Forthcoming Websites from Zac & Christian

"Hubbies with Chubby Stubbies, and the Women Who Love Them"

-- Content will focus on pictures of adult men wearing their blue-tooth headsets in public. Site will be a public-access database of pictures, generated by the website creators at first but eventually supported by contributions from visitors to the site.

Could also be successfully done as a series of webisodes in which female spouses help their hubbies reconcile their body image to their love of headgear technology. *

*HWCSatWWLT.com would retain spinoff rights and theme-park approval for any Hubby, Chubby, or Stubby characters that might emanate there from.

"And I'm the Asshole?" . com

-- Pretty straightforward site in the order of "fmylife.com". Focuses on every day situations in which one is begrudgingly made to feel that he, despite the other's clear implication, should be the sole recipient of guilt for a current misfortune.

Example entry: "She drags me to her parents' house without warning, forces me to eat an awkward four course meal of galumpkies with her Polish parents, I pass a little gas in front of Grandma to make it clear I'm ready to go home, and IM the Asshole?"

Christian & Zac, Another Textual Conversation

Z Chast: I didn't watch LOST last night. Should i prepare for heartache ?

C Gonz: Eh. There was some cool stuff. I just wish they would quit this flashsideways nonsense. I don't see how it could possibly lead anywhere I'm interested. If they just stuck with what's going on with the people on the Island, we would be halfway through the season.

Z Chast: Balls. Just balls. Also, I wish I could write like a poet, just for one day. I've been thinking a lot about the term "chesticles" lately and I don't know why.

C Gonz: You totally are a poet, dude. Good call on chesticles. It's an important concept that isn't explored with enough enthusiasm.

Z Chast: I tend to agree - further study is no doubt needed, especially in light of the increasing importance of Queer Theory and feminism.

C Gonz: Queer Theory for the Straight Theorist could be a television series. I mean, I'd watch it.

Z Chast: Perhaps with a sister book for group discussions called, "Chesticles and Man Boobs: Dangerous Conflations of the Modern Body" ?

C Gonz: Yes. Perfect. We could make millions.

Z Chast: Or, for the middle school classroom: "Lumps and Bumps: What Happened to My Old Body?"

C Gonz: Please tell me that's your next assignment for the information books you've written. I would be a fulfilled man, if so.

Z Chast: Or the more harrowing edition for unruly teens: "You Can't Go Back: How Your Choices Impact Your Body"

C Gonz: Or the one for just young teen boys. "Better Get Used to it, Pal. It's Like That Every Morning"

Z Chast: or "IF YOU TOUCH IT IT'LL EXPLODE ... and other myths"

C Gonz: And for girls: "Don't Worry! It Doesn't Mean You're Dying!"

Z Chast: "On Your Own Now: Why Changes in Your Body Make You Irreversibly Different"

C Gonz: "Masturbation: Filthy Foe or Misunderstood Friend?"

Z Chast: "Cleaning Up the Mess: 50 Lessons You'll Need to Learn to Hide the New You"

C Gonz: "50 Things Childhood Didn't Prepare You For: The Truth About You"

C Gonz: "Parents Really Don't Understand: The Importance Of Friends As Wounded Healers"

Z Chast: "Strike First: How Aggressive and Demeaning Language Can Keep You Safe"

C Gonz: "Getting Even: Sorting Through the Lie of The High-Road and 10 Other Things Adults Made Up To Keep You Down"

C Gonz: "'This Isn't Even Fun Anymore': How To Handle the Responsibility and Disappointing HJs Like a Grown Ass Man"

Z Chast: "Living in Abject Terror: It IS the Size of the Ship, and It Doesn't Make it Easier Even if You Really Do Think She Loves You"

Zac & Christian; Another Conversation Via Text Message

Dec. 13, 2009 1:54pm PST (Dec. 31, 2010 11:57pm New York Time)

C. Gonz: I love you, my brother.

Z. Chast: I love you too. I am tired of doing the play called Christmas Carol.

C. Gonz: Understandable. You're not very good with clothes.

Z. Chast: Exactly. 4th show of the last 48 hours starts in 30 minutes.

C. Gonz: Oh, God. I'm so sorry. Also, I think it's cool that two heterosexual dudes can tell each other they love each other.

