Finally, after an exhaustive search, I’ve found the perfect production company to take on my ambitious idea: To make the Dogs on Drugs movie! I still have a few niggling details to work out; Peter Cetera and Kenny Loggins’ people are holding out for more money (I think – How much does “all the tea in China” cost, anyway?) and Steven Spielberg reacted very negatively when I told him that I basically planned to “punch up” the script for Schindler’s List (seriously, that was like the worst comedy I’ve ever seen. WTF?) But I’m sure those are all problems that can be overcome with a new round of funding or, barring that, the judicious application of mind-altering drugs. The important takeaway here is that I’ve finally found my production team: The people with the technical savvy to pull this thing off.

I am really fucking excited!

I read a study the other day in which scientists claim to have proven that rats experience regret, which is a surprising outcome that left me awestruck with wonder. Specifically, I wondered what kind of fucking drugs these scientists were on, and was awestruck by the realization that there is apparently enough money in the world that these guys were funded instead of hounded out of the scientific community (a process that I imagine involves the forcible removal of a pocket protector and/or the ceremonial breaking of a slide rule). Continue reading

In the time that I’ve been alive on the planet, I’ve experienced an almost mind boggling amount of great rock music. The Beatles were still a band when I was born, even if they were lugging around that crazy, shrieking Japanese chick everywhere they went. Led Zeppelin came and went. The Rolling Stones… Well, they were here at the beginning, and they will outlast us all. After the nukes rain down and end this little dog and pony show that we call humanity, Mick and Keith will still manage to wheel their dried up, withered husks onstage and play Start Me Up to an audience of radioactive cockroaches and Twinkies. Continue reading

Yes! It is the first week of summer! It’s time to get outside, get a great tan, and get fucking LAID. And we all know that the best way to get laid is to come up with a rock solid pickup line. (Still mailing it in, folks.)

Summer vacation is here for my kids, and that can only mean one thing: Freestyle rap battles! Yeah, you read that right. Freestyle rap battles! That’s how I motherfucking roll, yo! (In case you can’t tell, I’m mailing it in this week.)

Have you ever used Siri, the iPhone assistant, to give you travel directions? I usually don’t have to because I live in Phoenix, which is laid out in a giant grid, making it almost impossible to get lost. If you lose your bearings, you just pick a direction and drive until you find a road you recognize or an Alzheimer’s patient driving a giant Cadillac runs you off the road and into a Taco Bell, which is pretty much going where you’re going to wind up anyway if you’re stupid enough to drive in Phoenix. Continue reading

I have a love affair with local commercials. That’s not to say that this love affair has been consummated, of course. That would be perverted, and wrong, and would likely result in my junk becoming mangled inside a DVD player which hurts like a motherfucker. Or so I’ve heard. Ahem. Continue reading

As I’ve mentioned in the not too distant past, my body has been acting weird on me lately. This has caused me to be exposed to Health Care, which has been noticeably deficient in caring for my health in that they have no fucking clue what is wrong with me. And because they have no clue what is wrong with me, they’re afraid that I won’t pay the bill unless they come up with something, and so the doctor came in to the examination room recently and told me that I have high cholesterol. (And yes, I’m fully aware that any pretense that I am “young” and “with it” flies directly out the window once I start writing about my cholesterol level. After I get done writing this, I’m going to move to Boca Raton.) Continue reading

Women, for some strange reason, have this thing about fucking rock stars. It baffles, me, but it is undoubtedly true. The fact that Billy Joel has ever been laid proves my point. Billy Joel is so ugly that if he was a car wash attendant women wouldn’t let him pet their dog. But put him behind a piano with a large wad of cash in his wallet, and the panties hit the floor. Un-fucking-believable. Continue reading

Mental note: Don’t get high with this guy again.