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‘Buck Blog’ Category

  1. All the Ugly People, Where Do They All Come From?

    November 3, 2009 by BLAKEBUCK

    I love higher education.Over one’s time spent in college, erectile
    particularly here at Ole Miss, side effects
    one grows accustomed to seeing college students. Particularly, and
    young and attractive college students. Several times during my tenure here, friends from other colleges or parts of the south will visit and ask me, “Good lord, how are there so many hot girls at this school?”

    When surrounded by such an environment, it can be easy to overlook the great excess in which we live. And while I could wax poetic for 700 more words on how privileged I am to live in a town filled hot young sorority sisters with alcohol addictions, I’d actually like to comment on the other side of the coin.

    Ewe.The Mid-South Fair in Southhaven, Mississippi. Never will you find a more wretched hive of loathsome and horribly unattractive people. While local writer Neil White may have written in his new book of his time at a Louisiana lepper colony, who knew the parking lot of the DeSoto Civic center could give it a run for it’s money?

    Upon entering the gates I’m greeted by a sea of universally sad and defeated faces. While I don’t consider myself anywhere close to the slender and suspiciously homoerotic models of Abercrombie and Fitch, here in DeSoto I’m at least an A-. Particularly considering my teeth are correctly aligned, I can breath through my nose, and I’m not wearing a shirt depict a wolf howling at the moon I got from the Chevron.

    In a way it’s even a sort of ego boost.

    I want to eat all of this.Now in defense of the Mid-South Fair, to most people it would seem like a fairly average place. But I am from Oxford, and thus fall victim to a condition known as EHIS, or Excessive Hotness Isolation Syndrome. Ask any student who’s taken a trip back to their hometown or anywhere near Starkville and you’ll hear the exact same thing.

    So I salute you, girl running down Jackson avenue at 6:30 in the morning as I drive to work eating a McGriddle, for keeping this town beautiful.


  2. After the Subway Stops in DC: Part 2

    August 7, 2009 by BLAKEBUCK

    Sunset. Mike’s black SUV tears down the backroads of DC along the Potomac river.

    “I’m not telling you who I’m fuckin’ Tony. It’s someone at the office. You’d squeal under the lights.” Mike said as he angrily swerved into an oncoming lane to get around a car waiting to go straight in the right-hand lane. “Learn your fuckin’ lanes asshole!”

    We arrived at the club. A small irish pub with a parking lot full of extremely expensive cars.

    Pointy.“Shit! Look at that Tesla! Parked right by the door so I’ve got to stare at it as I walk in” Mike said as Tony leaned into the convertable for closer look. “Get out of there Tony! You don’t touch a man’s car. It’s a rule of life”

    The bar was dimly lit, pancreatitis and packed with unremarkably dressed dad-types in their late 40s. As we entered the bar, visit the quiet murmur of conversation was broken with several ‘Hey Mike!’s and shoulder-slap greetings.

    “Two Guinesses for my intern friends Paul!” Mike shouted as he became wrapped in conversation with a small group of guys. Tony and I grabbed our drinks and spotted a table in the back of the bar.

    It’s a strange thing to observe society’s financial and political elite mingle with one another. Conversations filled with nothing – talks about your favorite boat-accessible restaurant and how the new landscaping is shaping up. Somehow this group of society’s best managed to end up less remarkable than my idiot friends at the bar.

    After a few moments Mike strolled over with a group of guys, one of which he introduced as “Johnny”.

    “Johnny, these are my interns. We treat them like shit and pay them nothing – it’s awesome. Guys this is Johnny – he’s a cool dude. He was one of the arresting officers in the Watergate scandal”, Mike said.

    After a few moments of talking, Mike was right, Johnny was a cool dude – a bit older and slower, but with a fire in his eyes.

    You were a crook.  Asshole.“You know, they say the Japs bombed us in Pearl Harbor. Was I there? No, but I believe it because that’s what I’m told. When we arrested those burglars in 1972, I found a key in one of their back pockets that belonged to a well-connected call girl we found at the scene. But nobody every wanted to hear about the key or the girl, especially those two reporter assholes. Woodward and Bernstein – they would have sold their mothers to make a story. 30 years later, everyone accepts their stories as fact”, Jonny said.

    My limited knowledge of Watergate left me somewhat confused – I’d never heard anything about a key or a call girl. But Johnny was on a roll.

