Just one survivor left…

You may have heard the news. There’s only one living survivor left from the Titanic. (The Titanic just called to say it was definitely NOT its fault… honest…)

Now, listen, I’m in a bit of a slump. I’m in a bad mood, foul spirits, so you’ll forgive me if I’m a bit cruel… cause that’s easy, after all. But I can’t help but wonder what that must be like. To be the only living survivor.

Were the survivor a guy, it might be fun to say things like, “Unsinkable? She was fucking every guy on the ship!” or totally random things like, “By the end, they all became cannibal zombies and ate the brains of the crew! That’s why it went down, you know? Because of those god-damned Methodists! What? Who are you calling a liar? Were you there? Did you see it? NO!”

See, that’s the thing that must be so satisfying, to be the only one who really knows.

But then, you find out that the last remaining survivor of the Titanic was only two months old at the time. What good is that? What do you say then? “I don’t know about the crash but I sucked some serious tit, let me tell you.”

Actually, this has little to do with some two month old – but, one more thing, how sad is it that this woman is only known for being in an accident at two months? Seriously, how sad that the only thing they can say is, “She was on a boat that sank – er, and she was a wonderful person as well, I’m sure…”

Where was I? Oh, right. This isn’t about that.

The thing is, I’ve been sitting here thinking about that whole survivor gig. Is it really all it’s cracked up to be? In all honesty, my first thought goes to the ex-wife and the hell I went through trying to keep myself from being put in a mental ward or committing suicide and, seriously, I don’t need the t-shirt. I think about Sean, who lost his wife over a year ago. I think about Vicky, who lost her grandparents. We are all survivors, in a way.

The thing is, it’s no great thrill. It’s not as though you don’t want to survive – hey, surviving is part of what we’re here for! – but you kind of wish the title didn’t need to be applied to you. After all, isn’t “survivor” the ultimate back-handed compliment? “Hey! You lost your wife! Your grandparents died! Don’t you feel great?”

“Survivor” is a brand on par with nothing else I can think of. There are cancer survivors who probably just wish they’d never had cancer. There are car crash survivors who, I’m sure, would rather never do that again. I don’t know if the last survivor of the Titanic thinks too much about it – except when people ask what it was like. “I was only two months old! Give me a fucking break!” – but being a survivor is no treat.

It’s like eating a particularly bad meal cooked by someone you love. You don’t want to eat it. In fact, you hate it. Maybe you force a smile and make yummy sounds, telling all the while what a delight it is. Maybe you just grit your teeth and rub your throat to make the food go down. When you’re finished, that’s it. You’ve survived.

And you hope you’ve learned enough not to accept that invitation again.

Waterboardin', USA Video...

Bushie Beach Boys...

Great (White) Northern...

Couldn't help it. Great song, though.

And you’re fat, too…

This morning, I saw an article on MSN called “5 Reasons You’re Not Losing Weight”. (MSN folk, read Elements of Style and spell out your numbers below 10… and the word "Why" would help... gahd, that’s irritating!)

Without reading it, I already knew what it said.

1. You’re fat.
2. You’re a fatty fat McFatster.
3. You are so fucking fat.
4. Holy shit, Martha! He’s coming at the children with ketchup.
5. You fat fuck.

So, I immediately composed my own list: Five Reasons I’m Not Reading This List…

There goes Date Rape Cereal – part of this complete breakfast…

Okay, so let’s walk through this.

But before we do, let me emphasize that this was made in Australia, which is NOT spelled C-H-I-N-A…

So, this toy manufacturer is making a toy… for kids… made of beads… but the manufacturer doesn’t think there’d be any possibility any child would, oh, try to eat… the beads… in the toy… cause they’re kids… and what kid ever… you know?

But to add insult to just plain bat-shit crazy, they make the candy out of a chemical that the human body just so happens to metabolize as gamma hydroxy butyrate… you know… GHB… Georgia Home Boy… G-Riffick… Cherry Meth… Salty Water… Easy Lay… the stuff usually referred to as a date rape drug!

So, you’re making a child’s toy out of a date rape drug, just the right size for chewing… well, god-damn them liberal, big government regulators, wanting to get all up in a corporation’s right to market date rape toys to children! After all, wasn’t this what the Republican Revolution was meant to stop? (Not date rape toys but corporate regulation.)

