The Redundant Monkey

AN OPEN LETTER TO A CLOSED OFF FRIEND

Dear you,

Saying "goodbye" is never an easy thing to do, but I feel you deserve at least that much.  I'm writing this letter to you because you can't seem to take a hint, and I think seeing the words instead of just hearing them, will get my point across more effectively.  We've delayed the inevitable as long as we could stand to.  This relationship we have, or rather had, can no longer sustain itself on wasted hope and mythic unconditonal love.  I'm not surprised that this happened.  I knew when I first met you, almost ten years ago, that we wouldn't last.  Yeah I know, I can be a bit of a fatalist at times, but can you blame me?  I was so young back then, and I didn't really know how to treat you, it took some time, but eventually I learned how to love you, only to be repaid with bitterness and spite.

You were my first, and of course the best.

Having said that...This is goodbye. I no longer want to go where you are going.  To simply, yet harshly put it, I have outgrown my need for you.  Where once you were a well and trusted friend, today, on the dependability scale, you rank dead last.  What happened?  Where did we go wrong?

I guess that's what happens when you see someone on a daily basis, and you just get used them being around all the time.  They become the rusty colored fixtures you never get around to cleaning. The mole you should you have gotten checked out two months ago.  The oil change you keep putting off.  You get the picture.  I should have dealt with you, head on, then and there, but I didn't.  I was foolish to think that you would just come around.  There you are screaming, "Look at me!" "Hey, I need your help!!" "Notice me! Notice me!"  You know what though, it was really easy to ignore you.  Your endless need for attention drove me insane, and I thought of the most violent things that could happen to you.

OK, I will admit that I am partially to blame for the slowly agonizing death of our friendship.  I should have noticed you more, I should have taken care of you, but life isn't about all the should haves and the should not haves.  Life is about right here and right now, and what we're going to do about tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow, or even the day after that.  Unfortunately, there are no more mananas for us to share.

Before I say what it is I really want to say, I think we should just take a quick trip down memory lane.  Why rehash all of the old times at all now that I'm leaving you?  It's because I treasure every memory we've shared together.  I just want to make it painfully clear to you, that it wasn't always bad times, and that those good memories outweigh the bad ones by far.  You were around me for the serious life changing events in my life, and you were also there for those quiet moments of clarity.  I will treasure these memories for the rest of my life.

Do you remember when we first became an item?  All my friends were so excited to meet you, but you were so shy back then.  You thought you looked so different from everyone else, and you felt like you didn't fit in.  Truth be told, you didn't, at least at first, but we all learned to love you.

Do you remember when we all went to Vegas, that summer of '96?  It was your first road trip ever, and my first road trip sans family.  I was a bit nervous at first because I was still scarred from the ghost of family road trips past.  You thought I was being silly, but you convinced me to go anyway.  I think that was the very first time I trusted you - a milestone in our new relationship.  So I trusted you, and that trust carried us all the way across the desert to Sin City.  However, do you remember the trip back, and how we all just couldn't wait to get home and finally get away from each other?  So the Vegas trip ended in disaster, but it was in that emotional wreckage, that our bond as friends solidified.

Do you remember when you got into that accident?  I was so scared that you were going to die.  They took you away for three whole months, and let me just tell you, those three months were the hardest three months of that whole entire year.  I had to learn how to depend on my other friends, just as I was starting to get so very close to you.  (You pulled through though, good as new, and we never brought up those three months again)

You were there when I got the news that Elliott had killed himself.  You played his music and we both remembered him together.

You were always there to make me feel so comfortable.  I picked my nose in front of you, I farted, I committed the most horrendous acts of personal hygiene in front of you, because I felt at ease.  I didn't feel bad or weird when I mined for boogers in your presence.

You were there to keep me warm in the winters, ha, and yes, even warmer in the summers.

You were there for first kisses.

You were there when I was having sex.  Yes, I know in retrospect that doing that was a bad idea, and I shouldn't have let you witness that.  What can I say?  I was young and so foolish back then.  What I thought was hot and kinky, you thought was appalling.  You made it clear to me how dirty it made you feel, how regardless of how much emotional scrubbing you did, that those stains from those nights, would stay with you forever.

You were there when my grandma died.  When I couldn't stand the grief anymore, you promised to take me to far away places with you, and you did, and that made me feel better.

You were there when Prof. J and I got drunk off cider, parked in front of my old house in Cerritos.  You got me home in one piece.

