I’ve specifically tweeted a few celebs, asking them to give our show a listen, and perhaps a shout-out, to bolster the numbers. Fuck me raw, you’d think I was requesting a kidney, for not a single time, has any celebrity seen fit to give a mention of the show. These are celebs (not necessarily those mentioned above) who tweet every time they take a shit, as if we give one, by the way; Some of them follow either jessica or myself, yet can’t be troubled for the 20 seconds it takes to let their precious followers know there’s something new and halfway decent out there. Yet, they’ll ask us to watch the most boring of YouTube videos, read their reviews, comment positively about them, and so on, ad nauseum. Meanwhile, you have someone like jessica, who volunteers maybe 20% of her free time to causes she really has no reason to care about. She walks for breast cancer and AIDS, yet (last time I stared at her body) has neither ailment. She’s building things all over the world for the underprivileged, in countries where a clean glass of water is treated like Microsoft stock. And I’ve seen her re-tweet many, many times, when an event needs to be delivered to the masses. I think, there’s WAY too many celebrities out there who conveniently forget that, somewhere along the line, in spite of massive amounts of hard work, they still needed a break from someone to be noticed…whether it was a chance to get up on stage, or a happenstance meeting with another celebrity who gave them a chance. And for some reason still unknown to me, there’s a certain unwillingness to pay it forward.

Now, do I compare the STFU Show to a kid in Cambodia who eats bamboo shoots three times a day? Not at all. We’re just a couple of idiots doing an Internet radio show, but I do think we entertain quite a few listeners all over the world (the stats and reviews say so). And if we can get some truck driver through his day a little easier, or some college listener in India who is trying to gain a little insight to America, to laugh, then we’ve done our jobs. I do know there’s a certain segment of celebrity Twitter accounts which are maintained by staffers, assistants, etc. Those are fairly easy to spot and I won’t follow them. The accounts which are truly tweeted by the real stars are the ones I reach out to. Even some of the porn stars, who have mentioned to both jessica and myself, that they really enjoy the show, don’t put the word out to their fans. Porn stars in particular, I would think, have a vested interest in this doing well, for it might open a door for them to do something similar in the future. That being said…if anyone doesn’t like the show, we expect nothing. I wouldn’t endorse anything I didn’t enjoy either. You won’t see me tweeting about the greatness of Real Housewives Of (fill in city here), or Pawn Stars, or any other worthless reality show. I understand, believe me.

We (jessica and I) have discussed this. It’s both puzzling and aggravating at the same time. jessica has told me of numerous “stars” who have really put the heavy hit on her (i.e. they want to fuck the shit out of her, regardless of marital status), and it’s not my job to “out” them in this forum. But, how dare they try to schmooze someone like jd, trying to get in her pants, or a quick blowjob, yet can’t even take the time to recommend our little show. Again, it’s 20 seconds out of their day, and costs them absolutely nothing, except the feeling that maybe, for once in their pathetic lives, they do a little good for someone else, for no real reason. I really wonder how many of these “celebrities”, wake up in the morning, and feel 1/10 as good about themselves as jessica drake does every day?

It’s not that I’m unsympathetic to what happened to Caylee Anthony, but do we really need yet another law for such an isolated occurrence? 99.99% of parents would have called authorities immediately, and to now clog up the legislature because Florida couldn’t convict one horrible parent, is doing nothing but ringing the emotional dinner bell. There are already enough “bad parenting” laws on the books. If we’re going to enact a new law every time a criminal goes free, then why not make it a crime for possession of a ski mask after Memorial Day? Gee, if only THAT had been on the books we could have REALLY nailed OJ. Maybe make it a crime to drive your car into a lake while your kids are harnessed in the back seat…wow, that’ll fix the Susan Smiths of the world. Trouble is, we already have a pretty good law in place which covers that scenario…it’s called murder you worthless fucks! Fuck me raw with a rusty crowbar; somebody please DO SOMETHING ABOUT OUR COUNTRY!

