NOBOBY NEEDS "ENTOURAGE: THE MOVIE"

Earlier this week, Warner Brothers gave Entourage: Tequila Shots Bros and Hot Ass (I assume this will be the movie’s title) a green light to start production. So yeah, that’s fun, I couldn’t be happier that the world didn’t end when it was supposed to and now we can enjoy this amazing work of art that will no doubt be a critical and box office success. Oh wait, just kidding. Entourage is fucking terrible. It’s thirty minutes of People Magazine being acted out by below-average actors with as many vapid/poorly acted cameos sandwiched between Kevin Dillon scowling and Jerry Ferrera wearing fat kid shirts and Kevin Connelly puckering through that punch-me-in-the-face puss of his. Oh and Jeremy Piven—Ari was funny for MAYBE nine seconds. Now I just wish Piven would go back to eating  too much mercury-infused sushi and drop dead.

Whoever birthed this unholy nugget of shit and pushed it into production should be ashamed of themselves. As should HBO, which is hard for me to say because I love HBO. I bet Tina Turner felt the same myriad of conflicting feelings whenever Laurence Fishburne did five pounds of cocaine and smashed her in the face with a lamp. On one hand, HBO, you are a genius, and you bring me so much joy. On the other, you produce piles of garbage that aren’t worth thirty seconds of anyone’s life, let alone two fucking hours. How about a Deadwood movie? Or maybe a movie that continues a storyline from The Wire? I guarantee you could make a more engaging, entertaining, and provocative movie featuring only Slim Charles meticulously cleaning his assortment of pistols than one that will (obviously) feature Adrian Grenier running around Hollywood telling everyone he’s from Queens, being an unaccountable douchebag, and fucking diner waitresses while his loser friends wait underneath the table for scraps. If I were Matt Dillon I would stop paying Kevin Dillon’s rent immediately and force him to stop contributing to nonsense like this.

Bottom line, Entourage was shiny toy intended to be as complex as putting on a pair of socks. Which is fine, I guess, if you enjoy watching rich people dick around with zero consequences and complain about life being “hard.” If this show had any balls it would have explored what life is like for a young actor with piles of money and shitty friends who are along for the ride. How about stupid Vince gets addicted to heroin and gets infected with HIV and has to make a comeback as that actor with a crippling disease? Or how about Fatso Turtle gets into a drunk driving accident and commits manslaughter and Vince blows his fortune protecting his fat stupid friend? But Noooooooooooooooo. If the producers had explored circumstances that were interesting and controversial, then they never would have landed that awesome Tom Brady cameo, which America really needed. From what I remember (I watched the first two seasons and then melted my eyelids closed with a cigarette lighter), Vince’s conflicts involved not being able to fuck some forgettable pop star and having to rent a $2,000,000 house instead of buying it. WOW. WE CAN ALL REALLY RELATE TO THIS SHIT. But all was resolved when he made himself feel better by buying a Lamborghini or something and banging a makeup artist on a yacht.

I wish Mark Wahlberg had kept his goddamn humble-bragging tales of him and his bros to his miniature-self. Great, you have leech friends and you wear black t-shirts--let’s write a fifteen season arch based on your fucking trouble, “playing by the rules” even though the rules really don’t apply to you because you’ve been handed bundles of money and fame since you were walking around in your fucking underwear singing songs in a garbage dump.

If you hadn’t starred in Boogie Nights, The Departed, and Ted, I would fucking hate you too.

Fuck Entourage.

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SICK PEOPLE STAY HOME

Everyone is sick around me. On the train, in the streets, in the office. Sneezing, coughing, vomiting blood in the bathroom (I assume). It's horrible. And yet, here they are, at work, tapping away on their computer. Why? Why are you spraying germs all over yourself and your coworkers? Would you come to work if you knew you had the Ebola Virus?

"Hey guys, don't mind me, my limbs are falling off and I am going to die in five hours, but I need to get a couple of meetings set up before my eyes melt into my skull."

