Special Bulletin!

I've been noticing that more and more "bulletins" being sent to me on MySpace are nothing more than chain letters. Now, if you're superstitious (and stupid) enough to actually believe that breaking a chain letter will bring you bad luck, you really should stick your head in a toilet and repeatedly flush it until you drown. Please, go right ahead. I'll wait.

Getting back to my point, I've seen this shit so many times; I'll click on a bulletin and it will say something like;

"U opened this!111 if u dont repost this in 5 min someone close to you will die in 3 days. If u do repost your crush will realise they love you tonite."

Needless to say, I've never reposted any of this mindless drivel that middle school kids send back and forth. Why shouldn't I tempt fate, anyway? I have no "crush" that I want to love me... besides, there aren't any people who are "close" to me, and I LIKE it that way.

I must say, though, some of the bulletins have been getting pretty damn funny as of late. Get a load of this one that I received just the other day, posted in all its glory with spelling errors left intact;

EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
this is by FARRRRRRR the nastiest thing I have ever read...gross..uhhhhhh yuck ...scroll down plzz

(So, of course I scrolled down, knowing full well it was a chain letter...)

DONT STOP OR ELSE SUMTHIN BAD WILL HAPPEN .....

(I scrolled some more...)

KEEP GOIN.........

(At this point, I took a beer break. Putting up with other people's stupidity makes me thirsty.)

ALMOST THEIR..........................

("Almost their?" That doesn't even make any fucking sense. Oh wait, that's right. A fucking moron wrote this.)

MY NAME IS VANESSA VILLA
I AM 15 YEARS OLD
WITH MASSIVE LICE
AND A TIGHT PURPLE SWEATER.
I HAVE NO LEFT FOOT OR EARS.
I AM DEAD.
IF U DO NOT REPOST THIS IN THE NEXT 5 MIN.,
I WILL APPEAR TONIGHT BY YOUR BED
WITH A fING CAN OPENER AND WILL MAKE YOU HELP ME
THIS IS NO JOKE
SOMETHING GOOD WILL HAPPEN TO U TONIGHT AT 10:42. SOMEONE WILL CALL U
OR TALK TO U ON THE INTERNET
REPOST THIS WITH THE TITLE:
EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

I made the mistake of taking a drink just I got to the bottom, and I nearly choked on a mouthful of Labatt's, spraying foamy little droplets of beer all over the moniter. Holy shit, that's funny. I kept picturing some earless, one-footed, lice-headed dead bitch hovering over my bed in the middle of the night brandishing a can opener. I can just imagine the conversation that would ensue;

DEAD CHICK: "Yo-o-o-o-o-ou didn't repos-s-s-s-t the bu-u-u-ulletin..."

JEREMY THE LONER: "Holy fuck! Don't point that thing at me!"

DEAD CHICK: "What?"

JEREMY THE LONER: "Oh, that's right, you have no ears. Please stop hopping up and down on one foot... you'll wake the neighbors downstairs."

DEAD CHICK: "Yo-o-o-o-o-ou ha-a-a-a-ave to he-l-l-l-l-lp me-e-e-e-e-e..."

JEREMY THE LONER: "Help you do what? Find your missing ears? Put some medication on your head to help with your lice problem? I don't think the pharmacy is even open at this hour."

DEAD CHICK: "What?"

JEREMY THE LONER: "Never mind. Look, put the can opener down. Let's talk about this rationally."

DEAD CHICK: "I can't hear you."

JEREMY THE LONER: "Aw, get the fuck out of my..." (pause) "Hey, your tits look kind of hot in that tight sweater. I mean, for a dead chick and all."

I got another one that was almost as good as that a few weeks ago. I don't remember exactly how it went, but it was something like this;

WHOEVER WROTE THIS IS A FUCKEN ASSHOLE!

(Scroll down)

"GOD IS A PRICK WHO HAS A TINY DICK AND SUCKS REAL BAD. HALE SATAN CUZ SATAN RULES AND GOD IS STOOPID."

IF U DONT REPOST THIS IN 5 MIN U DONT LOVE GOD AND WILL GOTO HELL. IF U DO REPOST YOU WILL HAVE GOOD LUCK AT MIDNITE TONITE. THIS IS NO JOKE.

Now, you have to wonder what could possibly possess someone to repost something like this. I mean, what is the thought process involved?

"Hmmmmm... I think it's wrong to call God a prick, and it's certainly wrong to make fun of the size of God's genitals. I don't agree with this at all, so I guess I'LL SEND IT TO ALL OF THE PEOPLE ON MY FRIENDS LIST. This will PROVE to the entire Internet community that I'm a good Christian. Yessir, I bet God has a giant dick."

