I Hate You Mark Harmon

You know, Mark Harmon, I really used to like you. You always seemed to be the affable, laid back guy. Your first big impression on me was one of my favorite classic summer 80s film, Tuff Turf. Er, no wait a minute, my bad, wrong movie. No, your first big role to me was Summer School. What a great movie, and those of you old enough to remember it probably to this day wonder whatever happened to the lovable Chainsaw. Or the kid who never showed up to class. That was a great movie, and I am sure Mark counted himself lucky to be acting with a young Courtney Thorne-Smith and a pre elephantine Kirstie Alley. Even Saw cutie Shawnee Smith was in this flick. Day-um, stupid girls sure were hot back in the day.

He would continue through more TV and movie roles. He married –and apparently is still married to-Mindy from Mork & Mindy. He was voted People’s Sexiest Man Alive in 1986, the year People also suspiciously disqualified me, for some bullshit reason of ‘not being even remotely famous’. Fuckers. Anyway, Harmon all but disappeared from my consciousness, to be replaced by such happy things as orange creamsicles and Tetris.

Recently, Mark Harmon has reappeared in my life in a big and negative way. In fact, I now hate you Mark Harmon. I see entirely too much of you. Apparently, he’s been on this show called NCIS, which I believe stands for ‘now can I speak’. And this show, unbeknownst to me, has been on the air for quite a few years. I didn’t know this until the show started rerunning on USA. I know all of this because my wife is addicted to this goddamn show.

At first it was just on USA and whatever other channel it first airs on. Life was good, life was tolerable. But that has all changed over the last year. Now, NCIS is omnipresent in my house. We have 3 TVs in the house. At any given time, all of them are on channel 13 (aka USA, aka NCIS central). This pisses me off more than when they all used to be on the Food Channel. It’s not like she ever made me any of that stuff…

Since then, I have clearly been put in my place. I know between the hours of 5-7, I am second fiddle. I am third wheel. The house can be on fire, and upon telling her this fact, I will get scolded, “WAIT FOR A COMMERCIAL!” If this was only contained to scheduled intervals, I am laid back and accommodating enough to work around it. Hell, I’ll even give her the big TV-you know, the B&W one-to watch all the nefarious goings ons going on. But it has grown worse. It appears NCIS spreads quicker than the swine flu.

Now it seems NCIS is on 4 channels that I am aware of. Which I believe still pales in comparison to how many fucking channel show Scrubs. That was her previous crack TV. I think I’ve counted Scrubs on no less than 6 fucking channels. It’s now gotten to the point that I can watch Scrubs rather than NCIS. But Elliot is still fucking annoying.

Also, USA appears to be so devoid of alternate programming, test patterns and infomercials that it now runs NCIS marathons. So imagine my shock as all day yesterday-a Wednesday-USA went all NCIS. Surely somewhere, there must be unaired Billy Mays commercials. Fuck me.

I’ve arrived at the point where I am familiar with the characters and certain storylines. Me. But she can sit there and watch the whole damn thing all over again. Yesterday, I hit a new low. “We” were watching the show, and about 15 minutes in, I realized I fucking saw this show before. Yet, her gaze was the gaze of a traveler spotting water after a week in the desert. Ambrosia to the angels and such shit.

I don’t like the show, for a few reasons. Chief amongst them is she likes it so goddamn much. But there’s more to it than just that. (And I am ashamed I can go into this much detail of a show I don’t even watch.) First of all, Mark Harmon’s character is named Jethro. Right, Jethro. That’s his first name, too, not his last. It’s hard to buy an action hero as a ‘Jethro’. A Clampett? Sure, but not a federal agent. Unless he was the federal agent of moonshine. So Gibbs (Jethro’s last name, the name most people use to call him.) is one of those smarmy types that is always fucking right. What’s that? All the evidence points to the husband as the killer? No, because Gibbs is Gibbs, he has some sort of ESP that actually tells him the real killer is the neighbors’ gardeners’ cousins’ eighth grade teacher! Alas, how could we not have seen this? We all must bow to the knowingness of brother Gibbs. Gibbs always knows where the bad guy is hiding.

