Archive | May, 2009

Job Search 2009, Pt. II

30 May

OK, so where were we? Oh yea, those punk kids had just stolen my resumé. Punks.

I stood in the court house lawn, stunned. My moneys were nowhere to be found. My yacht was somewhere out there on the great sea, being steered by another man (Editor’s note: OR woman. Kyle prefers not to endorse gender role stereotypes, such as the idea as man as the ultimate sailor/driver.), just a normal man like me, but DEFINITELY not a woman. Women can’t drive things (Editor’s note: God damn it, Kyle.).

I’m truly broken. I’m like that song that the guy from Seether and the girl from Evanescence did for that one movie.

I wander about the square for hours.

I have removed my sports coat, rolled it up and used it as a pillow.

I sleep for 8 hours. When I wake up and see the time and realize that I can’t even control my own sleep cycle, I just feel worse. What am I going to do? I missed Tuesday. I love Tuesdays. At around 8:30 PM, Talia comes to pick me up. Somebody saw me while he was getting ice cream with his girlfriend and thought it’d “cramp his style” to pick up his drunk, half-naked, urine-stained friend while he was on a date so he called someone else. Whatever. I don’t care.

I do care.

I do.

On the way home, there is a palpable discomfort. I assume it’s from the inescapable “pee pee smell” coming from my pants-region.

“Kyle, you smell like pee.” She says. There’s a brief pause as she searches for her next words. “Please tell me that’s your pee.”

Sigh. “I’d like to think so, but there were so many children around me…there’s no real way to tell.”

She looks at me with a look of simultaneous sympathy and disgust. To make her more comfortable, I try to give her a candy bar I got from a vagrant. She seems to soften. She loves candy.

“I love candy.” She says.

Told you.

The rest of the ride is pleasant if not cripplingly uncomfortable.

“I ate some leaves today.” I tell her


“Today, I chased this squirrel for an hour trying to find all his hiding spots. Turns out he didn’t have any. Dumb squirrel. All his stuff is out in the open. That’s just not safe, you know?”

“Yes.” She sighs. “That does sound unsafe.”

“I know. So I buried my credit cards.”

“You did what?!”

Talia drops me off and I walk inside. Derek is waiting for me.

<cue music>

“Hey, Derek.” I say, meekly.

“I’m late for work.” He says and brushes past me.

“Listen, I’m sorry I’ve been out blogging all the time, chasing my fame, I just–”

“Not now, Kyle.”

“No, listen. I’m the one who was supposed to take care of everything. I’m the one who was supposed to make everything…OK for everybody.” I pause. “It just didn’t work out like that. And I left. I left you. You never did anything wrong, you know. I have to try to…forget about you. Heh, I used to try to pretend that…you didn’t exist, but I can’t. You’re my Derek… you’re my Der… you’re my little Derek. And now,” I take a deep breath, “I’m an old broken down piece of meat, and I’m alone…and I deserve to be all alone… I just don’t want you to hate me.” I breath out. “OK?”

“Yea, OK, but I really need to go to work.” He seemed elated. “I’M MAKING THE GUAC TODAY!” Here I notice a small line of saliva coming from Derek’s mouth to his chin, then onto his shirt.

“Good Christ,” I say. Then I leave for another 6 months.

Special Guest Blog: Kevin “Box” Spaccavento

29 May
Box is a good friend of mine from way down in Waxahachie/Red Oak. His comments are the really long/awesome ones on entries like “The Awkward Dramatic Phone Call,” “What I’m Going to Do Now That I’m Famous,” and the announcement entry, “Special Considerations.”


A Day in the Life of Box

by Kevin Spaccavento

Kevin "Lunch Box" Spaccavento

Kevin "Box" Spaccavento

Howdy boys and girls. My name is Kevin Louis Spaccavento, but you may call me Box. No, check that. You will call me Box. Better. Now that that awkwardness is out of the way, let me tell you a bit about myself and what I like to do on a typical Tuesday afternoon.

