In his mind, he is a big powerful man despite the fact that he could buy his clothes in the kiddie section, When he gruffly sits down across from me, I thank whatever deity is watching over us that I do not want this job. I get to have fun.
At that point in time, I was employed for the complete opposite of Hustler, a Catholic homeless shelter catering to runaways age 18-21. As he sees this on my resume, his first question ushers forth, "Why would want to go from a place like that to here?" Giving the room a quick glance (making sure I give Althea's ta-tas a gander, may she rest in piece), I issue my response -->
"Definitely for the décor."
And I get nothing. No chuckle, no smile, just bitterness and the confirmation that I would never work for a man like that. The interview continues for another ten or fifteen minutes and I take my leave - And the tiny CFO was able to continue hiring men as small as he was.
The headhunter is disappointed when I tell her that I couldn't work at place like that, but she is taken back when I ask if Playboy is hiring. Hey, I need to get to Hef's place before I die. Maybe I should make friends with Scott Baio. Yeah, that might work.
wojr
Click here for Part One
Click here for Part Two
Click here for Part Three
When we last left our intrepid interviewee, wojr was being led deeper into the inner sanctum of the Larry Flynt empire by his guide, a ridiculously tiny Asian man with sweaty palms and a massive wedgie. On their trek to the elevator, the pair maneuvered their way through the commonplace office, staffed by extremely short men and impossibly attractive women.
(And we'll now stop talking about wojr in the third person.)
As we finally made it to the elevator, I am again forced to shake Wang's hand in our awkward parting ceremony. They are expecting me upstairs and Wang has work to do down here. I must continue on my lonesome.
As it says above, the floor I was on, while a little too populated with porn magazines, was still a commonplace office. It really could have been the offices for any number of corporations (as long as you confiscated the nudie books).
However, when I got off that elevator, well, the offices stopped being ordinary. I was stepping into the extraordinary, as in extraordinarily BAD TASTE. Now, I had seen the movie, The People vs. Larry Flynt. I saw how his deceased wife, Althea (who was rather fond of the mind-altering narcotics), designed the offices. I thought I knew what to expect.
However..
It was like being confronted with Death. In that, until you lose someone close to you, you can never fully grasp the true scope of death. Until you are actually confronted with such bad taste, you can never really appreciate the full scope of it as well.
Everywhere I looked were garish combinations of various cultures and designs - statues of Greek goddesses standing next to Buddha standing next to a Samurai Warrior all with a pink Marble backdrop. Large columns lined the hall with even more beautiful receptionists placed in front of them, one for every bigwig's office. No wonder Wang didn't accompany me up here - the sight of these ladies might have sent him on a masturbation frenzy.
One of these receptionist goddesses led me into the conference room. Instructing me that the CFO would be in shortly, the pretty lady presented me with a cup of coffee and left me to bask in my surroundings. Now, I've been to Graceland and marveled at Elvis's bad taste. However, Graceland does not hold a candle to this room. Imagine Elvis and Liberace having a gay lovechild that grew up to be interior decorator for funeral parlors. That man could have only dreamed of constructing such a room. Not only did a nude painting of Althea adorn the wall, but the varied statue motif continued in here as well. More samurais and Buddhas joined Kali, the goddess of death, to keep an eye on me. Also, a giant gong rested off to one side. That's something every business conference room needs, a gong. Don't like a presentation, bang the gong. Unhappy with this quarter's financial projections, bang the gong. All they needed was Jaime Farr & the Unknown Comic and I might have thought I was on the, hold on - wait for it - you know it's coming - Gong Show.
After waiting for a half hour, the CFO finally decides to grace me with his presence. Now, I hate judging people as stereotypes (almost as much as I hate having to wait for someone at an interview), but sometimes a person so encapsulates a stereotype that you have to wonder how they got that way. But if you had to cast someone in the role of Tiny Bitter Jewish Moneylender, this guy is your ideal. This bitter little man strolls in with no intention of hiding the fact that he feels like his time is being wasted. In his mind, he is a big powerful man despite the fact that he could buy his clothes in the kiddie section, When he gruffly sits down across from me, I thank whatever deity is watching over us that I do not want this job. I get to have fun.