Funny, but I never even gave any thought to God's anatomical details, assuming God is a physical being of some sort. How do we even know what gender God is? Still, assuming God is a male, I think there are worse things to say about God than to imply that He has a small wanger. From a personal standpoint, it makes perfect sense to me, since God supposedly made me in His own image. If I'm not hung like a mule, it stands to reason that God wouldn't be either. It's only fair.

Now, I realize that some of you might see a post a post like this as being hideously blasphemous, but you don't need to worry about me. I'm already going to hell anyway, seeing as how I failed to repost the chain letter within five minutes.

Stupid people amuse me. They really do.

Random, Random, Random

1) I worked eleven hours yesterday, so by the time I got home last night I was sleepy, hungry and pissed off. I knew I was in for another marathon work day today, so I thought it best to hit the sack early. But that's not what I ended up doing. No, instead I stayed up until two in the morning, watching 80's music videos on VH-1 Classic and eating leftover pizza. I'm such a fucking dummy. I feel like giving myself a hammer punch to the nuts at the moment...

2) It seems that some people aren't impressed by my profile on MySpace. A few of the young girls from work came across it the other day, and I was told that my profile makes me come off like an angry, drunken prick. Now, I suppose I could change it--but that wouldn't change the fact that I am, in fact, an angry drunken prick. Bah, what do I care what a few 19-year-old broads think anyway? The other day, a Hall & Oates song came on the radio and none of them even knew who the fuck Hall & Oates were. So fuck them for making me feel old.


3) Oh, and speaking of MySpace, I sent friends requests to several celebs and got denied. Most of the time, celebs are MySpace whores that will approve anyone who solicits them. I happen to like that fact, because I get to have a very eclectic "Top 8," with people like Jenna Jameson and Jerry Mathers sharing a space on my profile. But lately, I've had a few of them turn their noses up at me. Debbie (that's right, bitch, I said "DEBBIE!") Gibson was one, as was Madonna. But here's the clincher... it turns out that all the celebs that have denied me just happen to be the same ones that I've talked shit about in my columns. Is this just a coincidence??? Probably, but it's interesting just the same. I should send a request to someone like, say, Paris Hilton, whom I despise more than life itself. That should get to the bottom of it. But still... what's your problem, Debbie??? Tiffany approved me right away!

Well, I guess I'd better get to hammer punching myself in the nuts... I have to leave for work in a few minutes...

Penis Reduction? Oh, Boy.

The Net's favorite "Rock and Roll Bad Boy," Brett Meisner, continues to plead his case as the most famous man that you've never heard of. I've been going to his site for several years now, and it never fails to entertain. Admittedly, it does tend to get a bit predictable; Brett makes some grandiose, pompous showbiz claims that seem to have no basis in fact. Then, visitors to his forum ridicule him unmercifully for several days until he makes his next wild claim.

It doesn't take anything more than moderate intelligence to figure out that both Brett and his site are nothing more than a total sham. A very entertaining sham, but a sham nonetheless. When I interviewed Meisner
last year for Dean's Planet, I did it "in character," trying to get some insight into who is actually behind the scenes running the site. I still have no idea who it is, and I might never find out, either. I sent an e-mail to one Hollywood director rumored to be "the man behind the curtain," but never got a response. But now, I'm starting to wonder if the gag is slowly winding to a close... because it seems that every time I think the site couldn't get more ridiculous, Meisner proves me wrong again. Witness this post published on his site just a few days ago;

THE SNAKE IS SHEDDING SOME SKIN...

August 22, 2006

As many of you already know I will be going into the hospital next week to have some "elective" surgery. I was hoping that the nature of my operation would be kept confidential and that I would be allowed some privacy as I dealt with this "sensitive" issue. Sadly that is not the case... After learning that a reporter at a major Hollywood tabloid is aware of my "situation" I felt it would be best if you heard it from me before news hits the streets.

Long story short, after years of dealing with my private pain I have bravely decided to take action and change my life. The operation I will be undergoing is often referred to as "Penile Reduction Surgery." Basically doctors will remove a portion the fatty tissue and a small amount of muscle as well as some bone from my penis. Roughly half a pound removed in all. Doctors expect a full recovery for me as I am in great shape.


Most of my friends can't believe that I am doing this. But then again most of my friends don't have a 13.5 inch penis that when fully erect is as round as an Arrowhead Mountain 24oz "Sportpack" water bottle. Trust me, this was a hard decision to make - but one that will help me and many of the women I have hurt - literally - over the last 2 decades.

Growing up I was always proud of my giant penis. In fact I though everyone had the same thing until I was about 18 - that's when I knew I was special. In college they called me "The Cave Maker" or "Elephant Dick" and other names like that. One year I was even voted "biggest dick in school" by my classmates. Sure it's great to see a woman pass out from the massive sex I give them, but having a giant cock also has its drawbacks.

