Entourage

It's every man's wet dream.

Wake up in Southern California. Don't do shit. Get paid to hang out with beautiful women and be in movies. Bring your four best friends a long for the ride.

What am I supposed to think about this shit? Am I supposed to suck in the rich dialogue? The thorough plot lines that always rap around nice and neat? The big toasts at the end of every episode to "running the city"!

Give me a fucking break. Entourage is everything that's wrong with the modern man (and woman). It's materialism at its worst. It's the ego, the id, and everything else Freud said was wrong with us mere mortals. Is there any part of any episode that doesn't revolve directly around the personal life of it's main characters? What about a larger issue? What about a theme for God's sake? I don't understand it's appeal - well, that's a lie, I do - but I don't understand how it's persisted over the past few years.

The show is absolutely devoid of anything that makes good television good: there's no real humor, the stories are pointless and contrived, and the show almost chokes on it's own self-awareness. It's like watching a show that knows it's a show, but at least in something like professional wrestling there's some theater. If not for the occasional huge rack or "fuck" uttered by Drama, this show would have nothing going for it.

If you had to explain the entire plot structure of the whole series - as in what's happened since the begging - I don't think you could say anything more than Vince was in some movies, he and E had some ups and downs, Turtle was a loveable idiot, and Drama fucked a few girls. I mean, holy shit. This show would have been a bad movie, but instead of being a bad movie, it got dragged out into 5 years worth of worthless television. How is anyone supposed to relate to this? Unless they're an actor or an agent, there is nothing transferable to regular life. The characters don't even really go through regular emotions, they're so one-dimensional that they just have become caricatures of themselves. Do you really think you couldn't write a scene from this show? Well, I'll take 3 minutes and I'll show you how it's done:

Phone conversation between Ari and E

Ari: E, what the fuck is up with Vince? Is he doing the movie or what?

E: I don't know Ari, he's having some reservations at this point - he doesn't want to live in Florida for a summer, he's got a new girl.

Ari: E, don't be such a pussy.

Lloyd: Ari, maybe you could ask the director to change the filming location?

Ari: Lloyd, when I want your opinion I'll head down to the gay pride parade in West Hollywood with an "I have a bigger dick than my boyfriend" t-shirt on.

<>

I mean, is there any doubt in your mind that could be an actual conversation from this show? There's nothing complicated about writing it. It's just think of a few one-liners from a person with a one-track mind and a brain the size of a peanut. Throw in the most average song from top 10 radio between scenes, and make sure Drama gives someone a nuggey and drinks a beer at least three times an episode.

This shit has to stop. It's making us all dumber, more unaware, and more shallow.

Would You Rather?

Eat a cat salad or break a finger?

One of mankind's oldest known games. In this episode, the Birdman will attempt to answer some of history's most pressing questions.

The thing about would you rather is this: you have to mix the type of humiliation that is felt. I'm trying to get a window into the soul of the person that I'm playing here, and asking a question like, "break a finger or break a leg?" doesn't get me anywhere. The key is mixing emotions and issues at hand. Additionally, the more twisted they can be - the better. This isn't a game for cowards and virgins. If you're easily offended, I wouldn't read on. Actually, scratch that, maybe if you read on you'll stop being such a pussy about everything. Either way, here it goes.

#1) Get tongued down by a homeless person every day for a year or actually be homeless for a week in the winter?

Now most people's gut reaction is that they would prefer being homeless. The day-in, day-out grind of making out with someone who's breath is likely a hot combination of pork grinds, OE 40 resin, and Newport cigarettes seems, to most, to be too much to bare for 365 consecutive days. Not to mention, eventually you'd start to taste like that person and your sig other might take to cheating instead of making out with your crusty ass on the regular. However, if you are from anywhere North of the Mason-Dixon line, you know what a cold day in the winter feels like - and that's for 15 minutes on your way to work. Imagine 168 consecutive hours of that same feeling. Before you resign yourself to the week without a casa, you need to ask yourself, are you resourceful enough to do any of the following: whittle a shank for protection? hunt for twigs and foiliage upon which to sleep? Not get into a bum fight? Perfect the ins and outs of three card monty? Not catch typhoid fever? Or dengue fever for that matter? What about stocking caps? Do you have a fully-stocked collection of those? No, no you don't. No you don't.

#2) Have someone take a metal bat to one of your shins or receive a lap dance from every woman in your extended family over the age of 50, while she's rockin' a G-string?