Now, call me crazy… I’ll wait… but wouldn’t it be fun to follow extra large shipments of these and see who got them? I’m picturing the old man from Family Guy opening a toy store…

Special Comment on Torture Part 2

For seven years, evil men have worn the cloak of patriotism and we have let them. What will it take for us to stop allowing such evil?

Special Comment on Torture Part 1

What will it take for us to agree on something so fundamentally basic?

Small Wonder…

I just came back from a philosophy class in which 99% of the class, while not denying that the Holocaust ever occurred, refused to admit that it had any relation to our lives. These barely post-pubescent pinheads felt that the Holocaust bares no relation to then because that was other people – GERMANS – doing things to someone else – JEWS.

… is it any wonder we even have to debate the ethics of torture in this country?

Breaking children…

IHOP. Yesterday. Breakfast.

Vicky and I went to IHOP for a couple reasons but, mostly I think, because Vicky knows that pancakes put me in a very happy place. We were waiting for our table out in a little room with very few seats (which always seems to be the case – I don’t know why) when a young woman walked in with (who I am guessing to be) her sister, her mother, and her daughter. This little baby was in a small – what do they call them? – baby carrying case and I got up from my seat so the woman could put her baby down.

This put the baby right next to Vicky – and Vicky is in such a state of maternal energy overload (must get this girl preggers) that she positively gushed over the little, baby girl. She cooed and made this strange, little voice and talked with the mom and had a grand time.

Meanwhile, I thought about having one of our own and every single solitary god damned fucking thing that could go wrong.

At the top of this list, a list I know very well because I’d had time to think about it, is the ever popular “Breaking the Baby.”

Listen, babies are very fragile creatures. You have to be very careful with them. You have to support their neck when you hold them. If you don’t support it just right – if you get it just a little wrong – broken neck and you’ve killed your baby. And, if there’s one thing I know it’s that women get angry when you do that. Breaking babies is bad. It puts you above Michael Jackson and Brittney Spears on a list of all-time worst baby people – because they never broke their kids, you know?

Vicky found out the little angel was only two months old. Two months. And her neck still needed support. That’s eight weeks, 56 days wherein you could break the baby! That’s crazy! So, not wanting to be without the correct info, I asked, “For how long do you need to support their necks?”

“About four months,” Vicky replied.

Four months. That’s 16 weeks! For 112 days (give or take) you could easily become a baby breaker! Holy crap! I could only imagine prisons filled with baby killers who were convicted because someone asked, “Will you hold my baby?” One SNAP later and they’re doing a perp-walk!

Of course, it gets worse. The little girl got bored of waiting, after a while, and started to nibble on her hood – she was wearing this jacket, um, thing with a hood – and that got me to thinking… if their necks are that fragile for four months, what about the rest of their bodies? Can you imagine? You try to put their foot in a bootie – SNAP! You try to slip on a sleeve – SNAP! Babies are nothing but hospital bills and prison sentences waiting to happen!

Meanwhile, people half my age… and less… are having babies with no problem. I am sure Vicky would be happy to point this out. Of course, these young idiots probably have no idea how easily they could be the next person imprisoned for breaking babies!

I’m sure you’re thinking I’m just being paranoid… so let me tell you something truly frightening. Vicky sprained her ankle last week. She was walking. She sprained her ankle… from walking. She was coming into the garage and dropped like a stone. I have a tendency to run into things and trip over things.

Now, seriously, does anyone really think we WON’T break our baby?

I’m beginning to think I should invest in rubber bumpers for when we “baby proof” our house…

Lack of sleep takes its toll...

Or, "My days as a poet/songwriter are very numbered"...
Or, "Jokes only I can find funny"...

my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard
and they are under the impression that their product's quality exceeds that displayed by mine in survey after survey
and this is shown in conclusive double-blind studies conducted by the most reputable marketing firms
such information, however, comes at a premium

Shows I hate…

Continuing the idea from a previous email, I also got to thinking that I often surround myself with shows I hate. That is to say, I dedicatedly watch TV shows that annoy and bother me.

I can think of four off the top of my head.

Let’s start with Dirty Sexy Money or, what they should have called, Rich Folk Ain’t So Bad. This show started out as a show about a normal guy in the middle of a family of rich lunatics. Is it well written? Yes. Well acted? Try Peter Krause and Donald Sutherland! But come on! The rich people get more likable with every show, like the final seasons of MASH, almost to the point where they’re trying to say “Rich people are just like you and me”. No, they’re not. And this was our chance to mock them. And you blew it.

… but I’ll keep watching.

