wojr - words, occasionally sentences
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
I Won't Deny It, Stan Bush is my True Messiah
In honor of the huge opening for the Transformers movie, I give you this:
I love that he rocks so hard that his guitar emits low-res visual effects!
(Question though - was anyone else creeped out by the intro with Optimus Prime and the little kid? Like in the "do you like Gladiator movies?" style of creepiness?)
For more Stan Bush, visit his site. For more Barbara Bush, visit her site.
wojr
In honor of the huge opening for the Transformers movie, I give you this:
I love that he rocks so hard that his guitar emits low-res visual effects!
(Question though - was anyone else creeped out by the intro with Optimus Prime and the little kid? Like in the "do you like Gladiator movies?" style of creepiness?)
For more Stan Bush, visit his site. For more Barbara Bush, visit her site.
wojr
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
But Wendy and Marvin Totally Got It On (or The Second Post This Week Featuring Bestiality)
Here’s my random thought of the day, but it’s a good one:
I think the Wonder Twins got their powers so they couldn’t fuck each other.
If you have no idea who the Wonder Twins are, here is something stolen from wikipedia:
It's like they’re from a world where incest did not lead to inbreeding, a planet without recessive genes. (Although, Gleek looks like one inbred space monkey.) So, that episode of the X-Files, Home, with the deformed hillbilly inbred offspring who had their limbless Momma strapped to a board under the bed isn’t going to scare Zan & Jayna away from the sibling nookie.
True, Jayna could take the "form of a bitch in heat" and Zan could become an eighteen inch ice dildo, but, come on! I speak from experience when I say that there are better ways to get your groove on than humping a dog or sticking frozen pricks up your bum.
Did I just say…? Listen, ignore the "speak from experience" part. Just focus on the fact that we can’t see a sex tape with the Vulcan Donny & Marie getting it on. The best we can get is some footage of them taking turns having their way with their retarded space monkey.
And when that happens, well, the terrorists really win.
wojr
Here’s my random thought of the day, but it’s a good one:
I think the Wonder Twins got their powers so they couldn’t fuck each other.
If you have no idea who the Wonder Twins are, here is something stolen from wikipedia:
The [Wonder Twins] made their debut in The All-New Super Friends Hour. Zan and Jayna are siblings from the planet Exxor (also spelled Exor) who were being informally trained by the superheroes.So, here we have twins, a brother and a sister, from another planet. Now assuming their alien physiology mirrors ours in terms of genitalia, thus making their incestuous intercourse possible, their powers wouldn't allow it. Every time they touch, they would transform into some other form of matter that would make sex extremely complicated at best.Unlike their predecessors, Wendy Harris and Marvin White, this pair was able to participate in combat with abilities of their own. Their powers were activated when the twins made physical contact together with the spoken command, "Wonder Twin powers, activate!” (In the comics, it was revealed that this phrase was unnecessary, just a habit of theirs.) They bear a strong resemblance to Donny and Marie Osmond, who had a hit tv show at the time of their first appearances. Their appearance is somewhat reminiscent of Vulcans from Star Trek, with pointed ears and similar haircuts. As they were about to transform, they would each announce their intended form. For example, Zan would announce, "Form of a glacier!"
Their powers were:
* Zan can transform into any form of water, including liquid, mist, steam, or, perhaps most usefully, any kind of functioning ice structure. Also, at one time, he changed into a gelatinous form. By combining with already-existing water, Zan could also increase his mass or volume in the water form chosen. In addition, he could transform himself into weather patterns involving water, such as a blizzard, a monsoon, or a typhoon.
* Jayna can transform into any animal, whether real, mythological, indigenous to Earth or to some other planet, like Beast Boy. She did need to know the name of the animal in order to assume its form, as she would turn into whatever animal she named.
It's like they’re from a world where incest did not lead to inbreeding, a planet without recessive genes. (Although, Gleek looks like one inbred space monkey.) So, that episode of the X-Files, Home, with the deformed hillbilly inbred offspring who had their limbless Momma strapped to a board under the bed isn’t going to scare Zan & Jayna away from the sibling nookie.
True, Jayna could take the "form of a bitch in heat" and Zan could become an eighteen inch ice dildo, but, come on! I speak from experience when I say that there are better ways to get your groove on than humping a dog or sticking frozen pricks up your bum.
Did I just say…? Listen, ignore the "speak from experience" part. Just focus on the fact that we can’t see a sex tape with the Vulcan Donny & Marie getting it on. The best we can get is some footage of them taking turns having their way with their retarded space monkey.
And when that happens, well, the terrorists really win.
wojr
Friday, February 16, 2007
The 5PM Sendoff Celebrates wojr's Black History
From the wojr archives:
(Click on pic to enlarge)
Can you guess which one is me? I severely doubt it.
HAPPY 5PM FRIDAY EVERYBODY!
wojr
From the wojr archives:
(Click on pic to enlarge)Can you guess which one is me? I severely doubt it.
HAPPY 5PM FRIDAY EVERYBODY!
wojr
Labels: 5PMSendoff, Comic Books, Crackers, Nostalgia
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
I Would Watch a Movie Called 'Bobby Hunter, Code Enforcement Director'
We here at wojr.com will always find time to catch up with college buddies.
Found on yourpennhills.com (by a loyal wojr.com correspondent):
Sorry for the inside joke/revisionist history. Please resume your normal activities.
wojr
We here at wojr.com will always find time to catch up with college buddies.
Found on yourpennhills.com (by a loyal wojr.com correspondent):
Municipal officials want house sold online demolishedIt could have been much worse. They could have bought an Acura Integra from him.
Penn Hills officials hope to see a house sold on eBay demolished.
