The Secret to My Rejection…

There are a lot of facets in my life that have brought upon massive amounts of rejection. But I am proud of none of them except for in the area of employment. I’m not sure really what it is I am supposed to tackle in life. I have all of this writing experience but I have proof that it was all a waste of time. I also have a shit load of journalistic experience (again on the film side) but that’s done nothing for me too. All in all, all the skills I have are useless.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, that’s not true. You’ll get something.”

Shut up, liar. You stupid bastard. You don’t know anything now, do you? I have proof here that I am going to rub on your stupid dumb head. Then I’ll sprinkle pepper in your eyes, like that chef from Burgertime, and watch you squeal around on the floor like Mr. Pickle.

I recently applied to be the editor of the calender section of one of this town’s wonderful publications. Surprisingly enough, I got a phone interview with the main editor. I was very excited by this. Almost two months went by before I got this, via e-mail:

Michael:
The calendar job has been filled, but I will keep your materials on file
just in case. Thanks for your interest.

Okay, that’s fair. Thanks for keeping me posted. So I applied to be this Web Content Editor for some news channel here. The job seemed exciting enough, and based on the massive amounts of experience I have writing for the web, I thought I’d at least get an interview. This came to me two days ago, again via e-mail:

Thank you for your interest in employment with Central Florida XXX/XXXX Networks for the following position: Web Content Editor. We have reviewed your resume/application and have carefully considered your qualifications. After this review, we have decided to pursue other candidates for the position.

Those “X”s aren’t the name of some porn company. I decided to shield the company name just in case they ever pursue me again. But probably not. I miss the days when rejection letters were mailed to you via the postal service. That way I could frame them up. If those who can’t do, teach, I guess I’m going to be teacher of the millennium.

The Love Letter (1/2008)

Orlando is Dead

I moved to Orlando in the summer of 1999. It was a huge step for me. I was escaping my hometown for good, abandoning everything I ever knew, and moving to a new city with actual city life (like buildings and such). The first 5 years I was here, I loved it. I mean, I didn’t get very much accomplished in those first few years but now, in year 9, I feel as if everything I could’ve accomplished has come to pass.

There is something going on here though. The city feels like it’s dying. It all began a few months ago when my favorite cinema house closed down – The Carmike University 8. It was one of those super ghetto theaters that wasn’t even hip enough to have stadium seating, when every other theater in Orlando does. They didn’t give a fuck. The Carmike held its middle finger high. They even had this thing, called “late matinées”, where tickets for showings between 5pm-6pm were only $3.75.

But then some media conglomerate who owns a large portion of this town purchased it and plans on turning it into classrooms for their fancy private institution. I saw fucking Daddy Day Care and Gigli there… you can’t fuck around with that kind of history. And if those two titles weren’t garbage enough, the last movie I saw there was Dragon Wars. That movie is the cinematic equivalent to having crabs. I’m not going to explain that though.

I did see a lot of good shit there though. I saw Superbad and Shoot Em Up there. Shit, the first movie I saw there was back in 2000. It was Sam Raimi’s The Gift. Not only was it Raimi’s last good movie (Spider-Man 1-3 aren’t good movies people), but it’s the one in which Katie Holmes let’s the girls out to play. I used to think that was cool back in the early part of this century but not so much now that the aliens have taken over her soul. And why doesn’t that bitch talk out of both sides of her mouth, did she have a stroke or something? But I digress.

Now the theater is no more. 7 years of memories gone, like that. And that isn’t the only thing that died here… we recently lost our only non-Clear Channel rock station. 105.9 is now some awful classic station that only plays the classics of mediocrity.

Perhaps this is the end of Orlando. Sure, we still have our Disney shit and Universal Studios, but I’ve actually never gone to those places since I’ve moved here. I hate theme parks. “Hey guys, let’s go pay $50 a person so we can go stand in line in the hot sun all day and wait in line for 4 minutes of glory.” Sweet dude. Let me get my check book.

Recently, a lot of my friends have moved on from here, and others threaten to do so soon. Perhaps it is time to go. I’m about up for parole in a couple of months. Maybe I’ll get out for good behavior. Keep your fingers crossed.

Two Ways to Spell ‘Theater’ - (1/2008)

For Heath Ledger: Why not Britney Spears?

I am not a religious man. Nothing has happened in this life to lead me to believe there is some spiritual being out there, assisting our lives and what not. In fact, based on what I’ve experienced in life, there is nothing that’s happened that has even come close to making me think of something other than what is right here in front me.

And yesterday, with the passing of Heath Ledger, these feelings remain true. Ledger, a 28 year-old actor, was found dead in an apartment in New York City. He was never one of those annoying kids on the cover of every tabloid. He never got arrested for a DUI like so many other young celebrities. This kid was the shit.

Anytime you saw a movie with Heath Ledger in it, he stood out. If it was a bad movie (*cough A Knight’s Tale *cough), his greatness allowed you to forget its cheese. Even his brief role in Monster’s Ball, one of the most depressing movies ever, hit you in the gut like Alec Baldwin on coke.