Look, here’s the deal lawmakers…FIX THE FUCKING ECONOMY ALREADY! Anything else you do is nothing more than a goddamned distraction, to keep voters from noticing that you haven’t a fucking clue as to what you’re doing. No more texting while driving laws, no Caylee’s law, no more laws which keep voters from realizing that your state is deeper underwater than Osama bin Laden, ok? This is the main reason why people like Michelle Bachman and her ilk can’t lead the country; I don’t want any more sound bites. I don’t want to hear “let’s take our country back”, unless you have a sound plan to back it up. Otherwise, you’re just bitching like the idiots who stand on the bitching stump in England. I want the smartest people to get together and come up with a plan to fix things. Everyone else should get the fuck out of the way.

I grew up in a suburb of Chicago, and attended Hoffman Estates High School. It was a fairly new school at the time, without any real type of school history, especially in athletics. I had always been a natural athlete, and played basketball and football my first two years, but my passion was baseball. For three years I was a varsity starter, including a game I played drunk my junior year. My senior year, I pitched the school’s very first varsity no-hitter (I had pitched the first non-varsity no-hitter as a freshman), and for the most part, REAL athletics ended upon my graduation. To this day, when I go back and look over the Hall Of Glory or whatever the fuck HEHS calls it’s photos of athletes, it gripes my ass that they’ve never even recognized something which can’t occur again. Anyway…off to video games, um, I mean, college.

College just wasn’t my thing. At Eastern Illinois University, I would attend the first day of classes, decide I was too smart for the class, and never return. My problem was I didn’t bother actually dropping the classes, thus, I received quite a few “F”s and eventually flunked out…twice. Around this time I learned how to hustle bowling. Did you know there was such a thing as a bowling hustler? Neither did I. I never saw Paul Newman lugging a bowling ball around in The Hustler. I learned the art from my roommate at the time, a guy named Mike. Together, we traveled the US, making money, drinking, and pretty much doing whatever we wanted. Mike eventually grew up, and now owns a very successful bowling bag/accessories company. I forgot to grow up, and headed out to Hollywood. Between college and Hollywood, I’ve had the following “occupations”: Heavy equipment salesman, blackjack/roulette dealer, strip club dj, adult magazine editor/publisher, laser spa owner, computer repairman, website developer, and game show contestant.

There’s quite a few details I’ve left out, which will make for some interesting posts as time goes on. For now, I write for film/TV, mostly comedies, and a couple of months ago I started the STFU Show on the Internet, with a most wonderful person, adult film star jessica drake (she insists her name not be capitalized). It’s a podcast, meaning, a show recorded for the Internet, similar to a radio talk show without the FCC crawling up your ass about language, content, etc. As we’ve received excellent feedback thus far, I truly believe this can be my method of livelihood for years to come. Each show, we get funnier, and recruit more listeners. And it’s so convenient for the audience. They can listen when and where they want; pause the show, rewind, fast-forward, whatever.

In the meantime, I post my (short) opinions on Twitter (@lacomedywriter), and my long, drawn-out diatribes are reserved for the show. So I guess my blog will be for the tweener content, or for shit we just didn’t get to on the show. One thing is for sure…I’ll never, ever, Shut The Fuck Up! RB

Oh, I didn’t tell you about the podcast? Well, starting in mid-May, I will have the pleasure of co-hosting a comedy/talk show with the incredible jessica drake. Those who know her, and according to Twitter, it’s about 60K of you, know her as a Hall Of Fame adult film star/writer/director. But, did you know she is also very personable, and has an incredibly Wicked wit? She does, and we’ll be recording our first podcast soon. It will be available on our site, stfushow.com or on iTunes. Totally free, and totally funny, you have my word.

