Thumbs up for itchy genitalia!David Duchovny is entering a treatment facility for sex addiction.
The former X-files star and current golden-globe winning best comic actor for the tv series Californication (which I have never seen and never even heard of until I read the article about his precocious cock) entered a facility Thursday, and is asking for, "respect and privacy for my wife and children as we deal with this situation as a family."

I'm sure sex addiction really exists. And it's probably a difficult problem that fucks your life up pretty thoroughly. I imagine it's hard to keep any sort of relationship, friendship, or career going if you're indiscriminately fucking anything that moves.
But you'll have to color me skeptical on this one. In the past ten years or so, it seems like EVERY celebrity that cheats on his wife blames it on "sex addiction". I guess they don't realize that sex addiction is a lot different from just wanting to fuck everything that points its genitals in your general direction-- that's called "having a penis". Most guys with penises realize that you have to restrain that tiny monster if you're going to maintain lasting relationships with the people you care about. Male celebrities choose to ignore this social norm because, well, they're male celebrities-- a rare breed whose stupidity is only eclipsed by the size of their massive hubris. But they need to know that choosing to ignore your conscience and fuck whatever's wet and nearby just because you are famous and you want to doesn't make you a sex addict-- it just makes you a jerk.

That's the way it's been, since Alexander the Great-- probably the first male celebrity-- roamed the Euro-Asian continent conquering, pillaging, amassing, and copiously dipping his quill in many a Macedonian ink pot. He surely got way more than his fair share of that bushy, ancient Greek pussy. Yum yum.
And he was entitled to it, because back then, women sucked. They put up with that shit because they didn't have a choice. Let your husband run around on you, or you get killed and replaced.

And run around they did. There is a mathematical formula explaining the relationship between how much and how often a man fucks to the size of his ego, his military, or his wallet. The degree and frequency of fornication is exponentially proportional to the amounts of power, fame, and money he has amassed.

In ancient times, more money, power, and fame equaled more pussy because it meant you could afford to buy more wives or slaves (oh wait, they're the same thing), or conquer more neighboring kingdoms (and get more wife-slaves), or be famouser and get more wives or slaves as gifts from the devoted fans of your talented painting, sculpting, or mud farming.
NOW, increased power, money, or fame leads to more pussy because... well, women still suck. Not all women, mind you (just like not all men will cheat on their wives if given the chance) but a significant enough proportion of them to make me a dedicated misanthropist.

In spite of all my hope for the world, and Barack Obama's halcyon promises of reformatory change, there are still billions of women out there who think that sleeping with a man will make him like you.

Idiots. Anal sex is not a friendship bracelet.

But this nasty cycle will continue on down the years in perpetuity because there are also billions of men whom, if given the chance, would love nothing more than to accommodate those delusional broads by diddling their dingles in their doodle holes.

Maybe David Duchovny really does have a problem with sex addiction. If that's the case, then I really do feel (somewhat) bad for him. As psychological disorders go, I'd rather be a sex addict than a schizophrenic or a sociopath, but it's still got to be difficult to deal with it.

But... I mean... the guy married Tea Leoni. And his last name is suspiciously close to the word "Douche". So, I'm just gonna have to drop the gavel on this one and rule it "Horny asshole-i-tude." Throw him in a cell with all the other sex addiction perjurers. He and Usher can give each other homemade prison tats while Kobe Bryant and Charlie Sheen build tiny log cabins out of Lucky Strikes. Maybe he'll collaborate with Robbie Williams and they'll put out a shitty shitty album together. After parole, he and Michael Douglas (yes, that Michel Douglas.. Ewww) can go on a tour speaking at community colleges all over Arkansas, spreading the word that sex addiction is no longer a valid defense against the crime of being a dick bag.

Just like not all murderers can get away with killing someone because they claim insanity, not all philanderers can get way with indiscriminate fucking because they cry satryiasis. Regardless of whether the charge is murder or just ADHD genitalia, bullshit is still bullshit. And you can't get away with doing whatever you want by labeling it as a psychological disorder after the fact.

So I hereby implore all male celebrities (Kanye West),juvenile hangers-on (Kevin Federline), and male pseudo-celebrities (Lindsay Lohan) to stop using the Sexual Addiction defense, when it's really just a case of you being an asshole. The prison of America's cultural wasteland is already overcrowded, and there's no more room for us to facilitate your "rehabilitation" you when you so obviously perjure yourselves in the court of "who gives a fuck".

That cell-block is full.

I know some college students who could stand to use that. I love you Onion.

thanks jessticles!

Last night I was talking to David-- my only (and significant) other-- and relating the fact that I will be playing beach volleyball at Hooters every Thursday night from now until perdition--which shouldn't be OVERLY long. I consider Hooters to be a cultural signpost on the highway to the apocalypse. Next exit, 40 miles: Stucky's.