At that point in time, I was employed for the complete opposite of Hustler, a Catholic homeless shelter catering to runaways age 18-21. As he sees this on my resume, his first question ushers forth, "Why would want to go from a place like that to here?" Giving the room a quick glance (making sure I give Althea's ta-tas a gander, may she rest in piece), I issue my response -->
"Definitely for the décor."
And I get nothing. No chuckle, no smile, just bitterness and the confirmation that I would never work for a man like that. The interview continues for another ten or fifteen minutes and I take my leave - And the tiny CFO was able to continue hiring men as small as he was.
The headhunter is disappointed when I tell her that I couldn't work at place like that, but she is taken back when I ask if Playboy is hiring. Hey, I need to get to Hef's place before I die. Maybe I should make friends with Scott Baio. Yeah, that might work.
wojr
Labels: My Writing, Nostalgia, Sex, Snide Remarks
Friday Morning Potpourri
In response to the bathroom etiquette dilemma, the only and most entertaining response came from Ryan "the Redneck" Cordwell:
Leave the shit wide ass open, no need to close.
Theres no doors on urinals, just 2 walls on the side,
same for the stall if ya pissing. As for the [euphemism for men who crave the penis],
there ain't too many in SC, so I really can't
say....Just keep 'em all in Cali though....
I think he might have been sipping the hooch when he wrote that.
On a serious note though, I posted another story on the website - The Ineffectual Man. This bad boy doesn't really fall into one of my preset categories. Basically, it is a short scene/film script, but one that I crafted so it could easily be turned into a short stage or comic piece. It's about a character that I will use again in the future - just need to find the time. Any and all comments are always welcomed.
Lastly, the hurricane known as Bronc will hit the left coast this weekend. So, after the finale of the LFP Interview today, my posts might be sporadic if not drunken in nature. (Rosie would probably think they would be funnier from my intoxicated state, but he likes the cruder humor. (How could it get cruder? Oh, it can.))
Of course, Bronc might just kill me as soon as he lands for all the Tigershark action figure posts. So, if there is no word from me by Monday, please call 911.
Thanks-
wojr
In response to the bathroom etiquette dilemma, the only and most entertaining response came from Ryan "the Redneck" Cordwell:
Leave the shit wide ass open, no need to close.
Theres no doors on urinals, just 2 walls on the side,
same for the stall if ya pissing. As for the [euphemism for men who crave the penis],
there ain't too many in SC, so I really can't
say....Just keep 'em all in Cali though....
I think he might have been sipping the hooch when he wrote that.
On a serious note though, I posted another story on the website - The Ineffectual Man. This bad boy doesn't really fall into one of my preset categories. Basically, it is a short scene/film script, but one that I crafted so it could easily be turned into a short stage or comic piece. It's about a character that I will use again in the future - just need to find the time. Any and all comments are always welcomed.
Lastly, the hurricane known as Bronc will hit the left coast this weekend. So, after the finale of the LFP Interview today, my posts might be sporadic if not drunken in nature. (Rosie would probably think they would be funnier from my intoxicated state, but he likes the cruder humor. (How could it get cruder? Oh, it can.))
Of course, Bronc might just kill me as soon as he lands for all the Tigershark action figure posts. So, if there is no word from me by Monday, please call 911.
Thanks-
wojr
Labels: Bronc, Intoxication, My Writing, Snide Remarks, Viewer Mail
Thursday, April 01, 2004
The LFP Interview - Part 3
Click Here for Part 1
Click Here for Part 2
Finally, I was being led back into inner sanctum of Larry Flynt Publications. After being exposed to underage models & their pimps in their lobby and spread-eagle shots in their reception area, I could only imagine what delights the actual offices would hold.
Looking down on it, the Larry Flynt Building is shaped like a football. Given that configuration, most people have window offices. As I stroll behind the hot Asian HR woman, I split my attention between these window offices and the ass of the woman in front of me. (This tale took place right before I met Carmel, so no need to scold me for staring.) Both views are phenomenal.