And now he is gone, for no real reason. Yet Amy Whinehouse and Britney Spears live on. Lindsay Lohan will probably get another DUI, maybe even kill someone, while Ledger’s kid will grow up fatherless. We continue losing greats while being stuck with the leftovers of celebrity fame. Further proof that there simply is no justice in the world after all.

I raise a drink in Ledger’s honor, and even spill some for my homie Brad Renfro. You kids sleep well; maybe I’ll see you sooner or later.

The Last Joker (1/2008)

How do you not know you smell dude?

I’ve recently fallen into some hard times. Not only do I work a typical 9-5, Mon-Fri gig, but I had to get a part time job too. I now work at a video store 2 or 3 times a week. It’s somewhat cool, as I get 5 free rentals a week and my managers are only 19 years-old (making me the cranky guy they always laugh at and call “old”). But I worked for this store before, from 1999-2001, at a different location. Coincidentally, at this new store, my store manager from the old days is now the store manager for this store. So that’s pretty cool.

Anyway, I forgot all about what it’s like to work with the public. I forgot how dumb people are. Even more so, I forgot how fucking gross people are.

People come into this store all the time and smell as if they stuck their arm up a cow’s ass, pulled out a pile of shit, and covered themselves with it. Some of them have dandruff flakes the size of Frosted Flakes. There isn’t any amount of hand sanitizer that makes me feel safe while working there.

The other day, this big lanky kid came in to rent some X-Box 360 game. He tried talking to me about too. He was like, “Man, have you ever played Assassin’s Creed? It’s a really good game man.” I responded with something like, “Dude, look where I work,” I said as I raised my arms and looked around at my surroundings, “does it look like I can afford an X-Box 360?”

He gave out a little chuckle and went about his business. When he finally picked out some other game, he came up to my register, excited at the thought of killing more ninjas or whatever the fuck kids do in their games today. That’s when it hit me, like a shit-sock in the hands of a rapid homeless veteran, a smell of which I can’t find the words to describe.

It was like someone took onions, rotten banana peels, baby shit, carrots, and soy sauce, then mixed them all up in a blender and took bath in it. It was fucking putrid. And of course the computer I’m working at goes all wacky, so he ends up being near me for way too fucking long. The smell was so putrid, I thought about clocking out so I could go home and take a shower. It didn’t even leave the store when he left, it just kind of hung out with us.

Now I know why my 19 year-old manager drops hits of acid a few minutes before we close.

Tonight, we shower in Hell! (1/2008)

The Pillow Fucker.

Back in November of 1998, I was a senior in high school and in dire need of employment. My run at Dairy Queen had ended tragically (awesome story about that coming in the future) and the only place I wanted to work in my small little town was a Regal Cinemas. The Regal Spring Hill 8 to be exact. It was a terrible job but I worked with some cool people. Actually, many of them were assholes, but I learned then that’s what life in the employment world is.

There was this one kid though, who I’ll never forget as long as I live. One time, a bunch of us were standing around, waiting for the next cinematic rush to happen. Shakespeare in Love was about to start at any minute and it was sure to attract a group of old women who finished up their Bingo shifts at the local retirement community.

The conversation of masturbation came up. I love talking about jerking off almost as much as I love doing it. But this one kid, his name Matt, he apparently loved it so much that he tried to do it with anything and everything. So there we were, about 5 of us, talking about the big solo show. Matt, in the midst of a silent pause, finally asked, “Hey dude, have you ever jerked off with a pillow?”

“What?” I asked puzzled.

“You know, like, fuck your pillow. That shit feels his good,” he replied with confidence.

“Dude, you fuck your pillows?”

“Yeah man,” he replied without hesitation.

After a bit of idiotic shock, I decided to ask the obvious, “Where do the fluids go?”

Without skipping a beat, he said, “Right on the pillow man, I just throw the pillow case in the wash right afterwards.”

“That’s a lot of work dude, and pillow cases aren’t fluid proof… some of that shit is going to make it to the actual pillow,” I tried informing him.

The kid didn’t seem to be bothered by that. Regardless, he was known as the pillow fucker from then on out. Still to this day, when I talk to my friend (the one with the dad with the missing toe), we call him “The Pillow Fucker.” Still makes us laugh to this day.

I looked this kid up on myspace a few months ago just to see where life has taken him. It’s amazing… this kid ended up going to college and currently holds a Master’s Degree in business. I guess maybe I should have been the one fucking pillows. I am the same age as this kid and look at me.

All I need in this life of sin, is me and my pillow (1/2008)

This is what all that Cloverfield fuss is all about…

I went to a press screening of the ever mysterious Cloverfield tonight and finally figured out what all the racket was about. It follows a group of 4 annoying Manhattanites as they try and survive some sort of traumatic event taking over the city.

But I am tired of kids on the internet talking about “What is Cloverfield?” I never cared what it was either. The first trailer, which barely showed a thing, intrigued me. The next trailer, which felt a bit like 28 Days Later and Earthquake or something, took every ounce of excitement out of my body. I no longer cared.