Gibbs is a maverick. Gibbs will only use your last name, even if it’s Gibbsisapedophile. OK, that was a funny episode. Gibbs thumbs his nose at his superiors, he disobeys orders, he ‘goes dark’. I believe he even has a pristine copy of that Erin Andrews video. Gibbs can anticipate the bad guys’ next move. Gibbs is a deadeye. Gibbs. Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs. Enough fucking already!

Sure, he is surrounded by less smart characters as well. There’s the suave guy, the nerd guy, the chick, the goth forensic chick, the weathered coroner. Every week, it’s a new struggle against evil. And my sanity. I don’t like the slickness of Gibbs. It gets quite tiresome to see the same general scenario week in and week out. Right, I can see all of you rolling your eyes-you know your webcam is on, right?-thinking, “Well what about your hero, Jack Bauer?”Jack Bauer is far more hardcore than fucking Gibbs. Take away seasons 5 & 6 (please) of 24, and 24 is the far better show.

But, boom there is NCIS on just about every damn channel we have. Look, we’re poor, we just have basic cable. And at the rate they’re taking away my channels, we’ll be lucky to have 20 left. And Mark Harmon will be on at least 5 of those. Maybe T snuck in some sort of NCIS channel unbeknownst to me. All I know is I have 20 channels-16 if you take away the Spanish speaking ones-and I am pretty sure I’ve seen NCIS on 4 of them. And one of the Spanish ones. Eh, Senor Gibbs?

I can see by the hour upon us, that soon, the NCIS channel will be on, and any actual conversation must take place between the commercials. Even if it’s a rerun. Even if it’s a rerun I’ve seen, I’d best not spoil the ending. Sure, you can argue the same thing with me and The Simpsons. Yes, true, I’ve seen the majority of the shows, but not all of them. And since it’s only a half hour long, I get 2 episodes for the price of one measly NCIS. Plus, with all my drinking, my memory is spotty, so sometime it really is like watching a brand new episode. And it’s all about escapism for me; it makes me laugh, and my troubles vanish for a brief, fleeting amount of time.

Besides, if Gibbs ever got bonked on the head with a transmission, I would laugh my ass off. Hey, I am starting to hear a certain theme song right now….

My Latest Brilliant Idea

I am really pretty stupid when it comes to the Internet. I would have loved to have gotten a sweet domain name, copyrighted it, and have the money to own my own island. But I was such a loser, the only domain I snagged was HotNakedChikcs.com. That’s right, I didn’t even spell it right. Well, for the record, I did “own” WEAMissile.com, the last edition of which still shows up via Google search.

So I don’t get Twitter; don’t get it at all. I think it serves to make every asshole seem self important. Yes, because I have to know that you are currently at the supermarket. You may think it’s edgy and deep to post something like “why do they call it a supermarket when there is nothing super here? And where’s the milk?” In your mind, you may think it’s some sort of post modern slice of witty brilliance. And your friends think you’re a self righteous dipshit. And an unfunny one, at that.

Face it, no one has to know your every move. “Gee, I see Joe ‘got up’, ‘went to work’, ‘at the game’, ‘having a drink with the boys’ and ‘tired & going to bed.’” Wow, Joe, you are quite happening and make my day of “jerking off like a rabbit” rather shallow in comparison. I know by and large Twitter is a by-product of having cell phones with net access. And maybe this is sort of off topic, but shouldn’t the past sense of Twitter be “twat” and not “tweet”? Maybe “twit”? Just saying.

Anyway, I really think Twitter is mostly full of self important douchebags. So maybe you will be surprised to find out that I am on Twitter. (I know, I know, what’s next, I’m on Facebook…er, wait a minute) I am on Twitter to follow 4 people; 3 are musicians and one is a hockey show. I check in from time to time, and that’s it. I. myself, have never twatted or tweeted, or twitted once. I just follow a few off the radar type people.