Z. Chast: Agreed. Doesn't happen enough these days. Way this country's headed.

C. Gonz: Yeah. Too bad the recession applies to guy love between two guys. And we're expected to find jobs in this climate, too. What else do you want from us, Dad?

Z. Chast: Supply and demand my ass.

C. Gonz: I won't do that. I love you, but it's not supposed to be weird like that. Also, a plunger is an embarrassing thing to buy because everyone knows what you've done.

Z. Chast: Walk of shame takes on a while new meaning when you're trying to find your Walmart shoppers' club card while fumbling with a plunger and scented candles.

C. Gonz: Yeah. But the laxatives are really what make it overkill. And it isn't terribly weird until the guy behind you says, "Big day ahead of you, huh?"

Z. Chast: At which point you break your cardinal rule never to call anyone "chief" in a derogatory manner and say, "Listen, chief, why don't you just pay for your Funyuns."

C. Gonz: Then you realize that you just sank to his level, and all that's left for you is the Jesus Prayer. Also, I hear it's about 2011 out your way.

Z. Chast: Yep, season 6 LOST sucked. Time for me to get dressed man. I gotta make this place smell like cookies.

C. Gonz: Happy show. New plunger works like a charm.

Zac & Christian, a conversation via text messaging

Dec. 4, 1:54 PM, EST (11:54 AM, Thanksgiving Day 2007, California-time)

C. Gonz: Plus. If one day it were to be published, I might get to meet him [Ben Gibbard], which would really just be a ploy to steal Zooey back. Seriously. I mean. Come on. We're in love with the same woman, for crying out loud! Also. I'm really sad that I burned my tongue on my coffee this morning. :( In the words of Michael Scott, mo' money, mo' problems.

Z. Chast: Is the lesson here that sometimes the early bird doesn't get the worm? Also, I just got 3 texts, one you just sent and two from earlier, re: Meeting Gib and stealing back Zooey. I no longer trust my phone.

C. Gonz: It's tough when the things you used to think were true no longer are.

Z. Chast: Suddenly you look at your mom and think, "Maybe you are nurturer. But maybe you're not."

C. Gonz: That's when you know you've arrived at agnosticism, and you have no choice but to become a vegetarian just in case cows really did create the world.

Z. Chast: And as you're sitting on the toilet after your 3rd bowl of vegetarian chili, you think to yourself, "This isn't the life I imagined."

C. Gonz: Except for maybe the diarrhea. You really should have seen that coming give the bowel loosener supplement that you used to swear by.

Z. Chast: And that's just the problem, isn't it? When you began, science was your savior, but now she's your wife. And she is a fickle, tempestuous whore.

C. Gonz: Now all you want is death, death for your birthday.

Fatty Writes Santa a Letter

Dear Santa,

How are you? I hope that these last couple days before Christmas aren't stressing you out too bad! LOLZ. I can only imagine what you have to deal with - all those elves wanting this and that, reindeer with hoof-and-mouth disease, and not to mention the cold up there! Has it been as cold in the North Pole as it has been here? Mommy and Daddy have been telling me that Global Warming is a myth and that "the liberals will find any way to twist this environmental shit to make it go their way. Commies." I don't really know that any of that means, but I've never heard the story of Global Warming, so I'm pretty unfamiliar with the myth. Does it have a happy ending?

 

I guess I'll just get to the point of this letter. I know it's last minute, but that's just sorta how I am with these things! ROFL! Mommy and Daddy have been talking a lot about the eekonomy (sp?) and how it's having these really bad results in terms of our lifestyle. They're saying that we might only have one turkey between the three of us this year! That seems like a real bummer. I don't remember the last time we didn't have our own turkey each. They were also saying that we might have to sell our recliners that surround our dinner table, just so we can have enough money to get all the ingredients we need for figgie pudding, fruit cakes, gingerbread cookies, pumpkin pie, sweet potatoes, apple cider (we make it extra sweet!), stuffing (triple portion), and of course jumbo-sized candy canes! This doesn't really seem like the proper holiday attitude to have in this house! We are a small family, but we have large hearts and need sustenance, especially on Christmas. I just don't think it's right that Daddy should have to give up his recliner and turkey just because the eekonomie (sp? I just don't know!) is "bottoming out," he says.