No. Instead, you would do something cool like rob a bank because it’s your last day on Earth, and as you're making your getaway, someone would trip the silent alarm and you be cut down in a blaze of gunfire trying to shoot your way through the police barricade. And after the cops confirmed you were dead, they would discover that your gun was loaded with blanks, and you were planning to send the stolen money to the Ebola Virus Cure Foundation. And the cop who shot you would go home that night sad and withdrawn, replaying the event over and over in his head. But then his wife would yell at him because it took her almost two hours to make pot roast and it's going to waste because he's "not hungry" again. Asshole. The next day she would wake up and find only a note in the spot where her husband sleeps. All it would say is, "Life is too short to live with a Harpy Bitch." And now the cop's wife is feeling regret and would probably start dabbling with meth and prostitution because even though he was always bringing his work home with him, she lost the best thing she ever had. ALL BECAUSE YOU CAME TO WORK WITH A COLD.

People who work in an office force themselves to come to work sick because agents from Corporate America LLC secretly break into their homes at night to inject paranoia into their brains while they sleep.

"Steve is sick? Bullshit! I bet he's lying and he’s just hung over. Or he cheated on his wife. Or he murdered a hobo in an abandoned house with a shovel. We’ll show that fucking asshole what’s up by squirting bacteria into his snoring mouth."

And I'll be the first to admit that I've been injected by this paranoia--I freely admit that I am part of the problem. When someone is out sick, I automatically assume they are in withdrawal from heroin. Most likely this not true, but because I’m under suspicion, so should Devin—doesn’t anyone else find it weird that she always talks about Trainspotting? It came out like 15 years ago. An yeah, most likely Devin is home in bed, resting her body so she can return to work and not make everyone else sick. Or she is strung out and burying a corpse in the woods. One or the other.

The other issue with germs in the workplace is not everyone 'gets' what is 'hygienic' and what is fucking gross. I used to work with a guy who constantly used a handkerchief. He would sneeze and hack into it and then stuff it right back into his pocket. Then he would ask me what I thought about the White Sox or whatever. What is even going on here? I’m not going to have a conversation with you--there is a flesh-eating disease in your fucking pocket!  I'll talk to you if you give me a fucking hazmat suit. Someone should have thrown him in jail and stuffed his handkerchief up his ass. Who carries a fucking handkerchief nowadays? It's not 1934, when everyone was toeing the poverty line and had to be exposed to germs every nine seconds. There are hand sanitizer stations everywhere. A pack of Kleenex costs like a buck. Antibiotics are no longer a luxury of the rich only. Who do you think you are, Jay Gatsby?

I am lucky because I have a pretty good immune system. Maybe it has something to do with eating 500 bulbs of garlic a week and smelling like a goddamn Napolitano pizza shop owner, I don’t know. But I do get sick once or twice a year, and normally it’s only for a few days at a time. But this doesn't stop me from wanting to break a bottle over the head of anyone coughing on the train, because instead of rationalizing my body's ability to fight off germs, my brain always assumes the worst: Oh wow, that guy looks sick. And he's wearing a suit, so he's obviously in the CIA. Maybe some government lab exploded and he was the only one to escape? Just like in The Stand by Stephen King? Now he's going around and spreading his germs to everyone he knows, and then we're going to spread our germs to everyone we know, and then us survivors (I assume I will survive the impending plague because I eat garlic) will have to move to Boulder, CO and fight the guy who plays Vice President Walden in Homeland. Makes sense, if you think about it.

But like everyone else, I’m not Superman (yet), and I do get sick, I normally don't go to work. But the paranoia in my brain still buzzes, thus forcing me to make a conscious effort to prove my sickness. I usually leave a voicemail at 5am when I sound like I smoke 450 packs of Kools a day, just to drive home the point that I am not feeling well. Then when I'm well enough to return to work, my boss will make a comment about how sick I sounded on my voicemail, and I will somehow feel vindicated, even though I really was sick and I was better off being in bed and not spreading my disease.

I am also fully aware that it's fucking insane that my brain has been trained to think this way, but such is life, right? When in Rome, right? Que se ra ra se ra, right? (Jumps out window)

In Europe people stay home if they have a headache, and I bet nobody thinks twice about it. In fact, I bet they probably send Swiss chocolates or baguettes or some other delicious European shit to said person's house and wish them a speedy recovery. We should look to Europe and mimic their work ethic and morals instead of assuming every missing coworkers was arrested over the weekend for arson, and is using the flu as an excuse for being in jail and sharing a cell with some rapist named Mack Daddy. Never mind Europe's impending bankruptcy and constant unsettlement--it's more important to trust a coworkers who claim to be sick, if only so I won't get sick and then have to prove my sickness in weird unnecessary voicemails.

