I think New Year’s Eve/Day might be my favorite holiday.  Why?  Well, it’s certainly not because I get to party with close friends.  I get to do that several days each week.  And it’s not because I get to start the new year with a clean slate because within fifteen minutes of midnight I have usually already stepped up my substance intake, pleasured myself, passed out, and done something to bring even more shame upon my family name.

The reason that I like the New Year holiday so much has nothing to do with the festivities that occur on New Year’s Eve.  No, my friend.  Instead, I love the New Year holiday because New Year’s Day is the one day each year that a substance abuser like myself can be completely comfortable, and talk openly about, having a hangover.

Every Thursday night, many people get a little too excited about the weekend and end up going out, getting wasted, and getting a huge hangover the next day.  Imagine calling into work and telling your boss that you don’t feel like coming in because you have a hangover.  While many alcoholics do this regularly, it is frowned upon in the business world.  On New Year’s Day, you don’t even have to call in.  The call has already been placed for you in the form of a national holiday which should have been named National Hangover Day.

Let’s think about the reason for setting up a national holiday on New Year’s Day.  What happens on this day?  It is not affiliated with any major religion.  It contains absoutely no parades, celebrations, formalities, or festivities.  Why, then, has New Year’s Day been declared a national holiday?

New Year’s Day has been declared a national holiday as reinforcement that it is completely cool to have a hangover from the previous night’s festivities.  Thus, I’m getting wasted.

Since New Year’s Day is a national holiday created to help Americans with their hangovers, it follows that the government promotes a wild night of drinking and drug use for New Year’s Eve.  Accordingly, as is my civic duty, I’m getting wasted tonight for New Year’s Eve.  Not just wasted.  Really wasted.  I typically get wasted on nights where I don’t have the help of a national holiday for my hangover recovery.  Instead, I have to Red Bull my way through the workday.

With the help of the New Year’s Day holiday, I can go big tonight and not worry about the consequences.  Fuck, I can go to sleep at noon tomorrow and wake up at 10pm.  I can get alcohol poisoning and be back from the hospital in time for an important conference call on Tuesday.  I can overdose and make it to a lunch meeting on Tuesday feeling great.  I can try drug and rape a hottie at a party tonight and be bailed out in time to launch a new site on Tuesday.  This is amazing.

Also, New Year’s Day serves as the only day during which it is cool to openly discuss how bad your hangover is with people you don’t know.  I can’t even count the amount of times that I have been in the line at the grocery store and said ‘Shit, I should have laid off the nosecandy last night.  I am hungover as fuck,’ as a way to start a conversation with the person in front of me.  It never works.  Instead of getting some much needed support, I get the evil eye.

On New Years Day, feel free to tell the person in front of you in line, the checker, the store manager, or the waiter that serves you wherever you go out to eat (because we know you’ll be too hungover to make anything for yourself).  Fuck, you can even call your parents and tell them about how bad your hangover is because they will probably have one too.

Instead of the evil eye, you’ll probably get a response similiar to ‘Shit, that sounds bad.  I woke up around four today and wanted to kill everything around me because my hangover was so bad,’ when you bring up the antics of the previous evening.

So go out, get wasted, and enjoy the hangover recovery day brought to you by our government.  Happy New Year!

For the past several months, I’ve been pouring huge amounts of time and money into a top secret project I am sure will revolutionize the internet.  My crack team of developers and I have been putting in the time at just about every bar in the greater Los Angeles area for meetings/drinking challenges as well as late at night on ICQ for all-night programming sessions.

It looks like development will be complete in early 2007, so I’ve been scrambling around submitting business plans to venture capitalists and contacting marketing consultants to figure out exactly what a successful launch of this new application is going to cost.

The new application I am speaking of will ideally serve as a module to an existing social networking site, and will completely change the way social networking is done.  Naturally, I’ve been in contact with several large, established social networking sites pitching the idea and, ultimately, asking for a large amount of marketing capital.

I had my first conference call with a certain large social networking site today.  I would love to mention exactly what site this was, but unfortunately I am not able to until I figure out whether or not they have decided to allow me to offer my application on their platform.  I can, however, give you the story of an amazing standoff that I had on this conference call.

The call was scheduled for 2pm, at which time a business partner and I made our way to the conference room of a Santa Monica office with notes in hand.  I was packing notes containing exciting regression analysis figures and recent test reports which would combine with my excellent business plan to produce a partnership slam dunk.  Or so I thought.

I was a little nervous when the AT&T Business operator connected us with a room full of product development VPs from this social networking site, but I started in quickly with my pitch.