    “Because that’s who makes history. The papers and the assholes that run them. Now that I think about it, I really don’t know if the Japs did bomb Pearl Harbor. I wasn’t there – it’s just what I’m told.”

    I wasn’t quite sold on Johnny’s story, but his message spoke the truth. My only connections to the entire global political scene were quite possibly sitting around this very bar, reminiscing about the time they passed out drunk and Mike charged them twenty bucks to drive them home.

    4AM. Tony and I stagger into the small 24 hour bodega across the street from his apartment. The cashier stares at me blankly through bullet-proof glass as Tony walks over to the freezer.

    “Jesus Christ I need a diet coke!”

    A small newspaper stand sits next to the cashier’s booth.

    “So what do you think. Did the Japs really bomb Pearl Harbor?”, I ask as Tony begins to check out.

    “I just walked for 4 hours across all of DC. I really don’t give a shit”

    “Yeah. Me neither”


  3. After the Subway Stops in DC: Part One

    August 5, 2009 by BLAKEBUCK

    The streets of DC were completely empty. Not another soul in sight for miles.

    “I mean, sovaldi does it not seem just a little weird I’m less than a thousand feet from Obama and nobody’s inspected this bag? I don’t know much about nuclear warheads, grip but fuck man, it’s 2009. I’m sure you could fit one in here”, I said as I inspected the size and volume of my messenger bag. “Then boom! No more executive branch”

    Tony didn’t seem to notice or care for my critique of Whitehouse security. Perhaps it was because we were approaching a security station, or because I was drunk. Maybe it was just getting late. Jesus! Two-oh-nine?

    So very, very drunk.“Well shit! Where are those communists protestors now?”, I shouted.

    “They weren’t communists – they were chinese citizens trying to stop the violence of Xinjiang”, Tony muttered in a tired voice. I was in pretty decent shape this summer, being unemployed is amazing for your workout schedule. I couldn’t say the same for Tony – he’d been steadily slowing for the past 8 blocks or so.

    “Communist insurgents, Xinjiang protestors, what’s the difference?” I thought back to a few hours before, when Mike introduced us to Johnny at a place he affectionately referred to as “the club”.

    “The club? It’s where DC’s millionaires go to show off their new Mercedes’ and get fucked up”, Mike shouted from the other room. Mike’s house was fairly large, yet every area still resembled a dorm room.

    I was still sorting through his massive collections of hats collected from dozens of news stations. Though Mike was Tony’s boss and news director at XXX Washington for over 10 ears, he’d worked at almost every other national news organization in the DC area.

    “Check this out” Mike said as he walked into the room holding a picture. “Me and Tom Arnold back when I used to work at XXX. And her on the right is this Fox News producer chick I used to fuck” Mike paused. “We don’t fuck no more though”

    Mike isn’t what you’d call a classically handsome guy; out of shape and over 50 – and looks to have lived all those years pretty hard. Yet it came as no surprise to me that he was involved with this attractive young Fox producer. It’s like he was from another world – where everyone is a rockstar from birth.

    “Alright, enough lookin’ at my trophies. I’m gonna smoke a bowl then we’re going to the club. Oh wait! I forgot to show you guys my motorcycle!”, Mike said as he hurried off to the garage.

    “So what do you think of Mike?”, Tony asked as we continued the 25 block voyage back to his apartment.

    “I think that that’s going to be me in 30 years. And I’m not sure if I like it or not”, I said.

    (Continued in part two…)


  4. Goddamino’s Pizza

    July 8, 2009 by BLAKEBUCK

    Kiss me, <a href=viagra 40mg black 70’s Michael.” width=”300″ height=”292″ />“I just wanted to say, medicine ever since I was born, information pills Daddy has been the best father you could ever imagine. And I just wanted to say, I love him so much”

    As touching of a sentiment as this may have been, little Paris’ speech had lost it’s luster the 13th goddamn time I’d seen Michael Jackson’s funeral recapped. The four o’clock news, the five o’clock news, the six o’clock news. Then national recaps via NBC Nightly News and Access Hollywood.

    Daddy has been the best father you could ever imagine? Really? Don’t you think your perspective is a bit limited, seeing as how he’s the only father you’ve ever had? Surely someone else is more qualified, say a troubled youth who’s bounced from foster home to foster home? You know, like the kid from Terminator 2. And he ended up saving the world. From the machines.

