Drunk Driver Steals Van, Flees From Police, Thwarts Local Man's Attempt To View Amateur Internet Porn Kitten Videos

I was up late last night (I really don't know when to stop when it comes to coffee these days), sitting in front of my computer, the mist blowing through my eyebrows as I surfed the web. Over the sounds of the web's hottest young amateurs young cats scampering in the video I was watching, I heard what I can only describe as a dull explosion, and it seemed not far away. My computer lost power for a split second and went black, followed by the whirring of all my peripherals shutting down, rebooting, whatever they do. My lamps began flickering chaotically, and then it was dark. The blaring sounds of sirens enveloped me, many of them loud enough to give the impression that they were right outside my window.

I grabbed a Bic lighter that was sitting on my file cabinet, flicked it, and scorched the shit out my thumb. Then I remembered that I had placed one of those battery powered push lights on the railing that hangs over our stairway (it wouldn't stick on the wall next to the couch that I sit on while I play my Wii and read strategy guides). I slammed my shoulder into the door frame as I left my bedroom, then slapped the glossed wood railing until I hit the light. The sirens continued. I realized, as I felt my heart racing a bit, that I was panicking. It was possible that we were under attack, and I was going to die knowing that I spent my last night on earth on the couch, in my jammies, eating cold meatloaf and watching American Hardcore.

I made my way downstairs, burnt my thumb again as I lit one of our wussy tea candles, and tried to remember if I have a flashlight. I do not. But, I do have another one of those sticky push lights, that had recently fallen behind the couch when it would not stick to the wall. I pulled the couch away from the wall and began feeling around on the floor and under the skirt of the love seat. This, of course, prompted our male cat to come over and begin head butting me, until he heard me hit one of his noisy toys, at which point he attacked my hand. I grabbed the ball with the bell in it and flung it across the room. He chased it, until I hit another one. Once again he attacked my hand (that was luckily protected by the skirt this time) and once again I whipped the ball across the apartment. I pulled the couch out farther, finally noticing that the light was stuck to the wall about halfway between the top of the couch and the floor. I grabbed, pressed it on, and positioned it precariously against Joy's creepy lady head that she uses to practice hair styles on.

The sirens were gone, so I parted the blinds and looked outside. It was dark everywhere. I saw flashlights coming on and heard some doors open. After sitting in the dark and playing My Word Coach for a half hour, I eventually went upstairs and crawled into bed.

The power came back on at 7:30 this morning, and when I got up to go to work, I checked the local news and found out that it was all the result of some drunk guy in a van.

But, it's good to know that I handle myself with poise in pressure situations.

Scott Baio is 46...and Pregnant Ep. 6.

It's baby raising time.

It's been four days since Renee gave birth to little Bailey, and we see Scott in their bedroom, looking at sleeping mom and baby and admiring his work. I'm not Dr. Spock, but are you supposed to lay on a bed and spoon your less-than-week-old baby while you're sleeping? Seems like a smothering situation just waiting to happen. But, I guess someone from the camera crew would probably roll her off if that were to happen. Anywho, Scott's on some "life is good" shit, so he decides to hit the kitchen and enjoy a cigar. He cracks a window and gets his puff on. A doorbell quickly interrupts his trashy little zen session, and he rushes to the front door to yell at the person who is clearly trying to wake his sleeping baby. Turns out it's the nurse they have hired, there to help out with their daughter until Scott is ready to do it on his own. Who you think would know better than to ring a doorbell on a house with a brand new baby. But, again, a baby expert I am not.

Helen, the nurse who has kind of a super homely Mary Poppins thing going on (accent and bitchy demeanor seal the deal) invites herself in and immediately tells Scott to extinguish his cigar and assures him that there will be no more smoking in the house. In a voice over after the cigar falls off the window ledge he left it on, Scott complains that this woman made him ruin a $15 cigar. All while worrying about the health of his newborn. What a fucking shrew. He tries to smooth things over by offering her a beer, which she does not accept. She takes a look in the fridge, which is mostly filled with what looks like Lowenbrau, and says they need to step up the food situation. She says they need to make sure to get some of Renee's breast milk out of her, to keep in reserve. This will involve "massaging the breasts." You can actually see Scott's eyes roll into the back of his head as he contemplates all the jokes and snide sexual comments that he could offer at this point, to a woman who has been his employee for about three minutes. He decides on "I like massaging breasts." Helen is impressed, as we all are. Call off your dogs, Baio!