‘Yes, we have read the information that you have given us thus far, but today we are interested in learning the details of the extension you are proposing,’ a voice from the other end said.

‘The nature of this application is somewhat confidential.  Since development is not fully complete at this time, we have not yet filed the appropriate forms to request our US patent, so I have to request that all members of negotiations sign a non-disclosure agreement before I proceed with further details.  I can have this non-disclosure agreement faxed over to your office right now if you would like to take a five minute break,’ I replied.

‘I don’t know if we agree that a non-disclosure agreement is necessary at this point.  Could you please try to provide further details without being overly specific?’

‘I do not feel comfortable discussing anything beyond the fact that this application can serve as a module to an existing social networking community and the potential revenue streams associated with this application as I have projected.’

‘Well we really cannot proceed with discussions until we at least hear the nature of your idea.’

‘I understand that, but I am not comfortable describing the workings of my idea until I receive a signed non-disclosure agreement.’

‘We are not interested in signing a non-disclosure agreement until we believe that we can benefit from the integration of this application.’

‘Unfortunately, I am not going to be able to discuss any further details until I receive a signed non-disclosure agreement.’

The conversation went on like this for several more minutes while I got more and more annoyed.  The call finally ended when another conference call was scheduled for next week.  There was no commitment made to sign a non-disclosure agreement.

So basically, I wasted most of my day.

I had to do some last minute travelling over the weekend, and I ended up leaving at around five in the morning on Friday. I had a couple options as far as transportation to the airport was concerned. Rather than call a cab, I opted for reserving a Supershuttle to save fifteen bucks, which was ironic because I treated myself to round-trip business class, a decision which more than doubled my fare.

Taking a Supershuttle at four in the morning was probably the biggest mistake that I have ever made. Oh, I got to the airport on time, but what I had to endure on the way to the airport was pretty fucking horrible.

There were two other passengers. The first was already posted up in the van when I got in. He looked like he sucked, and he attempted to introduce himself, but I was quick to give him the cold shoulder in order to assert my assholeness. He backed off.

After I got in, we picked up a pilot. Yes, a pilot. Pilots ride the Supershuttle, too. There was a really long and awkward moment of silence, and I could tell that the pilot wanted to start a conversation.

‘I love LA. Everytime I make it out here, I have such a great time,’ the pilot said.

[long silence]

‘Oh, that wasn’t your place?’ I asked in reference to where the pilot was picked up from.
‘No, that was my friend. Actually a friend of a friend. We really hit it off last night and she ended up asking me to come over. Boy, I’ll tell you, she was crazy,’ the pilot said. I could tell he was very proud of himself. The Supershuttle driver turned down the radio upon hearing this.

‘Oh yeah?  So you just come through LA and bang all of our ladies then leave?’ I asked. The other passenger let out a short chuckle after hearing this.

‘Well not usually. See, I have a girlfriend at home but things have been kind of strange lately,’ the pilot said.

‘Hmm, maybe you guys should break up if you are going to be doing other people,’ I replied.

‘Yeah, but she’s out of the country now,’ the pilot said in an attempt to justify himself.

‘I think I’m getting a little too much information here. Best of luck to you guys. I didn’t know that pilots took the Supershuttle,’ I said.

‘I hate taking cabs in LA. They’re so expensive. This way I’ll have a few bucks left for the bar in Florida,’ the pilot said.

At this point, I let out some nervous laughter. I was very happy I was not on my way to Florida, and I was also very happy that I do not regularly chat with pilots because, apparently, they are all really creepy douchebags.

‘So what do you do?’ the pilot asked.

‘I am a consultant,’ I replied.

‘Oh really? What kind of consulting? Do you just axe people all day?’ the pilot asked. This guy was quite the joker.

‘Information technology. Mainly internet development,’ I said.

‘Oh really, internet development? I know the guy who owns BangBros,’ the pilot said.

‘No you don’t,’ I replied.

‘Yeah, I do. I met him at a friend’s place a while ago,’ the pilot said quickly.

‘Oh, that’s really cool. It’s amazing that you know the guy who owns BangBros,’ I said. The Supershuttle reeked of bullshit at this point.

‘Yeah, guy’s a fucking millionaire. You can make a lot of money on porn. I’m thinking about investing in something,’ the pilot said.

‘Oh really? I’m kind of against porn. I’m pretty religious,’ I said.

After my last comment, the pilot turned around and things got really awkward once again. In fact, nothing was said by anyone until we arrived at the airport.