Next, how about Desperate Housewives or, what they should have called, Women Suck. This is a show about a bunch of women who do nothing but cause problems. They are irritating, bitchy, nosey, vindictive, spiteful… okay, and funny. I’ll give you that. But the characters are totally inconsistent and never learn.

… but I’ll keep watching.

What about Heroes? Have you seen Heroes? Or, what they should have called, Don’t Look At Me. Listen, I’m a comic book geek from the old days but even I am growing tired of waiting four or five or six episodes in a row for something to happen. Can something please, you know, occur??? I mean, I know those nifty special effects cost a bundle but, if I wanted something without effects, shit I’d shoot it!

… but I’ll keep watching.

Granted, none of these are as bad as the supremo supremo of awful television, a show so bad it’s not even “so bad it’s good”… it’s just bad. I’m talking, of course, about Jericho, which they should have called Nuclear War Smuclear War. This is a show about what happens after a nuclear war… a nuclear war in which the bombs do no damage, they just incite people to act like idiots. Seriously. Fallout goes away in days. Crops grow heartily. Machines still run. There’s no radiation. Vicky and I watched last season just to play “spot the complete lack of science – or “Where did the writer ignore his science teacher”. And we’ll probably do that again this season. (Which reminds me – WHAT THE FUCK?)

… so… you know…

The End of the Inclusiveness…

When I told Vicky that we were through with All-Inclusive Resorts, I think my verdict came in a little early for her.

I don’t often lay down the law in my house – anyone who has met Vicky can understand why – but this time I had to.

“No more All Inclusive for us!” I said. “We’re done.”

“Except if we go back to the Bahamas,” she noted. This was her fall-back, compromise, reasonable response.

Screw that. “Nope. No more.”

Here’s the thing. We went down to the RIU in Cabo for six days of All-Inclusive decadence… and it turned out to be a total waste. The best meal we had was off the resort! Besides that, the idea of All-Inclusive just isn’t us any more. AI works great if all you plan to do is eat, drink, smoke, eat, smoke, drink, and smoke… what? I like to smoke. Oh well. The thing is, that’s just not us any more.

I am very happy to say that! That is not us any more!

Even when we ate at the resort, we didn’t gorge ourselves. We ate reasonable meals, and they probably would have been tastier off the resort. We didn’t drink a lot, either. The fact is, AI has become a waste of our time and money.

When we went to Hawaii, we had a great time doing a non-AI vacation. We went to all sorts of different places. Our favorite restaurant was an Asian-Italian Fusion place we never would have experienced at an AI resort.

So, that’s it. We’re done.

Could it be we’re getting healthier? Could it be we’re getting back in the groove of being the people we want to be. Let’s hope so!

People I can't stand... no, it's not a list...

“It’s what you surround yourself with,” Vicky told me. “You surround yourself with people you can’t stand. Actors, philosophers, writers – you always do that.”

I should probably explain something. She was talking about types of people, not specific individuals.

Oh, and she was right.

Here’s the thing. I returned to my philosophy course last night and was more disgusted by it than ever. Let me tell you three stories.

First, there were the two kids arguing about if a chair really existed. There you go, the stereotypical philosophy student. I just want to smack them! We are waging an illegal war and they are wasting their time talking about if chairs exist?! I want to tell them that there are far more important things going on – so cut it the fuck out!

Then, of course, there was my instructor, an unwashed, halitosis monster of mediocrity who is so filled with his own importance… well, again, the stereotype. This was the kind of instructor who initially turned me off to philosophy. As a matter of fact, I took Introductory Philosophy twice with this type of teacher because I kept failing due to sleeping in class! (I was partying more back then…)

Lastly, there was the writer and, again, what a stereotype. “Just wait five years. I’ll write my book and you’ll see it in Barnes & Noble.” I’m not kidding. He said this. Now, listen, I’ve been a writer for many years and I have not once made such a claim. I consider it not just egotistical bragging but nonsensical – to brag about something you haven’t even done, yet! What kind of person does that? I have always played things closer to the vest, so I don’t understand. I will talk about my writing but I’ve always understood the capricious nature of art. Art is casting yourself upon the universe and hoping you’ll stick. Most of us are too oily.

You can imagine how irate I was when Vicky and I were having dinner. I grumbled about the writer, the teacher, the students.

And that’s when she said it.