Mark Bartholomaei, a Sewickley attorney, purchased the house at 5319 Verona Road for $18,000 at a sheriff's sale in March and sold the property on eBay for $22,100 in April.
Since then, the municipality filed three charges against Bartholomaei for not obtaining an occupancy permit, having a structure unfit for occupation and owning a building without providing safeguards from fire.
Municipal officials learned about the house being sold on eBay when the Florida couple who bought the property visited the code enforcement office to express their concerns about the house's condition. Robert Hunter, code enforcement director, would not release the names of the buyers to protect their privacy.
Though Bartholomaei says he has a sales agreement with the couple, county property records still list him as the owner. The Florida couple has the deed and needs to file it with the county to finalize their ownership, he said.
"I sent them a picture of the house before they bought it," Bartholomaei said. "I am trying to work out the issues with them. It boils down to the husband bid on the house without the wife knowing and he hadn't looked at the house before bidding."
Bartholomaei, who chose eBay for its broad reach, admits the house is not in great shape. He was hoping to make a profit on the sheriff's sale after friends did the same with another property. The house went up for sheriff sale because the previous owners, Charles and Joanne Abbott, owed more than $22,000 in delinquent taxes to the municipality, school district and county.
If the property is cleared, the Florida couple could make a profit by selling the land, Bartholomaei said.
The Florida couple were not the only bidders for the property. Ten other people from Pennsylvania and New Jersey were outbid for the property.
Bartholomaei believes the couple and a few others didn't check out the house before bidding. He said two months passed before the winning couple visited the house. The couple could have paid a local contractor $50 to check out the house before placing the bid on eBay, Bartholomaei said.
Fifty bids were offered for the property. The Florida couple outbid the next person by $100, said Bartholomaei, who did not have a reserve price for the auction.
"You pay for what you get," he said. "You have to take into consideration what you're bidding on."
Sorry for the inside joke/revisionist history. Please resume your normal activities.
wojr
Monday, January 22, 2007
And Roddy MacDowall as Bon Chance Louie
This post is utterly self-indulgent, but longtime readers know of my love for Tales of the Gold Monkey.
So, when I saw this on youtube, I had to post it. F- off, if you call it an Indiana Jones clone. Indy didn't know how to land a plane. He didn't have a one-eyed dog. Indy had an Asian street urchin as his slave labor. "No time for love, Doctor Jones."
Man, now if I could only find some videos of the twins from Double Trouble.
wojr
This post is utterly self-indulgent, but longtime readers know of my love for Tales of the Gold Monkey.
So, when I saw this on youtube, I had to post it. F- off, if you call it an Indiana Jones clone. Indy didn't know how to land a plane. He didn't have a one-eyed dog. Indy had an Asian street urchin as his slave labor. "No time for love, Doctor Jones."
Man, now if I could only find some videos of the twins from Double Trouble.
wojr
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Shocker, Spider-Man. Spider-Man, Shocker.
From the wojr.com archives:
One of them owes me a case of Mad Dog.
wojr
From the wojr.com archives:
One of them owes me a case of Mad Dog.wojr
Labels: College, Comic Books, Nostalgia
Friday, October 27, 2006
What Could Only Be Called Bronc on Bronc
From the wojr.com vaults:
[click on pic to enlarge]
God, I love throwing him under the bus.
HAPPY 5PM FRIDAY EVERYBODY (even the gay cowboys)!
wojr
From the wojr.com vaults:
[click on pic to enlarge]God, I love throwing him under the bus.
HAPPY 5PM FRIDAY EVERYBODY (even the gay cowboys)!
wojr
Labels: 5PMSendoff, Bronc, College, Nostalgia
Monday, September 18, 2006
They Are Real and They Are Far From Spectacular
So, I was walking down the street. A rarity in Los Angeles, I know. When I passed a house with a dunk booth randomly set up in the front yard.
Completely set up. Filled with water. Yet no one around. Very odd.
I’ve been in the dunk booth once before. Back in college for some charity/fraternity thing.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t planned on being in said booth that day and was ill prepared. No towel to dry myself off, no change of clothes and, most importantly, NO UNDERWEAR.
Word of advice, never freeball when you hit the dunking booth. Unless you get off showing your balls to the world at large.
Which I did. Show my balls that is, not get off on it.
I do not like showing off the boys. They frighten me, so I’m doubtful they’ll be well received by the dunking public.
Thankfully, now that I have disclosed this embarrassing exposure of my testicles to the entire internet, I can now be done with whatever residual shame I might be harboring from that event.
Don’t worry – I have many other shameful moments that I can still disclose and I’m fairly certain that I will get around to all of them.
wojr
So, I was walking down the street. A rarity in Los Angeles, I know. When I passed a house with a dunk booth randomly set up in the front yard.
Completely set up. Filled with water. Yet no one around. Very odd.
I’ve been in the dunk booth once before. Back in college for some charity/fraternity thing.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t planned on being in said booth that day and was ill prepared. No towel to dry myself off, no change of clothes and, most importantly, NO UNDERWEAR.
Word of advice, never freeball when you hit the dunking booth. Unless you get off showing your balls to the world at large.
Which I did. Show my balls that is, not get off on it.
I do not like showing off the boys. They frighten me, so I’m doubtful they’ll be well received by the dunking public.
Thankfully, now that I have disclosed this embarrassing exposure of my testicles to the entire internet, I can now be done with whatever residual shame I might be harboring from that event.
Don’t worry – I have many other shameful moments that I can still disclose and I’m fairly certain that I will get around to all of them.
wojr
Friday, September 15, 2006
This Is Where They Make Wojrs
Quote of the day, compliments of Patton Oswalt:
"NEW JERSEY - It smells like someone set rape on fire."