The moral of the story is that the Supershuttle sucks balls. In order to save fifteen bucks, I had to leave about forty-five minutes early from my house and chat with a douchebag. Is forty-five minutes of my time worth more than fifteen bucks? You better fucking believe it.

I took a cab back from the airport to my house.

I wish I had some stories from my trip to share with you. Actually, I do, but unfortunately I cannot mention certain things and certain people for certain reasons that I cannot discuss. I will say that throughout the course of less than forty-eight hours, more than forty-eight Coronas were consumed.

As I’m sure everyone remembers from an earlier post, someone tried to kill me at a bar a couple months ago by strangling me.  Last night I encountered this fucker again, and he was anything but apologetic.

I had a meeting yesterday afternoon, which went really well, so I spent the evening doing a victory lap around several bars in the greater Los Angeles area followed by a pretty lengthy blow session at my friend’s place in Beverly Hills.  I eventually found myself back in my neighborhood around two in the morning, where I continued drinking heavily at my friend’s apartment.  I was drinking at one end of the dining room table when I asked to be introduced to the dude at the other end.  After giving me his name, this fucker was like ‘Hey, didn’t I strangle you a while ago?’

I replied with ‘Oh, that was you,’ but I wasn’t really sure still because I was drunk as fuck throughout the entire strangling incident.  I was expecting some type of apology, but all I got was a detailed recap of the event and some bullshit justification about how I was saying everything twice and making fun of the fact that this guy was hanging out at a college bar when he was clearly past college-age.

Truth be told, this fucker is way past college-age, yet he is completely comfortable kicking it at college bars and indefinitely continuing his college education.  Perhaps he should have used my verbal assault as motivation to enter the ‘real world’ rather than looking like a dickfor.

Oh hey, a quick thought for this guy because I know he reads my blog: How about not doing blow off of the back of a magazine with a bunch of college students in an apartment at three in the morning on a motherfucking Tuesday?  Maybe you should be focusing on your Summer classes or building your resume.  Act your age.  Granted, your boy Fat Dick is allowed to be wasted seven nights each week because he is at a young age when that type of activity is accepted, but after a few years of college antics, you should be over it.  Straight up.

So anyway, I received no apology.  Actually, I may have received an apology, but I was really distracted by the fact that this guy was much smaller than me.  I could tear this guy up with, or without, my strap.  Don’t get me wrong.  I fully expect death threats and near-throwdowns everytime I get wasted at a bar.  I usually make up detailed stories about escapades with fellow drinkers’ mothers, sisters, or girlfriends.  Threatening me with a broken beer bottle or other gnarly weapon is completely accepted.  Fuck, that kind of stuff is actually applauded; I need something to blog about.  But if you threaten my life, then encounter me at a later date and realize that you just looked like a douchebag by doing so, at least have the decency to apologize (even if you are high as hell with several other people whose combined age is less than half of yours).

Another thing.  In his detailed account of the night’s events in order to justify the strangling incident, this dude mentioned that he hung out with a fat chick immediately after the strangling went down.  Um, how about not mentioning electing to hang out with fat chicks if you don’t want to get verbally assaulted by the Fat Dick?

One more thing.  As a rule of thumb, don’t expect that I am going to let things slide when I am clearly in the middle of a long night of drinking and drug use.  Let me explain.  This dude (I’m going to call him ‘the strangler’ for the remainer of the article) was giving me a look like I should be cool with him because I was wasted.  The flaw in the strangler’s reasoning was that my body has adapted to my partying habits to the point where I am actually more alert and coherent when I am wasted than I am when I am sober.  I perform most work wasted, interact with family and friends wasted, and if you encounter me at any point during a weekend, odds are that I am somewhere in the middle of a seventy-two hour drinking binge.  Bottom line: I’m not over the attempted murder incident.

I’m sure I will encounter this fuckface again, and if I don’t get an apology, some bad things are going to happen.  I haven’t really had any specific ideas as to what these bad things will consist of, and I am having problems because I am a lover and not a fighter, but there is a good possibility I will beat this guy with unconventional things that are not meant to beat people with.  Like lawn furniture.  Actually, I’ll probably just pay someone else to do that so I can watch.  When you’re a big deal you can do things like that.

All I know is that the strangler is not a nice person.

No joke, I’ve been rejecting calls from a particular client for like three weeks. That’s how I keep her in check. I probably won’t call her back until the beginning of next week, and she’s probably going to read this before then. Why do I routinely have to put my clients on time out? Well, I like recruiting clients directly from Client Hell, which is right in between Tijuana and Rosarito in Mexico.