Helen mentions that he'll need to stock up on baby supplies, which Scott interprets as some sort of challenge. He rounds up the choad patrol, and he and the boys get ready to rock the shit out of Costco, in his attempt to "out-nurse the nurse." Scott feels that if he buys enough stuff, the nurse will have no reason to stick around. Yes, once he has stockpiled a half-year supply of diapers, she will certainly be left obsolete. So, they grab three industrial push carts and just start piling shit on them. Boxes of diapers, wipes, and formula. Scott stops a woman who is pushing a baby in her cart, and asks her what he will need. She tells him "diapers, wipes, and formula." He is immediately impressed with himself. He takes one of the diapers out and practices putting one on Steve's hand, which he has put into the devil horns "rock" position. It is sad.

The guys get back to Scott's place and start unloading the boxes of stuff from Scott's bitchin' red pickup. At the doorstep, they find a few casseroles that have been left by friends. Johnny V pops the top on one and digs his grubby fingers into it. Scott protests, taking it inside, heating it up and giving it out to the bros. I think I saw Renee eating a granola bar earlier, she's probably fine. We see Helen on one of the balconies, yelling down at Scott and asking where he's planning on putting all the boxes. She likes to keep a tidy nursery, she explains. Scott tells his buds that this is what he's talking about, she's always up his ass about something. They provide some terrible advice, and he half-heartedly listens. This whole "raising the baby in an uncluttered environment" bullshit will clearly not stand.

Next, we learn that Johnny V will be moving in with Scott while his apartment is being fumigated. Renee does not know about this. This is clearly staged, but what the fuck. Later that night, Scott is chipping golf balls into a net in his backyard, and talking to himself about what a bitch the nurse is. He walks over to the kitchen window, and get this, she is eating some of the food that was left on the porch! Scott yells up to Renee, who comes out on the balcony and tells him to shut up and not wake the baby. He yells back, still standing in front of the kitchen window that we can see Helen through, about what a fat pig Helen is, and how she's eating all their food. Renee tells Scott that she told Helen she could have some. On cue, Johnny V walks out on the opposite balcony and asks what all the racket is about. Renee flips, telling Johnny to get the hell out. He explains his huge bug problem, but she is less than sympathetic. Scott heads upstairs, where Renee gives him a groggy ultimatum, either his family or his old life. Scott makes a joke about having to think about it (hilarious) and then sends Johnny off to a hotel.

The next day, Doc Ali shows up with Bill, the dude who ran the Daddy class that Scott bailed on. They sit down with Scott, and he begins whining about how nobody listens to him, and that he is being blocked from "getting on the ride." Doc Ali tells him that nobody's listening to him because he's not saying anything. Then Bill chimes in with some wussified advice about communication. Helen comes in, telling Scott he'll need to get some baby shampoo, because they don't have any. He points to this as exactly the sort of shit that he is talking about. How dare she tell him he hasn't purchased any shampoo when he already bought all those diapers? There should be shampoo somewhere, right? I mean, fuck.

In hopes of opening the lines of communication with Helen, Scott invites her out to a parking lot, to eat fried chicken with him in his ultra fucking cherry truck. Seriously. As they sit there covered in grease, they have an awkward moment that could be misconstrued as bonding, where they both decide that they have the best interests of the baby in mind. With big boxes of fried chicken on their laps.

Back at home, to the sweet sounds of Huey Lewis singing "Stuck With You," Scott changes his first diaper, making sure Renee's there to see it. He makes some reference to feeling like Guttenberg in 3 Men and A Baby, and anyone under 30 is left wondering what the hell he's talking about. But, the diaper stays on when he picks her up, and he's got his little victory for the day. Oh, and he got Helen to leave later that week.