Back to the drop search. A “drop” is an audio clip inserted for effect, e.g. John Wayne might be used when reporting an event which disappoints.  Anyway, while searching for the hilarious, I came across a newscaster, quite formal, with one of those booming baritone voices. He was given copy to read of a quite outlandish story, and couldn’t even come close to getting through it, although I applaud the effort. I defy ANYONE to listen to this, and not crack up. As for me, I can’t decide if I lost more fluids through tears or pissing myself. You be the judge: click here to listen to the newscast.

Speaking of music, I did a little listening to Slacker radio on my phone the other day; the 70s Hits station. A little Styx, some Grand Funk, and up pops the goddamned Pina Colada song. It’s quite possibly, the worst lyrics ever written. I’ll explain. I was tired of my lady. We’d been together too long. So, basically he was one nag away from going total OJ on this bitch. So far, so good. Now this was long before match.com, and computers; back when you placed a personal ad in the local paper, then waited a week for a response. So, this dude is reading the personals, while his lady is asleep in bed, next to him. The ad that caught his eye? If you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain. If you’re not into yoga, if you have half a brain. No picture or description mind you, just this catchy ad, and suddenly the guy was hooked like a stupid bass? For all he knew, this chick could have been tipping 250 lbs, but it’s okay. She likes Pina Coladas. Personally, if the girl looks like Angelina Jolie, she can drink pickle-flavored energy drinks, but that’s my personal taste. Tomato, tomahto. So, the guy agrees to meet this girl at a bar the next night. First, he’s assuming that she reads the paper every day, and will see his response. I’m thinking it wasn’t the Wall Street Journal, but I digress. So, the dude’s in the bar, and in walks his current girlfriend. She placed the ad, and that’s okay with him. They laugh, and go home. How about the fact that they were cheating on each other, you fucking hack! And her ad copy about if you have half a brain, seems to imply that she thought he was an idiot. Is THAT the kind of girl you want in your life? Someone who cheats on you, thinks you’re a moron, and after all that time together, didn’t know what kind of booze you like? How about you kick that bitch out of your shitty apartment, and tell her to take her fucking Osmond records with her? Hmmm? How ’bout that? Make her a fucking pina colada for the road. It makes me think that, in the 70s, I could have waltzed into a recording studio, dropped trou, squatted over a reel-to-reel tape machine, and whatever came out of my ass, had an excellent chance of going to #1 (okay #2 if you like puns). The 70s weren’t enlightened, because for every Jefferson Starship “Miracles”, there was some pothead pussy writing the Pina Colada song.

Sorry for the rant…Enjoy the Oscars.

I hear all kinds of ditties about what constitutes friendship. I’ve heard the one about how a “true friend” will help you dispose of the body, etc. While that may be true, it’s really, really unlikely that it will ever come up in your life experiences. I, however, have a story which might happen to anyone and, hopefully, you’ll do just as I did some 20+ years ago.

Notice the lack of reclining space.

My best friend John and I decided to drive cross-country from Chicago to Los Angeles for a little vacation. It wasn’t really a vacation…we had this wild idea to try out for Wheel Of Fortune, and figured we’d put in a little R&R while there. I had a 1985, two-seat, mid-engine, MR2, which, for a long-ass drive, was only slightly better than taking turns pulling a rickshaw. Anyway, we made excellent time, and decided to stop in, of all places, Flagstaff, AZ to party and bed down for the night. It was the middle of March, and while the rest of Arizona was enjoying 75-80 degree weather, Flagstaff was cold as shit, and still had plenty of snow on the ground. We found a cheap motel with two double-beds, and set off to see how the town partied. Well, Flagstaff sure knew what it was doing. John and I drank, pretty heavily, and I picked up a local woman with seemingly no moral padlocks whatsoever. She had a tattoo near her groin, and plenty of alcohol in her, so she met my minimum standards. There was only one problem. John and I were such cut-ups that I knew he couldn’t be in the bed next to me, or I’d spend the whole night laughing instead of playing “locate the labia”.