In my earlier days of freelancing design and development work, I would take any project that would end up on my desk. Regardless of how random a client’s project was, or how much of a douchebag the client was, I would take his piece of shit project because I was, and am, completely addicted to money. After a while, I realized that I’m not the fucking hospital, and I can reject anyone who I don’t want to give amazing results to.

Currently, I am fortunate enough to have most of my personal internet projects doing very well, which leaves me with a good amount of money and the ability to reject client calls and randomly dump shitty clients whenever I feel like it. Trust me, there is nothing worse for workflow or cashflow than a client who is directly from Client Hell. How can you spot these douchebags? Allow me to list a few of my favorite client types from hell:

Your ‘Only’ Client

This is the fuckface who has convinced himself that he is your only client. Accordingly, calls you regularly, blows up your AIM, ICQ, Yahoo!, and MSN messenger accounts late at night, and floods your email box with emails that usually start off with ‘Oh I forgot…’ This guy is tricky because, on the surface, he will acknowledge that you have other clients, but subconsciously he really believes that he is the only one of value. You will look forward to the ‘Ineffective Emailer’ (see below) if you are currently dealing with the ‘only’ client because this client type from hell hardly ever expresses his thoughts in the form of email. Instead of cutting to the chase, he will leave you cryptic voicemail messages. The ‘only’ client also loves calling you repeatedly from multiple numbers to see if you are screening for his call before leaving a voicemail. Quite a tricky guy to deal with.

Stingy Motherfuck

You have to pay to play. It’s as simple as that. If a project comes across my desk less than 10k I’m not taking it. It’s just not worth my time. If the project is less than that amount, and the client isn’t a hottie, I will bid it up to 10k and not be concerned about whether or not I get it. I am sick of dudes who want a pornsite designed for three hundred bucks because some kid down the street just downloaded a bootleg copy of Photoshop CS and claims that he is a web designer. Adult is just like any other business; you need to have money to make money. Get together a solid amount of capital and do it right the first time by hiring someone who knows what the fuck they are doing. Trust me, you will get rich off a good website.

The Stingy Motherfuck is great because he has the time to dispute every line item on every invoice that is mailed to him regardless of how much the line item in question is valued at. He also has no clue as to what is involved in quality consulting work and expects to pay roughly 20% of the actual cost of his project. Watch out for this pennypincher.

Ineffective Emailer

I fear the Ineffective Emailer more than any other client from hell. Perfect example: this blog entry was inspired by what I encountered upon opening my email program a few minutes ago. I noticed thirty new messages. It had been a few hours since I checked my mail so this seemed normal. Upon downloading the messages, I noticed that sixteen of the thirty messages were from the same client with the same subject regarding the same issue. The client I am talking about is the client on time out whom I mentioned earlier, and she loves titling all of her emails with ‘Hey.’ What the fuck? How about writing the subject of the email in the subject field? Sometimes she’ll switch it up on me and title her emails ‘Hey Simon,’ or ‘Hey Simon Question.’ All are equally ineffective. She also has the tendency to shoot me between ten and fifteen emails regarding the same issue every day. I am thinking about writing an email to her with the subject line ‘Hey if you notice you are writing multiple emails to me in the same day why not send me one email at the end of the day with all of your thoughts in it so I don’t have to paste together your thought process throughout your work day?’ That’s a fucking efficient email subject.

Problem is, I have actually had a conversation with her about both of the issues that I just noted and she promised that she would change her ways. I just did a search to bring up every email she has sent to me, and I noticed that every one contains ‘Hey’ in the subject line.

Microsoft Paint Artist

This fucker is great because he thinks he is really cool. He’ll send you over a bitmap image that he made in Microsoft Paint and tell you about how it is much better than the design that a professional image designer made for him. I don’t know if you have used Microsoft Paint lately, but it really sucks. When I say that it really sucks, I mean that it sucks worse than Windows. Microsoft Paint even sucks worse than Internet Explorer and Outlook, and a hybrid Internet Explorer / Outlook program, should one ever come into existence.

Let’s talk about the kind of images you can produce with Microsoft Paint. Well, it doesn’t support anti-aliasing of fonts, so you are going to get some pretty nasty jagged edges on any text, and color is going to look like complete shit. Normally, I would say to each his own because I’m not really a designer, but the ‘Microsoft Paint Artist’ is unique because he wants to pay you to let him design his own site which will surely fail. He will waste your time with phone calls and emails requesting a progress update on his own design, and you can forget about promoting his shitty site in your portfolio.