In order to achieve a full erection it sometimes takes up to 15 minutes for my penis to fully inflate with blood. That sort of ruins any "spontaneity" in the bedroom. In addition, many women have also fled from my house in fear once they saw me naked. I'm a "grower" as they say. On a number of occasions I have been stopped in apartment stores and held by security until they could verify that I wasn't stealing flashlights or fire logs. The L.A. County Zoo held me for 2 hours after suspecting that I stole a baby Anaconda. After a strip search I was released - annoyed and embarrassed. I never thought I'd say this, but trust me - it's not as much fun as you'd think having a huge boner.

So there you go - the cats out of the bag. I actually feel better getting that off of my chest. I only hope you guys will respect my privacy and put aside any past problems we may of had. I need good vibes and good friends to get through this surgery. It wasn't an easy decision to do this - but then again "winners" never make easy decisions, we always take the hard road to the top!

God Bless,

Brett

Um, okay... so they're going to remove some "bone" from his thrill hammer? And here all this time I thought the word "boner" was merely an expression!

Hang tough, Bretty, hang tough...

Bored With Life (How's That For Angst?)

Nothing ever changes in the Sea-Monkey tank.

A few weeks ago, I thought one of the females was pregnant because of her pronounced egg sac. I've since found out that all female Sea-Monkeys eventually get egg sacs whether they're pregnant or not, kinda like how young girls automatically get boobs. But having an egg sac doesn't necessarily mean you're pregnant, just like having testicles doesn't necessarily mean you have sex.

I haven't seen any babies swimming around that tank, though. There's six adult Sea-Monkeys all in all, three females and three males. It's like the cast of Friends in there, except that nobody's having any sex, none of the monkeys have "The Rachel 'Do"... and uh, there's a lot more algea. Maybe I should just dump the tank down the sink and call it a day. I feel sorry for anything that has to live in my room. Even dust mites.

So anyway, I've been sick all week with a hellacious summer cold. As a result, I haven't been my cheery, upbeat self. (Tee hee-hee!) I've got this hacking cough that's starting to rival grandma's, plus my throat is sore. I couldn't even sing an old Tears For Fears tune in the shower this morning. Women like to say that men are complete babies when they're sick. That's not the case for me. I don't go into any "Ooooh, please feel sorry for me" mode; instead, I get extremely irritable, and will tear you a new asshole at even the slightest provocation. I can't even tell you how many people have heard me say, "Leave me the hell alone" this past week. I'm so fucking sick of Halls cough drops, too. Why do I even bother with those things? They don't fucking work, plus they taste nasty. The inside of my mouth has tasted like "Wild Cherry" all damn week...

Well, I would bitch some more, but I have to drag my corpse into work. On the plus side, maybe I'll get a few of my asshole co-workers sick, too. I want EVERYONE to share in my misery, goddammit.

Since I Fell For You

One of my favorite depressing love songs. I can just imagine myself singing this song to a certain woman at a smokey dive somewhere, wearing a rumpled tux with my tie all askew...

"When you just give love
And never get love
You'd better let love depart
I know it's so
And yet I know
I can't get you out of my heart

You
Made me leave my happy home
You took my love and now you're gone
Since I fell for you

Love
Brings such misery and pain
I guess I'll never be the same
Since I fell for you

Well it's too bad
And it's too sad
But I'm in love with you

You loved me
Then you snubbed me
But what can I do?
I'm still in love with you

Well I
Guess I'll never see the light
I get the blues most every night
Since I fell for you

Since I fell for you..."

Update

How did I ever come to be right smack in the middle of Henry Hill's marital problems??

For those of you wondering, I did indeed call the number in the e-mail I posted. That phone call led to me having another phone conversation with the estranged Mrs. Hill herself, in which plenty of sordid stories and allegations about Henry (which I'm NOT going to get into right now) were revealed. The bottom line? Much like Henry himself, I think she's hoping to sell her story and make a few bucks. I contacted Henry's camp about the article idea, and none of them seemed surprised. They never even came out and asked me NOT to write it; but they also made it clear they would rather that I didn't, and would want nothing to do with it.

Well, they don't need to worry, because I've decided not to write the interview. Kelly Hill may in fact have a compelling story to tell, but I'm not going to be the one to tell it. Why would I? Henry Hill is definitely not a saint, but we already knew that anyway. Besides, the guy was nice enough to do the interview for Dean's Planet with me, so I have no desire to write a slam piece on him after he did me a personal favor. And based on some of the shit I was told, I can't see how the article could be anything else BUT a slam piece.

An interesting turn of events nonetheless.