The training wheels are off.

Time Has Ravaged My Once Youthful Looks.

And judging from the picture on the right, I'm quite sad about it. I don't know what that's about. I am feeling a little ill today, I guess it shows. But, I think the five hour nap I took put me in a better position to fight off disease.

Anyway, my shirt showed up, and it's the beez kneez. Now, excuse me as I get girly: Whenever I get new clothes, I'm quickly reminded that I have nowhere to wear them. When I was hosting karaoke, I always had more fun than I would ever admit picking out an outfit to wear out for the night. Maybe I should start dressing up for work. Not likely. In my office, it's comfort over fashion every day of the week. I work next to two girls who usually have blankets wrapped around them for a good portion of the day. I wear jeans and my sweatshirt without fail, M-F. But I do rotate my sneakers. That's my big contribution. And the girls make fun of me for it.

I just can't win!

Scott Baio is 46...and Pregnant Ep. 5.

If you've seen the previews, you know that Scott and Renee are going to have their bastard child this week. How's he going to handle it? Will he even show up, or will the siren song of "Vegas, Baby" still be ringing in his ears, reminding him of the dwindling days of his bachelorhood? Does anyone care?

The episode begins with Scott and Renee taking a tour of the hospital where they're going to have their daughter. A nurse shows them around, and takes them into a room not unlike the one that Renee will be staying in. Scott becomes woozy and has the nurse help him onto the couch, where he promptly drops his head between his legs and tries not to pass out. After some OJ, dixie cup/bendy straw style, courtesy of the nurse, Scott has the insanely rotund Renee help him up, at which point he locates the toilet in the room and checks out how easily he will be able to cradle it while vomiting. The nurse is clearly impressed with his maturity and calm demeanor. On their way out, Scott and Renee run into a couple who have just had a baby boy. Scott grills the guy, clearly enamored with the fact that the dude is conscious and, from all outward appearances, probably enjoying one of the happiest days of his life. The guy tells Scott that it's really a great thing once you get into it, nothing to be too stressed about. Scott asks him if he had to quit playing golf. The man says yes, because now he spends time with his children (apparently this isn't his first one). Scott seems to have only heard the first part of that, and he is not stoked.

Next we see Baio to his Daddy-To-Be class, and from the get-go, he's rolling his eyes and huffing. When the instructor breaks out some risque drawings of sweet positions in which to get "intimate" with your wife, Scott laughs it off. When the instructor breaks out actual photos of children being born, along with an in-depth explanation of crowning, Scott hops to his feet and explains that the class is doing him no good, he has learned nothing, he is still a wreck, and that he's done. "I quit!" he exclaims. The instructor gives him a kind nod, Scott gathers his shit, leaves, nobody cares, and the class continues.

Driving home in his sweet pickup, Scott is fighting back fake tears and making a call on his cell phone. The way it's edited, I think we're supposed to believe that he's hooking up with a floozie from his reserve skank team. 'Tis not the case. He goes to a hotel, and when he enters the room, we see it's Doc Ali. She welcomes him in, sits him down, gives him a slightly subdued bitching out for quitting his class, and listens to him whine about how his life is crumbling, etc. She immediately resorts to some psychological mumbo jumbo, equating Scott's current situation to a carnival ride that is really scary but could also be very enjoyable if he would just stop being such a fucking pussy. She ends up writing "Get on the ride" or something infuriatingly corny like that in the "To Do" list in his Daddy Journal, America becomes nauseated, and Scott seems to be able to breathe, this terribly forced, cliched bullshit somehow quelling his emotional pain.