Now, listen. I love actors. Their ability to open themselves up to a new reality (the good ones, at least) is amazing. Sadly, though, there are so few good ones and even fewer great ones and even those are usually so full of themselves that they can be hard to take. Maybe that’s why those actors I do love, I love so much. Actors I have worked with, such as Stephanie and David Graham and Chris Anzalone (and, for that matter, nearly the entire cast of 40 Carats, Everything Changes, Athiests, and Whatever Happened to Me) (not that I see any of these people any more... which, in itself, may be telling...) transcend their own experience and can connect as completely different people. It’s really a kind of magic. Too bad so many of them are full of shit.

Writers are whiny bitches. Yes, writing is hard work and the payoff is… what’s the word?... oh, nonexistent. But the act itself is as fulfilling as any. Those writers I have known who can create their own realities, just as actors create completely new people, such as Rob Sassone, Tim Clostio, and Richard Lind, amaze me exactly because it is so unlikely that anyone could do such a thing and do it well. (And, yet, most writing is crap, which makes the fortunately constructed tale or book or whatever so amazing.) I just wish they didn’t whine so much. Bunch of pussies.

As for philosophers… listen, if you want to ask me a question, ask it. But ask it honestly and be sure there’s a reason. We’ll never truly know the nature of reality. So, until there’s nothing else on our plate, let’s deal with the important things that are going on. We have an illegal war, a planet going quickly into Fucksylvania, and a human race with no sense of right and wrong. Let’s start with that. And don’t be cute. Don’t take opposing sides just so you stand out and can act smart. If it’s a good idea to help one another, leave your Libertarian bullshit at the door. Assholes. I’ve never met a philosopher I liked. There. I said it. That doesn’t mean they don’t exist. Robert Pirsig is a philosopher who I consider to be extremely important… I’ve just never met him. I have known philosophy professors who I liked a great deal, however, so maybe you can count that. The rest of you, straighten the fuck up.

So, then, what does that mean, that I consistently surround myself with the types of people I hate? Does it mean I hate myself? After all, I’m an actor, a writer, and a philosopher – and there’s no guaranty that I’m at all good at any of those things.

I spent most of the evening and this morning thinking about this.

Here’s what I think.

Each of these, actor, writer, philosopher, is something that takes a great deal of very hard work to even approach a minimal level of competency. So, I guess the pitfalls along the way will include self-indulgence, some bitching, and a bit of lost focus. In other words, you’re going to end up with a whole lot of people who simply can’t do it. And posers? Oh my god! Tons of them! I can’t tell you how many wannabes I’ve met!

The thing is you never hear someone say, “Those janitors! They’re so fucking full of themselves!”

Wherever we strive for greatness, you’re going to run into some problems along the way.

I’ve been fortunate to know people who strive for greatness.

I guess I shouldn’t complain so much about the problem children.

Bad stuff…

So, Consumers International released its list of bad products for 2007 and, I gotta ask, at what point was this not obvious?

Topping the list at #1 was Coca-Cola for Dasani Water, tap water in a bottle. In truth, all bottled water should be on the list. They don’t use environmentally friendly packaging (yes, there’s such a thing) and all that plastic ends up creating a health hazard – otherwise known as a world that’s polluted to fuck all.

Coming in at #2 was Kelloggs, for the great job they’ve done advertising sugar and fat to kids. Okay, seriously, it’s not that hard and everybody does it – McDonald’s, Hershey, you name it. So, why don’t we put a universal ban on this practice for everyone? Or do we like diabetic kids? (The idea, I mean.)

The bronze goes to Mattel, for selling lead to kids in the form of toys. We all know lead is a poison. How about making it illegal, then? Or, at least, pass a law requiring one lead pill a day to the family of every politician who doesn’t vote for such a bill?

But, overall, the winner (which I guess is the Missed Congeniality Award) was Takeda Pharmaceuticals, for advertising sleeping pills for kids. Good! Put them on uppers and then get them on downers – for the perfect child! Ever since the Pharms got permission to advertise on TV, back in the 90’s, it’s been a race to the shame. We haven’t seen the worst, yet, believe me. Why don’t we stop this practice.

Mind you, they left out the biggest seller from our Prez’s administration: Fear and Hate. Oh wait. That’s two. Forget it.

The Games and Music Edition…

It’s been a while since I commented on the worlds of games and music – and that’s probably because nobody listens to me anyway – but I thought I would again.

Let’s start with games!