Please, Santa. Save Christmas for us. We don't want to have to get rid of the recliners, because Mommy says that our wooden chairs are for guests who are less "girthy" than we are. This year, please, we don't want presents. Forget about the stocking stuffers (except for the Skittles, Starburst, Reese's Peanut Butter cups, See's Candy Boxes, York Peppermint Patties, Jolly Ranchers, 3 Musketeer Bars, Milky Way bars (both milk and dark chocolate), Gummy Bears, Sour Patch Kids, etc.), please just bring us our holiday meals. They are our just desserts (get it?!). Please bring Mommy and Daddy two more turkeys. Please bring me another bowl of cranberry jelly. Please bring us those Christmas hams, too! It's not fair that just because other people can't manage their money and the eckohnemi (SP?!) tanks that we have to feel the "pangs of financial desperation," that's what Daddy says.

 

So, please help us, Santa. Please. We're in need. And that's what you do right? Help the needy. Feed the hungry. Heal the sick. Make the blind to see and the lame to walk. I know you've got it in there somewhere to help us in our hour of need. LOL! Why would I doubt you?!

Merry Christmas,

Fatty McFarly

Walla World

This is Christopher Walla, producer and guitarist for the now-famous Indie-Allstar outfit Death Cab for Cutie.

This photo was taken shortly after Ben Gibbard "jokingly" smacked Chris in the head for suggesting that maybe Ben could go shopping for new sneakers later and lay down a rhythm guitar part now.

"OK, Ben, just try to keep it to two hours this time... Or three.... three is fine."

Later that night, Chris calls a meeting with other D-Cab members Nick and Jason to discuss the band's future.

Chris: You know, we don't need Ben. He's not the only writer in this band. You guys have been to my myspace. This band goes on, with or without Mr. Benjamin Gibbard! Jason-- you were just telling me yesterday how you wanted to take more chances. And Nick, I love the demos you sent to my gmail. Really fresh sound. Now who's with me??

Nick: We're a fucking joke without Ben.

Jason: Yeah, I think you're tired Chris.

Chris: Just like that, Jay?

Jason: I'm sorry Chris, I understand you have to work with him the most one on one and that can be hard but--

Chris: (interrupting) No yeah shutup shutup shutup. [collects himself] Ok. I didn't want to have to do this, but I will. Jason, Ben fucked your sister.

Jason: What?

Chris: [pointing] Yeah, he did it right there on the soundboard.

Jason: Cathy?

Chris: Ben was blind drunk, he started playing her "I will follow you" and then stopped midway through and just started plowing her, right here, while I was mixing. Like I wasn't even here. Thank God I had just saved the levels.

Jason: [barely comprehending] She's...a...diabetic. I mean, what if she--

Chris: So, re-vote?

Nick: Wait. So you watched them?

Chris: No. Of course I didn't "just" watch them.

Nick: Wait, what?

Jason: Yeah. What?

Chris: What?

Nick: What do you mean "just" watch them?

Chris: I didn't say "just."

Nick: No, yeah. You definitely did.

Chris: No, you said, "You just watched them?" And I said I didn't.

Nick: I never said, "just."

Jason: He never said "just."

Nick: You added "just." I didn't say "just."

Chris: Whatever. I know what you said and I know what I said. Enough.

Nick: You said -

Chris: Look. This isn't the conversation I called you here to have.

Jason: Chris, why are you getting so defensive?

Chris: [responding to Jason's accusation] I'm not gay for Ben.

(silence, everyone, including Chris, baffled)

Nick: Did you just...

Chris: the Myspace page...

Jason: ...on the soundboard?

Nick: I think you just came out.

Jason: Cathy and Ben...

Chris: No, dude.

Jason: ...so fucked up.

Nick: Are you gay for Ben, Chris?

Chris: Nah...nah...no. Ahem. No.

Christian and Zachary Are Different

In honor of our friends Courtney and Amanda, we have decided to use this blog post to enumerate the many ways that the progenitors of this domain are dissimilar. When two people use a common forum to advertise their goodies, it is not difficult to confuse their entities and consider them a unified front. So, in the spirit of Christian honesty, we, Zachary and Christian, have deigned to show mercy on you, our beloved readers, and give you the insider's look and remedy your ignorance through a VH1-behind-the-music-esque view of our motley lives.