I am a very tender and caring young man, but I also own a handgun, so don’t get any ideas. I am not what you would call a physically attractive male person. However, I do possess a very classic grace and beauty you could only find in a cave man (I’m talking Flintstones caveman, not Geico caveman.). Any who, I have begun to get a bit sick and fed up with just how soft around the edges I have become. When a man of my age and stature becomes this soft around the edges, women start to think of us as being more like a comfy, cuddly teddy bear rather than the hardened sex-machines that we really are. Don’t believe me…just ask your mom. Yeah that’s right! Either way, I just cannot have this at all. I have been going to the local YMCA for a few weeks now, to try and work my ass into a better shape than its in. And so, I have just set you all up for what my day was like this past Tuesday.

I wake sometime around 9:26 am. This does not settle well with me, so I roll back over and snooze until 10:41 am. That’s better.  I get up to let my dog Roxy out to do her doggy business. She is so adorable when she does her doggy business. I go back to my room and watch about two hours of First Take on ESPN 2 before I get ready to head on over to the gym. I don’t know why but something about watching Skip Bayless being the biggest asshat who ever lived really gets me pumped to go sweat and glower for a while. I get my gym bag all nice and packed, put my iPod in its nifty little armband holder, let my poor dog back in the house, and head on out. I am really feelin’ it today. I am about to work my ass into a blind stupor. This exercise thing has really given me the chance feel in tune with my body and how far I can push it. The other day, I stayed on the treadmill until my right arm went numb. I loved it. My heart probably did not. I arrived at the Y just in time for the kiddies at the pool to be able to see how good I was starting to look. Yeah, they knew. I walked in the front door, ready to flash the girl at the desk my keychain, when she stopped me.

“Sorry…we are all full right now,” she said to me. I gave my head a little turn only to notice all of three people in the workout area.

“What are you talking about?…there is like nobody in there right now!” I said right back to her.

“I know….we’re too full for you right now,” she says. And so my mood quickly changes from happy to very confused.

“Why is it only full to me?” I ask her. This time, there is clearly a hint of aggravation in my voice.

“Many of the patrons have complained about a terrible smell coming from you whenever you work out, and that you don’t wipe your sweat off the machines after you use them.”

And this is a problem for you?” Evidently it was. “I would like to speak to your superior if you do not mind.”

I thought maybe there was something I may have done to upset just this girl, and that another YMCA staff person would give me the green light. This was wishful thinking. A tall, older man with a badge that said Larry on it came walking up. He looked as if he had been waiting for me, because before I could even plead my case with this guy, he immediately gave me his shpeal of what the girl had told me. Only meaner and more threatening like.

“If you can promise to clean up before coming here, we would be more than happy to allow you use of the building’s facilities. Otherwise, you are going to have to leave, sir.”

This shit was absolutely not gonna fly with me. I curiously look down, and say, “Oh my, what is that spot right there on your nice clean floor?” Larry bends his head over the counter to see what I was talking about. Big mistake Larry. Like a cat, I swiftly put the man into an old school headlock, bringing him as close to my armpit as I possibly could. I have at this point in the day, not showered yet. (And why the fuck should I shower? I’m going to the gym to sweat out what has to be close to a quart of fresh, squeezed Box juice.)

“Alright good sir. If you can look me in the eye, and honestly tell me that this is not the best fresh, ripe young Italian-American male you have ever smelled, I will kindly cancel my membership and leave right now, never to return again.” I told him.

At this moment, I could begin to tell that his eyes were quickly filling up with tears and his mouth was quickly filling up with vomit. I had gotten my point across. I let him go and he stumbled for dear life towards the restroom area. I grabbed my bag and headed out towards the door with my dignity left bruised but not quite broken. On the way out, I happened to spot that cute girl who works at the YMCA that always smiles and says hi to me whenever I come in. Realizing that she most likely witnessed everything that had just transpired, I quickly shot her one of those smile-wink-and-point-like-your-firing-a-pistol moves at her, hoping this might preserve any ounce of a decency thought she may have once had about me. This immediately makes her loins quiver with sheer orgasmic joy, or so the expression on her face leads me to believe. (note: This expression could mean something entirely different, such as, “Never ever in my life have I been more grossed out.”)