I don’t like that Twitter limits you to 140 characters. Actually, for some people, it’s a godsend, because it limits their normally longwinded monologs. On the other hand, when you happen to be a gifted and loquacious writer-such as say, myself-you can find it to be quite constricting. I would like to think I have more to say and offer than a measly 140 letters will limit my brilliance to. (Already I’m past 410, and aren’t we all the better for it?)

I don’t like that Twitter seems to be like a voluntary giving up of your rights. It wasn’t all that long ago that everyone was crying for more privacy. Now, with Twitter, you can blab to the whole internet that you are on vacation. Your house is empty, but the fridge is full. Doesn’t it seem a little invasive? Sure, if you don’t twat about your actual whereabouts, it’s no issue, but it seems most of the shitheads on there openly tell everyone where they are all the friggin’ time. A friend of mine invited me to a site called Loopt, where people can see wherever you are, based on the GPS on your phone? Huh? Again, I got nothing to hide, but that seems pretty invasive. But, hey if you wanna give that kind of info out, then I got no problem knowing you’re at Taco Bell or 7-11 or wherever. I am one of the un-specials; I don’t have an iPhone, and I think my phone is so ghetto, it doesn’t have GPS. Sometimes, if I wander too far, the string breaks…

So what was I talking about?

Yes, about my next get rich quick scheme. Being out of work for so long, surely I have the mind that will conjure up the next, multi-billion dollar idea. Hey, Billy Mays left the space, someone’s gotta fill it. And like most great ideas, it’s more so a twist on an established idea. I can’t stand Twitter (I think you know that by now, right?). But I really enjoy 2 similar sites that are the same basic concept; except more focused. The sites I refer to are http://www.fmylife.com and http://www.textsfromlastnight.com

Both are similar to Twitter in that all the ‘entries’ are short. F(uck)MyLife deals with short, mostly ironic or embarrassing stories. TFLN deals more with either strange or drunken texts that people have received. If you waste your time on Twitter, I highly advise you knock that shit off and visit those 2 sites instead for far more laughs. So with that in mind, here if my idea, none of you peckerheads steal it, all right?

Shitter.com. (Yes, it’s a pseudo skin site now, advertising everything from Russian brides to Christian singles, but I think I can get it.) The focus of Shitter.com will be material (texts, voicemails, even video) taken while people are on the hopper. Reading on the bowl is so 1950’s people! These days it seems everyone else has an iPhone. So why not use it while you’re deucing? I have admitted a lot of my great ideas take place while in the bathroom, so let’s harvest that energy. Did your roommate leave something embarrassing in the bathroom? Are you in a public stall and the guy next to you has riotous gas? Tape it and send it in. (All you First Amenders just look the other way here, I will protect the innocent and gassy.) Is there a mass of something in the shower you just can’t figure the origin of? Let the Net decide!

C’mon, tell me this isn’t money. Did your hot female roommate leave her thongs out again? Did you leave an upper decker at a party? Vomit in the sink? Are you trashing the bathroom of the hotel you are at? The world needs to know. Shit, man, once I get this off the ground, it is Easy Street, my friends. So while I take care of all the mumbo jumbo legal stuff, I need all of you to start gathering evidence I could post. I know for most of you, that won’t be a problem.

Another Loser Fair and The Giant Legless Blonde

Another day, another Loser Fair. For those of you who don’t go back with this bad ass blog (to September of last year), that is the term I use for “job fairs”. I have been to my fair share during this unemployment odyssey. I hardly get that rattled anymore. Before I carry on, I suggest you click on over to the original Loser Fair post to refresh yourself of one of my first experiences at such a “fair”. (Damn it, now I know I have to use all new jokes this time around.) See it here
http://kevolutiontheory.blogspot.com/search?q=loser+fair

