Taking applications for a new best friend

It's all this lady's fault.

If you follow me on Twitter, (Editor’s note: You don’t.) you probably noticed that last week’s Funday Monday festivities were, at worst, pretty solid and, at most, the things we’ll be telling our grandkids about:

#fundaymonday was pretty cool. Barry met some girl and I had some mozzarella sticks. Can’t wait until next week.

Sounds good, right? Until a week later I call Barry on Sunday night to decide if we’ll be starting this week’s Funday Monday at Chuck E. Cheese’s or back behind McDonald’s where we hang out with all the employees on their smoke break. That’s when Barry asks me if it’s cool if Donna, the girl he met, comes along.

I have nothing against Donna. She’s a lovely woman who worked as a riveter during World War II and I think she makes Barry really happy. But Funday Monday isn’t about inclusion. It’s about Barry and me painting the town red and maybe seeing some boobs.

So I told Barry you have to choose between me or Donna and he chose Donna. So I was left sitting alone on the funnest day of the week while Barry and Donna went out and painted the town red and probably saw all kinds of boobs.

Now I’m left with a few choices:

1. Hope that Barry and Donna break up between now and next Monday.
2. Hope that Donna dies between now and next Monday.
3. Hope that World War III starts between now and next Monday and Donna has to return to her work as a riveter.
4. Get a girlfriend of my own. But the local community college won’t let me on campus anymore and I won’t date anyone over the age of 20.
5. Go it alone on Funday Monday, but then who will be there to hear my jokes?
6. Find a new best friend.

So unless No. 1 or No. 2 happens between now and next Monday, it looks like I’m probably in the market for a new best friend. I don’t know if I can replace Barry’s entrepenurial spirit and his hair that always smells like strawberries, but I don’t really have a choice.

Anyway, here’s the job description if you’re interested or if you know anyone else in the market for a best friend.

My New Best Friend

Looking for someone who can not only be a sounding board for some pretty intense and amazing ideas and who can help run my presidential campaign and is free on Mondays for some really good times.

Essential Responsibilities

• Various best friends things including listening, talking, eating with me, and hooking me up with your hot friends. (Editor’s note: No dude friends – unless you’re friends with Brad Pitt.)
• Letting me borrow money sometimes because I might have busted a window over at Mr. Johnson’s house because I’m still mad he called the cops on me when I decided to try and make a little extra cash by letting people park on his front lawn for the Fourth of July parade last year, but he knows my mom’s yard has too many trees to park cars on and I wasn’t going to allow any heavy vehicles to park in his yard but what was I supposed to do because that bus was already committed to parking in that spot and there was no way the driver could have turned around without causing some kind of massive pile-up and at $5 an axle I was really set to cash in and if he’d have just let me explain I’d have told him that I was going to cut him in at 1% of the profits minus my 10% cut for being the middle man in the transaction.
• Coming over and holding my hand at night when I have that dream about the bear eating Michael Knight.
• Transcribing my thoughts that I scribble on Wendy’s napkins in to blog posts that generate tens of page views.
• Distracting my mom while I try and get her nice couch out of the living room because I might have accidentally posted it on CraigsList for sale and now there’s no turning back since the guy who bought it has pretty much told me to produce the couch or he’s going to kill me.
• Making sure my mom doesn’t find out I traded her couch for Applebee’s gift cards.

Required Skills and Experience

• Drive a really fast car.
• Demonstrated ability to let your best friend borrow your really fast car for driving and for boning in.
• Making mozzarella sticks, either from scratch for from those T.G.I. Friday’s frozen ones you buy at the grocery store.
• A recent bank statement showing enough available funds to buy some kind of rocket ship. I’d like a new one, but I’d settle for one of those Russian ones they used to use all the time as long as the dead space monkey isn’t still in it.
• Connections in the radio, television, and film industries as well as some decent mafia connections, just in case.
• Refusal to accept February 29th as a real day and act accordingly. In other words, anything that happened on February 29th, didn’t actually happen, and I’m fairly certain a jury of my peers would agree. (Editor’s note: Fingers crossed.)
• Knowing some mermaids would be a really big plus. As long as they aren’t fat mermaids. Or dude mermaids.