God, I miss the Garden State. I could so go for some pork roll right now.
wojr
Quote of the day, compliments of Patton Oswalt:
"NEW JERSEY - It smells like someone set rape on fire."
God, I miss the Garden State. I could so go for some pork roll right now.
wojr
Labels: Nostalgia, Snide Remarks
Thursday, September 14, 2006
This Is Pretty Much How My Mind Works
I bought this week’s Entertainment Weekly.
Not Just for the remarkable photo of Eva Longoria and her pet ass, but for the promise of EW’s 50 Best High School Films Ever. EVER.
Now, I had just purchased the special edition DVDs of both Pretty in Pink and Some Kind of Wonderful last week. Given that overdose of the John Hughes, a retrospective of the fifty (that’s a five followed by a zero, if you didn’t know) top high school movies seems just perfect.
My complete thoughts on the films that made or did not make the EW high school list will have to wait for another post (I’ve been saying that a lot lately, huh?), but I will say that I was pissed that they only had write-ups for the top 25 films and then just listed the lower half – offering no justification for these bottom 25 picks. Those damn dick-teases over at Entertainment Weekly, they don’t even take the time to explain to me how Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire clocked in at Number 36 (while Some Kind of Wonderful, The Last American Virgin and PORKY’s are overlooked).
Does Goblet of Fire even take place in a high school? I can’t tell since most of the film is just three ridiculous exercises in child endangerment as the four students compete to win of all things, a glass cup. What’s up with that? A world populated with witches and wizards and the best prize they can come up with is a damn soup bowl.
Now, a prize worthy of that magical world would be 72 virgins in heaven or, better yet, immortality. I mean this is the Tri-Wizard Tournament not Fear Factor – why settle for crappy ass prizes, Mr. Potter? Even hockey players get more than the Stanley Cup if they win. Let’s up the ante.
Hell, let’s up the ante on the reality shows. I know if they were offering immortality and a couple of virgins to the winner of Survivor, I’d be more inclined to watch. Much more interesting than the “Segregation Island” fiasco that airs tonight.
Personally, I think Mark Burnett didn’t take it far enough in terms of the race issue. Where are the Arab and the Jewish teams? Let’s have the winner get the Gaza Strip. I bet more people would watch that than a CNN report. If America is already a bunch of infidels and devils in the eyes of the extremists, what do we have to lose?
See what happens when I stare at Eva Longoria’s ass too long? My mind just wonders.
Question for Discussion: which reality show would rather see set in the Middle East: Flavor of Love or Celebrity Fit Club or something else? And why?
wojr
I bought this week’s Entertainment Weekly.
Not Just for the remarkable photo of Eva Longoria and her pet ass, but for the promise of EW’s 50 Best High School Films Ever. EVER.
Now, I had just purchased the special edition DVDs of both Pretty in Pink and Some Kind of Wonderful last week. Given that overdose of the John Hughes, a retrospective of the fifty (that’s a five followed by a zero, if you didn’t know) top high school movies seems just perfect.
My complete thoughts on the films that made or did not make the EW high school list will have to wait for another post (I’ve been saying that a lot lately, huh?), but I will say that I was pissed that they only had write-ups for the top 25 films and then just listed the lower half – offering no justification for these bottom 25 picks. Those damn dick-teases over at Entertainment Weekly, they don’t even take the time to explain to me how Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire clocked in at Number 36 (while Some Kind of Wonderful, The Last American Virgin and PORKY’s are overlooked).
Does Goblet of Fire even take place in a high school? I can’t tell since most of the film is just three ridiculous exercises in child endangerment as the four students compete to win of all things, a glass cup. What’s up with that? A world populated with witches and wizards and the best prize they can come up with is a damn soup bowl.
Now, a prize worthy of that magical world would be 72 virgins in heaven or, better yet, immortality. I mean this is the Tri-Wizard Tournament not Fear Factor – why settle for crappy ass prizes, Mr. Potter? Even hockey players get more than the Stanley Cup if they win. Let’s up the ante.
Hell, let’s up the ante on the reality shows. I know if they were offering immortality and a couple of virgins to the winner of Survivor, I’d be more inclined to watch. Much more interesting than the “Segregation Island” fiasco that airs tonight.
Personally, I think Mark Burnett didn’t take it far enough in terms of the race issue. Where are the Arab and the Jewish teams? Let’s have the winner get the Gaza Strip. I bet more people would watch that than a CNN report. If America is already a bunch of infidels and devils in the eyes of the extremists, what do we have to lose?
See what happens when I stare at Eva Longoria’s ass too long? My mind just wonders.
Question for Discussion: which reality show would rather see set in the Middle East: Flavor of Love or Celebrity Fit Club or something else? And why?
wojr
Labels: Hollywood, Nostalgia, Snide Remarks
Friday, September 01, 2006
DUE TO TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES...
Today's 5PM sign-off comes to you at 10:30AM.
The Superfriends & the rest of the wojr.com staff wish you a Happy and Orgy-filled Labor Day!
(They can't help it. The Superfriends are orgy people.)
HAPPY 10:30AM FRIDAY EVERYBODY!
wojr
Today's 5PM sign-off comes to you at 10:30AM.
The Superfriends & the rest of the wojr.com staff wish you a Happy and Orgy-filled Labor Day!
(They can't help it. The Superfriends are orgy people.)
HAPPY 10:30AM FRIDAY EVERYBODY!
wojr
Labels: 5PMSendoff, Nostalgia, Sex
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Old as Christ, but Not Old as Dirt
For most of you, today is a special day because Paris Hilton finally drops her debut album on the masses. According to my favorite millionaire whore, Paris, "I, like, cry, when I listen to [her record], it's so good."