    “So turns out you’ve got acute food poisoning. Possibly from the pepperonis on the pizza. We’re gonna prescribe you some antibiotics and send you on your way”

    The doctor is a young indian guy with a stylish haircut and a no-nonsense attitude. If it weren’t for the searing stomach pain, I’d say I was on the set of the latest hospital drama. Soon he’d be telling me about the hard call he had to make between the burn victim and the suffocating child.

    “Up next, Michael’s estranged wife was absent from the funeral, find out more in an uncovered lost interview”

    Once something is past the prime of it’s life, it’s easy to throw rocks. Pick apart it’s flaws. Become poisoned by unhealthy thoughts.

    SEX. ON. WHEELS.“If you have anymore nausea or vomiting take one pill every four hours”

    But once something is truly gone, all that seems to go away. You only remember the good times. The moments that made you smile.

    Then again, iGame Radio just redesigned their website. Yup. Mac gaming still sucks cock. Perhaps more now than ever. But hey,

    Omaha is lookin’ hot.


  5. Mullet, Son

    March 6, 2009 by BLAKEBUCK

    Here it is. In all her glory. After talking about getting a full-blown mullet for years I’ve finally done the impossible.

    Behold! MULLET PERFECTION!

    Nice hair.Great hair.Nice lifestyle.


  6. I Don’t Wanna Grow Up

    March 5, 2009 by BLAKEBUCK

    Miller's nice place.  I live in garbage.“I’m a Toys-r-us kid” I can still hear the jingle in my head to this day. As I sit in this lavish apartment in Baltimore, medicine I can only think to myself, is it time to grow up? Will playing videogames, shotgunning beers, and meeting girls in bars soon become a thing of the past? Am I too old to be a Toys-r-us kid?

    “I’m telling you Blake Buck, you’ve got to start investing now. You’re young, and you have plenty of time not only to save, but diversify your portfolio with riskier stocks. Sure, there isn’t a guarantee for success, but the profit margins on high risk stocks can really put you in a better…”, William continued to drone on. I stared blankly out the window of Nikki’s black SUV traveling along Interstate 95. I tried to feign interest, but I knew it was no use. My mind trapped in a tailspin of dangerous thought.

    My best friend William is now a grown-up. No longer a Toys-r-us kid.

    A steady job that he loves, a great apartment downtown, a fantastic long-term girlfriend, and even a plan for his early retirement. Life – wrapped up with a nice little bow on top. In a way, it’s the American Dream. William is an extremely talented, hard-working, and amazing person and deserves every last drop of it.

    Why is it then, that I feel like I’ve lost my friend? Or at least, been left behind?

    Knight.  Fucking.  Rider.Could this be disguised jealousy? A secret anger that he has, in a way, the things I’ve strived for and still don’t have? Has he himself become more distant because of his work and new life? Does the horse and buggy always have to turn into Knight Rider?

    Is it wrong to look at this picture of the American Dream and ask, is that it? Now what happens? Where’s the excitement?

    As I grew more concerned with this “grown-up” lifestyle, perhaps fearing I’d never make it there myself, I asked William’s roommate and co-worker Dave what he thought about living the American Dream as we walked out of Sears – Dave having just bought a garment bag. His answer surprised me in one sense, and in another, I already knew what he was going to say.

    “Well, I live half the American Dream. Going to work and making money doing what you love is great and all. But figuring out what to do with yourself once you get off work is the real question”

    Perhaps Dave is right. Or maybe it’s just the growing pains of moving to a new city and starting a new life. Or is this disconnect I feel now a sign that I was never meant to grow up?

    I suppose only time will tell.


  7. Hash Runner Part Two

    February 10, 2009 by BLAKEBUCK

    Tokyo drift.“These virgin checks suck ass” I moped as three of us ran past Abner’s on the square. It wasn’t looking good: we’d found two hash marks but couldn’t locate the third. I was still in high spirits though – the alcohol seemed to give my legs a fluidity about them that made the running sleeker.

    “Ah crap!”, here my virgin companion suddenly exclaimed as he pointed behind us. Back at the check, recuperation the rest of the group was heading off in the opposite direction – meaning we’d run 3 blocks the wrong way.

    “Well it could be worse – god only knows what happened to that guy we sent down the -” Tires squealed. The car, which seemed to have appeared out of thin air, groaned to swerve into the left lane. My hasher friend just stood there, in the middle of the street, still barely aware of what was happening. Yet in less than a second, we were back.