I find it tough to still believe I don’t have a real job. An extended layoff plays with one’s head in all kinds of ways. I don’t know that I exactly find ‘comfort’ in being in a roomful of other unfortunate souls like myself. While the notion of attending these lose..uh job fairs bothers me less these days, there are still aspects that bother me. Namely, the whole prep involved. As documented in the above link, I am not a suit and tie, shave every day, sit in traffic, cubicle monkey, corporate type of guy. So the fact that I have to go through all these processes to get to be the above mentioned paradox is quite troubling. To better prepare myself, I actually shaved yesterday. I did so for the fear that my usual scruff has somehow left the never-seeing-the-sun-beneath-it skin maybe a paler shade of white compared to the rest of my mug. So I shaved just to check, and get it used to the sting of fresh air. That actually went OK, and the loss of blood clearly wasn’t in the transfusable level. And, yes, I just made up ‘transfusable’-I must go alert Webster’s that I have another new word.

In doing my due research, I see that most of these jobs are near the civil service level. Some branches of the armed forces will be there, as well as the local police. There are a few companies like Aldi and Mary Kay, along with some tech schools. In fact, this los..uh job fair was specifically advertised as being military friendly. Well, duh. Is there a company that ISN’T military friendly? I mean, who wouldn’t want to hire a former Marine or Iraq vet? “Sorry, Cpl. Johnson, but we have no room in our place of business for a Purple Heart winner.” I don’t know about you, but I sure would feel safe working with someone who has been in the Army.

This morning, I go through all the machinations of someone who actually has a job. Get up, eat a big ol’ bowl of Cookie Crisp, shave again and put my monkey suit on. Why can’t the suit companies make a more breathable suit? Rag on Don Johnson all you want, but he looked damn comfortable in the suits he was wearing in Miami Vice. I hop into the KevAmPire for the 15 minute trek to the place. It’s not more than 5 minutes into my journey that I run into a motard. Fuck, how do people do this shit every day? I am rolling up to a light where the lane divides into two; the left lane goes straight or left, the right lane is for rights only, which is where I need to go. Motard stops a good 2 car lengths before the split. And it’s like “c’mon, give me, like, three more inches.” (Man, if I had a nickel every time I heard that.) I start edging up to the right when suddenly his right signal comes on, and he slides right in front of me. Douchebag.
I’ve been to this restaurant/banquet hall before for lo…er, career fairs before. Even though there is a fairly big parking lot, it never fails to amaze me that lazyasses refuse to drive the extra 150 feet to the parking lot. No, instead, they park right on the fucking grass as soon as you drive up. This isn’t ‘event’ parking here. I hope none of those people got jobs today.

It also never fails to amaze me just what people wear to these things. Even a peckerhead like me knows you really can’t be ‘overdressed’ for these types of things. Not everyone got this memo. For example, I saw an older guy-as in the older enough to know better category-wearing a dingy NASCAR shirt and jean shorts. Huh? Really? You should know to hide your inner redneck at these things if I do. I saw kids wearing some A&F bullshit shirt with baggy pants. The prison ain’t gonna hire you, kid. And just another note in case you find yourself in the same boat as me; bedhead is never a plus at these types of things. Just sayin’ and all.

We are held like bulls in pens until the magic hour of 10 arrives. Then, we are unceremoniously released to assail the poor schleps in the room. Surprisingly, not all the companies are there yet. OK, so that doesn’t say much for the companies if they are late for the job fair. I mix and mingle with a few places; my little speech always ready. A small seminar about posting resumes, etc on the Net is also happening. I join that, and from where I sit there is a big cardboard display to my front right side. On this display is a big, happy blonde. She has a cell phone raised triumphantly in her hand. I guess the message here is supposed to be, “Look at me! I just got a job. Fuck you losers, I’m outta here.” Ok, so maybe that’s not what the message is supposed to be, but that’s what I think it is.

As the presentation goes on, my ADD will occasionally take me over to the blonde. Hey, what can I say, I’ve always had a thing for tall blondes. But this is a bit unnerving, because she doesn’t have legs. The picture is cropped right at her waist. But the image is so big, she still appears to be of regular height. I refocus back on the presentation, but I get the feeling she’s giving me the eye. (As most one-dimensional tall blondes do.) It’s hard to pay attention when a tall, legless blonde is giving you the eye. At least I know she'll never run away... I even thought of trying to snap a quick pic for the sake of this Klog, but that really would have ratcheted up the creepy meter to a place not even I am comfortable with. (Further GIS don’t reveal the girl I am looking for, but it sure is fun Googling pictures of blondes.)