For myself, today is special because I reach the ripe old age of 33 today.
Yes, wojr is now as old as Jesus.
Personally, I was hoping to get some Christ-like powers when I woke up this morning.
Tried to turn the water in my toilet to wine. Hell, I would have settled on some malt liquor. But that was a no go.
I’m keeping my eye out for some blind beggars, but I only found some regular ones. So, I still might be able to restore someone’s sight. I might need that home Lasik kit for that one though.
Personally, I’m a little weary about trying to raise the dead. Most dead bodies are locked up in coffins and buried six feet deep. What if I succeed and the poor guy I resurrect is just stuck in the ground forever?? God knows I won’t be digging him up. I’m too old for manual labor. Maybe I’ll stop by a wake tonight and see what magic I can work on the open casket crowd.
Now, correct me if I’m wrong but didn’t Jesus have some kind of Solar Death Ray? That would be cool power to have. Even a regular Death Ray would suffice. Maybe only the Ark of the Covenant came with that feature. I’ll have to check with Mel Gibson.
By the way, what the fuck is that BEEE-YATCH Paris Hilton doing releasing her album on MY birthday?? I’d be ok with a new porno from her – but a CD.
Sometimes it feels like the whole world’s against me.
Just like they were against Jesus.
wojr
For most of you, today is a special day because Paris Hilton finally drops her debut album on the masses. According to my favorite millionaire whore, Paris, "I, like, cry, when I listen to [her record], it's so good."
For myself, today is special because I reach the ripe old age of 33 today.
Yes, wojr is now as old as Jesus.
Personally, I was hoping to get some Christ-like powers when I woke up this morning.
Tried to turn the water in my toilet to wine. Hell, I would have settled on some malt liquor. But that was a no go.
I’m keeping my eye out for some blind beggars, but I only found some regular ones. So, I still might be able to restore someone’s sight. I might need that home Lasik kit for that one though.
Personally, I’m a little weary about trying to raise the dead. Most dead bodies are locked up in coffins and buried six feet deep. What if I succeed and the poor guy I resurrect is just stuck in the ground forever?? God knows I won’t be digging him up. I’m too old for manual labor. Maybe I’ll stop by a wake tonight and see what magic I can work on the open casket crowd.
Now, correct me if I’m wrong but didn’t Jesus have some kind of Solar Death Ray? That would be cool power to have. Even a regular Death Ray would suffice. Maybe only the Ark of the Covenant came with that feature. I’ll have to check with Mel Gibson.
By the way, what the fuck is that BEEE-YATCH Paris Hilton doing releasing her album on MY birthday?? I’d be ok with a new porno from her – but a CD.
Sometimes it feels like the whole world’s against me.
Just like they were against Jesus.
wojr
Labels: Nostalgia, Religion, Snide Remarks, Whores
Thursday, May 27, 2004
SNAKE-EYES, HOWEVER, IS ALL ABOUT THE TANG
I really don't remember GI Joe being so.. so.. FLAMING.
As the Village People like to say,
"Where can you find pleasure
Search the world for treasure
Learn science technology
In the navy Yes, you can sail the seven seas
In the navy Yes, you can put your mind at ease"
And by mind, they really mean sphincter.
wojr
I really don't remember GI Joe being so.. so.. FLAMING.
As the Village People like to say,
"Where can you find pleasure
Search the world for treasure
Learn science technology
In the navy Yes, you can sail the seven seas
In the navy Yes, you can put your mind at ease"
And by mind, they really mean sphincter.
wojr
Labels: Nostalgia, Snide Remarks
Friday, May 21, 2004
Good Thing Our Forefathers Weren't Racist or Anything
Question of the day:
Is the man depicted on the cover "Gatunga the Axe-Man!" or "Jimmy Walker"?
Either way, DYNOOOO-MITE!!!
wojr
Question of the day:
Is the man depicted on the cover "Gatunga the Axe-Man!" or "Jimmy Walker"?
Either way, DYNOOOO-MITE!!!
wojr
Labels: Nostalgia, Snide Remarks
Friday, May 14, 2004
IF SHE LOOKS GOOD TO YOU, YOU'VE DRANK ENOUGH..
God, I really do love these mugshots..
HAPPY 5PM FRIDAY EVERYONE!
wojr
God, I really do love these mugshots..
HAPPY 5PM FRIDAY EVERYONE!
wojr
Labels: 5PMSendoff, Nostalgia, Whores
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
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
Thursday, April 01, 2004
Day of Fools
Today is April the First - known to most as April Fools Day. Many of you dropped me a note admonishing me for not doing anything special for this day. Most believed that I would be a full supporter of this pseudo-holiday. While I support any holiday that Hallmark does not make money from (Groundhog Day Rocks), I don't like the concept of April Fools Day.
It's the one day that silly little pranks are not only expected, but almost socially acceptable. Well, fuck that. Who wants to do what is expected? Who wants to be socially acceptable? Don't be a sheep. People slaughter sheep. Save those pranks, save those practical jokes for the other 364 (or 365) days of the year when it's not a stupid little April Fools' joke. On those other days, these malicious actions border on vengeance. And let me tell you, revenge is much more satisfying.
For the same reason, I'm not a supporter of that "Night before Halloween" known to many as Mischief Night, Ghoulie Night, Devil's Night or Egg Night, depending on the location of your adolescence. Why do all that stupid shit on the one night that everyone is expecting it? And by everyone I mean parents, home-owners, business proprietors and, most importantly, police officers. Why not pick an arbitrary night some other month of the year and make that the new Mischief Night? It'll be easier to buy spray-paint, eggs, toilet paper, gasoline, kindling, neon pink dildos and whatever else one would need for successful hi-jinks. Plus, actions done on a quieter, calmer time of year might even warrant a mention in your local newspaper - and like I said, there is no such thing as bad exposure.