My guide leads me into an office and I continue to focus on the view out the window. All of Beverly Hills is displayed before me. With a view like that, I might consider peddling the smut. That is until I stub my toe.. ..on that same smut. Stacked on the floors and on the bookshelf to my left, there are shrink-wrapped copies of every adolescent fantasy I ever had. Every visit to the local convenience store or newsstand would force that teen version of me to try to sneak a peek at the scantily clad honeys of the same magazines that are now just scattered everywhere. This office is a veritable wanker's utopia and then I see the owner of the office - the person I'm to interview with.
Wang, I forget his real name but it was something as utterly generic in Asian fashion, is one of the controllers here. Why a controller needs to keep his office completely stocked with porn is beyond me, but I would bet my bottom dollar that he's beaten off in this very office. So, here I am, forced to shake Wang the Wanker's hand, forced to bid farewell to the HR rep that I was sure was to be the first Mrs. Wojr and forced to sit down in front of the bookshelf of "quim" & conduct this interview.
The interview is basically an instruction course on all things Flynt as Wang goes on and on about all the big guy's business ventures, besides the smutty magazines. There are the stores. There's the casino. There are charitable and political causes. And all I can think about is the mountain of porn behind me as I look for sperm stalagmites on the ceiling (or is that stalagmites? Whichever descend.)
When it comes to my side of the interview, I whiz through my credentials, my interest in the company, and every other interview cliché I have. The snowjob seems to work, because Wang wants me to meet the CFO.. .. UPSTAIRS. It's like a video game adventure through bad taste and pornography and I'm advancing through no effort on my part.
Thus, Wang leads me out of his office, eyeing me to make sure I don't steal from his treasure trove of tittie mags. It's then I see how short Wang is. He can't be more than 5'2". Then I see another guy walking around. He's less than 5'5" as well. I wonder why that is, just as I see that Wang has the most colossal wedgie known to man. His ass is literally eating his slacks.
And I chuckle, because here I am heading up to the true inner sanctum of the smut world, being led by a chronic masturbator with a pant-eating ass and suddenly..
I'm Dante in the Divine Comedy and the only thing I can do is chuckle.
Tune in tomorrow to see who is on the next canto of Hell.
wojr
Click Here for Part 1
Click Here for Part 2
Finally, I was being led back into inner sanctum of Larry Flynt Publications. After being exposed to underage models & their pimps in their lobby and spread-eagle shots in their reception area, I could only imagine what delights the actual offices would hold.
Looking down on it, the Larry Flynt Building is shaped like a football. Given that configuration, most people have window offices. As I stroll behind the hot Asian HR woman, I split my attention between these window offices and the ass of the woman in front of me. (This tale took place right before I met Carmel, so no need to scold me for staring.) Both views are phenomenal.
My guide leads me into an office and I continue to focus on the view out the window. All of Beverly Hills is displayed before me. With a view like that, I might consider peddling the smut. That is until I stub my toe.. ..on that same smut. Stacked on the floors and on the bookshelf to my left, there are shrink-wrapped copies of every adolescent fantasy I ever had. Every visit to the local convenience store or newsstand would force that teen version of me to try to sneak a peek at the scantily clad honeys of the same magazines that are now just scattered everywhere. This office is a veritable wanker's utopia and then I see the owner of the office - the person I'm to interview with.
Wang, I forget his real name but it was something as utterly generic in Asian fashion, is one of the controllers here. Why a controller needs to keep his office completely stocked with porn is beyond me, but I would bet my bottom dollar that he's beaten off in this very office. So, here I am, forced to shake Wang the Wanker's hand, forced to bid farewell to the HR rep that I was sure was to be the first Mrs. Wojr and forced to sit down in front of the bookshelf of "quim" & conduct this interview.
The interview is basically an instruction course on all things Flynt as Wang goes on and on about all the big guy's business ventures, besides the smutty magazines. There are the stores. There's the casino. There are charitable and political causes. And all I can think about is the mountain of porn behind me as I look for sperm stalagmites on the ceiling (or is that stalagmites? Whichever descend.)
When it comes to my side of the interview, I whiz through my credentials, my interest in the company, and every other interview cliché I have. The snowjob seems to work, because Wang wants me to meet the CFO.. .. UPSTAIRS. It's like a video game adventure through bad taste and pornography and I'm advancing through no effort on my part.