The best way to deal with any of the clients from hell that I have just mentioned is to drop them completely. Eventually you will work out a sweet mix of cool clients who will sit back and let you do your thing without bugging you, improperly titling emails, sending you shitty bitmaps, or disputing invoices.

In the field of consulting, in my experience at least, project selection is just as important as project completion. If you select a client from hell, you are in for several months of torture, which is not going to be cost effective. When you produce solid results for your clients, you are going to have no problem recruiting more. I had to learn this the hard way by dealing with a few shitty clients, but now I am relatively happy with my client mix. Except for the client currently on time out. She’s probably getting dropped next week unless she gives me some bomb dome in my office like she did at her initial consultation meeting.

I’m not a violent person. Ask anyone who knows me and they’ll be quick to tell you that Fat Dick is a lover and not a fighter. That being said, someone stole my beerbong on Friday night, and if I ever find out who it was, I will literally beat him to death.

I’ve always heard stories about people who, after losing an arm or leg, claim that they feel as though the limb is still intact. I thought that these stories were complete bullshit and just another way for amputees to make me feel sorry for them by providing yet another excuse to bring up their missing limbs. ‘Oh, hey Fat Dick. I went to move my arm, but then I realized that it wasn’t there! Silly me!’

However, after losing my beerbong, I know exactly what these fuckers are talking about. For the last twenty four hours, I have been staggering around my apartment with a beer in one hand prepared to pour it down the funnel of my beerbong in order to consume it in record time. Sometimes I am upstairs in my room and I think something along the lines of ‘Hey, a beerbong would really wet my whistle now! Let me go fetch my trusty beerbong!’ Then I head downstairs fully prepared to pick my beerbong up from where I left it. Unfortunately for me, some fucker decided to steal my beerbong on Friday night.

Although my beerbong was only given to me as a present a couple months ago, I had some really good times with it. It easily held two beers, and feeling the cool liquid rush down my throat from the beerbong’s beautiful tube was better than sex. I always thought that my beerbong would be there for me because sipping on a brew really isn’t where it’s at. With my beerbong, I could easily go through a twelve pack in a matter of minutes.

I don’t know if the feeling that I do, in fact, still have a beerbong will ever go away. On the one hand, I want to remember the beerbong for the many good times we had together. On the other, I want to move on with my life and continue my alcoholism. Only one thing is for sure in this situation: if you stole my beerbong, prepare for a long and painful death.

I want to beat the person who stole my beerbong with an object that doesn’t lend itself to beating someone with. I feel like the death would be much more painful that way. Perhaps, if the beerbong is still in good condition when I recover it, I will beat the thief with it. If not, I will most likely use a garden hose, a large piece of wood, and/or a matress. In the case of the matress, I would simply repeatedly throw the matress at the thief while he is tied to something. I would need help throwing the matress, so let me know if you are interested.

The theft of my beerbong continues the recent trend of my most prized possessions being either stolen or destroyed. Previously, it was an object in my room that fell victim to a gay wrestling match. Now it is a beerbong that was given to me as a present to commemorate an event. My beerbong was hands down the best gift I have ever received, which definitely means something coming from someone who returns 80-90% of the gifts that he receives.

This situation is quite curious because it was not the result of a burglary at my estate or a gigantic party with random people. Fuck, I wasn’t even drunk on Friday night, so I have no clue how my beerbong slipped through the cracks. I saw a fat chick holding it early in the night, so I am somewhat curious as to whether she ate it later in the night. We had a small get together at our place and a friend of a friend of a friend must have stolen it if that is not the case.

I’m pretty upset about this whole situation. Not only is it cutting into my beer consumption, but it’s like losing a child. Everyone who sees me knows that something’s wrong.

So I am pledging right now to track down the thief, murder him, and then take back my beerbong. And then drink heavily. I will use all evidence available at my place, make phone calls, and talk to the authorities if necessary. My only concern with getting the authorities involved by filing a police report is that this situation is ultimately going to end with me murdering someone, so I feel like it might not be a good idea to have them involved with the matter.

If you have any information about my beerbong, please let me know. I am prepared to give a reward for any tips leading to the recovery of my beerbong.

Don’t even try sell me on some retarted logic involving how MTV should still be playing music videos. I don’t care what you say. MTV is back and better than ever with a new lineup of shows that are nothing short of genius. I’ll admit, I was losing faith in the media giant, but when they hit me with The Shop, I was like ‘Eh, well maybe they’re coming around.’ When they hit me with Yo Mamma I was like ‘Shit I know exactly exactly where I am going to be Monday through Friday at 6:00PM eastern standard time!’ But when the execs at MTV hit me with 8th and Ocean I was like ‘Fuck! Hold the phone! Fuck the job! I am going to get drunk and beat off to this shit every Tuesday at 10:30PM pacific standard time.’ I did just that.