    “Woooo! Awesome man! Let’s hurry and catch back up!”, he shouted as we ran across the street. Somewhere, perhaps in deep space, I could feel my reasoning self screaming protests at the top of his lungs. ‘Go home! Your drunk! That dude almost died!’ – all nonsense quickly dismissed by a lust for the next beer stop.

    “Good afternoon Doctor Worth!”

    Disgusting.My english professor from two semesters ago simply nodded at me. He was on a walk with his wife, and she wasn’t exactly what I expected. A shorter woman with long dark hair and an orange shaw that screamed ‘I never grew out of the love generation’. Then again, I’m sure we weren’t quite what she was expecting of his students either – a pack of twenty hyenas under a full moon running towards the cliff.

    “Shit! Double blowjob!”, someone towards the front of the group screamed. This meant we’d have to run two check’s back to find the true trail. In frustration, people began shouting, “Double blowjob!” at the top of their lungs as we ran through the quiet high-class southern neighborhood. A father, mother, and two kids working in their yard simply stared back at this horrific spectacle unraveling in front of their home.

    We did it!“Tuesday is three fingers day! Monday is a wanking day!”, the crowd belted from the back of some university building. Was it the Ford Center? Was it the Alumni building? The school of journalism? I couldn’t really tell, but this loading dock provided all the shelter we needed from University Police as we pounded Kool-Aid vodka shots from the trunk of our Mercedes beer wagon.

    For 18 years this traditional meeting of athleticism and alcoholism had inspired generations of students. 18 years of using a log as a beer holster while you tie your shoes. 18 years of excited guys shoving their hand down a girl’s jeans. 18 years of being able to feel your bones, but not your skin.

    “Saturday is a hashing day!” The crowd continued to sing as I glanced around the group. Hair was matted against sweaty foreheads. Deodorant had evaporated hours ago. Makeup was virtually gone. This was humanity with no reservations – no tricks. People in their purest form.

    “Saturday is a hashing day!” And perhaps that’s all there is.


  8. Hash Runner Part One

    February 5, 2009 by BLAKEBUCK

    The end of every good hash.“Drink it down, viagra buy down, down, down!”, the cries echoed into the darkening twilight sky. I hadn’t realized how late it was until just now, the group’s curious eyes and inviting grins had been replaced by dark, angry shadows. I was surrounded by creatures less than human – raw animalistic instinct gone mad within God’s most sophisticated form.

    The virgin next to me was already halfway through the “holy vessel” – a glistening silver bedpan filled to the brim will every poison known to man. I wasn’t sure if I would make it – my body and mind clocked out a long time ago. I was in a dim tunnel that kept sharply curving – never letting me see the end.

    “Why are we waiting? Could be masturbating! Oh why, are we waiting so God! Damn! Long!” The head Hare, or ‘religious advisor’ as they’re sometimes called, shoved the foul bedpan into my face. My nose recoiled at the smell of Natural Light, Keystone, High Life, tequila, Wild Turkey, and something similar to Tabasco mixed together to form the eighth deadly sin.

    But you’d be surprised what physical exhaustion, excessive drinking, and extreme peer pressure can force one to do. I tilted my head back and drank this evil elixir like some sort of unholy baptism of fire.

    I had become a hasher.

    Booze = to the right.Saturday, 2:40 pm. Being in the middle of the runner pack is a larger responsibility than it seems. Get too far ahead, and the folks behind you could easily lose the trail – get too far behind and you lose the trail yourself. I was beginning to regret my decision to do this so called, “Hash Run” – all it’d gotten me was 3 miles of running and a red solo cup of beer. I thought it was a drinking club with a running problem, not vice versa.

    Hell, at this point, I was pretty close to my house. I could pull this plug on this ludicrous adventure right now if I wanted; turn back to cultured society and do my taxes early. But that’s when I saw two large letters scrawled on the concrete beneath my wary feet: BN. Beer Near.

    Following the waving pirate flag, I made my way into Jubilee, where several six-packs of High Life were waiting for us at the bar. Something about a strong thirst and tired legs makes beer taste like the mana of the gods. I had just begun to enjoy myself when I learned it was time for the ‘virgin sacrifice’.