The solution to me was obvious. I’d take this little trampolina to the room, while John slept outside. Surprisingly, John didn’t put up much of an argument. So, for the next half hour I had my way, while John sat outside in a car with seats that didn’t recline, the lightest of jackets, and a dusting of snow falling all around him, as the snot froze in his mustache. Picture John Candy in Planes, Trains, & Automobiles.

At least my buddy had a roof.

I must admit I felt a little guilty. After all, John and I had split the cost of the room. So, once I was done I walked to the door, looked out, and motioned for John to come back in. I also gave John a sign that it was “his turn”. John immediately jumped into his bed, and I told the girl, “Hey, show John your tattoo”. She stumbled from the bed, and stood naked in front of John, so he could get a good look. John was sharp enough to know a green light when he saw one, and grabbed her hips, pulling her to the bed.

Now, I know this doesn’t sound like such a great friendship story so far, but here’s the friend part. Behind Flagstaff’s finest I was doing my best Marcel Marceau, trying to let John know, not to kiss her. You see, only moments before, I had decorated her uvula, and decided John had suffered enough for one night. I must have pantomimed some kind of puckering motion, wildly pointing to my mouth and waving “no”. Then, as if this acting wouldn’t get me that Emmy, I held the back of my own head, while bobbing up and down, mouth agape like a striped bass proudly mounted on a wall. Whatever I did worked, for when she went to kiss him, John performed a reversal that would have made Brock Lesnar proud. He had his way with her, I got some much needed alcohol sleep/coma, and most importantly, the woman slept in John’s bed.

The next morning she rose and went on her merry way. She didn’t want our phone numbers, didn’t want us to stop on the way back, it was perfect. And John and I continued on to LA for our wonderful adventure. During that trip we also ventured down to Tijuana, but that’s another story…

Speaking of man’s best friend, one thing I’m really glad we don’t emulate with dogs is how we go to the bathroom. Imagine how long the lines would be in a bar if you sniffed the first urinal, peed in the second one, stopped, then peed in a third one. Then on the way out, stopped for one last splash in the sink. Damn, you’d get to the bar at happy hour, and your next drink would be at “last call”.

I guess on the other hand, dogs are probably thankful they don’t have the guilt that humans have regarding looks and sex. You don’t have two bulldogs at the dog park talking it up…Dog 1: Hey dude, who’s that bowwow I saw you with yesterday? Dog 2: Oh man, it’s nothing serious. She was just in heat, and I decided to throw her some lovin’. Dog 1: Yeah, right. Dude, she looked like a St. Bernard. She pumps out a few homely puppies, and next thing you know, she’ll have your ATM card for the next 12 years. Plus, you know she’ll never lose the litter weight. But I know how it is, the bitches all get better lookin’ at sunset.

And of course, the female dogs would have their conversations too. Dog 1: Oh girl, you can’t back into every pug you see, just because of a few hormones. Dog 2: He’s not just any pug, he’s got a job and everything. Dog 1: Oh yeah? What does he do? Dog 2: He’s an actor. Dog 1: Actor, my blue ribboned ass. What’s he done since Men In Black? He’ll leave you for a poodle, and then where will you be? A single mom with eight kids. You’ll be damn Octopooch.

Amanda Bynes announced via Twitter that she is “unretired”, reversing her decision of June 19th. Apparently with Betty White taking so many gigs, Bynes quickly grew bored in the Retired Actors’ Home without a Wii partner.

A 52 year-old eastern PA woman was cited by police after she allegedly used her 26 year-old son’s toothbrush to clean the bathroom, then put it back in the holder. The woman was arrested for harassment, and the son was arrested for being 26 and still living with his mother. The son quickly posted bail, and declined comment when approached at Comic-Con.

In an effort to gain more control over inventory, Wal-Mart announced it would start putting “smart tags” on items such as mens clothing. Initial enthusiasm ebbed when it was also announced that the smart tags wouldn’t do shit if applied to the typical Wal-Mart customer.