Now that I hit up these MTV masterpieces regularly my life is roughly one hundred to one hundred fifty times better. Oh yeah, also just about everything in the MTV prime time lineup lends itself to masturbation. I can never decide if I like watching Matisyahu’s video in heavy rotation more or less than playing a game of ‘who would you rather fuck’ while watching 8th and Ocean. That’s a fucking tough decision.

In case you have been living under a rock lately, let me bring you up to speed as far as what’s crackalacking on MTV. Write this shit down. Strike that. Bookmark this permalink, fuckface, because you KNOW that you don’t want to miss future episodes of what I am about to describe.

The Shop

The Shop is built around what is probably the most revolutionary idea in modern television. ‘Hey, people talk about shit in barber shops. Let’s put a camera in one of those fuckers and count our money.’ The results are amazing. The crew on The Shop is so hilarious! I couldn’t stop laughing when the subject of modelling came up so they decided to have a runway walk-off right there in the barber shop! That’s so funny! I couldn’t believe they would do something so crazy.

It’s so cool how big time hip-hop acts come through the shop also! Fabolous was up in that piece just a few weeks ago! It’s so cool hearing big time rappers talk about their projects while wearing bling and getting their fade did.

I’ll tell you though, I would never pay for the kind of bullshit haircut this barber shop gives out. I have never been able to notice the difference between the customers’ hair before and after the haircut. They always look exactly the same. I would probably avoid that by not going in to get my hair cut when I am clearly not in the need of a haircut, or pulling out my strap if a barber tried to give me a bullshit fake haircut. I’m talking to you, Pop, because, according to your cast member profile, you ‘keep it real.’

Yo Mamma

I don’t know what I have a harder time understanding: How the fuck Wilmer Valderrama fucked Lindsay Lohan when he talks like that dude that checked me out at AM/PM this afternoon, or how the fuck this show got on the air. I have never laughed at anything, besides Wilmer Valderrama’s accent, while watching this show; in fact, I am usually disgusted by the time this thirty minute piece of shit has its way with me. But I keep coming back, and that is what makes MTV amazing.

Any contestant on Yo Mamma could easily get an arsenal of jokes from any of the many yo mamma joke books available just about anywhere. I saw one this afternoon while Wilmer Valderrama’s dad was checking me out at AM/PM. I could study one of those books for like five minutes while doing lines with the production assistant in the green room before the taping and I would be able to kill once the battle started. I may even flip the script and just do thirty seconds of Wilmer Valderrama accent jokes. Fat Dick don’t give a fuck.

8th and Ocean

I used to beat off to Laguna Beach pretty regularly, but now it’s all about 8th and Ocean for me. I would probably sacrifice my first born son for a chance to fuck that Irene chick up the ass. She probably has one of the hottest faces I have ever seen. Some dumb chick was trying to tell me that Irene has had plastic surgery but she was obviously full of shit. Beauty like that only comes from God himself.

So pretty much everyone on 8th and Ocean is really hot, and I have personally had lengthy masturbatory sessions to each and every cast member.

I really hope that MTV comes out with new episodes of all of the shows I just mentioned. They are really cool.

So it happened again last night. After I fucked some bitch up the ass and had her friend give me a blowjob I was craving another masturbatory session. Forget trying to operate my computer to hook up porn from my secret stash, at this time of the night I was so fucking trashed, I could barely even able to hold my head up. A look under the mattress would reveal several hardcore periodicals plastered to the boxspring with jizz from many nights past. In a last frantic effot, I turned on the TV. Luckily, That’s So Raven was on the Disney channel. Phew! That was a close one.

Seriously, though. You might not understand because you are always able to hit Fat Dick’s blog for a peek at his secret stash, but when you are in the mood to throw a beat and you have no material, you need to have a back-up plan of sorts. You have to expect the unexpected.

Because I’m all about contingency plans, I’ll help you out with this one. I have compiled a list of television shows you can masturbate to in the clutch. But I didn’t stop there. I also listed them in order of preference. Start at the top of the list and work your way down. Don’t thank me; your mom already did that for you last night.

