It's a CELEBRATION Bitches!!!

I got my double beer helmet, my beer bong, my bong bong, my money boxers, pocket full 'o Magnums, rohypnol, "Who Farted?" t-shirt, and you fucking well know I pre-gamed!  Wait, what the fuck are we celebrating?  I'll tell you what we're celebrating: The official 10,000th page view of What Sucks Now.  You're goddamned right son, 10,000 page hits and counting (and I waited to post this until we were safely past 10,000 enough to ensure that I wasn't counting my own page views).  I still remember when this was a rinky dink little blog that no one read.  And now it is a rinky dink blog that a few, but not many, more people read.  How exciting!  I've decided, in honor of this momentous occasion, to open up the floor for questions from the readers to ask our reclusive blogger.  So without further pomp and circumstance:

Q: Why do you write this blog?
A: Because I'm fucking awesome.  Next question.

Q: How much money do you make from writing this blog?
A: Not one red fucking cent.  Isn't that brilliant.  I spend hours of free time to entertain barely anyone, and I do it pro bono.  Isn't that genius???

Q: Why do you piss away some of the best years of your life chasing money in an industry you have no skill set for, and yet not make much money, when you could do something you love and are proficient at and still not make much money?
A: That is a valid question, and here is the answer: Go fuck yourself.

Q: Would you have ever launched this non-profit, time-suck of a blog, without the persistent, always positive encouragement of your pal Andi?
A: More than likely not.  I would have continued to labor through angst-filled internal dialogues in the shower and silent tirades on the bus each day until eventually I had an early stroke due to the lack of outlet for my shitty attitude.  So Andi, this Bud Light Lime's for you!

Q: How does your family feel about you tossing away valuable time each week writing to dead air?
A: Oddly, my wife is all for it.  She laughs at child molester and fart humor.  We probably wouldn't be married if she didn't.  Luckily my daughter isn't old enough yet to realize how sad it is, and know that she isn't getting a BMW for her Sweet 16 party.  Scout is an attention whore, and so long as I'm keeping him in lights, he'll abide.

Q: Are you like the first person in the world to come up with the idea to start a blog?
A: Yes, but like all pioneers languishing in obscurity, some imitator assholes end up with all the glory.

Q: Do you mostly write drunk?
A: Not nearly as often as you think.

Will we ever get to 20,000 page hits, or am I going to focus my energy on something that actually earns money for my family?  Who knows, with an entrepreneurial mind like this, anything is possible.  For now, thanks for reading.   

Can Charlie Sheen get any Awesomer???

If you are anywhere....a party, a bar, at work, at the ball game, at church, at a bar mitzvah, at your grandma's house for Easter dinner, anywhere....and someone tells you that "Charlie Sheen is out of control and needs help"....don't think about it for one second. Respond immediately by kicking that person directly in their dick and then drive a stake right into the middle of their heart. Because obviously they're dead and you need to take steps to make sure they aren't also a vampire. King Kong ain't got shit on Charlie Sheen! Chuck is up to his tits in liquor, coke, pills, hookers, yachts and porn stars. What the fuck does he need help with? His fucking taxes? The only help he needs is maybe an extra dick or two to occupy all this trim he rolls with. The news media is about to implode with sanctimonious bullshit over this non-issue. Who cares? Charlie looks pretty goddamned happy to me, not sure some boring assed rehab and a steady relationship with a "nice" girl is really what he's looking for. Charlie likes to drink vodka. Charlie likes to eat pills. Charlie likes to bang pros. Charlie likes to trash hotel rooms. And Charlie likes to get an up-close smell of Bolivian Marching Dust. If you don't like it, that is your problem--not Charlie's. You are up at 4:30 in the morning, at your desk high-stress slaving at 6:00, and probably don't get home until 7:00 p.m. Charlie is at an unknown location in the Caribbean on a rented yacht. He's got 1/2 a hollowed-out Bic pen in one hand, a glass of Grey Goose in the other, and Vivid Video's tart du jour bouncing up and down naked on his rod. So please explain to me just how in the fuck you are winning in this particular game? You ever see that Michael Jordan poster where he is about to dunk the shit out of the ball, right over top of a white-as-hell Jack Sikma of the Milwaukee Bucks who has a "Oh jeez, black man jump high" look on his Chevy Chase? That is what Charlie is doing to the world right now. He doesn't give one fuck what you or anyone else thinks about it. At one point during his tirade on a radio call-in show, he referred to Thomas Jefferson as a "Pussy". Why? I haven't a fucking clue, but he did it. The current score is Charlie Sheen 123, Us 0. Go Charlie, GO!!! If I tried to hang out with Sheen at this point, my life span would be measured in hours rather than years or days.