After the failed work out, I go get a snowcone. Cherry. Mmmm cherry. I spill the entire thing all over me on the drive back home. Shit, I just got red snowcone all over blue appholstery.  Could this day possibly suck any worse? No, not really. I go home and write all of the days events down in my diary. I keep it all pretty honest. All except for the part where I have pre-marital sex with cute YMCA girl in her parent’s driveway. (I say pre-marital because I’m just not sure if I’m ready to look at her as being “wife material”)

The house gets a phone call around 8:20 pm, and my parents say it’s for me. It’s Larry’s attorney informing me that Larry has decided to file suit against me for today’s little “misunderstanding”. I have no lawyer or money. I immediately regret taking this phone call. Rather than panic, I simply inform the guy that he is a big poopy head who just robs money from the poor, and is a cancer on society. I also tell him that I will counter suit, and use the race card on him as often during the case as I possibly can. Check and mate, Larry and Law Offices of Branton and Whitesmith.

“Man, I’m gonna sleep good tonight!” I thought to myself. And I certainly did. Fin.

Job Search 2009, Pt. 1

27 May

Where are all my moneys? Where is my yacht? My lion? My purple robe and matching helicopter?

I look out my window and see none of these things. *I turn from the window, clutching myself and shivering as an icy chill runs up my spine.*

Here is my account of my job search.

The Monday after graduation, I get up extra early. Today’s the day I get all my money bills in. “Yipee!” I say to myself when I get out of bed, awakening all six(one) of my partners (really good friend).

“What are you yelling about?” Talia asks. She’s still sleepy from a big day of helping me print out head shots for the upcoming autograph sessions.

“Today is the day. Today.” I stand up and take a deep breath. Stringed instruments play lightly over the moment. I look out onto the sun-kissed parking lot. There is a man peeing on a car. I quickly close the shades and turn to her. “Today is the day I make you and I rich with money dollars.”

Talia has fallen back asleep. Tired from all the excitement, it seems.

I put on my lucky red boxer briefs. Why are they lucky? Well, these are the boxer briefs I was wearing when this happened. I then put on my humble, logic-based blue boxer briefs to even everything out.

**Currently listening to: Kings of Leon!** Sorry, due to my contractual obligations with MTV, I have to do that every paragraph or so.

After I put on my underwears, it’s time for my outerwears. I put on a blue dress shirt, green sweater vest, gold and blue tie, and a blue sports coat. I’m looking fly. I’m looking sweet. I’m looking fweet (I have a degree in English. I can make up words. It’s the law.). I look a lot like this:

...Ah... A little less drunk.
…Ah… A little less drunk.
Ok, now a little more formal.
Ok, now a little more formal.
Good GOD! Way, WAY wrong direction!
Good GOD! Way, WAY wrong direction. More formal, less peyote.

Perfect. Thats what Im talkin about.
Perfect. That’s what I’m talkin’ about.

After I’m dressed, I pick my diploma up from my desk. I breath out.

“Ok, Kyle. Let’s go make some magic happen. Make some magic happen. MAGIC!” I then leave my apartment.

I go down to my car and drive to the nearest metropolitan area. Everybody seems to be so happy for me. The homeless man I usually give change doesn’t tell me I’m a “Dead man” when I hand him a quarter, a lady cuts me off, but then slams her brakes on to say she’s sorry.

I reach downtown Denton full of delightful exhilaration. Stepping out onto the grass in front of the courthouse, there is a real feeling of life.