If anything comes of this, we’ll see. I come home to find a reply in my Inbox to a music writing job I was inquiring about, so that’s a nice little kick in the ass. And it’s a sunny Friday. So it might be time to celebrate with a few drinks. I think the booze will go a long way to soothe the pain that is the air interacting with my face.

Total BullShit Facts w/o July 19

Welcome to what will likely be a new, recurring feature on the KT; Total BullShit Facts. And I will confess that this is hardly an original gimmick. I think Letterman does something very similar. Like most of my “great” ideas, this one was born from a late night.

Seems my insomnia has been acting up this past week. There is no worse feeling than going to bed ‘early’ (when you’re unemployed, anytime you hit the sack before 4 Am does count as ‘early’. Really, it’s printed in the paperwork.) and lying there, starkly awake. Yes, even I am tired, now my body apparently has no symptoms of being tired. So I fight it out a bit, then finally head downstairs to read. Hopefully this will get me to feeling sleepy. Finding the proper reading material is key. You want, light, airy reading. So the books I’ve checked out of the library with such titles as Coping With Job Loss and How to Stop Being Such a Miserable Fucktard are of no use to me now. I turn to the reliable Uncle John’s Bathroom reader series. It’s great for ADD, every topic lasts maybe 2 pages, tops. At the bottom of every page is a small factoid. Now the UJ people purport these to be true, but who really knows. It was this that got my weak mind thinking “Shit, I can probably make these up and sound just as legit.

Now that you know the humbling beginnings, feel free to wander through this weeks’ offering. I suppose if I was truly Net savvy, I would put these out through Twitter, but that whole notion pisses me off. But that’s another post for another time. So enjoy these for now.

The Sudan has 14 professional backgammon leagues.
Most blind people think you smell like EZ Cheese.
Peanut butter is an aphrodisiac to lady bugs.
Roger Goodman of Dentonville, AR made a pincushion entirely of belly lint for his wife. It took him 37 years to make. She soon divorced him.
Top three things in children’s nightmares; 3) clowns 2) monsters/ghosts 1) Dan Rather
Adding Borax to the gasoline in your lawn mower will increase fuel efficiency by 16%.
Pubic hair never develops split ends.
Cows used to be lactose intolerant, but evolution is a pretty groovy thing.
Faith Hill has 11 toes, but is still so blindingly hot, no one’s ever noticed.
Raisins left in the freezer turn back into grapes.
The 1990’s actually started in December of 1989.
Christopher Columbus also brought Chlamydia to the New World as well.
Nails were invented before hammers.
Dennis The Menace was the first comic strip character to utter the term “douchebag”.
Blondes really are more fun; not just in the sack.

So This Week I Am Pissing in Front of Elisha Cuthbert

My, my, my things are certainly picking up around the Theory offices. Last week I regaled you with tales of pissing in front of Mandy Moore. (Which is only like a post or 2 down, so feel free to read it and you won’t feel left out.) Well, there’s been a serious upgrade being made in terms of starlets I urinate in front of. This week, one of my favorites has magically appeared. Yes, 24 cutie and Girl Next Door Elisha Cuthbert. Rowwwrrrr!

While it’s not up to me to question how these things appear and disappear; I do not ask. I am only happy when it does. I now suspect it is the water company behind these new shenanigans. For example, last week I was mildly amused with pissing in front of Mandy Moore. It just wasn’t that big of a thrill. But now that Elisha has materialized, I find myself drinking approximately twice my body weight in ounces of water, just so I can relief myself in all of Elisha’s blonde cuteness. Not to even mention how many times I now flush the hopper.