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NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS ARE STUPID

Well, it's New Year's Eve again. Tomorrow means it's time to switch into Go-Getter mode and swear to quit doing something that you love or do more of something that you hate. You like McDonald's? Better make a New Year's Resolution to stop eating it FOREVER. Do you hate to exercise? Time to drop a $300 initiation fee at the gym and vow to go ten times a week. Do you like TV? Social media says you must throw your TV out the window and hope it doesn't land on a homeless man's head. Because if we don't use a singled day of the year as a measuring stick to better ourselves, then what's the point of living?

If I were a betting man*, I would bet with complete confidence that for every 10,000 dummies who make a New Year's Resolution, 9,999 of them crumble within the first week. Most within a few days. And the main reason being: they only made a resolution because their mom stopped biting her nails or their dad stopped drinking and driving or their cleaning lady stopped putting Clorox in the Brita. There is zero logic in quitting when you're not ready to quit. Do you stop eating you dinner because someone else finished eating? No, you eat it all and feel awful and go home and cry like everyone else in the world.

I bet the French don't have New Year's resolutions. I bet the French wake up January 1st at their normal rouse of 11am, smoke three packs of cigarettes before lunch, drink 50 cups of coffee, have sex all over the place, and then live until they're ninety years old because they don't strut around telling everyone that they are going to do Hot Yoga thirty times a week or run twenty miles a day in the freezing cold weather. That shit is bananas. And to be honest, I'd rather gain 700 lbs and be rolled around in a wheelbarrow than have to go running on a day like today. Seriously, just fork-lift me into a wheelbarrow and parade me around as the loser who will eventually have to be chainsawed out of his house by a SWAT Team because I was too lazy to get on the treadmill. At least I'll be warm and happy that I chose to be a horrible slob.

I once tried to quit smoking as my New Years resolution. It lasted about 20 hours. Two nights later, I was out watching a Sunday night NFL game chain smoking like a Meth addict. And this happened because I didn't really want to quit, I just wanted an answer for those people who ask incessantly: What's your New Year's Resolution going to be?

Oh me? Just quitting smoking, cold turkey, No big deal.

(smoked thirty cigarettes five hours later)

Now, I don't even bother to make one up. Why fake it? Yeah, I should probably drink less coffee and get more sleep and I should probably stop luring hobos into my basement and strangling them with bed sheets, but I'll fix all those glitches eventually--no need to establish a timeline. Last year I vowed to workout more to stop my back from crippling me, and I did, but not until March. Sure, it may have had something to do with a medical expert 'advising' me to go to the gym, but I still followed through with it.Take that, America!

But there is also a flip-side to the peer pressure of having to make a New Year's resolution - there are those people who pretend that they are above resolutions, because they think they're perfect. Oh the gym? BEEN GOING THERE SINCE THE 90'S. Lose Weight? TRY 25 LBS SINCE AUGUST. This attitude, I don't get. Don't act like you're better than the people who are out there, using Facebook to tell anyone who will listen that they are going to better themselves, even if it's only to satisfy a peer's opinion. You're not better than them. You're equally as terrible. You are the same person who claims to have everything first and to have started every fad. Actually, you're worse than those poor bastards who claim to be quitting Fish Filets only to be seen a few days later knee deep in tartar sauce.

If you're going to do something to better yourself, just do it. Don't go around announcing the fact, prancing around with fitness guides and nutrition magazines. Stop doing that--no one's buying it. You want to do charity work? Go do some charity work. You want to learn karate? Go take a fucking karate class. You want to dye your hair red and change your name to Red Velvet Go for it. Just stop telling me about it.

And if you don't want to do anything, then don't. Keep eating those bag-fulls of Five Guys fries. Keep smoking those unfiltered Camels. Keep drinking that homemade toilet wine. It's your life. All I ask is for everyone shut the fuck up about it.