1. BET Uncut

You better believe I would choose BET Uncut as number one on this list. It doesn’t get much closer to porn than this. Sometimes I even forego my hardcore porn options in order to masturbate to Uncut. If you like black chicks with broke ass teeth, thighs, and big asses, this is for you. This is one of the few shows on the list that you do not have to mute to masturbate to. Why? BET Uncut only plays the hottest urban party jams. Believe that.

2. Soul Train

I have jungle fever. Big time. I like seeing black chicks shake it. I like seeing black dudes breakdance during the ’solo dance’ segment of the show. I like seeing the Sprite Word Scramble solved about halfway through the show. This shit rocks. It doesn’t get much better. By masturbating to Soul Train, not only are you helping out the African-American community, but you’re also supporting the “longest running first-run syndicated program in television history.”

3. Lizzy McGuire

Hillary Duff is a fucking fox. I don’t care what you say. Also, despite popular belief, she’s old. One time one of my friends caught me beating off to Lizzy McGuire and then tried to use it against me in a social environment. Everyone was like ‘Ew Simon, you’re so nasty!’ But I was like, ‘Actually, Hillary Duff is 18 years old, thus making her completely fair game to masturbate to.’ Boy was that guy burned!

4. Anything on Lifetime

The only thing hotter than a chick in unrevealing clothing is a chick in unrevealing clothing dealing with family problems and/or a traumatic event in her past. Any Lifetime original contains a large amount of masturbatory material. Trust me on this one.

5. The Tony Danza Show

Tony Danza is a good-looking guy and he is very articulate. That’s all I am going to say.

6. The Simple Life

Make sure to mute this shit because the sound of Paris Hilton or Nicole Richie saying anything is bound to stop you in your tracks. I never really found either of them to be overly attractive, but a couple nights ago I saw an episode of this program where they were fishing in a swamp or something. I was strangely turned on. If I wasn’t already pounding a Venezuelan hooker doggystyle while watching, I probably would have thrown a beat.

7. Any Reality Show on MTV

In case you haven’t noticed, MTV hasn’t shown a music video in approximately six years. Instead, they show reality shows such as Real World, Road Rules, and Real World Road Rules Challenge. These shows all suck balls, so the fact that masturbating to them requires your set to be muted should go without saying. These shows should be your absolute last resort, but, since they are always on, it is good to keep them in your back pocket just in case. Certain episodes of Made, including ‘I want to be a rapper’ with some Jewish kid, should probably be excluded from this group of MTV reality shows. Keep an eye out for the anorexic chick on the current season of Real World. If you catch an episode featuring her heavily you are good to go. Watch out for extended segments of Mark and Landon arguing about strategy on Real World Road Rules Challenge.

I hope this helps.

I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the buzz around town is that my blog is getting to be a pretty big deal. Google is giving me some love, bitches are getting slickies over my recent posts, and the teachers who told me I would never amount to anything are pretty fucking pissed.

I’ve been talking up my blog out at parties to get laid. It always works. But over the last few days, I have been seeking validation. Is my blog really as big as I am making it out to be? My log files show a steady upward trend of web traffic, traffic to my sponsors is starting to convert, but I was looking for more. I wanted proof that my blog was, in fact, a big fucking deal.

That proof began rolling in about seventy-two hours ago. How? Two words: comment spam. A quick glance at my blog administration area this morning got me excited. Thirty-five comments awaiting moderation. Could this be the influx of comment spam I had been hoping for? Why yes, it is, and yes, my blog is officially a big fucking deal.

I normally don’t really have a problem with spam. It’s kind of annoying, but I respect spammers for what they do. These fuckers live the life. They are always in a broke ass East European country, and they always have a large amount of cash on them. They don’t give a fuck. Just glance at information about this spam bust. $20,000 in gold fucking bars? I want that shit. My problem with spam comes when it is not cleverly disguised as not spam. I get a chuckle when I open a virus in my email because it is cleverly marked as pictures from a friend I don’t have. I laugh when I send money to a guy in Nigeria who wants to be my business partner. This is all good.

Spammers with no skills are douchebags though. Glancing over this comment spam, I was surprised at how much the spam industry is off its game at the moment. Fuck, you can’t just hit me with a string of one hundred links to Viagra. Finesse that shit. Give me a story. Tell me you are connected with some foreign government and need me to send you money so you can send me more money back or some shit like that. I’ll approve your comment. I don’t give a fuck. Just come at me with some game. Please.

I am calling out to the spam industry. Step up your game. Hit me with some shit that will make me chuckle. I miss your clever easily believe scenarios such as the Microsoft one where you do some shit and Bill Gates sends you a fatty check. That shit was gold.