Well, we started wondering about whether or not creepy old doods would be ogling me while I play. Personally, I think they'll be far too busy leering at the waitresses, who (unlike me) pay attention to them and pretend to be nice so they can soak em for a big fat tip.
This inevitably led to a discussion about the questionable sartorial sense of Hooters' waitresses' "uniforms". I think we can all agree that the orange rayon shorts, shiny flesh-colored 'Minelli' tights, and white sneakers combo is more than a little trashy. Unless you are the kind of guy who regularly uses phrases like "I'm gonna demolish that crotch" the getup is just plain physically unappealing. I postulated that the founders of Hooters consciously made these horrible wardrobe decisions so that the wives/girlfriends/secretaries of the men who frequent Hooters could have a little catty nugget of bitchidence to chew on: the fact that, sometimes thanks only to the outfit, the waitresses don't really look hot, just kind of nasty.

But David pointed out that the franchise was started in the 80s, and at that time, the beer & wing-serving aerobics instructor look may have been the height of fashionable sex appeal.
I erroneously thought that Hooters MUST have come from the Midwest. I'm not sure why. I guess I just assume that everything embarrassing that's made of synthetic fabrics comes from there. So I began wondering what other horrible 80s engendered legacies America's Bread Basket has foisted on the rest of the civilized, breathable-fabric wearing world.
It turns out that Hooters was actually started in Clearwater, Florida. But I was still curious about what plagues came out of the Great Plains during that decade. Turns out, not too much happened in that part of the country in the 1980s.
Just like today.

Papa John's Pizza: Indiana, 1984

As a high school student working at a local pizza pub in Jeffersonville, Indiana, Papa John's founder John Schnatter realized that there was something missing from national pizza chains: a superior-quality traditional pizza delivered to the customer's door. His dream was to one day open a pizza restaurant that would fill that void.

Papa wants to fill your void... with mooshy crust, undercooked toppings, and copious amounts of bowel-wrenching gas. Or as one E-pinions reviewer calls it, "Pizza for Kentucky and Indiana...Garlic dipping sauce? lol!"

Rollerblades: Minnesota, 1980

Minnesota students Scott and Brennan Olson were looking for a way to practice hockey during the off-season. What they came up with is a way to instantly make any heterosexual male look fruitier than a skittles enema. You 'blade to those Chelsea piers, Gabriel! Don't let the terrorists win!

This Guy: Ohio, 1988

Thank you Myspace. Without your pile of code, I would never have me the author of "drunk stories lol" and inventor of such verbal gems as the phrase "ER1"... as in "ER1 in the club gettin' tipsy".

He's been "keepin' it real nigga" ever since he was a lower case G. (I swear to god this is a real baby picture from his site.) And people say that shit is a "choice"!

Great Plains: Minnesota(??)- 1987

I wasn't listening to pop country in the 80's. God help the wretched souls who were. Can't come up with a video concept for your mediocre country tripe? SOLUTION: Nearly-continuous 360 panning!! Confuse and nauseate the viewers until they're no longer sure whether they're watching a music video or endoscopic footage of a colonoscopy.


1,550 wooden chairs, piled building-high, set flush with the facades of surrounding buildings. Doris Salcedo at the Alexander and Bonin gallery.

Thanks! Licentious

David and Ben are in Vegas right now for a vacation, which just happens to cooincide with New Media Expo.

We're big fans of Twit, so we were excited about the fact that Leo is doing a TwitLive from the floor of NME.

Intense waves of geekgasm joy ensued with me watching Twitlive from, and taking screen caps of David & Ben in the crowd while THEY take pictures of my chats as they show up on a screen that is being shown to the audience. And texting each other all the while.

(click for larger version)

And I'm about to post this blog, which they will be able to read on their iPhones/iPods. I am so fucking happy right now, and for no good reason!

Yay New Media!!

Further Proof...

... that Sex & Engineering are mutually exclusive endeavors:

thanks jessticles!

Smell my Genes

I can smell your sexy
I can smell your sexy.

Apparently odor plays a HUGE part in how human beings choose a "mate". Both how you perceive smell and what you smell like are affected by your genetic makeup. But birth control pills are threatening the future of the human race by affecting womens' ability to smell out men who are genetically different from them.

According to a recent study researching the affects of birth control on perceptions of sexual attractiveness :

"The results showed that the preferences of women who began using the contraceptive pill shifted towards men with genetically similar odors," said UL evolutionary psychologist Craig Roberts. "Not only could [this] similarity in couples lead to fertility problems, but it could ultimately lead to the breakdown of relationships when women stop using the contraceptive pill, as odor perception plays a significant role in maintaining attraction to partners."

The idea that I'm smelling out my men makes me a little uncomfortable. The idea that AXE commercials may be scientifically valid makes me cringe. But the idea that taking birth control affects who I am attracted to just downright freaks me the fuck out. And do different brands make you attracted to different types? Yaz makes you want a hairy, muscular misogynist while Ovcon pushes you towards sensitive, artistic jerks?
If you took Orthotricyclin, you'd think this guy smells totally hot

We all know that hormones can affect our thinking. Anyone who's ever cried at a WGN family drama starring Billy Ray Cyrus then realized that it's the day before her period can attest to that. Personally, my PMS tends to manifest itself in the form of sudden existential crises, skin-deep arm-chair philosophy, and trying to sound profound on Twitter.