So, without further ado:

1) Christian is from the West Coast, and Zachary is from the East Coast.

2) Zachary rolls with Biggie, Christian rolls with Tupac.

3) Christian is the son of a male nurse, and Zachary is the son of a male pastor.

4) Zachary is skinny, and Christian is not-so-skinny.

5) Christian likes to be honest with his friends, trusting that their friendship will endure no matter what the topic,
while "Zachary" likes to beat around the bush and usually ends up hurting feelings more often that way.

6) Zachary has never paid for sex.

7) Christian doesn't like to talk about it. Zachary won't let it go.

8) Zachary will worry about a term paper for two weeks only to start it the night before it's due. Christian will not worry about a term paper until the night before it's due.

9) Christian is not afraid to touch you. Zachary is watching you.

10) Zachary's favorite color is green. Christian's favorite color is blue.

11) Christian was a first baseman, and Zachary was a second baseman.

12) Zachary likes a woman who ain't scared to get dirty. Christian wants a girl he can take home to meet mom.

13) Christian finds value in reading children's literature such as Harry Potter. Zachary is an intellectual snob who thinks children are weak-minded.

14) Zachary got an A- in Modern European Literature while Christian only managed to get a B+.

15) Christian wonders why Zachary is so afraid to be equals. Zachary is compensating for something.

16) Zachary would like to uppercut you right out of those Crocs and that Jack Johnson T-Shirt. Christian thought his first CD was okay.

17) Christian wears sandals. Zachary does not like bare male feet.

18) Zachary was born in the Fall, Christian was born in the Summer.

19) Christian thinks that Church and society should learn to openly dialogue with another. Zachary thinks God doesn't see him when defecates on public monuments.

20) Zachary believes that desperate times call for desperate measures; dictators must be overthrown one way or another. Christian will be voting for John McCain.

21) Christian likes to vote with his pants on. Zachary has never made it through an election without getting arrested.

22) Zachary has 99 problems and four of them are bitches. Christian wishes he wasn't a bitch.

23) Christian isn't a bitch.

24) Yeah-huh.

25) When was the last time you were truly vulnerable?

26) I don't remember.

27) I wish I didn't.

28) Zachary drinks to remember. Christian drinks to forget.

29) Christian took the registrar seriously and now has a college degree, unlike Zachary who will never be a competent French speaker.

30) Zachary tries not say hurtful things to his friends which he might regret in the morning. When he's sober.

Fighting Crime Doesn't Pay

Superheroes everywhere are putting down their capes and donning white collars to join a new kind of intensive force: the labor force. Their mission: to make rent and utilities by the first of the month. Superhero representative/spokesperson Adriana Adams, when questioned about this trend, said, "Superheroes are people, too. People who need shelter, food, and normalcy." Adams went on to relate that that superheroes are simply not making enough money to support themselves and/or any legitimate or otherwise conceived superhero babies they may have flying around. The superhero community has repeated time and again that they cannot continue their services without compensation, calling the public-at-large a bunch of "freeloading 'normies' who need constant babysitting." The public, however, has refused to acknowledge the requests of its mutant, radioactive counterparts believing "normies" to be a term of endearment to the completely helpness nature of the flightless, superstrengthless majority of the human race.

When asked how he felt regarding leaving the public eye as a superhuman, the incredible Hulk responded, "Well, it just makes me [expletive] angry, mostly. I mean, [expletive], we have asked those [expletive] to help us out financially. It's not a [expletive] cake-walk reeking mayhem and pursuing vigilante justice...we're risking our [expletive] lives out there." And the Hulk is not the only superhero to feel this way. The amazing Spider-man commented, "We can't be out there all the time. We just can't. Yes, we have great power and even greater responsibility. But my bills don't pay themselves...It really is best."

The superhero community has been contemplating this move for a long time, and only now have they finally made the seriousness of the situation and the actuality of the switch known. This has also given superheroes the chance to find jobs where their unique powers will be of use to them. Many, however, have found the job hunt to be somewhat fruitless. Wolverine was stopped outside of a broker's office in Manhattan, he shared, "Listen, bub, there just isn't much to say. What use does a broker have for a guy with an adamantium skeleton and retractable claws? I have powers, not skills."