The Pirates of the Caribbean MMO will be going gold soon. I am bound by my agreement from playing the Beta not to comment on the quality of the Beta. This I will not do. As for the game itself, stay far, far away. Kids will love this game… five year old kids… those who don’t play MMOs…

As for WoW, well…after patch 2.2.0 (the one adding in-game verbal chat), my whole game went in the shitter. It just wouldn’t work. The people at Bliz were kind enough to freeze my account until a fix was found. However, after several fixes haven’t worked, a real fix looks a long way off. I’ve even uninstalled and reinstalled the whole thing – a Herculean effort as any WoW player will know. Now, they’re saying that I need to switch back to a Wireless-G network and not use USB, to which I replied “It worked before the patch just fine so it’s not the network that’s the problem.” They just need to fix their game. Until then, I guess I’m not playing.

The irony here is that Keith just bought me 60 days on the game for my birthday. Whoops! I need to call him and thank him… and let him in on the joke… but I figured I’d write it here, in case he’s reading.

So, what does a guy do when WoW is down? Get a life? Hell, no! I’m married! (hee hee) Anyway, I’m a junkie. I need a fix. After playing Oblivion for a while, I decided to take a break from that. Great game, mind you… but… So, I bought Galactic Civilizations. Great game, in the spirit of Master of Orion, but it’s a snack with no story. That’s when I found Two Worlds. Let me start by saying that, if you play games and if you liked Oblivion, there’s a good chance you’ll love this on the PC. The graphics are beautiful and the gameplay is fun. The story is standard and the acting is subpar, sure, but it’s fun. And a lot of little innovations make it a pleasure to play.

I’ll keep busy until they get WoW working again.

In the meantime, maybe I’ll be able to catch up on my music, too. I’ve been horrible about keeping up on my bands. You see, once I really fall for a band or a musician, I become a total fan. I have to get everything they release. I listen over and over – I did, at least, until recently. I’ve just been too busy… um, playing WoW, mostly.

The last music I bought was Amber Rubarth’s. I like her a lot. The best thing about her album, Unfinished Art, is that, while it was released as an EP, she has provided bonus tracks to her fans for download. Her next album is finished and I will do the iTunes on that one, no doubt! But, in the meantime, everything else has fallen behind! I still haven’t purchased the new cd by The Thrills. I don’t have KT Tunstall’s new album. For crying out loud, even the amazing Steve Forbert has a new album that I’ve yet to purchase. Seriously, something is wrong.

I need to rectify that.

Thankfully, Vicky bought me the new one from The Boss (MAGIC) for my birthday. It slams into high gear from the first track, Radio Nowhere. (I previously posted it here.) I was surprised to hear him channeling Billy Joel in Your Own Worst Enemy, but have you seen Grampa Bill lately? Shit, someone has to!

Granted, I’d be completely happy, content, and overjoyed, if all I bought was a new Al Stewart album every two weeks – but this is the real world, right? People are out there pouring their hearts into instruments and microphones, into digital inputs, and I love music. I need to get to that.

Make some time.

Stop playing Two Worlds. (Who said that?)

Fire and Water…

Bottled water. Bottles and bottles of bottled water.

See, Vicky and I have recently started weaning ourselves off of plastic bottles, which means bottled water, juice, soda, etc. Yes, it sucks but it will help make the planet a better place for our Green Baby because we’re producing a lot less waste.

… except for when we were in Cabo.

In Cabo George Lucas, you have to drink bottled water because the regular water is so… vile. And so, I watched us empty one bottle after another. Bottle after bottle. And it was really difficult not to see it as pound after pound after pound of pollution. (Yes, even recycling creates pollution. The only way away from it is to stop using it.)

But we had to drink it. We had no choice.

I had to drink it more than Vicky.

I was sick. I contracted Montezuma’s Revenge while we were down there, a fairly nasty case that made Vicky insist I see a doctor. The doctor pushed the fluids, which meant plenty of bottled water and Pedialyte, for electrolytes… and that also comes in a plastic bottle. After days of fever, neausea, cramps, weakness, and diarrhea that had me wondering if I was morphing into some strangely scatological mutant, I’d burned through so many bottles, I’m ashamed to say. I just pictured the mountains of plastic waste I was creating. (Granted, in Cabo, that ain’t saying much.)

By Wednesday, I was happy to be flying back to the last of water that, while not so clean that people did not still drink bottled water even if the bottled water was usually dirtier than that stuff from the tap, was clean enough to drink without worrying about getting some horrible, new disease… normally.