The next day, Scott, Herv, and Steve are at the horse track, chomping on cigars and looking like incredible assholes. They ask Scott what he's going to name his daughter, and he says he's having trouble because he doesn't want to give her the same name as any of the lovely ladies who he has had the pleasure of boning in his lifetime. The bros begin listing off names and Scott responds to each one with "did it," "did that," "been there," and eventually "I think I've been through the whole alphabet," or some other such remark that reminds us what kind of ass guys who play male nannies on short-running sitcoms get. The subject of conversation turns to Johnny V, and how nobody's seen him since Vegas (Baby). They decide to pay him a visit.

Johnny V lives in a sketchy neighborhood, smack dab in the middle of some dark alley. The dudes knock on his door and he finally answers, rocking PJ's and looking quite disheveled. They enter the apartment, finding that Johnny is living like a pig, apparently eating cat food and surfing the internet. After another pointlessly reassuring and terribly fake conversation with Scott in which he promises to help Johnny find a nice lady, the dudes bolt, leaving us with the impression that Johnny V will be found dead in his apartment in the next two to three weeks.

In a terribly boring montage that was clearly just used to fill time, Scott picks up Renee's daughter from the airport, and on the way home tries to sing her some old standard that she couldn't care less about. Once again, his pickup is fabulous. Next, Scott and Renee head to a new age birthing class that seems both terribly late and completely out of character. Scott talks to the baby through Renee's stomach explaining to her that she's probably more excited to meet him than he is to meet her. The woman running the class explains to Scott that sex is one of the best known ways to get the baby to start it's final descent, and his interest is piqued. Then, she has the women get on all fours and do some swiveling, and while Scott is staring at Renee's ass, he starts getting wood and whisks her out of there. In a move that just reeks of class, Scott heads for the local car wash, kicks the camera man out of his sweet rig, heads into the car wash tunnel thingy, and begins forcefully groping Renee. When they come out the other side, not surprisingly, she is in labor. Baio, you've done it again.

The next who-knows-how-many hours are spent at the hospital, with Steve and Herv placing bets on when the baby will be born, and Scott looking incredibly pale. At some point the doctors decide to perform a c-section, and then, via black and white still photo montage, accompanied by some ultra sensitive Lilith Fair reject music, we're instantly transported to an alternate reality where Scott is an incredibly doting and caring father-to-be, almost holding Renee's hand and seeming to be in the room when the baby is pulled, covered in coagulated blood, from his lady's belly.

He emerges from the operating room, hugs it out with the bros, and announces that they've named her Bailey.

Bailey Baio.

Bold move.

I Still Gots Love For eBay.

Between the ages of 15 and 17, I went to see the Supersuckers a bunch of different times. At one of the shows (I don't remember the specific one, but it doesn't matter), I picked up a t-shirt like the one you see there above. I loved it. Back then, all the rock shirts I purchased seemed to be printed on Hanes Beefy-T's, which are without a doubt the best t-shirts in the world. They're soft, but incredibly durable. I wore the shit out of all my rock shirts, and still have most of them. I even still wear some of them (lucky for me, I was into baggy shirts in my youth).

I wore my Supersuckers "Eat Dirt!" shirt in my junior year high school photo. Sometime after that, I lost it. If it was any other shirt, I might not have cared too much, but the Supersuckers were my favorite band, and I had never seen this shirt at any of the their other shows or in any of the alt rock catalogs we could get our paws on (this was pre-internet, remember). So, every time I come across that school photo, I sigh a bit, remembering that long lost shirt. I have been looking on eBay for it for about a decade.

Finally, last week, it showed up.

Size: XL. Visible stains or holes: none. Beauty. After fending off some last minute bidding weasel with my wisely inflated opening bid, I won the auction for a cool 21 bucks. I've paid the seller, and now I'm just waiting for it to show. Soon you will see me strutting down the street, proudly flaunting my terribly outdated 90's NW rock shirt.

I will reclaim my youth. Piece by piece.

Oh, and I'll see if I can find that old high school photo and scan the bejeezus out of it.

I Plan To Keep Passing The Open Windows.