Sense Networks hired former Nielsen Company Senior VP David Petersen as their new CEO. While addressing shareholders, Petersen stated that 42% of men 18-34 years of age working at Sense, approved the hire. The other 58% of the men missed the poll entirely, as they were sexting their girlfriends.

Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez threatened to cut off oil sales to the U.S. if U.S.-ally Colombia attacks over rumors that Venezuela provides haven to Colombian rebels. Not wanting to risk an all-out attack from angry Americans, Chavez also announced that illegal drug shipments to the U.S. would continue unabated.

In Arizona, illegal immigrants have threatened to march against the enforcement of SB1070, the controversial new law scheduled to take effect Thursday the 29th. In an effort to ease tensions, Governor Jan Brewer assisted in the organization of the march. It will now start along the U.S.-Mexico border, and continue ten feet backward.

My other tale of woe concerns my first days in sunny LA. It was 1987, and after an appearance on Wheel Of Fortune, I decided California was the only place to live. It was a spectacular place back then. I had a great bachelor pad in Hollywood, and shortly after getting settled I took in the beach in Santa Monica. As I came back from the sand and surf, towel around my neck, I arrived at where my car was supposed to be. I looked up, and right in front me I saw a guy driving right by me in my car. I must have looked very sad as that little Vietnamese man drove away from me in my own vehicle. My only thought was, Welcome to California. Now go home. I had no other choice but to take the bus home. On the bus, a man with everything he owned in a couple of bags beside him could see my disgust with life in general. “What’s the matter?” he asked. I was barely able to mutter, “Little Vietcong stole my car”.  “Oh man” the guy said, “Well keep your head up. It’ll all turn around for ya. One day you’ll have five of them cars.” I thanked him and went back to staring out the window, avoiding the dried loogey left by a former patron. But you know what? I’ll be damned if that dude wasn’t right. Today, in my garage, I have five 1977 Chevettes. And I don’t feel any better.

The cheers you are hearing

As much as I love Janine, she’s made a bit of a mess with her personal life, and this story is too damned funny to pass up. Porn starlet Janine, who was cheated on by hubby Jesse James before he cheated on newly ex-wife Sandra Bullock, has supposedly given up the porn life, and now has a degree from, drum roll please…CLOWN COLLEGE! Can’t help but wonder how that conversation with Mom went:

Janine: Hey Mom, it’s me.

Mom: Yes dear, I’m very busy. The senior bake sale is this afternoon.

Janine: Well, I know how you’ve hated my career in adult movies, so I wanted to be the first to tell you that I’ve officially given up porn.

Mom: That’s nice, dear, but prostitution isn’t much of a career change.

Janine: No, Momma, I’m completely done with all that. I went back to college and got my BJB degree.

Mom: Blow Job…

Janine: No, it’s a Bachelors in Jackass Behavior. I just graduated from Emmett Kelly University, magna cum!

Mom: Don’t you mean magna cum laude?

Janine: No, just magna cum. I had to persuade the instructor to pass me because I missed a few classes.

Mom: So what can you do with a clown degree, dear?

Janine: I have no idea. It’s kind of like my friend who majored in fine arts. But I feel so free now! I could join the rodeo, or be a mime. The world is my oyster! Aren’t you proud of me, Momma?

Mom: A rodeo clown? A fucking mime? All things being equal, I’d prefer you go back to porn. At least then I can go to the AVN’s in Vegas. I think I read somewhere the national mime convention is in Des Moines. Well, I think my pot brownies are done, dear. I better go. Call me when I can see my grandchild.

Editor’s Note: With all seriousness, I hope Janine can somehow, someway, get her life squared away. She’s definitely made some piss-poor choices, but if you know her personally, you’re rooting for her to turn it around.

My final thought of the day: Will someone PLEASE tell Dr. Oz that there are a number of effective laser treatments for hair removal? Either that, or he has to start wearing a long sleeved shirt. Every time I have to look at his Sasquatch arms, I can taste my own vomit, and feel the need to jump into a swimming pool full of Nair.