    Breakfast of champions.“Does she have the rug-burned knees? Yes she has the rug-burned knees!”, the crowd of mostly college-aged guys shouted as they spun in circles holding their beers high above their heads. “Does she have the swinging tits? Yes she has the swinging tits! Does she have the blowjob lips? Yes she has the blowjob lips!” The howling and dancing continued as the virgin sacrifice, a new female member stood atop a chair being jeered by the crowd.

    Her expression was a mixture of laughter and self-conscious meekness. But there was something beautiful in that, something strong. Maybe it was just the two bottles High Life quickly absorbing into my blood stream. But as illogical, insensitive, and cruel it seemed…

    Once you start hashing, it all starts to make sense. Sort of.

    No time to figure it out, the head of the pack was already out the door on the way to the next ‘check’. And I’m feeling it now.

    Continued in Part Two…


  9. The Physical Challenge

    January 17, 2009 by BLAKEBUCK

    Rumer Willis
    Entertainment Weekly’s 5th Annual Pre-Emmy Celebration – Arrivals
    Hollywood, malady California – 15.09.07
    Credit: (Mandatory): Adriana M. Barraza / WENN
    Make fart noises.  With your phone.  Hilarious.“The Golden Globes suck now – it’s like I’m watching a fund-raising dinner for scoliosis, pilule not a Hollywood awards show” I said to my brother, medicine
    who had the Tivo cued to the rather underwhelming awards show.  Perhaps it was my overall disdain for television that had clouded my judgement; all brain heard was, tadalafil
    “And the award goes to… Some actor you’ve never seen before in some show that you heard a few people talk about but no one actually watched!”

    “Shut up – everybody knows the Golden Globes are like the precursors to the Academy Awards.  The things that happen tonight can affect who gets the oscar next month”, my brother said. But I wasn’t really listening – I was knee deep into my latest hobby: reading crap reviews of iPhone Apps in the App Store.  iPhone app reviews always go one of two ways: “OMG BEST APP EVER.  I bought it and my life changed forever after that moment” or, of course, the other way, “WTF this app SUCKS.  Crashed constantly, costs too much, and icon looks stupid.  COMPLETE WASTE OF MY PRECIOUS 99 CENTS.  I  demand a refund.  Anybody who likes it must be retarded.”

    I was on page three into a review for iFart Mobile, and app that makes farting noises.  I have no desire to have an app that makes farting noises – why on god’s earth am I looking up reviews?  Maybe it’s this homemade margarita my brother made me  – does he even know how to make an alcoholic beverage?  Gassyman100’s review, entitled “BEST APP IN THE HISTORY OF MANKIND”, had the following to say: “You show me a man who doesn’t think this app is hilarious, and I’ll show you a gay man.”

    Now if only there was a female Hans Gruber...Hahaha!  “I’ll show you a gay man”  Well played sir.  While there’s a part of me that hopes that this review was written in a Andy Kauffman subversive style of comedy, I knew more likely, it was simply written by and idiot.  I began to ponder, “Why is it that any idiot can review an iPhone app?  Or for that matter, even have an opinion?  Who gives Gassyman101 the right to judge the creative efforts of another?”

    “And presenting the award for best supporting actress is Rumer Willis, daughter of Demi Moore and Bruce Willis”

    “GOOD GOD.  Bruce Willis has a DAUGHTER.  And she is hot.  She even kinda LOOKS like Bruce Willis” I exclaimed like a schoolboy who just peeked into the girl’s locker room.  This revelation seemed lost on my brother, who was busy looking up more Golden Globe predictions online.  But I knew what I just discovered was something quite profound.

    “That’s it.  I’m done with all my current career and life aspirations.  I’ve got a new calling.  I’m going to have sex with Rumer Wills – because it’s the closest you can ever come to having sex with Bruce Willis.  Without being gay”

    Maybe I’m right, and stupid people should have the right to judge other’s creative works – not in the app store, and not in Hollywood.  But the judges are in on Rumer Willis.  FOUR THUMBS UP.

    Global warming, anaemia
    the economic crisis, hospital
    and the collective works of Coldplay.  All disasters that the knowledge of Blake Buck has help thwart.  But even the great Lord Buck is not above the occasional product sponsorship.

    This video represents my favorite way to shoot – starting off simple within the confines of the premise, and ending with something that is completely removedfrom the source.  While this is the third, and for now final “Treasured Moment”, I’m sure we’ll see a few more videos along these lines in the future.

