I’m pretty sure I have a really bad addiction. Don’t worry. It doesn’t really involve drugs or alcohol in any way. I think I’m addicted to my Blackberry.

Don’t even start in with a ‘You can’t get addicted to your Blackberry’ comment. I’m addicted as hell. My thumbs hurt. I don’t even really use my computer for email anymore. Fuck, if I could run Photoshop, an ftp program, an SSH terminal, and a decent text editor on this shit, I wouldn’t even need a computer. I bought my Crackberry a couple months ago, and after about two hours on the phone with Verizon level 3 tech support, I was surfing the web, emailing, and instant messaging some hoes. Oh yeah, and I was completely addicted.

There was a nationwide service outage a couple weeks ago, and during those eight hours or so, I was about as uncomfortable as I’ve been since I dropped my cellphone and broke its LCD screen back in 2001. Why was I incomfortable? No push e-mail. Granted, I was sitting in front of my computer all night, which receives e-mail fine, but since my love affair with the Crackberry, I’ve completely forgotten how to use the email client on my laptop.

I may need help, but the upside to this addiction is that my email response time is never more than like 15 minutes. Also, I can still do business while I am out drinking heavily. When I was in Vegas drunk as hell a month ago, I was sending emails to a European company I do business with at two in the morning. When I did acid last weekend, I was still able to fire off a few remarkably coherent emails to a server admin regarding a new server set-up. This thing is amazing.

How much do I love it? I’m blogging right now during a dinner. You think I give a fuck? Now that I have the Crackberry, I’m always working. I love it.

You may be asking yourself ‘Always working? What the fuck? Your blog was a ghosttown over the last month, Fat Dick.’. You have a valid point, but look who threw down two shitty blog entries over the weekend. What’s up now, bitch?

I would write more, but I’m going to point my mobile browser to some hot shemale porn instead. Holler.

Just wanted to let you know that I literally have absoutely no idea what happened last night. Also, I am pretty sure that I am going to die of a hangover within the next couple hours.

All I remember from last night is watching The Girl Next Door at my place by myself, calling a very incompetent black woman at Yellow Cab Co. around 1am, and then leaving for a party in Beverly Hills. After hitting the bar at the venue, the next thing I remember clearly is being driven back to my place in a really expensive car around 7am.

There is a good possibility I was roofied. Maybe I roofied myself. Actually, I don’t know what combination of drugs I did last night, but I doubt one vodka tonic was able to fuck me up so much. I’m pretty sure I did a lot of nose candy, and I have a hazy memory of also doing half an e, but I’m not ruling out harder drugs as well.

Going through my pockets, I recovered an assortment of business cards.

The problem here isn’t that I blacked out. I black out all the time. The problem is that I really don’t know who was at the party with me, so I don’t have anyone to call to ask what happened. This makes me nervous that there is a group of people located somewhere in the greater Los Angeles area that is currently talking about the highly inebriated douchebag they encountered at the party last night.

A couple hazy memories have come back to me throughout the day in between dry heaving episodes and naps. Each memory that surfaces makes me more convinced that I did things which disgraced myself and my family last night. I think I am alright with this. Here are some moments I remember:

• Attempting to light a cigarette the wrong way
  Someone had to point out that I had the wrong end in my mouth after several failed attempts? Have you ever smelled a burning filter? Smells like shit.
• Forgetting where I live
  I don’t know who drove me home, but I definitely gave him the wrong directions and ended up about a mile away from my house. I didn’t realize this until I staggered around and explored the area.
• Having a detailed conversation about my gay fantasies
  This has been happening more and more after drinking heavily, which leads me to believe that I should have a gay experience and blog about it in detail. I’ll keep you posted.

If anyone has any details on what happened last night, please let me know. Thanks.

I don’t know when it happened, but sometime in the last year, all celebrities became expert scientists in the field of global climate change. Apparently they are the definitive sources on what we can do to stop global warming now. I have difficulties understanding why anyone would ever take scientific advice from any of these douchebags. Seriously. Actually, I find it so hard to understand this that whenever I even think about thinking about it my head hurts and I get cold sweats until I wash a Xanax down with a bottle of Chardonnay.