Then, everywhere I turned in the binary world, I kept seeing that word – Cloverfield. My next mission was to attend a press screening and see a few days before the masses. Now, I’ll admit, it isn’t a terrible movie. It’s far from actually. Cloverfield would have been a really good movie had the screenwriter created characters you become emotionally involved with. This is a harrowing experience they just never seem to fully realize.

Back to my mission though. So I wanted to see this movie just so I could spoil something for people. You want to know what Cloverfield is? Or wait, I actually don’t know what Cloverfield is (and I’ve seen the fucking movie). But I can tell you it is indeed a monster movie. And here is what she looks like, in another amazing City Picture (of Doom):

Only girls in bikinis want to be my Myspace friend.

Firstly, Pictures of Doom raked in about 1,200 visitors last week. That is a new record by many. So thank you kindly for visiting. But on to business.

Yes, I am one of the millions of losers on the planet with a Myspace page. Want to be my friend? Sorry, apparently that privilege is only earned if you are in a bikini, and have a vagina.

“What are you talking about dude?”

I don’t know really but every time I check my Myspace account, I have a bunch of friend requests by bitches in bikinis. I know their accounts aren’t real; they only link you to a porn page of some sort. So why do they not leave me alone? And who accepts these requests? Curious, I clicked on one of their profiles to see who their friends really were. This girl, Naomi, had a delicious profile picture. She was on the beach, shaking her dry, like a dog after a fight with the hose. She had 3 friends, including Myspace’s own Tom. One of her other friends, Tommy G, left her a comment which read, “Damn Boo, I’d luv to be at da beach wit chu.”

Lookin’ Good, Boo (1/2008)

I’m sorry to inform you Mr. G, this boo simply doesn’t exist, nor will she ever go to da beach wit chu. Unless you pay to be part of her porn site or your Honda Civic has spinners, then maybe she’ll accept your invitation.

How about you cut that hair off your neck?

There are a lot of areas females maintain when it comes to hair. Most of them shave their legs, armpits, and nowadays (thankfully), their pubic regions. Guys on the other hand, for the most part, shave their faces only. I think the pubic area on all people should be maintained (I would even go far enough to say that I think pubic hair should be illegal) but not all guys are on that bandwagon. How do I know this? Well, it’s not because I’ve seen a lot of cocks or anything. I just know this based on conversations I’ve had with males and females alike.

But that’s really not what this blog is about. I really don’t care if other guys shave their junk because I don’t have to look at it or put it in any of my openings. What I do have to look at on a daily basis, however, is neck hair. Holy shit, why do some guys think it’s alright not to maintain their neck hair? Your hair on your head is NOT supposed to connect with the hair on your back dude, no matter what your mother told you.

I was at Dunkin Donuts this morning when I saw this:

The Monkey on my Back (1/2008)

I just wanted to pull a razor out of my pocket and shave that dead rat off, then sprinkle the bits onto his donut. Take care of that, dude.

“They had to chop it off…”

Last week, I wrote an entry about an evil blister of doom, which infected a friend of mine’s dad. She called me the other day to share some not-so-good news, followed by an almost hilarious story.

The Bad News: Her dad lost his toe. They had to chop the big toe off. It must be so weird to suddenly lost something that has been attached to your body for over 50 years. I wonder if his walk will change. I hope not.

The Good News: His spirit hasn’t been diminished at all. He’ll still kick your kid’s in the ear and then steal their Legos. He actually hasn’t been affected by it at all.

She called the nurses station to get a news scoop of her father’s status. The nurse than told this utterly hilarious, yet ultimately badass, story. “Well, you’re dad would be fine, if he just stayed in his bed.”

“What do you mean?” my friend asked.

“Well, just a few hours after the surgery, he got out of bed and walked outside to have a cigarette. But he shouldn’t have been walking yet… it opened up the wound and cause a lot of unnecessary bleeding. That’s no good.”

Man, just hours after getting his toe chopped off, dude gets up and walks to get a smoke. Fucking badassery all the way.

Smoking With 9 Toes (1/2008)

That’s probably the best picture I’ve ever drawn. Don’t get used to them being this good.

The Year of the Cinematic Mustache…

I just got around to posting my list for the best films of 2007 and I noticed something rather peculiar. Well, I guess it’s not that peculiar, but the two best movies of 2007 each had a main character sporting a sweet mustache. The very best film, the Coen Brothers’ masterpiece No Country for Old Men, starred Josh Brolin. You may remember him as the Mikey’s older brother from The Goonies, you know, the exercise kid who wore shorts over his sweatpants (that wasn’t even cool in the 80s when that movie was shot).

Anyway, he is a lot older now than he was then (obviously). In No Country…, set in 1980, he plays a guy living in a trailer park in Texas who stumbles upon a satchel full of sweet green money. Unfortunately for him, finding that money sets off a string of horrific events he’ll never be able to shake. And since it’s set in Texas, and in 1980, Brolin carries a mighty heavy mustache.

The next best film is PT Anderson’s There Will Be Blood. Daniel Day-Lewis plays Daniel Plainview, an oil-obsessed wealthy man moving into a small religious village to drill in the early 1900s. He too sports sharp mustache. If he doesn’t kill you with his pistol, the ’stache will slice you quicker than a blade.

There Will Be Old Men (1/2008)