My dreams have a tendency to get exceptionally bizarre when I'm liquored up. Last night was no exception. I had a hardcore night terror.
A friend of mine was walking several feet ahead of me and stumbled over a big cicada. The cicada flew up into the air and began buzzing around randomly like they do. Let me preface what happened next by saying that in general I'm absolutely, fucking terrified of big bugs. I hate all bugs, but I'm fucking horrified of big bugs. Often I've said that if a fucking roach touches me I'd run as fast as I could and cut off whatever the roach touched. Bugs that fly are the most petrifying since they can go anywhere and they can go there fast and there's no way to predict them. So like I was saying, my buddy stumbles across this cicada, it flies up in the air, I begin backing up as fast as I can while still concentrating on where the fucking insect is going. In horror I watch as it diverts towards me. It seemed like slow motion as it kept coming my way. I turned and began to sprint, I couldn't afford to keep my eyes on it at this point. I made it a few steps and then BAM! I felt something slam into the back of my neck, on the left side, just above my shirt collar. I could hear that awful cicada buzz right next to my ear. Instinctively, I crunched my neck toward my shoulder to try and crush it. My friend began screaming something like "I see it! I see it!" I thought I could feel the bug moving around, trying to bury its way under my shirt. I was utterly panicked. I kept slamming my head down towards my shoulder trying to crush this monstrosity. At the same time I was screaming, a real classic, high-pitched man-scream. I thought my fucking heart was going to burst out of my chest I was so overcome with fright. And then I must have tripped my sleep breakers because I was awake. I was sitting up in bed, absolutely drenched in sweat. Going back to sleep was tough given how much adrenaline was coursing through my veins. My head is tender from slamming it into my headboard more than a few times.
Fuck you bugs! Fuck all of you! I don't give a shit where you are on the food chain or how important you are to the ecosystem; if I could, I'd wipe you all out. I'd sacrifice the earth and all its inhabitants by wiping out the bugs and I'd do it gladly with a smile on my face. The bugs have been in my hatebox longer than anything else and I'm afraid I'll go to my death with them having the upper hand.

People are so fucking inconsiderate. How the fuck can you call yourself my friend and then ask me to go out drinking with you on a Thursday? It's your birthday? Hey, fuck you then! You should be considerate enough to have your birthday fall on a weekend! You know I have to work on Friday, you know I'm going to feel like shit if we go out boozing, and you still ask me to go out. You're my friend, so I go out with you because you ask me to, but I should reevaluate this friendship. Would a friend knowingly want me to feel like shit?
Fuck it. Happy birthday Alicia.

"Used to be, a man could take a girl home, eat 'er pussy for an hour or so, fuck 'er in the ass, and that was considered "kinky". These days they got machines, swings, leather disks, and anal beads. Hard for a man to know where to begin."
-Big S, lamenting the advanced state of sexual gratification that has passed him by

You know what the future of porn is? Well I do. For years there has been virtual stagnation on the creative side of the porn business. For years it seemed that each new advancement in porn was simply "more dudes".

   "Chuck, I want something new! Something that will knock everyone on their collective asses!"
   "Well, I've been batting around an idea...but I gotta warn you it's pretty groundbreaking."
   "Give it to me Chuck! I don't care how crazy it is...give it to me!"
   "Ok...get this.... We put more dudes in the scene."
   "More dudes?"
   "Yep, like 5 or 6 mother fuckers on a bitch! Fuckin' cocks everywhere! So many dudes that dudes are just standing around occasionally jerkin' off and laughin' about shit!"
   "Yes! That's genius!"

For years this "more dudes" style of the adult entertainment industry has threatened to destroy the institution and has led many critics to consider the golden age of porn long dead and predict the medium's imminent recession into obscurity. To my utter delight, I have the answer. I was takin' a shit and the riddle unwound before me, an epiphany of glorious pronouncement. I now wield the key that opens the door to the future of porn. Imagine this scene: We have Jenna Jameson or any of the other porn starlettes and an obscure male counterpart who you may have seen in a Preparation H commercial. Scene begins... blah, blah, blah... shitty dialogue... blah, blah, blah... blowjobs, ass-eatings, missionary, pile-drivers... blah, blah, blah.... And then the dude goes for the money shot. But this isn't your grandmother's money shot. No pulling out and spraying on the lower back or on the tits, this is all new. The dude pulls out, spreads Jenna's cheeks, puts his lips to her bungus, and throws-up. .....ahhh.... Booya! That's right, he barks up her poop shoot! And fills it too, there's fuckin' puke flyin' and shit mixed with puke. I'm talking fuckin' crazy! People are going to be screamin' and carrying on. The ecstasy will be veritably palpable. You heard it here first. The future of porn is dudes pukin' up girls asses. That's a Deuce Goose original folks, so Vivid, Extreme, John Stagliano, Max Hardcore, et al: this shit is copyrighted yo!

What better news to greet me on a Monday morning than to read about an escaped gorilla rampaging on the streets of Boston:

The gorilla escaped from the Franklin Park Zoo minutes before the zoo was scheduled to close, according to Zoo New England CEO and President John Linehan.
The gorilla injured the young girl and an 18-year-old woman almost immediately after escaping, Linehan said. A witness told police she later saw the gorilla sitting at a bus stop on a street near the zoo.

Beating up woman and children and hanging out at the bus stop; sounds like my Saturday night.

I love The Robb Report. Really, what's not to love about it? A magazine filled to the brim with luxury toys for the rich, like pre-embargo Cuban cigars or the flying cars that the uber-wealthy have been hiding from us. Seriously. There are ads selling a flying car. I bring all this up because I read a fabulous article in October 2003 issue of The Robb Report: Collection. Check this out:

"Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get you. Which is why a wise man with enemies looks twice and rolls up the windows before burying his face in his beloved double chili and cheese. A harmless midnight cholesterol fest at the La Cienega Fatburger could become a drive-by bloodbath if the Maybach's 22-inch gold spinners raise the hackles of an indignant rival. And while some might describe a successful strike as rich justice, the fact is, it doesn't have to end that way if you dine coddled in armor plate, Kevlar, and ballistic glass. You, sir, drive an armored car."

Glorious indeed. Finding Fatburger, Mercedes Maybachs, 22 inch rims, armored cars, and this much unapologetic wealth adulation in one paragraph makes my taint hair quiver with delight. Pitching the joys of armored cars by saying your heavily enemied, rich ass won't get popped at Fatburger is genius. God bless the Robb Report for easing my hate and talking about being so fucking rich everyone is out to kill you...just like I want to be.