But no one wants science to force them to acknowledge how deeply hormones can effect such basic decision-making processes as choosing a lover-- something that we would normally consider a fundamental part of our basic identities.

I guess the only thing to do is to either NEVER take birth control, or else to pick one brand and stick with it for as long as you want your marriage to last.

Advice taken from my personal experiences with Heavenly Images Dental Center in Berry Hill (They were supposed to become my new dentist today).


Appearance is Everything!
Create what real estate professionals call "curb appeal" by painting the exterior of your one-story brick bungalow a nauseating shade of pepto-pink. Instead of actual landscaping, opt for plastic flowers stolen from the nearby Woodlawn cemetary and unceremoniously stuck in the ground funerary-style. Be sure the outside of your door looks like it's been kicked in a few times when you forgot your key, and has a plastic dollartree sign hanging on it announcing (in Spanish) that even though it is 3:00 in the afternoon and someone has an appointment, you are closed and will return at 8:00 in the morning.


You Can't Eat Atmosphere!
Make the hole in the yellowed-with-age bulletproof-style glass separating your receptionist from the waiting room incredibly small and at chest level, thereby ensuring that anyone but Estelle Getty will have to stoop awkwardly like a pack mule to either talk to you or hear what you're saying. Also, play smooth, smooth jazz at ridiculous volumes over your satelite radio-- loud enough to almost, but not quite, drown out the angry midday judge television program turned up way too high on the waiting room tv. Have NO magazines whatsoever. Only brochures about gum disease.


The Devil is in the Details!
Be scrupulous with your Paperwork! Be sure to request your first-time patients' "Martial" status, because it is important to know whether or not their teeth have seen active combat. Be sure to ask for their insurance & address information in three different places, but make the spaces in all of them far too small for anyone but Emperor Ully Gue to write in properly. Use copious amounts of semicolons; and use them improperly.


Maximize Your Profit-Making Potential!:
Partner your dental practice with the Amway-style peddling of unrelated products that have not been ADA (or even FDA) approved. On your first time patient paperwork, be sure to make your prospective DENTAL patients check 'Yes' or 'No' boxes on pushy, telelmarkety, junk mail style questions like:

  • "Did you know that factors like diet, lifestyle, physical activity and nutritional supplements could minimize possible negative metabolic effects?"
  • "Would you benefit in receiving a lifestyle program and dietary supplement?"

    At this point, they should no longer be certain whether they are about to receive a dental exam or a free sample of NONI juice.

    Then, when you've really got 'em hooked, present them with a giant blockquote statement they are required to inital, informing them that:

    "I will recommend you use, as part of my treatment program, one or more nutritional supplements. I recommend this supplement or these suppplements because I believe your health will benefit from your use of them. I want you to know that, because of my belief in the integrity and effectiveness of these supplements, that I am a distributor of these products and, in that role; I may receive commission from your purchase of these supplements. Please ask to speak with me if you have any concerns about my recommendation in light of this information."


    Fuck 'em hard- they'll enjoy it more, the ignorant little sluts!
    Charge a mandatory $30.00, non-insurance covered "Oral Hygiene Instruction" Fee with every visit. Because anyone who would actually choose you as their dentist has been anally raped in their frontal lobe and needs to be told how to brush their fucking teeth for $30.00 with each visit.

    And finally, Bar the door. That way, if the sheer force of your nasty atitude doesn't keep them in the office when they express their reservations about some of the items in your paperwork, the electrified STEEL will.

  • "Blog" gang sign.

    Start practicing NOW so you can throw one up all nonchalant-like at New Media Expo.

    thanks jvance


    That a little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing:

    Not sure, but I think you can see a guy fishsticking in the middle of the screen @ 0:22.

    As some of you already know, I have a personal problem with the phrase "Take it to the next level". If you're actually using that phrase, chances are you're not taking anything anywhere. Cuz you're a douche. And douches don't have legs; just wobbly necks they stick in people's vaginas.

    What didn't make the cut:
    -Up a Notch
    -To the Bank
    -With a Grain of Salt
    -For a Spin
    -From the Top
    -In the Ass
    -Like a Little Bitch (thanks Jessticles)
    -We're Not Gonna, No We Aint Gonna

    I already posted this on Flickr, but forgot to do it here. Sometimes Twitter makes me forget to actually blog.

    A lesson in exploiting your niche: "2007 US Air Guitar Champion" William Ocean

    Crushing the beer can with the back flip was a nice touch, I must say.

    The finals for the 2008 US Air Guitar Championship will be held August 8th in Frisco (which is a short, douchey way of saying San Francisco for those of you not in the know).

    But honestly, I'm thinking the finals might be a bit anticlimactic. The regional finalist from Brooklyn, Bettie B. Goode, actually lost a toe during her winning performance. How do you top that?