So, go out and raise some mischief. Just not tonight and not at the end of October. Pick something new. Damn tradition.
AND the first person to send me picture of some WOJR.COM graffiti will get a crispy dollar bill from yours truly.
wojr
Today is April the First - known to most as April Fools Day. Many of you dropped me a note admonishing me for not doing anything special for this day. Most believed that I would be a full supporter of this pseudo-holiday. While I support any holiday that Hallmark does not make money from (Groundhog Day Rocks), I don't like the concept of April Fools Day.
It's the one day that silly little pranks are not only expected, but almost socially acceptable. Well, fuck that. Who wants to do what is expected? Who wants to be socially acceptable? Don't be a sheep. People slaughter sheep. Save those pranks, save those practical jokes for the other 364 (or 365) days of the year when it's not a stupid little April Fools' joke. On those other days, these malicious actions border on vengeance. And let me tell you, revenge is much more satisfying.
For the same reason, I'm not a supporter of that "Night before Halloween" known to many as Mischief Night, Ghoulie Night, Devil's Night or Egg Night, depending on the location of your adolescence. Why do all that stupid shit on the one night that everyone is expecting it? And by everyone I mean parents, home-owners, business proprietors and, most importantly, police officers. Why not pick an arbitrary night some other month of the year and make that the new Mischief Night? It'll be easier to buy spray-paint, eggs, toilet paper, gasoline, kindling, neon pink dildos and whatever else one would need for successful hi-jinks. Plus, actions done on a quieter, calmer time of year might even warrant a mention in your local newspaper - and like I said, there is no such thing as bad exposure.
So, go out and raise some mischief. Just not tonight and not at the end of October. Pick something new. Damn tradition.
AND the first person to send me picture of some WOJR.COM graffiti will get a crispy dollar bill from yours truly.
wojr
Labels: Advice, Nostalgia, Snide Remarks
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
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
They're Afraid of Opie, I Tell You
My shit is psychic, yo.
According to this article, they are planning behind the scenes telepics of 'Different Strokes', 'Laverne & Shirley', 'Mork & Mindy' & 'Bewitched.' ("We need to do it in a non-exploitative manner." HA)
How can you include 'Laverne & Shirley' AND 'Mork & Mindy' but ignore 'Happy Days'? They're in the same damn TV universe, made by the same damn people. Why not do 'Happy Days' unless you are, like I said, afraid of Ron Howard?
I realize no one cares, but I love being right.
LOVE IT LOVE IT LOVE IT
(How much do you want to bet the 'Bewitched' telepic comes out just when the Nicole Kidman/Will Ferrell big-screen version hits the multiplex? Those TV bastards aren't as dumb as one might think.)
wojr
My shit is psychic, yo.
According to this article, they are planning behind the scenes telepics of 'Different Strokes', 'Laverne & Shirley', 'Mork & Mindy' & 'Bewitched.' ("We need to do it in a non-exploitative manner." HA)
How can you include 'Laverne & Shirley' AND 'Mork & Mindy' but ignore 'Happy Days'? They're in the same damn TV universe, made by the same damn people. Why not do 'Happy Days' unless you are, like I said, afraid of Ron Howard?
I realize no one cares, but I love being right.
LOVE IT LOVE IT LOVE IT
(How much do you want to bet the 'Bewitched' telepic comes out just when the Nicole Kidman/Will Ferrell big-screen version hits the multiplex? Those TV bastards aren't as dumb as one might think.)
wojr
Labels: Hollywood, Nostalgia, Snide Remarks
Friday, March 26, 2004
"But I Want To Be Respected As A Cartoon Character"
As promised, the other preview of Bored Crackers. Pass them both along to friends, cohorts or even dire enemies.
Also, if you look on the main entrance, there is now an option to join our mailing list. While notice of site updates will be posted here on the journal, my ego really craves a mailing list. I have used notifylist.com before and have yet to get spam from them.
And yes, I am hung over. So be nice to me.
wojr
As promised, the other preview of Bored Crackers. Pass them both along to friends, cohorts or even dire enemies.
Also, if you look on the main entrance, there is now an option to join our mailing list. While notice of site updates will be posted here on the journal, my ego really craves a mailing list. I have used notifylist.com before and have yet to get spam from them.
And yes, I am hung over. So be nice to me.
wojr
Labels: Crackers, Intoxication, My Comics, Nostalgia, woj
Thursday, March 25, 2004
Let's Spend a Few Minutes Discussing College..
I guess the latest propaganda magazine that my Alma Mater publishes has been making the rounds. Normally, it takes an extra day or so to make it to the West Coast, so my sweet copy has not arrived.
In the back of these publications, the school issues little blurbs about some alumni and gives the latest tally in the race to marry, give birth and die. Some of the ladies don't do things in that specific order, but we love them anyway. Basically, the whole thing is just fodder for my little sewing circle of friends to pick up the phone or drop an email to gossip. Especially when an ex-girlfriend is involved.. But anywho..
The point I was going to attempt to arrive at was - I am so glad I went to college when I did, 1991-1995. (Yeah, I'm frigging ancient) Even though the Internet would have made schoolwork much easier and the cell phone would have facilitated many a drunken hookup, I am utterly jubilant that I am not in college right now.
Why is that? Well, I'm glad you asked.
I've been checking out collegehumor.com a lot recently. Basically, it's free, it's funny and it has pictures of drunk & naked girls. All three are causes I can vehemently support. Essentially, collegehumor.com is going to prevent an entire generation from seeking public office as every evidential image of drunkenness, stupidity and debauchery that occurs on college campuses makes its way to the internet. With the proliferation of digital cameras & camera-phones, more and more of these pictures and sites will be on the Internet.