Elisha first came to prominence in 24; a show we all know I am addicted to. On the show we (and by we, I mean horny guys everywhere) watched her play Jack Bauer’s daughter Kim. We watched her grow from ungrateful kid to barely serviceable CTU agent. Maybe it is just coincidence that the seasons the show blew donkey chunks were the years she was hardly on. This year was a home run, surely due in part to the return of Kim-even if we find out she is now in the MILF category (the character, not the person, thank God). So let’s just say I am very familiar with Cuthbert.

There’s a lot to like about her. She’s not one of those trouble/party babes. And she dates hockey players! I play hockey! Sure, it’s street hockey, and I play poorly, but, hey, I can dream. (And yes, she was the “sloppy seconds” that Sean Avery referred to.) Every time when I’ve used the john the last few days, I have had this splendor to look at:

But, wait, there’s more! Turns out there is another Elisha cover on the back of the magazine. 2 Elisha’s for the price of one! O lucky day! I actually prefer the back cover shot. With her sly smile, hand playfully poised behind her head. Take a gander for yo’ self:

It’s almost like she’s saying, “O, Kevin! You’re back again? I missed you so much. I really like spending time with you here. This bathroom gets so lonely for a girl like me.” Ever since she graced the top of the bowl, I have all but stopped whizzing outside. Almost, some habits are hard to break, eh? I don’t know how long Elisha will be gracing my commode. I know sooner or later, she will probably disappear; they always seem to just disappear. (She will probably disappear real quick if someone read s this Klog.) I can only appreciate here time in my bathroom.

If you will excuse me, I have drunk 5 glasses of water in the time it took me to write this up, and I must go pee like a madman.

Still, a part of me wonders, who will be next?

The Google Game

Hello, and welcome to an exciting new feature here on KT. I've had this idea rattling about in my head for some time. And after posting yesterdays' Mandy Moore is watching me pee Klog, and seeing the number of hits I got and where they were coming from, I realized now is the perfect time to start the Google Game. Brilliant, creative idea, or cheap way to get hits? You be the judge.

The Google Game works like this. At a random time, I will look at Google Trends. if you don't spend any time there, you should. It's a great and immediate way to see what stories are hot at the moment. Anyway, a lot of the gigs I apply to look for something called SEO-Search Engine Optimization. Which is essentailly just using hot key words to attract readers. Based on the above Mandy Moore story, I got all kinds of new hits-and new readers, I am sure-from people just Googling her name. So if I throw in all the hot terms being searched for on Google right now..... I think you get my drift. Say for example, you write a blog about, I don't know , gardening. Well, if you wanted to attract new readers via Google search, you might want to write something like "As I was planting daisies, I was listening to Michael Jackson while wearing my favorite Steve McNair jersey." Jackpot!

The game will be to use the top 10 (give or take) terms from Google. Repeats do not count, so it will be just one mention of said term, and this will also allow for more terms to be used. All I have to do is come up with a brief, semi-coherent, passibly humorous story, and watch the hits roll in. I am sure like a ton of other dunderheaded bloggers thought of this, in which case I 1) apologize in advance and 2) say your blog will be nowhere near funny as mine. Sorry, that's just the way it is. Anyway, let's get to it. Based on Google terms from Tuesday 7/7 at 2:01.

The Michael Jackson Memorial service(1) is being televised right now, but I wouldn't know that, because I am looking at pictures of athletes wives. Right now I am looking at pictures of Andy Reid's wife. I always thought he just ate her. Anyway, next I will look at QBs wives, I am sure they are all hot, even if said QB doesn't play anymore. I bet guys like Steve McNair (2) have a smoking wife. Not like the poor schmo I know who's dating this Iranian chick or something. Fucked up name like Sahel Kazemi (3) or something just as guilty sounding. Man, she's crazy and I hope can't get a gun in this country.

Can someone tell me why Nicole Bobek (4) isn't in the Tour de France 209 standings yet? Maybe it's because she is a former figure skater? Last I heard, she was working at Hexagon Security (5) guarding Forest Lawn Cemetary (6). I think she works with Joyce De Witt (7), and Joyce has detail guarding Roger Stone Palin (8). I heard he likes the Tall Ships in Boston, MA 2009 (9) and can even secure the ships to the dock with the Gordian Knot (10).