This one is great because it really deals with two fundamentally different kinds of pain: emotional and physical. I'm not totally positive which side I come down on this one. On one hand, I have some heinous relatives on the downward slope of their careers, but - luckily for me - my mom is 47, so she doesn't count. On the other hand, if any of you have sprained an ankle before, you know what pain to that region of the physique can feel like. Imagine your kank bone shattering into 3,000 tiny pieces upon impact. Not only would you be gimped out for about 2 months, you'd have a permy solo-kank. We're talking Campbell's soup can kankles here. And I wouldn't underestimate the humiliation of walking through life with one Nike and one New Balance extra-wide EEE. You'd also have to sock shop for your gigundo-kank at a big and tall store and that could just get weird. But, again, swooping a lappy from the feminine contingent of your fam could provide two really weird endings: maybe you're so petrified by the experience it ruins strip clubs and sex for you for the rest of your life; or (what I consider to be a worse outcome) you pop a chub and let one fly. You'd have to self-ice as soon as that was over. So by going with the old lady lappers your risking permanent impotence, or even death. So this one's not so clear cut.

#3) THIS QUESTION IS FOR MALES ONLY: Make out with a transsexual who was in the process of becoming a women (upstairs was finished, downstairs she's a dude) or a really really really butch lesbian?

I love this question. I mean, I thought of it, but I still love it. It gets at the heart of the issue of sexuality. As a man, you have to ask yourself: Am I attracted to the female gender or the female sex. Some of you out there are undoubtedly looking at your computer screen with befuddlement, but let me explain. The tranny could essentially look like salma hyek with some extra junk in the front, and the lesbian might look more like your hunting uncle Tommy. Now what I meant when I brought up the sex vs. gender issue was that you have to ask yourself if you're attracted to the fact that someone is biologically woman, or that they take the form of a woman. To many of my comrades chagrin, I'm going to go with the tranny, and I'll explain why. Now the knee-jerk reaction of homophobes everywhere will be, "You can't make out with the tranny, what are ya, a fuckin' FAG!!" Well let me ask you homophobe (we'll call you Army Pete): am I the gay one? You're the one who's choosing a man with a vagina, and are you more masculine simply because you have a penis or are you more of a man if some of your favorite past times include drinking miller hi life, working on brake pads daily in your garage, or galavanting around bars in an attempt to "tounge down some bitches". I will humbly contend that you, Army Pete, are in fact the more homosexual one here, because you prefer the form of a man to the form of a woman. Either way, it's an interesting question and one that you should feel free to pose in a room that is dripping with testosterone just to liven things up. Additionally it's pretty funny to call out your friends for making out with a mangina. And if one of their names is Andy, you could then call him Mandy.

Decision-making and Pete Rose Haircuts

Where'd ya get the Pete Rose Haircut?

Seriously, this is why you can't have yes men in your crew. Don't you think maybe just once someone should have been like "Uh, Pete, maybe you should take a little off around the ears. Additionally, you may want to consider having your barber actually cut INTO your hair instead of just around the outside of it." Then again, maybe he was hiding HGH in there and had to make sure that no one found them. Shit, anything would make sense other than him just picking that cut for aesthetic purposes. I mean, Jesus, he looks like the missing link or a member of the 70s porn actor guild. Either way, for another hilarious Pete Rose anecdote, follow this link: http://watchfamilyguyonline.org/movie/60-Family_Guy_422_Sibling_Rivalry.html and fastforward to 5:35. I've seen it a good eight thousand times and it still gives me a laugh. Amazing.

Sometimes people just make bad calls and then stick to them for no apparent reason. There's probably about a million of these, but I'll give you some truly horendous decisions in the past few decades or so:

- Michael Jackson's 51,000 nose jobs and continous skin-lightening. You think maybe Mike would have faired better if Tito would have kept his nose out of the scarface for like 10 minutes and slapped Mike around a bit in 1989 when he started looking more like Elizabeth Taylor than a black kid from Gary. But no, ya just couldn't do that, could ya Tito?

- Mark Cuban's continuous desire to where tight Mavericks Tees and dusty denim to all the games. Ok, we get it. You're a fan. But for God's sake, put on a tie once a year and pull yourself together. Do you think a guy in a tie would yell obseneties at Kenyon Martin's mother? I mean, this is not really the guy you want to pick on; he's fourth in line for entrance at R. Kelly's "Psychos Only Party" behind Mike Tyson, Dick Cheney, and Mel Gibson.