Now if this practice was around when I was in college, well, I wouldn't be on the Internet right now. I wouldn't even be in America. I would be in Uganda, atoning for my sins as a missionary of some sort. AND I WOULD NOT BE ALONE.
Therefore, it is a good thing that I went to school when I did. Not only do all my college friends get my obscure 80s references, but they keep the evidence of our youthful transgression hidden from the eyes of the public. Plus, I don't think my white ass would thrive in Uganda.
Plus, as friends and ex-girlfriends start to have children, I am also comforted to know that the evidence of their children's drunken exploits will be showing up on the Internet in less than twenty years.
Now, I'm off the scan some pictures. I think I have one of Dan is his blue panties.
wojr
I guess the latest propaganda magazine that my Alma Mater publishes has been making the rounds. Normally, it takes an extra day or so to make it to the West Coast, so my sweet copy has not arrived.
In the back of these publications, the school issues little blurbs about some alumni and gives the latest tally in the race to marry, give birth and die. Some of the ladies don't do things in that specific order, but we love them anyway. Basically, the whole thing is just fodder for my little sewing circle of friends to pick up the phone or drop an email to gossip. Especially when an ex-girlfriend is involved.. But anywho..
The point I was going to attempt to arrive at was - I am so glad I went to college when I did, 1991-1995. (Yeah, I'm frigging ancient) Even though the Internet would have made schoolwork much easier and the cell phone would have facilitated many a drunken hookup, I am utterly jubilant that I am not in college right now.
Why is that? Well, I'm glad you asked.
I've been checking out collegehumor.com a lot recently. Basically, it's free, it's funny and it has pictures of drunk & naked girls. All three are causes I can vehemently support. Essentially, collegehumor.com is going to prevent an entire generation from seeking public office as every evidential image of drunkenness, stupidity and debauchery that occurs on college campuses makes its way to the internet. With the proliferation of digital cameras & camera-phones, more and more of these pictures and sites will be on the Internet.
Now if this practice was around when I was in college, well, I wouldn't be on the Internet right now. I wouldn't even be in America. I would be in Uganda, atoning for my sins as a missionary of some sort. AND I WOULD NOT BE ALONE.
Therefore, it is a good thing that I went to school when I did. Not only do all my college friends get my obscure 80s references, but they keep the evidence of our youthful transgression hidden from the eyes of the public. Plus, I don't think my white ass would thrive in Uganda.
Plus, as friends and ex-girlfriends start to have children, I am also comforted to know that the evidence of their children's drunken exploits will be showing up on the Internet in less than twenty years.
Now, I'm off the scan some pictures. I think I have one of Dan is his blue panties.
wojr
"But I Want To Be Respected As An Artist"
It's late. I'm tired. And I still have porn to watch. Dwarf porn, no less.
Speaking of the little people - Here's a preview of Bored Crackers. Don't fret - a Wojr preview is coming.
And on an utterly unrelated note - I whipped this up while figuring out some of the finer points of Photoshop. I think it might make a killer website. (I miss my hydrant, Bronc. Where is my hydrant?)
(On a rare serious note - with Carmel away, I updated the main entrance page. It should now fit on everyone's screen without unnecessary scrolling. Plus the journal is nowaccessible from the 'map'. Be sure to check it out.)
As always, there will be more to come. (And no you can not borrow my Dwarf Porn.)
wojr
It's late. I'm tired. And I still have porn to watch. Dwarf porn, no less.
Speaking of the little people - Here's a preview of Bored Crackers. Don't fret - a Wojr preview is coming.
And on an utterly unrelated note - I whipped this up while figuring out some of the finer points of Photoshop. I think it might make a killer website. (I miss my hydrant, Bronc. Where is my hydrant?)
(On a rare serious note - with Carmel away, I updated the main entrance page. It should now fit on everyone's screen without unnecessary scrolling. Plus the journal is nowaccessible from the 'map'. Be sure to check it out.)
As always, there will be more to come. (And no you can not borrow my Dwarf Porn.)
wojr
Labels: Bronc, Crackers, My Comics, Nostalgia, The Wee Folk, Whores
Tuesday, March 23, 2004
But How Happy Were Those Happy Days?
(Warning: While I consciously avoided any of George Carlin's Seven Dirty Words, the following rant does delve into topics of gang rape, cocaine usage, interracial group sex, prostitution, Brady Bunch incest, sex with minors, cross-dressing, heroin addiction, female ejaculation, homosexuality and Ron Howard. Be forewarned.)
One of the positive things about growing older is, that given enough time, the truth comes out. And as it says in The Fountainhead, "the nice explanations are never the true ones". Especially in Hollywood. Given enough time, the spin-doctoring fades away and people realize which closeted actors enjoyed the sweet taste of man-love, that dehydrated actresses frequently suffer from heroin addiction and that Greg Brady tried to get with his on-screen Mother and Sister.
Thanks to Hollywood tell-alls and TV movies, the public has learned some of the truth about Three's Company, Charlie's Angels, The Brady Bunch and The Partridge Family.
But, what about Happy Days? Where's the tell-all on that show? Aren't Donny Most and Erin Moran hard up enough for cash to be fleecing the secrets of that beloved sitcom?
I mean the show was one of the biggest hits of the late 70s. Cocaine was good for you then. Bad things must have happened. Now, I don't mean bad things like the gang rape of Jenny Piccalo or Arnold and Big Al double-teaming a twelve-year old blonde mulatto, but, come on now, everyone saw the Mork from Ork episode. The only explanation for that mess is heavy drug use, plus I think cocaine originated at Robin Williams. Forget the movie Blow, that man is the source.