Then, as we flew over San Diego at 34,000 feet, we saw it. Huge, red smears marred the landscape, our introduction to the Southern California fires. They were huge. Including those we didn’t see, they created enough smoke to blot out the sun all around LAX, where we landed. Shorter winters make for longer, more intense fire seasons, all thanks to global warming.

It’s funny how obvious our species’ effect on the planet is, once you become aware of your effect as an individual.

Things we shouldn't have to say...

"The Senate is considering a bill that would grant immunity to any telecom company that assisted in the administration's illegal wiretapping. Chris Dodd promised to put a hold on any such bill, and Joe Biden and Barack Obama pledged to uphold it. We believe that any bill coming before the Senate that includes provisions for so-called 'amnesty' for large companies involved in illegally spying on Americans should be opposed, and have authored a letter to this effect addressed to Majority Leader Reid."

Amnesty for criminals? Is that what these "law and order" Repugs are all about?

Sign the letter.

Strong turtles…

Anyway, as I said, we’re back. We’ve returned from a week in Cabo San Lucas.

… not much to say, really…

Once upon a time, I’d write the entire trip up into one, long narrative. But now I’ve become old and lazy and fat and boring and slow and … you can stop me at any time!

So, I figured I’d give you the trip a little at a time – or until I get tired to telling you – which could be tomorrow…

Saturday morning.

Vicky and I were walking the beach, watching the beach come to life. People were waking up, some were walking on the shore with us. I’d already been up for a while. I’d tried jogging on the beach – very unsuccessfully, however! The sand in Cabo is thick and you sink into it pretty far, a big change from the shore in Orange County. So, I only ran about half a mile before I was through. Then, Vicky wanted to walk it so… back I went.

Here and there, we’d pass tracks in the sand that looked like little Tonka trucks. I explained to Vicky and I’d seen one of these tracks being made. Turtles, I told her. Little, baby turtles.

Sure enough, we found one of these little guys (the girl turtles had pink bows on their shells) propelling himself fiercely down to the water. Like I had when I’d seen one before, Vicky struggled with the idea of picking him up and putting him in the water. But sometimes you have to allow things the struggle their lives bring them and, while this is in no way meant as a political statement, we decided to let the turtle get down to the shore itself. (Now, if your mind just went to the allegorical idea about helping those less fortunate than ourselves, that would indicate a couple of things. First, seek help because your mind is as political as mine. Second, this is not to say we should let those less fortunate struggle on their own without helping them. The turtle’s struggle is instinctive and a natural part of his life. We can make the act of giving natural to ourselves or we can make our greed and selfishness more natural, but I’m willing to bet one of those is a better, more caring nature, one that just about every religion in the world espouses – and no, Mr. Republican and Miss Libertarian, I’m not talking about greed and selfishness.)

Vicky and I stood there, cheering it on, until another couple came up… and thought we were nuts. Okay, so we had to explain ourselves. Then, they joined in.

When the turtle got down to the water, it looked like he’d made it, Then, a big wave picked him up and dropped him several feet back up the shore, in the wrong direction. But he seemed to have got a taste for the water because, as worn out as he was before, now he charged back down!

… and was picked up and dropped several feet in the wrong direction again.

We really began to worry. How does a little thing like that fight the powerful tide of Cabo??

Then, it hit another big wave. Only, this time, it didn’t get washed up! It was in the water!

It was my favorite moment with Vicky, believe it or not, my favorite of the trip. The two of us, rooting for a baby turtle. I don’t know what that says but I think there’s something there that sums us up.

… oh wait. That’s it! I want a baby! OH, VICKY!

Just so you know… we’re back…

Good Evening. And Welcome to another Episode of Café Tourettes.

Waiter: Thank you for dining at Café Tourettes. Can I take your – FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! – can I take your order?

Customer: Yes, my wife will have the salmon and baby potatoes – SUCK MY BALLS! MY BALLS! SUCK THEM! – and I think I’ll try the leek soup and a small, green salad – I SNORT THE IMMORTAL ASSHOLE OF THE WICKED! SHIT! SHIT! – does that come with capers?

And as for the aggressive part…

In class last night, a girl – her name is Shawn and she reminds me very much of a girl I knew in the 4th grade named Shawn… except she’d have to be 20 years older – looked over at my notes and said, “You’re a very aggressive individual.”

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“Your handwriting,” she explained. “You have very decisive lines. Very aggressive and decisive.”

“Oh,” I replied. “I don’t know. I guess.”

Well, so much for decisive…