Yes, you were there. 

These days you seem so distant, so far away.  Here I am, feeling like I have my arms stretched out towards the big nothing.  If part of the blame lies with me, than the other part lies with you.

Last year when you got diagnosed, yet again with more bad news, you started flaking out on me.  You didn't want my help.  Whenever I tried to help, it would only make things worse.  I was even going to ask my parents for a loan, for chrissakes, just for you.  Your treatments were getting expensive, and the money was running out, and like the stubborn mule you are, you turned everything and everyone down.  I gotta tell you, sometimes your pride is the worst thing you got going for you.

Yet I understand pride, a lot more than you think.  I had pride.  Pride in us.  Ten years?  C'mon, who wouldn't be proud of that.  Most relationships never last too long.  It's like other people become these speed bumps on this road called life.  Everyone you meet ends up leaving, everyone moves away to distant towns, everyone has problems of their own that they momentarily forgot when they were around you, or even worse, they just lost interest in you.  You've served their purpose, now it's on the next sorry sap who'll give them the time of day.  Not us I thought.  Not us, never.

Of course, as usual, I thought wrong.  No one can never ever back on forever, ever.

You started drifting away from me, actually it was more like speeding away from me.  I wanted to step on those breaks, and just say, "Hey, what the fuck is going on here?"  Those breaks failed and I crashed into that tall impenetrable wall otherwise known as disappointment.  Our relationship stalled when you,  made it obvious that you and I didn't stand a chance at forever.  You were always mad, and you started to treat me like shit.  You would always start cold, and somehow after you miraculously warmed up, out of nowhere, you would just breakdown.  It wasn't you crying though, it was I, and I, just didn't know what to do anymore.

I guess writing this in a blog is kind of tacky, but I know that this is the only way you'll ever see this.  You don't have a phone or an email address, so you've left me with no choice.  I guess I could let things go, but I'm not that type of guy.  I want to end this, right here, right now.  I don't go for that bullshit, where we never really get to say our piece of mind, and a couple years later, when I see you again for the first time, we pretend like this shit never even happened.  I don't like loose ends, and quite honestly, I don't like you anymore.

Does this sound childish to you?  I honestly don't care what you think anymore.  Want to hear something even more childish?  I'm seeing someone new now.  It's 2006 baby, and I've come to realize that all I really want, is a newer version of the old you.  Right now, you suck, and I don't want suck, I want something substantial and real.  Guess what, baby?  I've found her, and the funny thing is, I met her at the same place where I first met you, only this time, I don't have that fear that she's going to leave me, like I had the instant I met you.  I know you probably don't want to hear this, but, she's sexier than you.  She's more reliable than you are.  She's got more room for more junk in her trunk than you do (if you know what I'm talking about).  She's even easier to handle.  Basically, she's everything you are not, everything you never could be, everything you've always wanted to be, and you knew you couldn't.  Face it, baby, she's just better than you are.  You miserable piece of shit.  Fuck you.

Love,
Gary

 

THE WORST WAY TO WAKE UP or WHY IT'S BEST I SLEEP ALONE SOMETIMES

Someone grabs your "special place" while you're asleep and says, "...like my dad did when I was 2."

I must be repressing something.

SEARCH ENGINES LOVE ME...or...HOW TO GET YOUR DOG TO LICK YOUR BALLS

Here are a few really classy web searches that have brought people to my site.  People search for the most fucked up things.  Use quotes kids, it'll save you so much time.

• how to speak with a jersey accent
• chinks monkeys (racists!)
• tittie flashers
• carpet munching babes
• cameron diaz quote you want rape legal then don't vote
• do you need to bring detergent to a laundry-mat  (hi, I'm 18.  I just moved out of my rich parent's mansion, and I have to learn to live my life without a maid.  Daddy says being poor, even just for a little bit, will be a life lesson I'll never forget.)
• joe blow farting monkey
• chris edwards drag queen
• z cavaricci pants need 42 (ha! are cavaricci's retro yet?  Is it still too soon?)
• should lindsay lohan be rape (a rapist with a conscience, should she?  Google will know!)
• how to get your dog to suck your balls  (apparently it's peanut butter)
• what are monkeys favorite desert?  (our pet monkey has been feeling down the past few days.  He just sits there in his own shit.  He looks sad. Maybe if we make him a dessert he'll be happy.  Oooh how about a banana split.  A banana split?  It's got nuts and whip cream, can a monkey eat those? Look at how allergic you get when you eat nuts.  You just swell up and get red.  Should we make it for him anyway? I don't know, just google it!)

ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS...

...my Lighthouse Metal Cookie Cutter

HAPPY HALLOWEEN or F'IN FATCATS, DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I HAVE TO DRIVE?!?!

• Big Rise in Profit Puts Oil Giants on Defensive (NY Times)

The rich can be very, very, very fucking scary.  That chin is just evil.  Of course if that story and that chin aren't scary enough, here's good ole Tom's scary picture.  Sure it's old news by now, but I think it's appropriate, what with Halloween coming up.  It just gives me the damn creeps.  I'm happy for what has happened, but terrified of this picture.  Say Cheese!

• From the Smoking Gun

This is just a jack off posting, but I need a break after my last one, where I suffered a serious bout of mental diarrhea.  Oh and I have a puzzle for you, see if you can solve it.

The following link will take you to two pictures.  You have to find the differences between the two digital images.  If you can find three differences, then you are part of an elite group.  This has been tested on many people, and hardly anyone has found all three differences.  After 45 seconds, 75% of those tested can only manage to find two differences, 24% see only 1 difference.  Think you're part of the elite group?

• Picture test.  Take it smarty pants!

...and of course, have a Happy Halloween!!

A FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY TO THE FOURTH FLOOR or HOW I ATE MY PRECIOUS

I have a coworker who is trying to get me fat. 

I say "trying" as if, it's a long way to go.  Let's just say if Fat was a far off destination, and you've been traveling for quite some time now, then this would be the point where you would be able to see Fat off on the horizon.  You're not exactly there yet, but you can see where you're headed.  The kids aren't in the backseat asking, "Are we there yet? Are we there yet?," because the kids see where "there" is, and now maybe, they're not so sure they want to go "there."

Anyway, as I was saying, I have a coworker who is trying to get me fat. In the morning when I come rushing into the office, sometimes I'll find little treats on my desk.  Chocolate, breakfast sandwiches, candies, muffins, you name it, any kind of carb loaded breakfast item has found it's way onto my desk.  I'm assuming she does this because she's just nice, and she has no ulterior motive of fattening me up for the holidays to cook me.  You never know though, you say "EAT ME, FUCKFACE" enough times to a person, eventually someone will take you up on your offer.  Trust me, I know.  (Hello Father Mark!)

From time to time I'll put myself on a little diet, and for the most part they are beneficial. I lose a little here, I lose a little there.   I never really starve myself, I just refrain from pigging out.  So the number one thing in my diet, is to cut out all the crap, which is basically the sweet stuff.  It makes it extremely difficult to do this when there's something so temptingly sweet sitting on my desk.  The little cookies, the chocolate laced croissants, the custard filled donuts, they're yelling at me, "EAT ME! EAT ME! EAT ME!"

I definitely don't want to be rude, so I indulge myself, and show how much I appreciate her gift by swallowing chocolate chip muffins whole.  I inhale the food to show how appreciative I am of her gifts.

Actually, who am I kidding?  I eat them because I have no self-control.  I lack it when it comes to sweets.  Chances are if you were to put a wrapped Hershey's chocolate Kisses, into the ass crack of a decaying corpse, I'd probably go in there and claim that prize.  (The hyperbole police just called and they want to take me away to Exaggeratraz).

Perhaps it was because I was raised in a bakery.  No kidding. I tend to bullshit a lot on here, but my family really did own a bakery.  From the ages of maybe about 5-18, my dad used to own a bakery in Norwalk, that was first named Kaunlaran, which in tagalog roughly translates to progress. Eventually the name got changed to the simpler, more direct, more English, The Cake Center.  This bakery was full of cakes and breads, and the scent of strawberries was always lingering in the air.  My favorite though, were the tubs of fudge and fruit fillings.  When no one was watching, I loved sticking my finger into these huge buckets of love.  Disgusting, I know, but I never bought any of the food that was served there.