I know what you're thinking Happy Days is beloved. It's Americana. It's the epitome of conservatism. Just don't forget it's still Hollywood. I went to a conservative college for only four years and my friends & I have enough crazy sex stories from that period to last a lifetime (especially Phil's ultimate female ejaculation story.) That show was on the air for TEN YEARS in less than conservative Tinseltown. Heck, it's 2004 and Scott Baio still hasn't left the Playboy Mansion.
So..
Ask yourself, why call her "Leather Tuscadero" if she wasn't into S&M?
Ask yourself, what happened to the older Cunningham brother, Chuck? Or Fonzie's cousin, Spike? They just disappeared and were never mentioned again. My theory: cross-dressers. But, I have no facts.
Ask yourself, why was the dim-witted character called "Potsie"? I'm not saying for certain that the boy liked the marijuana, but that's the one guy on the show I would assume was holding.
Ask yourself, what was the deal with "the Pinkettes"? Was Pinky Tuscadero their madam, pimping those poor girls out to support her demolition derby career? (On a serious note though, Roz Kelly, the actress that played Pinky, got three years in jail in 1998 for "shooting up cars and a neighbors apartment after a car alarm went off in the early morning and woke her up.")
I'm sure there are more tidbits that need to see the light of day. But I doubt they will. I just think Ron Howard aka Richie has become too powerful in Hollywood. He's an outright mogul now and no one wants to cross that line. Even a man who blabbed so much he was dubbed "Ralph Malph".
By the way, about Jenny Piccalo's gang rape - here's an actual quote from the show: "I wouldn't miss this for a weekend with the Green Bay Packers as their towel girl!" The girl was asking for it.
wojr
(Warning: While I consciously avoided any of George Carlin's Seven Dirty Words, the following rant does delve into topics of gang rape, cocaine usage, interracial group sex, prostitution, Brady Bunch incest, sex with minors, cross-dressing, heroin addiction, female ejaculation, homosexuality and Ron Howard. Be forewarned.)
One of the positive things about growing older is, that given enough time, the truth comes out. And as it says in The Fountainhead, "the nice explanations are never the true ones". Especially in Hollywood. Given enough time, the spin-doctoring fades away and people realize which closeted actors enjoyed the sweet taste of man-love, that dehydrated actresses frequently suffer from heroin addiction and that Greg Brady tried to get with his on-screen Mother and Sister.
Thanks to Hollywood tell-alls and TV movies, the public has learned some of the truth about Three's Company, Charlie's Angels, The Brady Bunch and The Partridge Family.
But, what about Happy Days? Where's the tell-all on that show? Aren't Donny Most and Erin Moran hard up enough for cash to be fleecing the secrets of that beloved sitcom?
I mean the show was one of the biggest hits of the late 70s. Cocaine was good for you then. Bad things must have happened. Now, I don't mean bad things like the gang rape of Jenny Piccalo or Arnold and Big Al double-teaming a twelve-year old blonde mulatto, but, come on now, everyone saw the Mork from Ork episode. The only explanation for that mess is heavy drug use, plus I think cocaine originated at Robin Williams. Forget the movie Blow, that man is the source.
I know what you're thinking Happy Days is beloved. It's Americana. It's the epitome of conservatism. Just don't forget it's still Hollywood. I went to a conservative college for only four years and my friends & I have enough crazy sex stories from that period to last a lifetime (especially Phil's ultimate female ejaculation story.) That show was on the air for TEN YEARS in less than conservative Tinseltown. Heck, it's 2004 and Scott Baio still hasn't left the Playboy Mansion.
So..
Ask yourself, why call her "Leather Tuscadero" if she wasn't into S&M?
Ask yourself, what happened to the older Cunningham brother, Chuck? Or Fonzie's cousin, Spike? They just disappeared and were never mentioned again. My theory: cross-dressers. But, I have no facts.
Ask yourself, why was the dim-witted character called "Potsie"? I'm not saying for certain that the boy liked the marijuana, but that's the one guy on the show I would assume was holding.
Ask yourself, what was the deal with "the Pinkettes"? Was Pinky Tuscadero their madam, pimping those poor girls out to support her demolition derby career? (On a serious note though, Roz Kelly, the actress that played Pinky, got three years in jail in 1998 for "shooting up cars and a neighbors apartment after a car alarm went off in the early morning and woke her up.")
I'm sure there are more tidbits that need to see the light of day. But I doubt they will. I just think Ron Howard aka Richie has become too powerful in Hollywood. He's an outright mogul now and no one wants to cross that line. Even a man who blabbed so much he was dubbed "Ralph Malph".
By the way, about Jenny Piccalo's gang rape - here's an actual quote from the show: "I wouldn't miss this for a weekend with the Green Bay Packers as their towel girl!" The girl was asking for it.
wojr
Labels: Hollywood, Nostalgia, Sex, Snide Remarks, Whores
Monday, March 15, 2004
"In Only A Perfect World..."
For those of you don't know, I'm originally from the Jersey Shore. I guess there never was an Old Jersey Shore, because the "new" preface wasn't necessary. In my youth, I worked on the boardwalk in Seaside shilling ice cream. I made out with girls on the beach, even in frigid December. (Even proposed to one in a more recent and even more frigid December.) I raged against the coming of the BENNIES. I rotted my teeth with salt water taffy and zeppolis. But most importantly, I loved skee-ball. Rolling wooden balls up slanted ramps in vain attempts to land them in the 50 or 100 point holes, now that is pure bliss to me. Saving up a summer worth of tickets to buy objects that would be shunned at any respectable garage sale, that was my childhood.
