Have you seen the Powerball jackpot? It is up to $250 million. That’s a quarter of a billion dollars. To put that in terms the average person can understand, $250 million would fill up your car’s gas tank 3.5 million times. It would buy you over 41 million six packs of beer. Lindsay Lohan would jerk you off in an alley 100 million times at her customary rate. That is a lot of fucking money, and I want you to know that it is all mine. Continue reading

I started making prank phone calls due to an AT&T malfunction in the late 1970’s. The phone rang and I picked it up to hear a phone ringing on the other end. “Hey, come here and check this out,” I said to my older brother. “I answered the phone, but it’s acting like I called someone!” After a couple more rings, an irritated man answered on the other end and kicked off one of the more surreal phone conversations I’ve had to date. “Hello?” “Uhhh, hello?” “Hello?” “Hello?” “HELLO?” “Hello?” “HELLO!” “Hello?” “GODDAMIT, WHO IS THIS?” Continue reading

For whatever reason, I do some of my best thinking while I’m walking. I take several walks a day, and almost always I’ll be just walking along, spacing out and not thinking of anything in particular when a thought will just hit me. “I bet Rosanne Barr’s vag looks like someone beat a raccoon to death with a rolling pin! That’s comedy gold!” And then I’ll do nothing with that idea because it’s not really that funny, just goofy. To be fair, though, that’s exactly how several successful sitcoms came to be. Case in point: someone in a writer’s room once made a joke about Loretta Swit’s poon, and before you know it, that joke morphed into Charles in Charge. Scott Baio’s original role was listed as “Dildo”. True story! (Note: Not a true story.) Continue reading

Recently, and this will come as a surprise to exactly no one who knows me, I sent an email to NASA because a) They solicit questions from the public on this page; b) Some small portion of NASA was paid for with my taxes, and so I figured I may as well get something out of it; and c) I like fucking with people for no reason. So I asked them how much it would cost to fire David Lee Roth into the interior of the sun. Continue reading

When I first moved to Phoenix, I rented a house for two years. The landlord was an elderly lady who wrote the lease out on notebook paper with one hand as she sipped on a pint glass full of vodka with the other. In her lap was her granddaughter. This lady could drink. The only problem was, she still drove. And by drove I literally mean she weaved curb to curb until she got to where she was going to. How she managed to avoid a serious accident and arrest, I will never know. Continue reading

This guy should be the anchor for every major network, CNN, MSNBC, indeed, any network that shows the news. He is my ideal mandatory news anchor.

When I am too tired to astound my readers with my ability to turn any topic into a 2,000 word dick-joke, I often settle for weirding them out via my large library of mondo-bizarro videos. Today is one of those days in terms of my energy level, and this video is one of those videos. Actually, it’s waaaaay weirder than usual. So be forewarned: Although there is nothing necessarily dirty in this clip, having someone catch you watching it at the office is going to be decidedly awkward. (The audio is safe, however. Just music.)

A quick postscript to yesterday’s post, which detailed some of the more outrageous moments I experienced in college. I heard from some of my friends who have heard me retell these stories ad nauseam (which is Latin for “Shut the fuck up, already, Greg!”) They generally wanted to know why I left out my psychotic lesbian roommate who thought cigarette smoke was radioactive and could travel through walls, or why I didn’t talk about the asshole who wouldn’t stop hitting on my girlfriend, whom I later found passed out in the bushes and for whom I managed to arrange an unconscious lingerie photo-shoot, or any one of a hundred other fucked up things that happened while I was supposed to be getting an education. Continue reading

The last year that I was in college (which is to say the year that I was cordially invited to not return), I lived in a house with several friends I would charitably characterize as “derelicts-in-training”: The only things separating their behavior (such as waking up on a lawn) from that of your garden variety bum were enthusiasm and time. And when their time ran out, so would their enthusiasm, I had no doubt of that. It’s one thing to broke, hungover, and foodless when you’re 22, and quite another when you’re 45. Continue reading