Does any celebrity have any type of educational background in science? I don’t think so. In fact, I’m pretty sure that I am more qualified to remove a brain tumor than Sheryl Crow is to tell me that only wiping my ass with one square means that the ice caps will stop melting.

I wipe my ass with at least six, by the way, and I only use ten-ply. Yeah, I said it. Sometimes I just throw toilet paper in the toilet and flush it to make sure that my plumbing is working properly.

It seems like everytime I read the paper I hear about some celebrity who is on a crusade to end global warming. How do these people get from public appearance to public appearance? A limo, of course. Or an SUV which transports their entire entourage. Real fuel efficient, dickfor.

I’m willing to wager that the majority of celebrities don’t understand what global warming is besides the fact that it has to do with the environment and that it’s really trendy to talk about.

I’m pretty sure that global warming does not exist, by the way. I don’t know about you, but I thought last winter was cold as hell. In fact, it just rained in Los Angeles last week. It’s April. You think it would be raining in motherfucking April if the world were heating up? Explain that one to me, Sheryl Crow.

Regardless of whether or not global warming is a reality (unlikely) or an old wives tale cooked up by the bored liberal media, I am sure of one thing: no one is dying, and accordingly, I don’t care. According to my actuary, I have about ten more years to live. I’ll die in my mid-thirties as a result of a hooker-administered drug overdose at the Chateau Marmont hotel in Hollywood. In light of this, I’m pretty sure that global warming does not have any effect on my life. Unless it leads to the world turning into a giant fireball in the next ten years. The odds of the world turning into a giant fireball in the next ten years, according to my actuary, are identical to the odds of me willingly having children, which conveniently leads me to my next point. Since I am not planning on [willingly] having children, I have no connection to anyone who will possibly be affected by this supposed global warming crisis within the next hundred years.

Sometimes you have to look out for number one.

So to recap, I don’t want to hear celebrities talk. About anything. Also, I haven’t blogged in a while and I needed to blog about something but I haven’t gone on a drug binge lately, which explains why this one was weaksauce.

It’s been super slow around here for the past few weeks, but I think I have a good excuse…

I don’t want to jinx anything because the ink has not dried yet, but I am set to launch two major projects over the next few weeks.  One will be launched within a week, and the other has a tentative timetable of five weeks.  Both are pretty major projects as opposed to the shit that I typically turn out to pay the rent.

So, you’ve been warned.

I will be making a conscious effort to actually post here now that things are returning to order.

It’s been really long since I posted last. I’ve been super busy, and I’ll probably get around to posting some sweet stories about my heavy drinking, drug use, and trip to Las Vegas last week tomorrow. Right now, it’s about 3am, and before I go to sleep, I wanted to tell you about my newest site, XXX Whack Shack.

First, let me say that it is a complete piece of shit. I made it in about forty-five minutes. (I started around 2am).

Regardless of how shitty my sites are, you, the surfer, always win. Why? Because XXX Whack Shack contains a pretty lengthy list of pornsites you can join for free. And I’m not talking about being able to view a few pictures and a grainy video. No, my friend, I am talking about legit memberships to pay pornsites for free. I know that I have showed you how to join pornsites for only a buck in the past, but this is a completely different ballgame.

You’re probably asking how it is possible to join a membership pornsite for free. The answer is simple. Many pornsites offer free trials in hopes that surfers will eventually join the paysite once their trial expires. I could give a flying fuck whether or not you eventually start paying. Allow me to point you in the right direction via XXX Whack Shack.

So stop getting jerked around all day trying to check out free porn. Stop going through pop-up window hell, and stop your monthly visits to Best Buy to get your spyware deleted. Check out XXX Whack Shack and enjoy full-length porn movies on paysites completely free of charge.

It really is completely free. I swear to Allah.