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*For the record, I am not a betting man for two reasons - 1) I am a coward and I fucking lose my shit while watching a dealer rake in my $20 at a black jack table because HE'S STEALING MY MONEY; and 2) I also have the gambling luck of someone playing Russian Roulette with a musket)

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BEING A FAN OF THE NEW YORK JETS SUCKS

Look at this photo. Just look at it. That’s me. I was probably six or seven-years-old when it was taken. Just a bright-eyed little shit with a weakness for Taiwanese-knockoff sports memorabilia and an adorable amount of love for the New York Jets. Little did I know that Mark Gastineau’s sweet mullet and Wesley Walker’s cool glasses and Freeman McNeil’s everyman work ethic wouldn’t be around forever, and that the team I had fallen unequivocally in love with was at its core the physical equivalent of a trombone slide that went on sliding for eternity. Because rooting for the New York Jets is like rooting for a complete stranger to run up to you, tell you the sky is made of Skittles, kick you in the balls, and then when you fall to the ground, rips your wallet from your pants.

That’s what you’re in for, kid. So get ready.

In case you’re a stowaway that just got off a fishing boat from China, Monday night’s disaster against the Titans summed up everything you need to know about the New York Jets organization. Bad personnel decisions: check. Horrible play-calling: check. Terrible skill position players playing pivotal roles: check. A ridiculous turnover to end the game: check. A weak/stupid/wasted offseason coming back to haunt them when they have nowhere else to turn: fucking check. The 2012 Jets didn’t even deserve to have their name associated with the word ‘playoffs’. In fact, they shouldn’t even have their name associated with ‘Garbage Factory’ because I assume that at the Garbage Factory there are functioning employees who don’t fumble the fucking the ball every five seconds and throw dump passes 900 feet over the garbage factory foreman’s head. But the team got what they deserved – a swift painful end to a painful season, realigning themselves with the NFL’s obsolete.

Sure, I know that there are plenty of terrible NFL franchises around that have technically suffered far worse than Gang Green. The Browns? Sorry, I’d rather live in Kabul than Cleveland. The Bills? If my team had lost four straight Super Bowls, I would have become a monk and lived in exile for eternity.

But the Jets are a special blend of shittiness. An exotic, Turkish blend, if you may. Because unlike teams who face geographical and media-market hurdles, the Jets were gifted with one of the biggest media markets on the planet. They have the location, the fan base, and the revenue stream to potentially recruit the sport’s top football minds, unlike some franchises that have to convince a potential GM that his family will just LOVE Tampa in August and that the six-pound Palmetto bugs are adorable. Forget the vapidity of the West Coast or the salt-of-the-Earth atmosphere in the Midwest--New York has the ability to humble even the most egotistical of egos. On top of that, New York has culture and arts and events shooting out of its asshole, a never ending stream of stuff to do for even the most bored families. Also, kids who attend school in Manhattan probably leave fifth grade with better educations than 75% of the rest of the country’s high school graduates. I wish that I was kidding, but when Kate Hudson or Jennifer Garner shells out $100K a year to whichever Charter School little Applesauce is attending, then you know damn well that they are expecting a return on their investment.

Unfortunately, the Jets are unable to utilize any of these advantages. Leon Hess dropped dead and his estate sold the goddamn team to goddamn Woody Johnson. And Woody Johnson has gone on to craft a franchise that excels most at making poor decisions. Start with the coaching lineup from the past decade. After Bill Belichick resigned via cocktail napkin, the Jets have had the pleasure of employing a patsy (Al Groh), a bat-shit crazy fool (Herm Edwards), an egomaniac who probably kisses himself in the mirror (Eric Mangini), and a big fat asshole who makes foot-fetish pornography with his wife (Sexy Rex). Also, after blasé GM Terry Bradway was kicked to the curb following a vanilla campaign that leeched off the success of Bill Parcells, fans were introduced to used-car-salesman Mike Tannenbaum as his replacement. The roster of executives and coaches who have run this franchise is as inspiring as a superhero team comprised solely of multiple Aquamans.