My slight obsession with Jodie Foster continues, with Netflix acting as my cool and quiet accomplice. I should have done it the right way and watched her films in chronological order, but it's too late for that now. Here's some that I've watched recently:

The Hotel New Hampshire (1984) - Rob Lowe and Jodie Foster play a brother and sister in this one. And they're the kind of nutty brother and sister who like to make out with each other. That didn't bother me. Neither did the scene where Foster's character gets gang raped by insatiable sex freak Matthew Modine and his cronies. What bothered me, really most of all, was that this movie was a disjointed mess that absolutely sucked. The DVD started skipping about 15 minutes before the end and after half-heartedly trying to clean it, I took it as a sign and just gave up. Rob Lowe's character started doing voice over narration like 55 minutes into the movie, when there was already a narrator. That's the kind of movie this was. I read a review on IMDb by some choad who said that he "was one of the lucky few who 'got' this film." To him, I say "shut your cock holster."

Five Corners (1987) - This was a pretty good little independent (or just low budget) movie. A young Tim Robbins, a young John Turturro, and, of course, Jodie Foster as a recently raped young girl. We can see now that this was all just building up to The Accused, but it must have seemed odd at the time. Turturro plays a young psychopath, recently released from prison, who hopes to maim or kill again soon. Tim Robbins plays a super tall guy.

Inside Man (2006) - I hate Spike Lee. So, I didn't plan on liking this movie. And, I didn't really like this movie. It was OK, but the ending was ridiculous and Jodie Foster's character wasn't really written well enough for her to do anything with it. Denzel Washington plays the same dude he plays in all of his movies. So, he's got it down. Clive Owens' jaw looked pretty tired by the end. You know, from really gnawing the shit out of the scenery.

Scott Baio is 46...and Pregnant Ep. 4.

Seems that Scott and the gang took a Superbowl break last week, but he's back. And it's crunch time. As usual, Scott is handling the pressure with the strength and determination of a socially awkward teenager.

Scott and Renee are on their way to their final doctor's appointment before the baby is born. Scott somehow seems relieved by this, until Renee reminds him that they will have to actually go back to the hospital once more so she can give birth to the child. This puts a damper on his spirits, but he pulls it together enough to go into the ultrasound room with Renee and hold back the tears and vomit as the baby's face is presented clearly on the screen. Feigning collapse, he begins visibly shaking while Renee comforts him the best she can, considering she's on her back, 35 weeks pregnant, and has her exposed belly lubed up. Scott, being the beacon of tact of that he is, uses the opportunity to ask the nurse what exactly an episiotomy is. She begins to explain it, but as soon as he hears "cut" and "vagina" he yells loud enough to drown out the further details of the procedure.

At his Daddy-To-Be class, the guys are discussing the financial impact of having a child. When the teacher explains to the class that it costs over $250,000 to raise a child to 17, Scott pipes up with "That's like a quarter mil!" and becomes pale and confused. His voice over reveals that he may have to get a part time job, which his tone suggests will certainly be the end of the world. He decides it's time to start saving money. He really couldn't have purchased that mansion at a better time.

In his first executive decision as a penny pincher, Scott rounds up the dude crew, but instead of their weekly excursion to the multi-tiered driving range, we see them at a run-down miniature golf course that is one chain link fence away from being on the freeway. Johnny V is dressed in a Payne Stewart-if-he-were-a-shithead get up, and is not impressed with the chosen activity. After Renee calls Scott to discuss the game plan for her baby shower, Herv pipes up and suggests they have their own brocentric version of a shower for Scott. The group starts attempting to pump each other up with chants of "Vegas, baby!" and we are momentarily transported to the darkest forgotten caverns of 1997. Scott protests, saying he can't afford it, but the man-choads assure him that they will foot the bill.

Back at the mansion, Scott finds Renee sitting in the front room with an excited looking gent who is introduced as their wedding planner. After making it clear that he wants the wedding to be cheap and that he plans to invite five or six people, Scott gets into it with the planner about the cost of the wedding cake. The guy is confused, since he has no doubt been admiring the marble floors and winding staircase that surround him. Scott continues whimpering until the guy asks him what he's doing next weekend, and he has to tell Renee that he is going to Vegas. She begins to protest, then lies on the floor and allows Scott to walk all over her for a little while. On his way out, Scott makes a crack about how the obviously homosexual man probably had a crush on him when he was in high school. Bravo, Scott. Well played.