I then hold out my diploma with left hand. My right I extend, palm up, ready to receive all my dollar money or a handshake from my new employer. It takes 17 minutes for a bird to poop on my outstretched hand and a gang of children to steal my diploma. I’m filled with disappointment.

Next Week on BLOG

“No, no, no. At our ceremony you told us we had ‘Bright, shining futures’ ahead of us. WHERE THE HELL IS MY FUTURE?!” Kyle screams at UNT President Gretchen Bataille.

“Carl–” She starts.


“Yes, Kyle–you’re asking the wrong question. The question is not ‘Where’ is your future. The question is when.”

They exchange emotionless glances and he walk out of the room.

“Kyle, you used my tooth brush for WHAT?!” Talia screams.

“You obviously don’t get political humor then. Here let me show you again–”


*Cuts to Wesley, standing in an empty parking lot, wearing only a loincloth. He is covered in a golden liquid.


Liveblogging: Memorial Day/The Big Bang Theory

25 May

My feet hurt. Why? Because I ran around my back yard like a child for like two hours. Did I amaze all those watching with my unmatched athletic prowess? Well, sure.  We threw around a frisbee, a football, and a Civic.

I then wrestled in the pool with my brother in our pool. The ensuing thrashing caused a ripple effect that moved out from us, throwing water up high into the atmosphere. I’d like to apologize for the severe weather soon to come. OOPS!

I’m watching the Big Bang Theory in my living room. There’s a gorgeous girl that lives across the hall from some nerds (Sheldon and Leonard). It’s like how Wes lives across the hall from me and Derek. Wes is so gorgeous and he gets along so well with Derek, but he’s ultimately oblivious to Derek’s romantic feelings for him.

This guy (Sheldon) from the Big Bang Theory is wanting to make friends. He’s at a book store to get a book on how to make friends. The clerk told him that the only “making friends” books were in the children’s section. So now, he’s making friends with this little girl sitting by a train set. This is so creepy. I’m not comfortable with this. Thank god the guy from Rosanne is here to drag him away. Take him. Good Christ. The creepy guy’s name is Sheldon. Doesn’t that make it worse?

My hero. Remember him from Roseanne? He was cool, then. Now he looks kind of like a safer, less drug-addle Joaquin Phoenix. It looks like Joaquin layed an egg and this man came out. Good god, Joaquin Phoenix has attained sentience. Hes now reproducing at will.

My hero. Remember him from Roseanne? He was cool, then. Now he looks kind of like a safer, less drug-addled Joaquin Phoenix. It looks like Joaquin layed an egg and this man came out. Good god, Joaquin Phoenix has attained sentience. He's now reproducing at will.


$2,000 cash back on a new Camry. LOVE IT. I love $2,000 dollars.

Ok, it’s back on. They’re talking about Lysine. Idiots. Sheldon thinks there’s an algorithm for making friends. I think…by making an algorithm for making friends, he’s inadvertently created the perfect method for never making friends ever ever ever. Is an algorithm the same thing as a flow chart? Because what I see here is a flow chart on a dry erase board. One of you look up algorithm and tell me what it is.

Sweet. Sheldon is going rock climbing with this guy who he wants to be friends with. Ok, the thing is, he wants to use this guy’s super computer to do some research, and the guy only lets his friends use the computer. The irony in this is, although the other guy is painted as an ass hole, Sheldon is the one trying to use someone.

Son of a bitch.

Son of a bitch.

They’re back at the apartment. Sheldon brought Gary (guy with the computer) back. They’re…good god. Now Sheldon is saying he can’t handle five friendships. He’s firing one friend. This guy is kind of an ass hole. OHHHHHHH OK! He just fired Raj. Hm. The only minority in a lily white sea of plastic rimmed glasses and colorful sweaters. Ok, wait; what first seemed like a decision based on race seems to be based on much more. When Sheldon gave Raj a friendship questionaire, Raj said he thought Sheldon’s favorite sugar was Glutamine. It’s actually Lysine. Who…b…

Now we’ve found out, there is actually no favoritism on the part of Gary. He follows a strict schedule. So our “hero” Sheldon is a honest to god, real-life, bastard. He just took away Gary’s Chinese food and gave it to Raj. If I was Raj, I’d take that Chinese food and…oops, no time for punch line, commercials.

