Apparently scarves are in style.  Even if you live in Florida.  And you're a male.  And you're heterosexual.  I'm not wearing one.  And you can't make me.

When you purchase a Google Nexus One phone, the company engraves the back of it for you at no charge.  They will not, however, let you pay homage to classic 1993 hit, Pulp Fiction by engraving the words, "Bad Motherfucker" into your phone.  I just thought you should know that. 

If you want to go to a place where hot, young women aren't too stuck up to work menial jobs like cashier and bagger then go to a Publix grocery store in Naples, Florida and get yourself some unpretentious Latina hotties.  No need to thank me.  This is the kind of information that must be passed on. 

Just eight more months until we know for sure if Brett Favre will be coming back to the NFL.  Regardless of if he does come back or not, he will always remain, in my mind anyway, a thoughtless douchebag.  And nothing you can say or write will ever take that away, Journalists of America.  Nothing.  

But seriously folks, I just want to take this opportunity to let fans of the New Orleans Saints know that I am happy they are in the Super Bowl.  And that I hope they win.  And I want to remind everyone that Hurricane Katrina was five years ago so we could really do without all the drama and seeing the floating bodies and stuff on televisions.  I mean, I know there was a lot of suffering but none of it had anything to do with football even back then and now is five years later than then so it would be real nice if the TV folks could just not mention Katrina too much.  (This is what they call in the world of satire, oblivious optimism; prepare to relive Katrina on TV folks.) 

There are few collective hangovers in the world like the collective hangover that follows a Scottish wake.  And I like it when everyone is hungover together.  It's like a beautiful little family… a family of pain. 

Mobile phone porn weirds me out.  I mean, I'm glad it exists and all but I can't think of much that is less necessary.  Does anyone really need porn at their fingertips wherever they go?  And if so, are any of them female?  And can I meet them?  And if so, where?

Sign number three hundred sixteen that the economy is in piss poor shape:  I haven't been to a strip club since June.  It must suck for strippers to know that the income we use to keep them in cocaine is totally disposable and that they're the first thing we cut from a distraught budget.  Okay, well maybe not the first thing…

And finally, because logic and fluidity are still drinking single malt Scotch in memory of an old friend, I leave you with the following, brought to you by my friend Ben:

"I don't want a busy relationship.  I just want to see some chick like once a week or so and call it a relationship.  And I think that should be socially acceptable."

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