Ok, so that's the first Google Game. If you're new to my blog, I humbly ask you to stay for a while, kick your shoes off (but watch, the dog might get them), and help yourself to whatever is in the fridge and check out some more of my stuff.

Mandy Moore Watches Me Pee

Really. That’s all I got. I just really like that title. Mandy Moore watches me pee, and she loves it.

Yes, I feel like a bad blogger lately. It’s been awhile since I put something new here. No excuse, just life, weekends, holidays, mind numbing amounts of booze, etc. Actually, I’ve been on a bit more of a roll lately as far as this whole writing thing goes. I’ve gotten some pretty decent sounding leads lately. I mean, there really aren’t any scams on Craigslist anymore, right? I’ve found some cool sounding places to send my work to. And besides being the best damn blog on the internet, KevTheory also works as a nice resume. Nice of course meaning “pieces written about dogs and game shows”. So with this flurry of activity, I guess I should put some new shit on here. Shit, of course meaning “pieces written about toilets and magazines”.

I really wish I had more to say now. I haven’t had any life altering experiences lately. I see Michael Jackson is still dead. I know you all come here for a weekly dose of some sad sack unemployed hack whining about how unfair life is and everyone else is stupid. But that only goes so far.

So what was I talking about? O yea, Mandy Moore watching me urinate. I am sure you have many questions. “Kev, what is Mandy Moore doing in your bathroom?” “What is she chained to?” Isn’t Christina jealous?” What else do you do in front of Mandy Moore?” “Does she think your farts stink or does she cup them up to her nose?”

For the last few days, I have done both #1 and #2 in front of Ms. Moore. I’ve showered, shaved, brushed my teeth in front of lil ol’ Mandy. And just how do I pull this off? Well, it seems my wife has taken to leaving her magazines on top of the toilet. Yes, guys leave SI and Maxim on top of the crapper; chicks leave workout magazines. And for the past few days I’ve been whipping it out and doing the helicopter right in front of Mandy fricking Moore. It’s actually kinda liberating.

And MM just stays there like a good little girl. She doesn’t bitch, nor complain. She doesn’t criticize. She just lays there, a sly smile as I foul the bathroom. I never really liked MM. Nothing going on musically, never really found her ‘hot’ or attractive. But she had that whole Christian thing going on, and who wouldn’t want to defecate in front of that?

I ‘fess to sometimes flipping through her magazines. I never knew who Olivia Wilde was until she was on the cover-guess I gotta start watching House now. I don’t keep any of my few magazines in the john. (I think I only get 1 now anyways.) But it’s funny how workout magazines are still generally the same, even if they are marketed differently to men and women. Almost of the girl workout magazines I flip through whilst deuce-cutting all say the same basic thing on the cover. It’s always how to get tight abs, the hot, new food to eat that will shed the pounds (since when did blueberry count as being new?). There’s a hot new routine that will make you all Megan Fox in just 4 mere weeks. During the summer, there is almost always some quick workout that will get you ready for your bikini in just 3 weeks. Yea, I call shenanigans.

Men’s workout magazines are no different. There is usually something about abs on the cover, too. Whereas most women are looking to slim down, most guys are looking to add muscle. Sure enough, there’s almost always some 4 week program sure to have you ripping your shirts at even the thought of flexing your guns. I used to get a bunch of the workout magazines. Some of the writing was downright funny, in a sad way. Like there was some over-supplemented jock trainer calling you “bra” and yelling such power words as torch, max and pump. Really, after reading the hyperbole in some of these rags, it felt like I was reading WEA’s old hype pages for their shitty releases.

Anyway, back to Mandy. Did you know she’s married to Ryan Adams? How the hell did that happen? How did a credentialed rock star meet and marry a Mandy Moore type. Somewhere, Martika is crying because she’s married to a landscaper.

So that’s all I got. I have to go say hi to Mandy for like the 3rd time today; damn buffalo chicken chili pizza.