It’s pretty easy work. You probably won’t get paid for it, but I did find this kind of cool investment opportunity and all I have to do is get 10 of my friends to invest and once they get 10 of their friends to invest and those friends get 10 of their friends to invest this thing should really bring in a lot of money, so then maybe I’d pay you a little bit. But probably not.

It has been too long

A lot of people have been asking me lately if I’m going to start blogging again. And by a lot of people I mean my cat asked me in a dream the other night. Then before I could answer he turned into a bear and ran down to the river to catch a salmon, except the salmon was actually a freshly-microwaved Applebee’s steak that had learned to speak and was about to tell the bear that was actually my cat the meaning of life but then I woke up. (Editor’s note: I’ve still got it!)

Anyway, my posts have been few and far between in the year 2010 and I have some pretty solid reasons for this. First, I got a little confused on that whole Mayan calendar thing and thought the world was supposed to end on May 17, 2010. Turns out the card on my refrigerator with that date on it was actually for a dentist’s appointment that I ended up missing. Needless to say, I woke up the morning of May 18 feeling pretty stupid, especially considering I woke up shirtless in a dumpster next to a hobo that I vaguely remember telling of our impending doom and then accepting his offer to enjoy some of his tasty Jack Daniel’s. (Editor’s note: I asked if he wanted to get some breakfast but he said he really had to get going and would call me. … Which he hasn’t.)

Second, I’ve been on a little book tour for my yet-to-be-published and still untitled teen masterpiece about vampires and werewolves. (Editor’s note: Team Legarm!) It seems odd, I know, to do a book tour for an untitled book that isn’t finished. (Editor’s note: I’m officially 8 1/2 paragraphs in.) But I consider it a bit of a preemptive book tour. Rule No. 1 of proper promotion is to whet the consumer’s appetite. (Rule No. 2: Release topless photos.) I figure if I show up to various bookstores across the country it’s going to get people buzzing about my book which I hope to have released by the end of the world – a deadline that seems much easier in hindsight. After my tour is over I plan on starting a huge social media blitz, as well, whatever the hell that means.

If you want to come to one of my book tour stops, you’re more than welcome. We’ll be at Borders next weekend. Once you park, go around to the back of the building by the dumpsters and look for the folding table. I may or may not be sitting there – depends on if I want a smoothie or not because I hear there’s a really great smoothie place across the street. Either way, try to keep it down a little bit because we’re not really supposed to be there and my friend Barry is going to be keeping a lookout for someone taking out the trash and when he gives the signal we all need to get down really low behind the dumpster so nobody sees us. Also, if anyone has a pen they could bring along, I’d really appreciate it. I’ll sign anything. And by anything I mean boobs. (Editor’s note: I won’t sign wangs.)

So I think you’ll forgive me for not posting, what with the book tour and the whole end-of-the-world confusion, but I promise that I may or may not start posting regularly again. I can tell you that I’ve put completing my book on hold for another project that I’m guessing you’ll be seeing right here soon. It’s going to be pretty badass. (Editor’s note: It might not be pretty badass.)

My quest for an Oscar continues

The Academy Awards were last Sunday night and that’s always a bittersweet night for me. Bitter because it’s the perfect excuse to wear that strapless black dress that’s both daring in its subtlety and pushes the boundaries of fashion with its “I’m special because I don’t need to stand out” vibe and unfortunately I have yet to be invited to the Academy Awards despite my on-again off-again relationship with Julianne Moore. (Editor’s note: It’s mostly off-again. … And made-up.)

It’s a sweet night, however, because it allows me to close my eyes and imagine myself up there accepting my own Academy Award. To be honest, I’d take any of the awards, except for Best Soundmixing. That award is for nerds. (Editor’s note: And weirdos.)