    LINK:   YouTube Quicktime

    Global warming, buy the economic crisis, pharmacy and the collective works of Coldplay.  All disasters that the knowledge of Blake Buck has help thwart.  But even the great Lord Buck is not above the occasional product sponsorship.

    This video represents my favorite way to shoot – starting off simple within the confines of the premise, and ending with something that is completely removedfrom the source.  While this is the third, and for now final “Treasured Moment”, I’m sure we’ll see a few more videos along these lines in the future.

    LINK:   YouTube Quicktime
    On your mark.  Get set.Few things on this earth please me as much as watching a solid episode of the Nickelodeon classic “Double Dare”.  Sure, advice
    I might be a little too old vats of slime and a pudding slide, but there’s something to be said for the sheer visceral excitement of the obstacle course.

    Eight cream-filled obstacles to conquer in sixty-seconds, all the while the Double Dare theme blaring at max volume and Mark Summers along with a full studio audience of kids screaming at the top of their lungs.  The small studio setup also meant that the entire course was filmed with only one camera and no cuts: an intense almost first-person thrill that keeps the adrenaline pumping.

    Most of the time the kids lost, but it didn’t matter.  You were lost deep in a frenzy of colors and sounds, a sort of pre-teen LSD.  Behold 90s game show transcendence!

    You can now die knowing you will never witness anything that exciting ever again.

    -BLAKEBUCK


  10. Judge Not

    January 15, 2009 by BLAKEBUCK

    My average weekend.I finally collapsed on the second landing of the stairwell.  I stared up at the shadows of the rot-iron railing cast against the ceiling of this extravagant mansion.  Perhaps in some ways, geriatrician this lifestyle had become a prison of it’s own.  But no use looking for the answers now – the only thing my mind could process was how to keep myself from peeing on the persian rug.  No – if I wanted to find the answers, web I’d have to look back.

    There is no greater joy in this world than a Monday night in Oxford, Mississippi.  Sure, it’s not the biggest city (we don’t even have a Target), or the most socially equal one (black people were illegal here until 1984), but it has a certain southern charm that makes even the most seasoned of alcoholics feel right at home.  And it is on these special Monday nights that The Rooster has two dollar pitchers and three dollar wing baskets.  A social gathering I’ve lovingly come to refer to as WANG NITE.

    After basket number two and pitcher number three, I’m ready to start spinning my tales to the eager yet easily distracted audience at my table.  “So then the hispanic guy starts getting frustrated, and says, ‘No, me amigo.  My friend say he want to party wit you” – suddenly my phone rings.  It’s Rob, texting the only possible phrase on earth that could pull me away from wang nite.

    “DUDE, ALL THE BOOZE IS FREE.  Parrish’s is closing, tonight is their last night and they’re GIVING EVERYTHING AWAY”

    The tears of a clown.I’m blazing my way out the door when I’m stopped by an old female friend of mine.  “Shut up Johnson!  No time to run game right now!” says Brain.  I’m out the door when the doubt starts to set in.  “Free booze?  Rob is drunk.  Does he even know where he is, let alone how much things cost?”  But as soon as I walk in the Parrish’s, it’s completely obvious he was right.  Every breathing creature in sight is obliterated out of their minds.  I quickly spot Sarah behind the back bar bouncing about to the blaring sound of Three 6 over set of speakers that have popped their last body.

    “BLAKE BUCK!  WOOOOO!” she shouts which is Sarah for, “Hello sir.  I hope you are having as fantastic of an evening as I”  After taking up position behind the bar, I proclaim it to be shot time, but the it looks like the bar ran out of shot glasses a long time ago.  So I tell Sarah to open her mouth as I pour straight Maker’s Mark and Evan Williams into her mouth – a combination I was calling the “Chocolate Thunder” at the time.

    Three hours later, I feel like I’ve just discovered every secret of the universe as my motley crew and I are shoved out of the bar.  “Let’s go geocaching on the square guys” Rob proclaims from several miles away from me.  No one seemed to think that was a good idea, which I wholeheartedly agreed with considering I was unable to see my legs.  After what feels like a 2 hour walk and an 8 hour drive, we arrive at Rob’s house.

    I wear my sunglasses in the shower.  It's just the right thing to do.I’d been to this mansion once before – 8 bedroom, 6 baths, a painting given by Frank Sinatra, and every room a potential cover photo for next month’s Southern Living.  This is a place where great statesmen go to retire; tonight, however, Rob’s parent’s were in Antartica, and it was a place for the kids to play.  More or less the college-age version of Chuck E. Cheese.