What complicates matters further is that poor decision-making at the executive and coaching level will obviously have an impact on the player personnel department. And I can’t stress enough how true this rings for the Jets. So whenever someone points out that the Jets have been somewhat relevant over the past decade, I’m quick to assure them that any semblance of relevance came out of pure coincidence, not because of tactical strategy. For example, take a look at the Jets past two decades of 1st Round Draft Picks (24 picks total). Out of 24 picks, the Jets took EIGHT offensive skill position players: two quarterbacks (Pennington, Sanchez); two wide receivers (Keyshawn, Santana Moss) and FOUR FUCKING TIGHT ENDS (Johnny Mitchell, Kyle Brady, Anthony Becht and Dustin Keller).

Twenty Years. Eight skill positions. Four tight ends. If those statistics don’t scream stupidity, then you don’t know the meaning of incompetence.

The cyclical banana-peel-slip can be traced right back to the head honcho, Woody Johnson. A self-proclaimed "hands off" owner, Johnson has done himself no favors by being oblivious to his franchise's shortcomings. Even this season, after Tannenbaum traded for Tim Tebow, Johnson marveled at the intensified media presence, as if Tebow was some no-name bumpkin who just happened to land in the media capital of the world. He's also stated - most likely slipped - that the Jets are in the “media business.” Well okay, Wood, thanks for clarifying. I was under the assumption that you wanted to win a fucking Super Bowl or something. Glad to know your quarterly numbers are up, you dick.

Oh, and one more thing--PSL’s. Nothing is worse than imposing PSL’s on your fans. I know the Jets aren’t alone here – fourteen other NFL teams impose the same regulations (including the Giants) – but is there anything worse than having to pay thousands of dollars just for the right to buy season tickets that cost thousands of dollars? It’s literally the perfect summation of why Woody Johnson is a greedy-fucking-asshole who doesn’t care if the Jets sport a .300 winning percentage or sink into an active volcano. FYI - Johnson’s estimated worth according to Forbes is $3.5 billion. BILLION. Why be a straight-shooter who fans universally adore when you can be a slimy fucker who shits all over his loyal sheep?

I honestly don’t believe that there is any hope for the Jets. Not immediate or long term. And this isn’t me being Chicken Little--I seriously think the Jets will, even at their very best, jump and fall short for ever and ever. Scoot over, Vikings.

Even still, after all that bitching, the ineptitude doesn’t thwart my allegiance. It’s like defending that cousin of yours who weighs 300lbs and likes to eat from the trash. Yeah, he’s awful and terrifying to be around, but he’s still your cousin. And what else am I going to talk about during football season? Golf handicaps? Fuck golf. Investment strategies? Please. My investment strategy is in the form of five random numbers and one Powerball number, bitch.

My only hope left – and I know I’m not alone here – is that every single time Woody Johnson makes a statement to the press, he ends it with an announcement saying he’s moving the team to Los Angeles effective immediately. Or to Anchorage. Or to fucking Beijing. Just as long as they’re uprooted and gone and not my problem any longer.

Until then, Just End the Season. Every…Single…Season. 

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I want to be clear about something regarding this post – I fully understand that there are plenty more terrifying things happening in this world right now, things so horrible and incomprehensible that it makes me sound like a fucking dickhead for complaining about the state of one shitty NFL franchise.  As I’m sure we all astutely recognize - now more than ever - life is a precious, fleeting gift that we should take the time to celebrate on a daily basis. I don’t care if this sounds cliché or hokey, because it’s true. And I don’t care if I sound like a money swindling pastor when I say we all need to enjoy each fucking day as if it were the best day ever. Because you never fucking know when or how the curtain will come down.

But I do appreciate the power of humor--it serves as an easy distraction when life gets despondent. And I think that’s always been the point of my blog – to make light of annoying shit by making bad jokes about inconsequential stuff. And I plan of continuing to make bad jokes about low-hanging fruit while I can. It doesn’t mean I’m taking advantage of my time – I actually believe the opposite, in fact. (end of sermon)

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CHRIS BROWN NEEDS TO GO

The other night I was downloading music to make my wife a CD because I am the best husband in the whole world, and while many-a-ladies husbands are out buying diamonds and Mercedes and luggage made of emeralds, I am making awesome mix-tapes for my woman so she can have some fresh beats to groove to, so take that.