Thus, Wang leads me out of his office, eyeing me to make sure I don't steal from his treasure trove of tittie mags. It's then I see how short Wang is. He can't be more than 5'2". Then I see another guy walking around. He's less than 5'5" as well. I wonder why that is, just as I see that Wang has the most colossal wedgie known to man. His ass is literally eating his slacks.
And I chuckle, because here I am heading up to the true inner sanctum of the smut world, being led by a chronic masturbator with a pant-eating ass and suddenly..
I'm Dante in the Divine Comedy and the only thing I can do is chuckle.
Tune in tomorrow to see who is on the next canto of Hell.
wojr
Labels: My Writing, Nostalgia, Sex, Snide Remarks
Tuesday, March 30, 2004
The LFP Interview - Part 2
Click Here for Part 1
As I mentioned yesterday, I arrived early for my interview for Larry Flynt Publications. As I wait outside, so not to seem too eager, Larry received a young applicant to his fine magazine and her pimp-like chaperone. After some arguing with the security guard, the pair gets turned away - despite the lady's business representative's attempts to form a bond of racial unity. It's a sad when a brother has to be like that, but I gather the applicant needed to submit her 'material' and not just show up out of the blue.
I just know, then and there, that this is not for me. I could not tell my family that this was were I worked. BUT I needed to see the inside. I needed to go to the place where these high-class individuals were just denied. I knew, at the very least, that it would make a good story one day.
So, I head upstairs to the dismay of Ike and his mini-entourage. I get off the elevator at the second to the top floor and end up in the reception area, a reception area of what appears to be a prestigious law firm. Everything is dark mahogany or dark brown leather, except for the pale, pretty girl acting as the receptionist. I'm completely taken aback by this room. I guess I was expecting spread eagle shots on the wall.
I'm told to have a seat and the human resources person will be right out. I'm sitting there and I see the 'magazine rack.' Discreetly hid in black binders are Larry's magazines: Hustler, Barely Legal, and a wide array of specialty magazines - not to mention some automotive, hunting, computer and tattoo magazines. (Bet you did not know our boy Larry made some respectable stuff, did ya?) And I'm wondering what to do. Do I check out the publisher's wares or not?
I sit there for an eternity contemplating my choices, when finally the pretty young Asian HR person comes find me. She introduces herself and takes me back into the offices for my interview.
Tune in tomorrow for Part 3 of our exciting epic. Same bat-time, same bat channel.
wojr
Click Here for Part 1
As I mentioned yesterday, I arrived early for my interview for Larry Flynt Publications. As I wait outside, so not to seem too eager, Larry received a young applicant to his fine magazine and her pimp-like chaperone. After some arguing with the security guard, the pair gets turned away - despite the lady's business representative's attempts to form a bond of racial unity. It's a sad when a brother has to be like that, but I gather the applicant needed to submit her 'material' and not just show up out of the blue.
I just know, then and there, that this is not for me. I could not tell my family that this was were I worked. BUT I needed to see the inside. I needed to go to the place where these high-class individuals were just denied. I knew, at the very least, that it would make a good story one day.
So, I head upstairs to the dismay of Ike and his mini-entourage. I get off the elevator at the second to the top floor and end up in the reception area, a reception area of what appears to be a prestigious law firm. Everything is dark mahogany or dark brown leather, except for the pale, pretty girl acting as the receptionist. I'm completely taken aback by this room. I guess I was expecting spread eagle shots on the wall.
I'm told to have a seat and the human resources person will be right out. I'm sitting there and I see the 'magazine rack.' Discreetly hid in black binders are Larry's magazines: Hustler, Barely Legal, and a wide array of specialty magazines - not to mention some automotive, hunting, computer and tattoo magazines. (Bet you did not know our boy Larry made some respectable stuff, did ya?) And I'm wondering what to do. Do I check out the publisher's wares or not?
I sit there for an eternity contemplating my choices, when finally the pretty young Asian HR person comes find me. She introduces herself and takes me back into the offices for my interview.