The dode patrol heads to Vegas, where they are joined in Scott's room by the Herv's brother and some oily looking old dude with really white teeth, who Scott insinuates is mobbed up. It's a few minutes before Scott realizes that everyone in the room is chugging the little bottles of liquor that have clearly been jacked from his larger than usual mini-bar. Scott is not impressed. He has laid down his credit card for incidentals and insists that everyone fills the bottles back up with water and put them back where they found them. He's crafty, you've got to give him that. I'm sure the hotel people in Las Vegas have never dealt with such a slick mastermind. Johnny V keeps insisting that he has a bunch of shit lined up for them to do that night, so they put on their tacky suits, grease up their hair, cram a cigar between their fingers, and head out.

They head to what Johnny insists is a hot spot, but it ends up being no more than a greasy diner. The guys whine like the pseudo high class bitches that they are for a while, and then Johnny insists that he knows of an exclusive club they can go to. They get there and realize it's only 9:30, and the place isn't open yet. In a series of slow-mo walking scenes that are supposed to be reminiscent of something, we see them finally ending up at one of the casinos. Scott decides he won't gamble, but he will pony up at the bar and start taking shots until he can barely talk. The guys come back and find a visibly hammered Scott, who sways off his barstool and decides he's ready to gamble. He asks the fake mob guy what kind of money he has on him, and the guy pulls out a $5000 chip. Scott yanks his Rolex off and trades it for the chip. This can only end well. He stumbles over to the roulette table and slaps the chip down on a number that has something to do with his birthday. The wheel spins, and Scott watches, almost falling over the table, as his number does not come up.

After blowing that much dough, he and the gang-o-bros get let in to the exclusive club they had tried to check out earlier. Scott is shitfaced, and when Johnny V tries to charge a round of shots to Scott's tab, he begins protesting loudly, getting in Johnny's face, his necklace swinging haphazardly. Herv calms him down, but Scott says he's had enough, and bolts to his hotel room. He gets on his laptop, while laying in bed stuffing his face with Pringles and cookies. He and Renee have a video chat, and she tells him that he looks like Hasselhoff in that cheeseburger video. Nice. He's drunk enough to not care, and he ends the episode on a happy note, saying that he's got a great soon-to-be wife, and everything will no doubt work out fine for them.

We can only assume that he is blacked out and will have no recollection of this.

Anthony Kiedis: Not A Complete Shitbag.

I received a copy of Scar Tissue, Anthony Kiedis's 2004 autobiography for my birthday three weeks ago. It was a great gift, because it's one of those books that I see all the time when I'm in the music section at Powell's, but I never brought myself to shell out the dough for it. I'm not an insane Chili Peppers fanboy (like some people I know), but I do like their music and I love books about musicians. Especially autobiographies by guys who used to shoot themselves full of large amounts of heroin and cocaine.

I went in wary, because Kiedis always struck me as kind of an ass. And he is, but he's also a humble guy who realizes that he lucked the fuck out by getting to play music for a living, not to mention managing to be immensely successful at it. The book covers his whole life, from birth until right before By The Way came out. He does a lot of drugs, bangs a lot of women, and goes a lot of places. The Chili Peppers seems to become famous almost on accident, and in that way it's a typical story of a guy who gets swept up in the rock lifestyle. The difference is, he really wants to pull himself out of that pointless bullshit, and his story becomes a series of battles between himself, his friends, and his drugs.

It's interesting to watch him fail and succeed, and then slip again. And, if you've been paying attention to music for the past decade, you can match up time frames in the book with personal memories of the era he's talking about, and it almost explains why he wrote shitty songs like "Warped." Almost.

Anyway, it's a good book. I will lend it to you. Just remind me.