If I had my way, in only a perfect world, I would open a "Skee-Ball Bar." No pool tables, no darts, not even a go-go dancer. (Ok, maybe one go-go dancer to add a touch of class to the joint.) Just skee-ball machines. And the tickets? Redeemable for drinks. For alcoholic drinks, of course.
Ahhh.. sweet nirvana. A skee-ball bar.
Unfortunately, insurance for a place like that would be astronomical. Even though the balls from billiards are made of denser material, no one would be worried about drunks hurling those around the room. They would be concerned about the "mullet" crew coming in and raising havoc with my precious skee-balls. Yes, I could see the broken bones and concussions now.
Plus, the novelty of such a place wouldn't hold. Hell, I'd get sick of it after a short while and I love the game. But, the memory would be better than the actual experience. It's like Pong. Sure, it would be fun for a game or two, but then you switch back to Grand Theft Auto. Maybe if you could play skeeball in Grand Theft Auto - and then start nailing people in the heads with those wooden balls. Yeah, that would work.
Man, I could really go for a zeppoli right.
wojr
For those of you don't know, I'm originally from the Jersey Shore. I guess there never was an Old Jersey Shore, because the "new" preface wasn't necessary. In my youth, I worked on the boardwalk in Seaside shilling ice cream. I made out with girls on the beach, even in frigid December. (Even proposed to one in a more recent and even more frigid December.) I raged against the coming of the BENNIES. I rotted my teeth with salt water taffy and zeppolis. But most importantly, I loved skee-ball. Rolling wooden balls up slanted ramps in vain attempts to land them in the 50 or 100 point holes, now that is pure bliss to me. Saving up a summer worth of tickets to buy objects that would be shunned at any respectable garage sale, that was my childhood.
If I had my way, in only a perfect world, I would open a "Skee-Ball Bar." No pool tables, no darts, not even a go-go dancer. (Ok, maybe one go-go dancer to add a touch of class to the joint.) Just skee-ball machines. And the tickets? Redeemable for drinks. For alcoholic drinks, of course.
Ahhh.. sweet nirvana. A skee-ball bar.
Unfortunately, insurance for a place like that would be astronomical. Even though the balls from billiards are made of denser material, no one would be worried about drunks hurling those around the room. They would be concerned about the "mullet" crew coming in and raising havoc with my precious skee-balls. Yes, I could see the broken bones and concussions now.
Plus, the novelty of such a place wouldn't hold. Hell, I'd get sick of it after a short while and I love the game. But, the memory would be better than the actual experience. It's like Pong. Sure, it would be fun for a game or two, but then you switch back to Grand Theft Auto. Maybe if you could play skeeball in Grand Theft Auto - and then start nailing people in the heads with those wooden balls. Yeah, that would work.
Man, I could really go for a zeppoli right.
wojr
Thursday, March 11, 2004
"No, Jeff Bridges was in Tron, Barry Bostwick was in Megaforce -- as ACE HUNTER"
On the way to work today, I saw two ads for "Scooby Doo 2." After some thought, I began to fell badly for all the poor parents that are going to get dragged to that train-wreck of modern cinema. All the fathers waiting desperately for Linda Cardellini to get in that skin-tight red vinyl outfit and offer them some brief respite from their 95 minute hell. Knowing full well that they cannot get that time back. Ever. That they paid good money to edge themselves 95 minutes closer to their death.
And it hits me...
I made my Dad go to some pretty crappy films as a kid. Some really bad films. I can't imagine that he took any enjoyment from the cinematic vision of Megaforce. Or took some childish glee in the adventure of Krull. And even though it has held up somewhat well, I don't think Tron was exactly the right film for my father. Hell, I'd bet 95 minutes of a computer-generated dog would have seemed like nirvana to him. Especially in the late 70s/early 80s, when the only things computer generated were those IBM punch cards.
Even the good films like Empire probably got old after a dozen viewings. But still, he took me. And look at me now - an utterly unproduced and unsuccessful screenwriter. But, my love for film was fostered by that man's willingness to sit through the crappiest films Hollywood had to offer. So to that, I say "Thanks, Dad."
Will I return the favor to my kids? HELL NO. I'm going to chain those bastards up to a computer and shove every coding language I can find down their throat. Let you idiots try to make the next Tiger out of your kids. I wants some of that Bill Gates bling-bling and I'll pimp my offspring to get it.
wojr
On the way to work today, I saw two ads for "Scooby Doo 2." After some thought, I began to fell badly for all the poor parents that are going to get dragged to that train-wreck of modern cinema. All the fathers waiting desperately for Linda Cardellini to get in that skin-tight red vinyl outfit and offer them some brief respite from their 95 minute hell. Knowing full well that they cannot get that time back. Ever. That they paid good money to edge themselves 95 minutes closer to their death.
And it hits me...
I made my Dad go to some pretty crappy films as a kid. Some really bad films. I can't imagine that he took any enjoyment from the cinematic vision of Megaforce. Or took some childish glee in the adventure of Krull. And even though it has held up somewhat well, I don't think Tron was exactly the right film for my father. Hell, I'd bet 95 minutes of a computer-generated dog would have seemed like nirvana to him. Especially in the late 70s/early 80s, when the only things computer generated were those IBM punch cards.
Even the good films like Empire probably got old after a dozen viewings. But still, he took me. And look at me now - an utterly unproduced and unsuccessful screenwriter. But, my love for film was fostered by that man's willingness to sit through the crappiest films Hollywood had to offer. So to that, I say "Thanks, Dad."
Will I return the favor to my kids? HELL NO. I'm going to chain those bastards up to a computer and shove every coding language I can find down their throat. Let you idiots try to make the next Tiger out of your kids. I wants some of that Bill Gates bling-bling and I'll pimp my offspring to get it.
wojr
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
Thursday, March 04, 2004