Tune in tomorrow for Part 3 of our exciting epic. Same bat-time, same bat channel.
wojr
Labels: My Writing, Nostalgia, Sex, Snide Remarks
No Such Thing As Bad Exposure (Unless You're Naked)
Completely forgot about this little tidbit.
I'm letting a new (as in "new-fangled") website use one of my short comic scripts in their web-publishing efforts. Done this before with mixed results. However, when no one knows your name in the first place, there can be no bad exposure.
So, check out speedloaderstudios when you get a chance.
They made me write a blurb about myself, cause I guess 1,100 words of faux obituary wouldn't do. What do you think?
Blurb:
"Michael Wojciak or, as his fellow parolees know him, 'wojr' is a burgeoning screenwriter and comic creator currently wandering the wasteland that is Los Angeles. (Although, he still considers himself an East Coast person.) Michael has been a lifelong appreciator of comic books & genre films. (Although, he is rather timid about labeling himself a geek.) His lifelong goal is to finish the Boston marathon. (Although, he doesn't view himself as an athletic person and prefers to run only when being chased.) Wojr currently lives with his fiancée, Carmel, and their two cats, Boo & Radley. (Although, he frequently states how he is a dog person that is deathly afraid of commitment.) See further proof of Michael at odds with himself at www.wojr.com."
wojr
Completely forgot about this little tidbit.
I'm letting a new (as in "new-fangled") website use one of my short comic scripts in their web-publishing efforts. Done this before with mixed results. However, when no one knows your name in the first place, there can be no bad exposure.
So, check out speedloaderstudios when you get a chance.
They made me write a blurb about myself, cause I guess 1,100 words of faux obituary wouldn't do. What do you think?
Blurb:
"Michael Wojciak or, as his fellow parolees know him, 'wojr' is a burgeoning screenwriter and comic creator currently wandering the wasteland that is Los Angeles. (Although, he still considers himself an East Coast person.) Michael has been a lifelong appreciator of comic books & genre films. (Although, he is rather timid about labeling himself a geek.) His lifelong goal is to finish the Boston marathon. (Although, he doesn't view himself as an athletic person and prefers to run only when being chased.) Wojr currently lives with his fiancée, Carmel, and their two cats, Boo & Radley. (Although, he frequently states how he is a dog person that is deathly afraid of commitment.) See further proof of Michael at odds with himself at www.wojr.com."
wojr
Labels: My Writing, woj
Monday, March 29, 2004
The LFP Interview - Part 1
Another side of me that some of you don't know about - in addition to this writing thing, I have a strong business background. I look really good on paper: Accounting Degree & moderately impressive GPA from Villanova, accounting and office management gigs in various industries, strong IT and computer skills. Headhunters are always emailing/calling with job opportunities. I turn most of them down. I just want to pay my bills and be able to focus as much time as possible on my writing.
But, a few years back, I get a call about a job at publishing company. My ears perk up. This might be a step in the right direction. So, I call up the headhunter and let her know I might be interested.
Then, things start to get weird. Her voice drops several decibel levels and she asks me if I would have trouble working for a company that had some interests in the adult entertainment area. I confessed to have never really thought about it, but I saw no real problems with it. By this point, I was just wanted to hear more. I don't think I would take the job, but I wanted to know everything. (Ok, I was envisioning getting an invite to Hef's mansion out of the deal.)
Well, she starts about a publishing company located in Beverly Hills. I knew Playboy had offices there so the phone's glued to my ear. Tell me more, sister. But that's all I get. She needs to submit my resume and see if they want to interview me. Ok, fine. I immediately call Bronc and relay the whole story. He gets excited, thinking this would mean trips to the Playboy mansion for him as well.
Next day, I get the call. They would like to meet me. Could I come in this afternoon? You bet your sweet ass I can. I get the address. Tell my boss I have an emergency or some medical thing - I forget. Show up early at the address - only to find myself at the Larry Flynt building in Beverly Hills. "HUSTLER, baby." I've gone from Playboy, skipped over Penthouse and landed right on HUSTLER. Do not collect $200.