Stupid Verizon commercial with the guy with the sprinkles in the ice cream shop. I hate this man. If I was that clerk, I would kill that son of a–DAMN IT NEW COMMERCIAL

Ashley furniture, no interest til 2013. It’ll be way past 2013 when I become interested in buying a $800 couch.

It’s over.


New Additions

24 May

Hey! I’ve added some stuff to the site. I’ve added a new short story section. Oh yea, I added a new link to my “Blogroll.” I wish WordPress would let me change the name from “Blogroll,” because that word always makes me think of gross things, like a dick made out of internets. Anyway, back to the link:  it’s to Josh Nigo’s sports site:


23 May

Here’s a bunch of pictures I think are delightful.





66CD4790 gorilla cloned 2 blur lpg



My family at my graduation.

My family at my graduation.

My Last Act as an Undergrad

21 May

That seems strangely capitalized. Hm.

Welcome back.

Today was my last day as an undergraduate at UNT. My last test was in literature. My last meal on campus was a double burger, pizza, and stir fry. My last trip to a campus bathroom was a successful one– pooped, peed, and blew my nose–and washed my hands. My last act on campus was…miraculous.

At the Spring 2009 Commencement Ceremony, I was given a great opportunity–to address my graduation class as guest speaker. Fantastic.

I approach the podium, nervous but poised. I’m cool as a cucumber. I hear a murmur throughout the crowd as I ascend to where I will deliver my speech.

“Welcome back.” I say to roaring applause.

“Well, as you all know, I’m graduating. I’m about to head out into the brave, scary world and begin my adult life. There are roughly 2,000 of you in the graduating class.” More applause. “By simple laws of probability, there is almost certainly a number of you who have failed one or two too many classes this past semester and will not be joining me in adult life. To you I respectfully say ‘Suck it,’ and ‘lol.'”

As soon as I say the word “Suck,” the capacity crowd erupts with elation. They love it when I say bad words.

“The fact is, this is the worst economy in decades. Not since the secret, government covered up depression of 1987 has there been anything this terrifying. This is more terrifying than the film ‘Cloverfield.'”

This allusion seems to have lost many members of the audience.

“Uh…like more terrifying than a super smart dog who knows how to use automatic weapons.” Here I hear the light bulbs go on and a sigh of epiphany sweeps the room. All right.

“There’s nothing out there for us. No jobs, no families, no fancy cars or beautiful homes. All we have is each other. Look up into the faceless mass surrounding you and wave goodbye to the flesh-tone blobs you think might be your family and say goodbye. We’re staying in college forever. We’re going to live in Clark Hall. We will be taking it by force.”

Eight minutes later, We took Clark Hall by force. We held the Hall for exactly 36 minutes before the vast majority of the class remembered how cool it is to get presents. Many of us also missed food, flavored beverages, and our women.

The End.

The Awkward, Dramatic Public Phone Call

19 May

So I’m standing on the bus. It’s finals week, I’m ready to take my final. I’m finally taking my final. Finally. Final.

The bus is packed, so I’m standing, holding onto a hand rail. The bus is relatively quiet, only a soft murmur of conversation every now and then. This is usually when I let out a little fart and then count how many people look over. For each person who looks over, I fart again. It’s a cruel game. I’m trying to work out my opening fart, when this girl behind me starts talking on her phone. At first it’s civil, I can deal with this. A-OK. I’ll just play my game next time. After awhile, however, things start to go south. DEEP south. REAL DEEP.

She starts to yell into her phone– but so she doesn’t sound one note, she also cries into her phone. I make a grimace of slight discomfort as I take a small step away from this woman. I don’t want to hear any of this, and nobody else does either.