- Anorexia. I'm gonna go out on a limb here, but seriously just stop deciding not to eat. I can already here the cry of the hippies: "It's a desease! They can't help it!" Well, being a sexual predator is a disease too, but we don't condone that. So I'm sick of letting this one slide. Go to the store, pick up a Lean Cuisine TV Dinner, swoop a romantic comedy, and go home and get filthy. There's no reason you need to be walking around here weighing 87 lbs when there are plenty of people in 3rd world countries who have similar builds through no choice of their own. It was one bad decision that spiraled into madness, so knock it off.

- Skinny Jeans on dudes. Now I thought we got over this one, I thought the 90s and early part of the new milenium put it to rest, but I was wrong. There's a reason they call them stranglers: your balls can't breath and you catch a mean back knee rash every time you sit down (not to be confused with Bacne of the JJ Reddick variety). I'm convinced that this, too, soon shall pass. And it can't come soon enough.

- That Big Mac guy on Supersize Me. If you don't know about this dude, let me enlighten you. His name is Don Gorske and he's from Wisconsin. This motherfucker ate a Big Mac one day in 1972 and decided it would be a good idea to turn his whip around on the way home and buy 3 more. It didn't stop there, he bought 6 more later that day and has been smashin' ever since. According to his own claim, he's eatin' 23,000 Big Macs in his lifetime and the sandwhich constitues over 90% of his food intake. Re-he-heally? Let's say you've had 1,000 Big Macs in your lifetime (which, unless you're a psycho, you haven't) you'd have to eat one for breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day until July 11th, 2029, to pass this guy for total Big Macs eaten. And that's assuming he doesn't eat another one until then - which I can't imagine happening. Now, don't you think maybe someone, anyone, should have walked up to this guy at some point about 20 years ago and said, "Dude, maybe switch it up every now and then. Here's an apple and some water, get the fuck to the crib immediately and don't you dare stop at a Crack Donzo's on the way home."

The point here is that everyone, once in a while, needs to step back and think, "hmmmmmmmm, maybe I should chill out with this one." And it helps if you have someone around that will tell you that you're being an idiot and point you in the right direction.

Top 10

Top 10 worst things that someone could say to you to start your day:

- You pissed this chick over here to the left off, and now she's suing you for child support.

- Your job called, you're fired, your last day of work is never.

- I ate all of your cereal and we're out of milk, but I think there's some candy corn left over from Halloween.

- Your girlfriends passed out on the couch again. I was rummaging through her bag for some cigarettes or possibly Heroine and her ID fell out. It was a learner's permit, vertically.

- Andy Milonakis looks decades older than you.

- You have ass cancer, complete with a side of buttne.

- Ron Artest is here.

- Remember that guy you punched last night? Turns out it was a girl, and she's pregnant. Well, she was.

- Your mom called and she says she won't talk to you until you return all of her thongs.

- Your brother got really wacked out on Robitussin last night and told everyone about how you made him swear not to tell everyone you have erectile dysfunction. In an unrelated sidenote, last night the federal government outlawed Viagra, Cialis, Porn, and Skirts.

Blacks, Whites and Everything in Between - Part 1

Race is a touchy subject.

But I'm gonna touch it. For Part 1, we're just going to establish some self-evident truths, so we can start from a common ground in the "meatier" part 2:

Whites Like: earth tones, down payments, credit cards, the Frey, trashcans under the sink, football, suburbs, volvos, being on time, slacks, goulash, the country, pretending like they don't have money, condoms, Fox News, holding down a steady job, PBR, pacifism, cocaine, and nachos

Blacks Like: dark-blue crown vics, cash, zoot suits, Newports, basketball, the neighborhood, Barrack Obama, barbecues, Earth, Wind & Fire, fresh ink, Sunday services, grandmama, toothpicks, shape ups, community organizations, jobs in transit or parcel delivery, being outside, slang, pulling out, double extra large everything, and glass coffee tables

Latinos Like: fresh haircuts, being short, nails, guac, pesos, Our Lady of Guadalupe, getting up at 5 am, tiny pickups, big families, well-organized dances, hot weather, sangria, soccer, rollin' deep, long jorts, skinny chains, facial hair, the day of the dead, cooking, landscaping, Spanish, and dominoes

Asians Like: Efficiency, two-parent homes, math, rice, the violin, over-populating countries, being nice, assimilation, Buddha, clotheslines, slow morning stretch routines in the park, origami, fireworks, glasses, pottery, that regular-ass Asian haircut, anime, blending in, and fish

Alright, everyone got that handled? This evening I'm going to use some of these truths to craft a little tale about race in America and how we need to look at it, so that we all don't sound like idiots to the people that read about us in the history books in 200 years, like they sound to us.