Like I said, I was there early. So, I wait outside and work on a story I was writing at the time. While I'm waiting, this seventeen (if she was lucky) year old harlot shows up escorted by some middle-aged black man looking for an 'interview'. I'm watching in amazement at a man that my imagination is labeling Ike Turner and his bimbo talking to the security guard, trying to arrange a visit up to see Larry & his golden wheelchair. And I wonder if a job at Larry Flynt Publishing right for me?
Tune in Tomorrow When I Continue the Story.
wojr
Another side of me that some of you don't know about - in addition to this writing thing, I have a strong business background. I look really good on paper: Accounting Degree & moderately impressive GPA from Villanova, accounting and office management gigs in various industries, strong IT and computer skills. Headhunters are always emailing/calling with job opportunities. I turn most of them down. I just want to pay my bills and be able to focus as much time as possible on my writing.
But, a few years back, I get a call about a job at publishing company. My ears perk up. This might be a step in the right direction. So, I call up the headhunter and let her know I might be interested.
Then, things start to get weird. Her voice drops several decibel levels and she asks me if I would have trouble working for a company that had some interests in the adult entertainment area. I confessed to have never really thought about it, but I saw no real problems with it. By this point, I was just wanted to hear more. I don't think I would take the job, but I wanted to know everything. (Ok, I was envisioning getting an invite to Hef's mansion out of the deal.)
Well, she starts about a publishing company located in Beverly Hills. I knew Playboy had offices there so the phone's glued to my ear. Tell me more, sister. But that's all I get. She needs to submit my resume and see if they want to interview me. Ok, fine. I immediately call Bronc and relay the whole story. He gets excited, thinking this would mean trips to the Playboy mansion for him as well.
Next day, I get the call. They would like to meet me. Could I come in this afternoon? You bet your sweet ass I can. I get the address. Tell my boss I have an emergency or some medical thing - I forget. Show up early at the address - only to find myself at the Larry Flynt building in Beverly Hills. "HUSTLER, baby." I've gone from Playboy, skipped over Penthouse and landed right on HUSTLER. Do not collect $200.
Like I said, I was there early. So, I wait outside and work on a story I was writing at the time. While I'm waiting, this seventeen (if she was lucky) year old harlot shows up escorted by some middle-aged black man looking for an 'interview'. I'm watching in amazement at a man that my imagination is labeling Ike Turner and his bimbo talking to the security guard, trying to arrange a visit up to see Larry & his golden wheelchair. And I wonder if a job at Larry Flynt Publishing right for me?
Tune in Tomorrow When I Continue the Story.
wojr
Labels: My Writing, Nostalgia, Sex, Snide Remarks
Saturday, March 27, 2004
The Only Apology You'll Get From Me..
Transcribed right off a bar napkin.
I write - that is what I do. So right now, I apologize to all of humanity, because you are all just potential characters, potential voices to me.
I write the funny things you say on bar napkins, post-its, or whatever else is handy. I kept your utterly stupid character traits in my head forever. I do this even more when I drink. I know why, so you don't have to.
You just have to BE. So I can make a better story.
End of napkin.
wojr
Transcribed right off a bar napkin.
I write - that is what I do. So right now, I apologize to all of humanity, because you are all just potential characters, potential voices to me.
I write the funny things you say on bar napkins, post-its, or whatever else is handy. I kept your utterly stupid character traits in my head forever. I do this even more when I drink. I know why, so you don't have to.
You just have to BE. So I can make a better story.
End of napkin.
wojr
Labels: My Writing
Friday, March 19, 2004
"No, We Have No Comb-Overs. We Have No Comb-Overs Today.."
Some of you might have stopped here today to read a rant on comb-overs as indicated in my last entry. For those people, that line was meant as slight joke - stressing that vanity makes individuals of all genders do some idiotic thing. (Almost said "both genders" instead of "all genders", but then I remembered my massive shemale following. I'm not excluding you, "ladies".)
Instead of comb-overs, I'm here to offer up one of the long-lost wojr comic scripts, 'Waiting.'
'Waiting' was a lightning quick write. I think it only took me two hours to get to a draft that I was happy with. The entire process was so short that I forgot about this particular script until I rediscovered it during my search for the final 'Ineffectual Man' script.