The miraculous thing was that I never gained any weight.  I was a bean pole. (What is a bean pole by the way?)  As a teenager, I had the skinny, muscle-less body that female supermodels craved, without the vomiting.  I ate and ate and I never got any heavier.  Unfortunately age and a dependency on that metabolism would destroy that effortless physique.  I can still remember the day I stepped on the scale and thought to myself, "What the fuck is going on?  Fatty."  Of course there's no one better to drive the point in, that you've gained weight, than when it comes from your own family.  I went to a cousin's birthday party where all I got was, "Hey hey! You're starting to look like your dad!"  My dad by no means is fat, but I knew what they meant.  Much to my chagrin, I was gaining weight.

Back to my point of this posting.  The other day after lunch I was surprised to find this piece of chocolate cake sitting at my desk.  Now this was no ordinary piece of chocolate cake.  It was a 4 inch by 4 inch square of chocolate heaven.  Sandwiched in between the rich moist cake was a layer of cheesecake, and on top the thickest chocolate frosting I had ever seen.  I felt my knees get weak.

For lunch I had just eaten the biggest Cobb salad, so I was pretty stuffed.  There was no way I could cram this fucker into my mouth now.  I decided to stick the little chocolate devil, into the refrigerator to bring home with me for a late night snack.  Now I guess this could be seen as some sort of self-control, but I ate it later that night regardless.  Maybe it's more, fatty time management than it is self control. 

At 6 o'clock, right as I was running out the door, my boss yelled out, "Waaaaaaaaaait!!  GARY!!!  Your cake!!!"  Oh man, I totally forgot.  The cake possessed some kind of magical powers, like it was the ONE TRUE RING, and my boss knew that if left in that fridge, come the next morning it would be gone.  I fake that I'm hesitatingly grabbing the cake out of the refrigerator, when really in my head, I'm imagining sitting on top of it, naked, laughing.

The drive home was horrible.  It just sat in my passenger seat, as if it was a passenger itself.  Should I put a seat belt on it?  Should I turn the air conditioner on to make it feel comfortable?  Maybe I should talk to it.  This is getting awkward.

I finally get home and I push the button for the elevator.  As I'm waiting, another tenant walks up and waits with me.  This is kind of awkward too.  I live in apartment building that has over 30 people living in it, yet no one talks to each other.  We're all strangers here.  No one ever bothers to say "hello" as they're passing you by in the hallway.  No one smiles.  No one makes any effort to be friendly.  Maybe it's an LA thing.  Most of the time people will avoid using the elevator while someone is waiting for it, so they'll bound up the stairs trying to beat the lift. 

Waiting at the elevator with me is some girl I've never seen before.  I smile.  She smiles back.  When the elevator finally arrives, I open the gate for her, like a gentlemen would.  She enters, and I follow after.  This elevator is tiny, it's a little bit bigger than a phone booth, so we're both cramped in there, but in my hand, the chocolate cake is taking up as much room as a small child would.

She looks at the cake and smiles, and then I smile again.  Smiles, smiles, smiles.  Except my smile is more of a territorial one.  Every time I smile, in my head I'm saying, "Don't look at my cake.  Don't look at my precious.  Precious.  My precious."  I ask her what floor she's going to, and it turns out we live on the same floor.  I push the button and off we go.

"Oh my god, that cake. Jesus Christ, that looks so good!"  Oh no she dii'nt.  I know she dii'nt just look at my cake.  Was she lusting after my precious, or was she just simply using it as a conversational  icebreaker?

"I know it's taking everything in my power to keep from sticking my penis into it!" 

Yes, I said penis.  I figure if we're going to go ice breaking, lets do this, balls to the wall baby.  Here's the axe pick, your turn!

She looks at me a tad confused, I can tell she heard what I said, but she just smiles. Maybe now it's not so much confusion as it is uncomfortable. I begin to feel nervous because, being the comic genius I am, I know I overshot the funny.  Pull it back dammit!

The elevator ride takes less than 30 seconds, but it feels like an eternity.  I'm already focusing on her obnoxious wheezing/whistling nasal breathing.  Luckily, before she could come back with a crappy unfunny comeback, we've arrived at our destination.  Fourth floor, everyone OUT.  We both exit the elevator and go our separate ways.  But before I can open the door to my apartment, she looks at me from down the hallway and yells out, "Have fun with your cake!"

"Oh I will," I say, still trying to keep up that level of sarcasm, but the moment has passed.  What a dork I am.  Not just a dork, but a perverted weirdo dork who likes to boink cake.  She's screaming in her head, "FREAK!," and I can hear her.