“Listen! MOM! HE’S going to keep doing this forever! Why are you doing this to me?” She sobs into the receiver.

While she says this, I almost simultaneously  think to myself, “Listen! Kyle! She’s going to keep doing this forever! Why is she doing this to me?”

I tell my brain to snap out of it. That we can make it, but after 15 straight minutes of sobbing and yelling and whispering and then seeming to forget that whispering is an option, I have to admit to myself that she is putting me through a great amount of pain.

“What? No, I don’t have his fucking money!” She screams. Several people in the bus look away. I’m getting desperate.

I pull out the $6 in my wallet and nervously hold it out to her. She doesn’t notice me for some time, because she has her head between her knees, choking out each word. I poke her in the head with my keys and wait for her to look up. Eventually she does. Good. Oh shit, maybe not. She looks terrible. Sometimes people look ugly when they cry.

“Here…give him this…” Cha-ching, I think.

“What the fuck is this?” She asks. She seems ungrateful. I’m hurt. I really want to call my room mate from the bus and cry to him about how mean the girl is, but I fear this would make those around me uncomfortable. I wish she would’ve thought the same.

It’s money…for your…dad or whatever. Now you can be quiet. I fixed everything!” I smile widely and hold out my hand for a down low five.

“Is this some kind of joke?”

I’m a little offended. I want to give her a lesson in gratitude, but I don’t. Instead, I just raise my hand up like I’m going to hit her. Then when she flinches, I make her let me hit her in the arm 3 times. Those are the rules.

People in the bus don’t seem to like this. They express their anger by trying to talk to me about how inappropriate it was for me to trick her into playing a child’s hitting game. I then lift my fists up really fast and watch to see which people flinched. I try to hit them each three times on the shoulder, but before I could finish, they remove me (by force, what children) from the bus. I’m mad. I stomp around at the bus stop for about 8 minutes, cry for about 6, then fall asleep until dinner time. My room mate shows up about that time and carries he home in his strong, Polish arms.

Holy Gradjeeayshun Bat-Man!

16 May

Graduation is so fucking boring. Am I right? I feel bad for all the thousands of people in the audience who have to wait patiently for “Robert Kyle Irion, Degree in English, Minors in Psychology and Awesome,” then wait through another few hundred or thousand meaningless names. I just thought I’d throw out some tips for the administration to look at to make graduation less of a beating.

1. When I walk across stage, I want to feel that I can safely booty-bump UNT President Gretchen Bataille without fear of suit or assault from security.

2. As each department head enters the coliseum, the announcer should also say their height, weight, and place of birth, like in a boxing match.

3. Pyrotechnics.

4. Graduations are so predictable. I want to introduce a little bit of suspense to the proceedings. Therefore, I say we have one “Wild Card” degree. As each students pass by the podium, have their name called, whatever, there is a giant pendulum swinging back and forth above the pile of fake diplomas. If the pendulum stops over the pile when your name is called, you can’t graduate. LOL

5. Have a drawing with all the seat numbers in the coliseum. If your name gets called, you get a MARINE BIOLOGY DEGREE!

5. Every graduate is handed a sword. A master samurai is stationed in front of the diploma stand. You want it? Go get it.

6. Those two old men from the Muppets sit in a balcony above the stage and make fun of the graduates as they pass by.

"Hey! look at that guy! If he doesn't do something with that beard, he'll be a "Bachelor of Fine Arts" forever! DOOO HO HO HO HO"

"Hey!If he doesn't do something with that beard, he'll be a 'Bachelor of Fine Arts' forever! DOOO HO HO HO!"

7. Graduation: The Musical

8. Graduation: The IMAX Experience

9. Graduation: 3-D

10: Graduation: First Blood [Editor’s Cut]

10. Instead of diplomas, we’re handed kittens dyed to match the colors of our alma-mater.

UNT: Discover the Power of Ideas (and morally ambiguous testing designed to turn cats green)

Congratulations, grad!