Like 'Most Hated', this is me playing around the cliches of the Western genre. Maybe one day, I will actually write a straight Western without my tongue coming near my cheek. Maybe the adventures of a transgendered cowboy for you special "ladies".
Click here to read WAITING
wojr
Some of you might have stopped here today to read a rant on comb-overs as indicated in my last entry. For those people, that line was meant as slight joke - stressing that vanity makes individuals of all genders do some idiotic thing. (Almost said "both genders" instead of "all genders", but then I remembered my massive shemale following. I'm not excluding you, "ladies".)
Instead of comb-overs, I'm here to offer up one of the long-lost wojr comic scripts, 'Waiting.'
'Waiting' was a lightning quick write. I think it only took me two hours to get to a draft that I was happy with. The entire process was so short that I forgot about this particular script until I rediscovered it during my search for the final 'Ineffectual Man' script.
Like 'Most Hated', this is me playing around the cliches of the Western genre. Maybe one day, I will actually write a straight Western without my tongue coming near my cheek. Maybe the adventures of a transgendered cowboy for you special "ladies".
Click here to read WAITING
wojr
Labels: My Writing
Sunday, March 14, 2004
"Why Is He Stroking His Mop?"
My aunt (who I love and adore) loves to send the sappy emails. Coupled with her recent propensity for forgetfulness, she sends me some again and again and again.
The most frequent being the one revolving around the teacher/professor that asks the name of the school's janitor as an extra credit question. When no one knows the answer, he scolds the students in some sanctimonious manner common to despondent ex-hippies.
If I was ever forced into that spot - facing that same extra credit question - here is my planned response.
"Our janitor's name is Fred.
Fred is an ex-con with a below average IQ. So, mopping the floors is best gig he can get. He likes the job because all the nubile co-eds provide him ample fodder for his masturbatory exploits.
Fred likes his solitude and hates how you call attention to his attempts to blend into the background. He wanted me to convey to you that he has your home address. The manner in which he mentioned that fact did not seem to imply that a Christmas card would be forth coming.
If you noticed, I have left the rest of my test blank. This is because Fred gave me your home address as well.
I expect an A.
wojr"
My aunt (who I love and adore) loves to send the sappy emails. Coupled with her recent propensity for forgetfulness, she sends me some again and again and again.
The most frequent being the one revolving around the teacher/professor that asks the name of the school's janitor as an extra credit question. When no one knows the answer, he scolds the students in some sanctimonious manner common to despondent ex-hippies.
If I was ever forced into that spot - facing that same extra credit question - here is my planned response.
"Our janitor's name is Fred.
Fred is an ex-con with a below average IQ. So, mopping the floors is best gig he can get. He likes the job because all the nubile co-eds provide him ample fodder for his masturbatory exploits.
Fred likes his solitude and hates how you call attention to his attempts to blend into the background. He wanted me to convey to you that he has your home address. The manner in which he mentioned that fact did not seem to imply that a Christmas card would be forth coming.
If you noticed, I have left the rest of my test blank. This is because Fred gave me your home address as well.
I expect an A.
wojr"
Labels: College, My Writing, Snide Remarks
Thursday, March 11, 2004
"You should stop the story right there.."
Points at which there is no need to continue with the story..
"So, she says it's only an extra hundred bucks for me to take her and..."
"The whole thing was out of control and then the midgets showed up!"
"And then we started doing shots.."
"So I bet him ten bucks that he wouldn't.."
"I guess Bronc had a lot to drink because he..."
"Then he said, turn your head and cough. When all of a sudden.."
"And I thought I had counted six bullets, but.."
"When all of sudden, someone took out a video camera.."
"And he said that it would only hurt for the first couple of thrusts.."
"I had the lobster bisque and yadda, yadda, yadda.."
"Then I go, 'Yeah, that dress does make you look fat.'"
"Well, she asked me how many girls I've been with and stupid me.."
"And we were playing 'Truth and Dare' and the girl picked Dare, so we.."
"When all of sudden, someone started up a porno.."
"And then we started doing coke.."