I actually dabble a bit in filmmaking myself. And by “dabble” I mean I “think about it night and day.” And by “I think about it night and day” I mean “I’m not entirely sure what filmmaking is but I think I might like it.” So it’s only natural that I get a little misty-eyed whenever I hear someone’s name get called and see them run up on stage and give their acceptance speech because I know one day it’s going to be me.

You see, I’m currently in the brainstorming stages of a little documentary called Yes I Can: The Story of One Man’s Dream to Tear Down the Walls of Sexual Discrimination and Play in the WNBA. Some of you may know that this isn’t the first documentary I’ve undertaken. My first film, Alex Trebek: Game Show Host or Puppy Massacrer won critical acclaim at the third annual Legarm Film Festival and walked away with awards for Best Documentary, Best Soundmixing (though I refused to accept) and Most Accurate Portrayal of a Canadian Asshole Gameshow Host Who Won’t Let Me Compete On His Show During Kids Week Just Because I’m Not a Kid. (Editor’s Note: That award is actually three trophies because all of that won’t fit on one trophy.) To quote the film festival’s resident critic, my friend Barry, the film:

“… served as a reminder to us all the blatant age discrimination displayed by the formerly mustachioed gameshow host in his never-ending quest to belittle Americans and murder puppies. While the documentary was preachy at times, it made it clear that Mr. Trebek not only finds great pleasure in creating death and destruction everywhere he goes, but also murders puppies. I can only shake my head in disgust when the narrator makes this final, damning point: We’d never let Pat Sajak get away with this. And he’s right. We wouldn’t. Especially the part where he murders puppies.”

I’d post the documentary here for you to see, but it’s currently in the possession of the courts due to Mr. Trebek’s lawsuit against me and my lawyers say it would be a bad idea to share it with anyone else since they still think there’s a chance they can make it appear the documentary was not made by me despite my name appearing over 42 times in the closing credits and my outbursts in the courtroom demanding recognition for such a powerful film. I also demanded we order out for Chinese during the next recess, but I don’t think the judge heard me since I’d already been escorted out of the room and was being held for contempt of court. (Editor’s note: I loves me some sweet and sour chicken.)

But back to Yes I Can: The Story of One Man’s Dream to Tear Down the Walls of Sexual Discrimination and Play in the WNBA. It involves all the things people love in movies including but not limited to:

• Underdog stories
• Gun fights
• Boobs
• Explosions
• Basketball
• Nicholas Cage
• John Travolta
• John Travolta stealing Nicholas Cage’s face
• Full frontal nudity
• Kittens

Take the following scene for instance. I’m and underdog at the local gym trying to hone my skills. A coach who happens to be a woman and refuses to wear a shirt sees me and thinks maybe I’d make a good protege. Unfortunately, another basketball coach, none other than Nicholas Cage, notices my skills at the same time and decides he’d like to coach me. Their argument over me bursts into a gun fight and Nicholas Cage guns down my would-be coach and wins the right to coach me. But it turns out it’s not actually Nicholas Cage. It’s John Travolta wearing Nicholas Cage’s face. Travolta tells me that there’s a bomb somewhere in the gym but Nicholas Cage’s brother is the only person who knows where the bomb is. But Nicholas’ brother won’t talk to anyone but Nicholas who happens to be in a coma so Travolta stole Nicholas’ face so he could talk to his brother but it turns out Nicholas doesn’t actually have a brother. So we don’t know where the bomb is and the whole gym ends up blowing up. I’m the only one who survives, but the blast ripped all my clothes off, so I arise out of the rubble completely naked with my arms raised skyward screaming, “Damn you Nicholas Cage!” And so I try to make the WNBA in John Travolta’s honor. I also buy a kitten in his honor.

Is it better than Alex Trebek: Game Show Host or Puppy Massacrer? I don’t know. But I do know it’s going to be a hit. And hopefully give me an excuse to wear that dress.