I finally get into my apartment and place the cake on the counter. "You nevermind her!  She's just jealous.  My poor delicious baby." I feel silly trying to reassure the cake that I wasn't a freak.  I look at the cake, tilt my head, and shrug my shoulders.  "Whaddyagonnado?!"  I let out a sigh, finally safe and sound at home.  I look at the forks sitting in the dish rack, knowing full well that they weren't going to be of any use to me, they'd just get in the way...I unzip my pants, and slowly lower them to the floor....

Hey, big guy... how you doin? Holdin up all right? Want a soda?

As obvious from my blog title, I love the Family Guy, but I've never really written about it.  I can't get into how much I love the show because it will make me sound like this really big geeky dork king, and I want you guys to think I am cool.   In my opinion it's the funniest and smartest show on TV at the moment.  One of the aspects I love about the show the most is how nothing is sacred.  Everyone is made fun of and no one is safe.  You laugh and laugh, even when they're touching on a subject that is close to your heart.  This time they were making fun of wannabe writers, a group I've been a longtime member of.  As someone who loves to write, I've used so many excuses not to.  "I've been busy with things," or "I've just been so tired these days" are two of the excuses I give to someone who asks "So how's the writing going?"  Of course when really, I'm just lazy.  My work ethic, in regards to writing, sucks big balls.  I dunno, maybe I just haven't crossed that threshold of discipline yet.  So back to the Family Guy, in this scene Stewie is patronizing Brian about his writing, or rather lack of:

• How you uh, how you comin' on that novel you're working on? Huh? Gotta a big, uh, big stack of papers there? Gotta, gotta nice litte story you're working on there? Your big novel you've been working on for 3 years? Huh? Gotta, gotta compelling protaganist? Yeah? Gotta obstacle for him to overcome? Huh? Gotta story brewing there? Working on, working on that for quite some time? Huh? (voice getting higher pitched) Yea, talking about that 3 years ago. Been working on that the whole time? Nice little narrative? Beginning, middle, and end? Some friends become enemies, some enemies become friends? At the end your main character is richer from the experience? Yeah? Yeah? (voice returns to normal) No, no, you deserve some time off.

Damn Stewie, why do ya gotta be so cold?

EVERYTHING I LEARNED ABOUT MASTURBATION, I LEARNED IN ROYSTON VASEY

 

Exscube be. Have anybody got any bokkle av oran doov?

Have you heard of this place called Royston Vasey?  It's the fictional English countryside town that serves as the setting for the BBC show The League of Gentlemen.  Last Tuesday The League of Gentlemen complete series DVD collection came out here in America.  The first season DVD came out in 2002, so I've been waiting for an eternity for seasons 2 and 3 to come out.  Finally.

To someone who's never seen the show it's a little hard to explain what it is exactly about.  At it's core it's British sketch comedy at it's best.  On top of that is a layer of the absurd and the surreal, mix in various aspects of the horror film genre, and you've got yourself one good cake of a show.  If Monty Python knocked up Twin Peaks, then League of Gentlemen would be their lovechild.

Basically the show take place in Royston Vasey, and is centered around all of the odd inhabitants of the town.  The main characters are all masterfully played by three actors, each character completely different from the next.  Most sketch comedies involving recurring characters end up becoming one trick ponies, can we say Saturday Night Live?  Can we say, "Well isn't that special?"  Superstar!  The difference with these characters is that they are really fleshed out, you see all sides of them, when they're angry, happy, distraught, anguished, elated, all of them and not just when they have a tired old one liner to deliver, that probably only got laughs the first few times.  The characters become real because each season of the show is basically one big story arc, and you are given enough time to get involved with them.

You, ahem, came expecting masturbation, and here it is.  Here are few quotes on the subject given by the character of Harvey Denton.  Most of his scenes involve him explaining to his newly moved in nephew, the rules of the house.  Now grab your favorite lube and enjoy!

• Maybe if you spent a little less time cavorting with Madam Palm and her five daughters, you'd be a little more alert.

• To shake hot white coconuts from the veiny love tree

• Perhaps you are a naturally slothful person, sluggish and indolent, a dawdling flaneur, content to waste his life spread eagled on pillows forever indulging himself in the pleasures of the palm.

• Doubtless you've been in the bathroom, spraying your belly with hot white love piss

• While the wee wife's away just a few words on the subject of onanism. In this house, we don't masturbate. It's not a particularly pleasant thing to do, especially with two young girls running around now is it? I would hate to imagine either Chloe or Radcliffe, tearing down the stairs first thing in the morning, only to find you, hunched double on the sofa bed pumping your fist!