Fear of Mutiny

Loyalty is a big deal.

But most of the time it's totally unnecessary. We cling to ideas because they're what we always believed, when in reality - we should change our minds as new information becomes available. If I go to a bar that starts to suck, I stop going to that bar. 2+2 = 4, until it equals 5. Until something tells me it equals 5. But I'm open to that proposition, it's obvious that things can change and that's OK.

That leads directly to my next point - Lebron ain't Jordan. As hard as we push, and as much as we're in need for a new basketball Jesus, he's just not there. Greatness is spontanious. I don't know if anyone ever said that, but they should have. Jordan was an organic creature, he came out of relative obscurity in high school and over-acheived in college. Although he was college player of the year, apparently he wasn't as good as Sam Bowie. And this must have made him go insane. And that insanity lead to greatness. The drive to constantly be better, to constantly push himself, to constantly over-acheive. Jordan was his own worst enemy - he set the bar so hi, that sometimes we expected too much from him. He's the only person to win six titles that we say "probably should have won 8, or 9, or 10". It's insane. Most people can't win one. And that's what seperates him from everyone else. And that's what always will.

When I saw Lebron hit that shot on Friday I thought maybe I could be willing to let it go. To let the torch pass to the next generation. But I can't. I'm too stuborn and too loyal. Greatness isn't scripted, it doesn't show up on the front page of Sports Illustrated a thousand times before it's realized. Instead, it taps you on the shoulder and whispers in your ear, and by the time you turn around, it's gone.

Rise of the Phoenix

I guess you could say I'm back for the first time.

For those of you who have actually met, talked to, and pontificated with the Birdman, this little mess comes as no surprise. I've got a couple of words for you folks: Number one, congrats on not being pregnant - and that's men included. I've got some pretty potent gunk in my trousers, so good luck dodging those little lasers. Number two, although I will cover an array of topics that include my traditional banter, the online nature of this forum will allow me to go above and beyond my typical topics, which include but are not limited to: different versions of the "Can't Belive It" remix, whether or not Andrew Bynum is actually Tracy Morgan's long lost son, and if the definition of the word douchebag should be expanded beyond the traditional usage (see any 27 year-old male who's closet is littered with penny loafers, partially used extra medium condoms, and Brooks Brother's button-ups with the initials stitched into the forearm) or should be expanded to include anyone or anything that one does not like. Do not distress, those topics will all be addressed, but suffice it to say that there will be more.

Enough with the introduction - let me get to the real heart of today's post: grammar and rules. I feel it's important to kick this blog off with a description of the way I talk - or, more accurately, the way I write. It may help you understand a little better the sordid nature of my memory and my past. You see, the thing is this: grammar is mostly bullshit. Shakespeare invented half of it and a dickhead named Webster invented the other half. Therefore, I follow it as I see fit. I punctuate where, I, want, because that's just how it's gonna be. Sentences are like schoolchildren: slap 'em around and make them work for you. If you can, time them. That'll just make them work that much harder. Additionally, I use slang - hellas of it. See, I just did it right there. Most of my lexicon comes from my closest acquaintances - who are now scattered across this great land, but all originate from Iowa City, IA, aka "God's Country" aka "Blackout City" aka "Liquid Courage" aka "Are you 18? Fuck it". I'll ease you into the lingo slowly, but I'm not going to explain it to you, you're going to have to figure that out for yourself. You're not a child. And if you are: Santa doesn't exist, your parents have had tons of sex-including anal, it's easier to get weed than booze, and the chances of you being what you want to be are zero; because then everyone would be Paris Hilton. And you're not Paris Hilton, because she can't read.

Back to the point: rules are meant to be broken. Like right now I'm at work! And what's my manager going to do? Nothing. Because she's in the back gettin' bent over a chair by her boss, or she's knocked in her private office, or she just doesn't give a shit. Even more likely - some twisted combination of all three. It's ok though, Americans can all do this really cool thing where we pretend to care about work ethic and not care at the same time. It allows us to work 40 hours a week, yet hit the club for a tatty whenever we see fit. Pretty convenient if you ask me.

Stream of consciousness side note - I could really use a nap. Naps are God's way of telling you that you're a jackass. For some reason when you're 5 and could run around at full speed with a juicy juice and a box of animal crackers for three hours and your tired-ass mom is chasing you with a clean dishrag and trying to put you to sleep on those sticky blue mats, you want none of it. If we had nap time at my office I'd be the first one out and the last one up. But I can't have one. Shit, I just fell asleep a little.