How are you going to remake Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, a classic movie that cannot be improved upon, and pass up a chance at remaking Scarface, a classic movie that sucks balls? Don’t get me wrong, Scarface is an essential movie that you must see in order to say things like ‘Oh shit you just hit a Scarface-sized line!’ or ‘Fuck if Tony Montana tried to hit this rail he would have a heart attack like a fucking bitch!’ or ‘Last Saturday night my desk looked like Tony Montana’s!’ I can go on for days. Problem is, if you have ever tried to watch Scarface all the way through, you, like everyone else, have realized that the movie sucks.

With a few slight modifications, Scarface could actually be a relatively good movie. For your convenience, I have outlined these modifications below:

1. Soundtrack by Andre Nickatina

Actually, only one song by this guy would be used, but it would be played over and over throughout the movie. Obviously, this one song is “Ayo for Yeyo.” Should be self-explanatory. Apparently, when Scarface was made in 1983, twelve year old kids were being employed by movie studios to make soundtracks using Casio keyboards bought at Radio Shack for twenty-five dollars. Also, no song faster than 15bpm was allowed to be used in a drug movie. “Ayo for Yeyo” is an upbeat party jam that I could listen to all day.

2. More Black People

Yeah, I don’t know about you, but I don’t really know too many Cuban dudes who run shit in the coke game. In fact, the closest I have ever come to buying blow off a Cuban guy was when I was when I did some coke with a Mexican guy I know. My nose hurt for like three weeks and I was seriously about to seek some medical attention. Oh yeah, and I felt like I was going to die for like a week and a half. A lot of people say they feel like they are going to die when they have hangovers, but I actually really believed that I was going to die. Like I was figuring out who to give my money to after I was gone and deciding who I should say goodbye to first. Everytime I watch Cops on TV, there are like a hundred black guys getting busted for selling blow. Also, a lot of rappers claim that they got rich by ‘flipping grams.’ Thus, I feel like the movie would be much more accurate if it featured only black people.

3. An All-Star Cast

Al Pacino is a good actor, but I want Jamie Foxx as Tony Montana. Why? No, I don’t think he is a good actor. Instead, I think he sucks and I want to see something bad happen to him in a movie. Does it get any worse than the final scene of Scarface? The heroin thing in Ray was kind of bad I guess, but ultimately he came out on top and didn’t end up face-down in an indoor pool halfway filled with his own blood. I was considering 50 Cent for the role of Tony Montana, but then I remembered that he is an even worse actor than Jamie Foxx as evidenced by his piece of shit called Get Rick or Die Tryin’. Plus, I think that Jamie Foxx can pull more chicks into theaters. It’s all about money here, people. I also want the entire Cash Money Millionaire squad in the movie. Fuck it, if there are not enough roles for them I want the stragglers as extras. Also, Samuel L. Jackson. We’ll have to create a special new role for him, but I want him to shoot Tony Montana’s friend (played by B.G. from the Cash Money Millionaires) at the beginning of the movie and make a bad-ass remark afterwards. Tony Montana’s friend was always a little bitch.

4. A Streamlined Plot

Did you know that the original Scarface was two hours and fifty minutes long? We can do it in under twenty minutes. There are really only two necessary scenes. First, the scene where Tony Montana’s partner in crime gets cut up by a chainsaw in the bathtub while Tony watches. That shit was savage. Second, the final three minutes of the last scene. Including only those two scenes will leave us with roughly eight minutes to divide between Baby and Lil’ Wayne from the Cash Money Millionaires tag-teaming bitches and Samuel L. Jackson doing gigantic rails in a strip club of some Brazilian hooker’s tits. You’ll get the bottom line of the story, trust me. Currently, every scene in Scarface runs twenty to thirty times longer than it should. Also, all of that shit with Tony Montana’s sister getting boned by his best friend is just plain boring. That shit goes on for like forty-five minutes, too. Whose sister doesn’t get boned by their best friend? Cry me a river, Tony.

5. No Licensed Posters Allowed

When ONE rapper on an episode of MTV Cribs has something you do, it makes you kind of cool. When EVERY rapper on Cribs has the same shitty poster of Al Pacino in Scarface that you do, it makes you a frat guy who got domed up by some drunk bitch last night because you told her about your raised truck. Scarface posters are played the fuck out, especially the nicely framed ones. They should all be collected and burned. This would restore some street cred to the movie. Oh yeah, ‘X to the Z’ XZIBIT can keep his, though.

I would like to be given credit for this movie when it is released because it is going to be fucking awesome.