"So the casting agent says 'If you really want the part, you'd be willing to..'"
"The whole thing was out of control and then the monkeys showed up!"
"And the transsexual decided she wanted to be on top, so.."
"I held the fart in as long as I could, but.."
"And I said to him, 'Listen, you bring something nice to wear'"
"When all of sudden, someone said there was a strip club up the street.."
"And then we started smoking some rock.."
"Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time, so I.."
"I guess Wojr had a lot to drink because he..."
It's best if we just end it there.
wojr
Points at which there is no need to continue with the story..
"So, she says it's only an extra hundred bucks for me to take her and..." "The whole thing was out of control and then the midgets showed up!" "And then we started doing shots.." "So I bet him ten bucks that he wouldn't.." "I guess Bronc had a lot to drink because he..." "Then he said, turn your head and cough. When all of a sudden.." "And I thought I had counted six bullets, but.." "When all of sudden, someone took out a video camera.." "And he said that it would only hurt for the first couple of thrusts.." "I had the lobster bisque and yadda, yadda, yadda.." "Then I go, 'Yeah, that dress does make you look fat.'" "Well, she asked me how many girls I've been with and stupid me.." "And we were playing 'Truth and Dare' and the girl picked Dare, so we.." "When all of sudden, someone started up a porno.." "And then we started doing coke.." "So the casting agent says 'If you really want the part, you'd be willing to..'" "The whole thing was out of control and then the monkeys showed up!" "And the transsexual decided she wanted to be on top, so.." "I held the fart in as long as I could, but.." "And I said to him, 'Listen, you bring something nice to wear'" "When all of sudden, someone said there was a strip club up the street.." "And then we started smoking some rock.." "Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time, so I.." "I guess Wojr had a lot to drink because he..."It's best if we just end it there.
wojr
Labels: Bronc, Intoxication, My Writing, woj
Tuesday, March 09, 2004
"75% is still a C"
In terms of the second version of wojr.com, I am about 75% completed with the initial setup. (Thanks should go out to my resistance to sleep, my 5AM wake-up calls from Broncatello, and the nonexistence patience of my fiancee.) As for the final work to be completed, some of the missing items are noticeable, luckily most are not - so, I opened everything up for mass consumption.
Hopefully, I'll be at 90% done by the weekend and the final bits and pieces will be completed over the rest of the month. Feel free to email me any comments or suggestions.
Some new stuff of new interest:
Massive update to the Biography page - some of the jokes may be too inside, but there is something for everybody. (Legal disclaimer for biography: As of March 9, 2004, none of the quotes contained in the biography have been uttered by anyone. That is not to dismiss the fact that those statements could be made at some point in the next 61 years. Plus, I have no children that I am aware of.)
Posted an old skit that I wrote one day back in my wedding planning days - BEST MAN INSURANCE. Warning: It's got some naughty bits.
Just finished the rough draft of the SHORTAGE comic script - clocks in at 22 pages. Although, it needs an edit or two before I put it up here.
And it's only Tuesday.
wojr
In terms of the second version of wojr.com, I am about 75% completed with the initial setup. (Thanks should go out to my resistance to sleep, my 5AM wake-up calls from Broncatello, and the nonexistence patience of my fiancee.) As for the final work to be completed, some of the missing items are noticeable, luckily most are not - so, I opened everything up for mass consumption.
Hopefully, I'll be at 90% done by the weekend and the final bits and pieces will be completed over the rest of the month. Feel free to email me any comments or suggestions.
Some new stuff of new interest:
Massive update to the Biography page - some of the jokes may be too inside, but there is something for everybody. (Legal disclaimer for biography: As of March 9, 2004, none of the quotes contained in the biography have been uttered by anyone. That is not to dismiss the fact that those statements could be made at some point in the next 61 years. Plus, I have no children that I am aware of.)
Posted an old skit that I wrote one day back in my wedding planning days - BEST MAN INSURANCE. Warning: It's got some naughty bits.
Just finished the rough draft of the SHORTAGE comic script - clocks in at 22 pages. Although, it needs an edit or two before I put it up here.
And it's only Tuesday.
wojr
Labels: My Writing, Nostalgia