11. Instead of diplomas, we’re given things we can use, like job experience or handfuls of cash.

12. Gretchen Bataille is lowered from the ceiling by a cable. There are sparklers affixed to her feet and a white light shines from behind her. A cheap knockoff of the overture from “Jesus Christ Superstar” plays. Hundreds are offended and leave almost immediately. Once the prudes leave we bring out some strippers.

Shit. I have to leave for graduation in 15 minutes. I might need to start getting ready. Not nervous yet. Maybe once I get there. I’m going to miss college.

What I’m Going to Do Now That I’m Famous

14 May

Welcome back.

In the last two days, my blog has had roughly 250 hits. Yea. Money. Speaking of money, I should be seeing a lot more of it very soon now that I’m internet famous.

This fame (money) is going to change my life forever. I’ll never be the same. Soon, I’ll be blogging to you from the top of my pile of gold coins, typing on a platinum laptop with ivory keys. I want you all to come along for the ride with me (not in the limo, though. organize carpools). So, I’ve just kind of ran down some of the things that will change now that I’m famous (rich).

I think the first thing I’m going to do is just “drop” pants. Pants aren’t my scene. I like the idea of walking around, feeling the sun radiate off my Casper-white thighs and into the unsuspecting retinas of the less wealthy. You ever seen me without my pants on? If you’re able to read this, probably not.

The second thing I think I’ll do is buy a lot of the stuff that I’ve always wanted. I’m going to go to the nearest Sharper Image   Circuit City K-Mart Best Buy and get a really big refrigerator. Then I’m going to buy tons of delicious food to put in it– food from all over the world: lobster,  caviar from the Mediterranean, wild Spanish chicken, Cheerios from Britain (Which, over there, are actually called Hellos.).

Third, I will buy a gun.

Fourth, I will start only hanging out with people as famous as me. So, consider this a formal goodbye to all my friends who aren’t Barack Obama or the Pope. Hello to all my new friends, Barack Obama and the Pope! Oh yea, and I’ll definitely make time for the Hoff every now and then–but only while I’m in German–which will be like, all the time after I commission a team of top scientists to develop a jet pack for me.

Pictured: Me.

Pictured: Me

Fifth, I will buy the Crocs™ Shoe company and then promptly close it.

Sixth, in a form of musical experimentation, I will use my seemingly unending wealth to reinvigorate the careers of MC Hammer, Poison, and Billy Ray Cyrus. I will then see who succeeds in today’s musical climate. The winner gets to keep being famous. The losers have to live in my dungeon.

Seventh, build a dungeon.

Eighth, buy a real big coat.

Ninth, I’ll pay the writers from LOST to come to my house and explain to me HOW  THERE ARE THREE JOHN LOCKES ON THE ISLAND. After their explanation, which I’m willing to guarantee will still leave me confused and irritable, I’ll have them put in my dungeon.

Damn you.

Damn you.

Tenth. I will go on a magical boat ride with John Goodman, Eddie Vedder, Conan O’ Brien, and Shaquille O’Neal. I will blog about it. I will also Tweet about it. When I’m doing that, I will upload hundreds of photos to my facebook of me and Conan climbing Shaq and shaving Eddie Vedder’s eyebrows while he’s asleep. When Eddie wakes up, we’ll talk him into helping us make a raft that looks like it was built out of a portion of the hull and push a passed out John Goodman out to sea on it. We’ll then surround the raft with little pieces of flaming debris and sail away. He’s going to be SO PISSED. Lol. John.

The last thing I’m going to do is finally give the studios all the funding they need to create my biopic: Irion Man. It’s going to be a lot like Iron Man, but with fewer explosions and more shots of my junk.

Due out in 2011

Sauntering Uncomfortably into Theaters: Summer 2010

Get excited.

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