    We raced through the house with a beer in each hand, trying to find the hidden passages and where they stored the slaves.  But after cramming five of us in the master shower, watching the pool cleaning robot make his rounds for half an hour, and breaking the floppy disk drive on the $50,000 player piano, we found ourselves dissatisfied.  Was this all there was to be had?  We ended up just sitting in a circle and talking, more or less like were in Parrish’s a few hours earlier.

    After a few hours the talk waned thin and I wandered alone up the stairs and collapsed on the second landing.  That’s when it hit me – Parrish’s is closed forever.  And for what?  The hope that Mr. Parrish could perhaps one day afford a home and things as nice as this?  That didn’t seem like much of a fair trade at all.  I pull my phone out and look at Rob’s text again:

    “THEY’RE GIVING EVERYTHING AWAY”

    You know, that doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to puke in the yard.

    World renowned scholar and statesmen Lord Buck makes his second video appearance, hospital
    this time detailing the problems plaguing the book publishing industry.

    I think number two is my favorite – as it probably makes the most sense.  But who needs that as long as it’s funny?

    LINK:   YouTube Quicktime

    World renowned scholar and statesmen Lord Buck makes his second video appearance, more about
    mind this time detailing the problems plaguing the book publishing industry.

    I think number two is my favorite – as it probably makes the most sense.  But who needs that as long as it’s funny?

    LINK:   YouTube Quicktime
    Make fart noises.  With your phone.  Hilarious.“The Golden Globes suck now – it’s like I’m watching a fund-raising dinner for scoliosis, drugs
    not a Hollywood awards show” I said to my brother, malady
    who had the Tivo cued to the rather underwhelming awards show.  Perhaps it was my overall disdain for television that had clouded my judgement; all brain heard was, malady
    “And the award goes to… Some actor you’ve never seen before in some show that you heard a few people talk about but no one actually watched!”

    “Shut up – everybody knows the Golden Globes are like the precursors to the Academy Awards.  The things that happen tonight can affect who gets the oscar next month”, my brother said. But I wasn’t really listening – I was knee deep into my latest hobby: reading crap reviews of iPhone Apps in the App Store.  iPhone app reviews always go one of two ways: “OMG BEST APP EVER.  I bought it and my life changed forever after that moment” or, of course, the other way, “WTF this app SUCKS.  Crashed constantly, costs too much, and icon looks stupid.  COMPLETE WASTE OF MY PRECIOUS 99 CENTS.  I  demand a refund.  Anybody who likes it must be retarded.”

    I was on page three into a review for iFart Mobile, and app that makes farting noises.  I have no desire to have an app that makes farting noises – why on god’s earth am I looking up reviews?  Maybe it’s this homemade margarita my brother made me  – does he even know how to make an alcoholic beverage?  Gassyman100’s review, entitled “BEST APP IN THE HISTORY OF MANKIND”, had the following to say: “You show me a man who doesn’t think this app is hilarious, and I’ll show you a gay man.”

    Now if only there was a female Hans Gruber...Hahaha!  “I’ll show you a gay man”  Well played sir.  While there’s a part of me that hopes that this review was written in a Andy Kauffman subversive style of comedy, I knew more likely, it was simply written by and idiot.  I began to ponder, “Why is it that any idiot can review an iPhone app?  Or for that matter, even have an opinion?  Who gives Gassyman101 the right to judge the creative efforts of another?”

    “And presenting the award for best supporting actress is Rumer Willis, daughter of Demi Moore and Bruce Willis”

    “GOOD GOD.  Bruce Willis has a DAUGHTER.  And she is hot.  She even kinda LOOKS like Bruce Willis” I exclaimed like a schoolboy who just peeked into the girl’s locker room.  This revelation seemed lost on my brother, who was busy looking up more Golden Globe predictions online.  But I knew what I just discovered was something quite profound.

    “That’s it.  I’m done with all my current career and life aspirations.  I’ve got a new calling.  I’m going to have sex with Rumer Wills – because it’s the closest you can ever come to having sex with Bruce Willis.  Without being gay”

    Maybe I’m right, and stupid people should have the right to judge other’s creative works – not in the app store, and not in Hollywood.  But the judges are in on Rumer Willis.  FOUR THUMBS UP.