But while I was putting together the mix-tape, I kept running into trouble, mainly because the music I listen to is either depressing Blues/Alt Rock, or obscure weirdo shit that could probably be classified as terrible by normal people’s standards of what is nice to listen to, and what isn't. So I turned to the iTunes Top 200 singles list for help. But instead of being overwhelmed by the dog-shit populating the list (there is a lot), I was awed by something much more interesting: Chris Brown has like seven songs on the chart. So I was all like, thee Chris Brown? Like the one who punched out Rihanna* and then got the beating commemorated as a tattoo on his neck (I’m not buying his other explanation), and then he wooed her back by promising not to punch her face in again? And then went on to threaten this female comedian with a custom beating of her own, only to jump off Twitter like a coward when fans reacted badly to his absolutely weird and horrifying threats? Like that Chris Brown?

Yep - all signs point to those charting songs belonging to this classy guy. Needless to say, I thought we (we meaning the 'Royal We' of society that’s comprised of mostly rational people) had decided against Chris Brown retaining his fame and making a whole lot more money off us? I thought he was firmly in our rear-view, an ugly blemish that will be forgotten about in a few years, leaving him plenty of time to smack-around meth-addicted prostitutes in a motel parking lot somewhere near Gardena? I thought that was the plan?

I guess I shouldn’t really be surprised by Chris Brown’s continued success. And yes, I’m fully aware that I’m not really “ahead of the curve” writing an article about how much of a shithead he is. But I do think I am ahead of the curve by saying that I hate people who buy Chris Brown’s music more than I hate Chris Brown. I mean seriously, there are plenty of other talentless assholes auto-tuning their music, so why do people insist on buying Brown’s albums?

I decided to see for myself. So I listened to about five iTunes previews of his most popular songs, which is the exact same way the Grammy committee determines its winner each year, I think. And after listening to these previews, I said to myself: "Wow. That was great. I think I’ve changed my mind about Chris Brown. He’s probably just misunderstood. I’m sure Rihanna asked to be kicked out of a moving car."

Wait, just kidding--he’s terrible. All of his music sounds exactly the same and he sounds like he has a sinus infection, which he probably got from running around with his shirt off all the time. Thus, I find no logical reason for humanity to continue to shower him with money and fame. Case closed.

Okay, I know it's more complicated than that. I know this is a free country and we all have the goddamn right to do what we goddamn want, goddammit, and if we want to eat Turf-and-Turf with bacon on top and watch eight-straight-hours of “Teen Mom” and then go to Wal-Mart to buy more Cool Ranch Doritos super-packs and then sue Wal-Mart when we subsequently trip over the blue dot special display because we weigh several thousand pounds and are too busy reading Tweets by Christina Aguilera to be paying attention to where we are walking, then goddammit, we have the right to do that. It’s a free country and we’ve “earned” the right to do what we want whenever we want.

But then again, shouldn’t we draw the line somewhere? I mean, it’s one thing for a celebrity to snort cocaine off a Japanese samurai sword and end up running down 5th Avenue naked and screaming and crying, and then do a fake rehab stint to make things all better with his or her fan base, because, well, nobody got punched in the eye several times and thrown out of a moving car. And I can even deal with a male celebrity punching another male celebrity in the face, because most of them deserve it and none of those idiots can fight anyway so we know nobody will get hurt. I guess the same goes for female only brawls, too. People drink, people do drugs, people fight, people urinate in public. Shit happens.

But a  guy who beats the shit out of his girlfriend and shows no regret whatsoever? Nope. He should be shunned like an Amish kid when his family finds out he's addicted to Xbox Live.

In conclusion, I’m not sure there is hope for the general masses, but at the very least, can we keep this shitbag off the pop charts? Please? Then you can go back to gorging on Taco Bell and DVR-ing The Kardashians and playing Farmville. Deal?

*I am also not really fond of Rihanna - she is a moron for getting back together with this clown and setting a horrible example for the millions of kids who emulate her, but I don't care enough to really care, if you catch my drift. Bottom line: everyone is stupid - FIN.

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