• Disproportionate consumption of toilet tissue…used while pleasuring yourself to wicked extremes. (handing a bill to his nephew for allowing him to stay at his house)

• Conducting yourself in the solo symphony?

Of course the Dentons are only a few of my favorite characters.  Here's are a few extra tidbits from other people in the town.

EDWARD & TUBBS, shop owners

• Edward:  Hello, hello. What's all this shouting? We'll have no trouble here.
• Tubbs: Are you... local?
• Tubbs: Don’t touch the things! This is a local shop for local people, there’s nothing for you here!
• Edward: I used to be in a war. And I'd paid for people like you, this is a decent town and a local shop, there's nothing for you here.
  Tubbs: Tell him I can't have babies anyway. Tell him my insides are all wrong.
  Edward: Go on then, take the precious things of the shop, burn down our home, RAPE OUR DEAD MOUTHS. Just as long as I don't have to hear anymore of your disgusting babble.

PAULINE, local restart officer.

• Good morning job seekers!
• Hokey cokey pig in a pokey!
• I do, Ross. Back on the dole, getting up at dinnertime and…flicking myself off to “Trisha”.
• Everything I know about people I learned from pens. If they don't work, you shake them. And if they still don't work, you chuck them away. Bin 'em.

• Pauline: Just who do you think you're talking to ?
  Cathy: Well according to my report a psychotic 50-year-old lesbian.
  Pauline: How dare you. I'm 48

PAMELA DOOVE, aspiring actress:

• SKEWED BEEF, HAVE ANY BODY GOT ANY BOKKLE AV ARAN DOOVE?!

PAPA LAZAROU, circus ringleader

• Hello Dave?  Is Dave home?
• You have a blahauk in your toilah.
• You're my wife now!

I just realized that this post sounds like I'm some kind of marketing shill for the BBC.  Now that sounds like a good job.  Anyway if you're still not convinced, check out some clips on their website!

THE OLIVE GARDEN MIGHT MAKE YOU GAY

Yesterday for Father's Day, my pops picked the Olive Garden in Anaheim Hills to have lunch (only the best for dad). Normally I hate the OG, I think their food is mediocre and it's also way overpriced, but it wasn't my day, so it wasn't my choice.

Our waiter, Caleb, comes around, he's this good looking kid, probably early 20's, looking like he was fresh out of high school, maybe gay, maybe not. Unlike the rude gawky teenage wannabe male model host who sat us down, our waiter is unbelievably nice and accommodating to us. He offers a few different wines to taste for my mom and sister, which I didn't think they did at the OG. I always assumed their wine came out of these Slurpee-like machines "in the back."

He takes our orders starting with the females first, and then he gets to my dad, and dad being dad, he is unable to refrain being jokey with anyone, he says, "Does your mom know that you work here?" I look across the table to my sister and we're both laughing and totally embarassed as usual.

There's a brief akward silence, and he responds, "Oh I used to come here as kid before I started working here..."

When was that, last year?

I think what my dad was trying to imply was, "You're look too young to be working here! You're just a baby!" A compliment disguised as a funny little quip, only it came out kinda weird, like something a sexual predator would say. It's a sneaky way of asking someone's age without really asking their age. Of course my dad was just being my dad, and not Jacko.

Then Caleb takes my brother's order, and after he's done placing it, my brother blurts out, "Has anyone ever told you that you sound just like Tobey Maguire? Like Spiderman Tobey Maguire?" Again I immediately look across the table to my sister and I give her this, "what the fuck is going on" look.

He tells my brother that no one has ever told him that, and now he looks a little weirded out. I bet he's thinking, "what's with the one-two/father-son gay punch?"

As soon as he leaves I tell my brother, "You should ask him if anyone has ever said to him that he has the same dreamy eyes as Tobey Maguire."

Weirdos. Gay daddy and gay brother, that'd make a great sitcom. As far as I know, they're both straight. Perhaps it was the "ambiance" of the Olive Garden that swished them up a bit. Now they will read this somehow and I will be disowned all for the sake of humor at their expense. I guess the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, but thank god it falls far away enough.

Spector's Hair to Figure in Trial

Not sure about ole crazy Phil there, but I'd like to go out on a limb and say that the hair is guilty.