And so, the Avengers, the X-men, the Fantastic Four are no more. With the disbanding of all these superhero groups, the public finds itself wondering exactly who will fight for them, protecting the innocent and apprehending the baddies. The superheroes, meanwhile, are up against a whole new set of trials - fitting in to the world around them and making endsmeet. Many are trading their high-tech radio communicators and telepathic powers for cell phones which present their own problems such as setting up voicemail and text messaging. And maybe it is time that normies rise to the call of this new era and act like heroes now. How? By offering jobs to any street corner hobo who looks like he once was a Human Torch, or by sharing any expertise regarding common, modern technology (cell phones, iPod's, etc.) with someone wearing ruby-quartz glasses because he just may have been Cyclops once. And it will be most important that we join forces with our former protectors as they battle the most frightening villain they have all had yet to face: the resume.

Hot Diggity (Dog Ziggity Boom)

The lyrics to Al Hoffman and Dick Manning's famous 1956 ditty:

(Note: If you're searching for Blackstreet's "No Diggity", please redirect yourself.)

Oh, hot diggity, dog ziggity, boom what you do to me
It's so new to me, what you do to me
Hot diggity, dog ziggity, boom what you do to me
When you're holding me tight

Never dreamed anybody could kiss thattaway
Bring me bliss thattaway, what a kiss thattaway
What a wonderful feelin' to feel thattaway
Tell me where have you been all my life

Oh, hot diggity, dog ziggity, boom what you do to me
It's so new to me, what you do to me
Hot diggity, dog ziggity, boom what you do to me
When you're holding me tight

Never knew that my heart could go "zing" thattaway
Ting-a-ling thattaway, make me sing thattaway
Said "goodbye" to my troubles, they went thattaway
Ever since you came into my life

Oh, hot diggity, dog ziggit,y boom what you do to me
It's so new to me, what you do to me
Hot diggity, dog ziggity, boom what you do to me
When you're holding me tight

There's a cute little cottage for two thattaway
Skies are blue thattaway, dreams come true thattaway
If you say I can share it with you thattaway
I'll be happy the rest of my life

Hot dog!!

A Letter to Stephen Spielberg and George Lucas, Re: New Indiana Jones Film

Dear Steve and George (if I may),

I recently attended a midnight release of your latest endeavor, and highly anticipated addendum to the legendary saga of one, Dr. Henry "Indiana" Jones, Jr., Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. I must say, this newest installment of the epic story of a "part-time" (your words, via Indiana Jones, played by Harrison Ford) archeology professor did not disappoint in the way of an entertaining blockbuster. That said, I find myself with several qualms regarding the film.

It is my (educated) feeling that the newest of the Indiana Jones films (now a four film saga) did not reflect well on the preceding episodes in the life of Dr. Jones. IJATKOTCS (I call it for short) lacked the cinematographic inspiration, existential questioning, and all around artistic vision that so aptly defines the previous films. While in Raiders of the Lost Ark our hero, Indy, goes through thick and thin to obtain the coveted Ark of the Covenant, a deeply significant artifact that plays a crucial part in the redemptive historical acts of a Judeo-Christian God. I mean, angels sit atop the ark; angels, a symbol of divine help, especially as it relates to helping underdog baseball teams come from behind to win the pennant (cf. Angels in the Outfield). No doubt this clear semiotic "shout-out" was to the people of America, telling them to hold tight and know that divine outfielders are on the way. Truly, a mark of genius on the part of director and story writer/producer/film editor alike. That's a story people can relate to. That's a symbol that everybody recognizes. Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom also hits home some deeply important themes. The first of which is that smaller people of a different race deserve to be treated differently and given nicknames like "Short Round." Indy blazes this trail by, appropriately, getting annoyed at SR's relentless "Docta J-oh-nz"-ing him. The implications of this in a post-9/11 society are quite eerily apropos. Another lesson learned is that Indian voodoo masters are a lot like scorned women - they try to tear your heart out - and the proper way to deal with them (the women) is to kill them before they kill you. And, again, you guys delivered with Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Seriously. A work of sheer and utter cinematic genius. Truly, this is the Holy Grail of all movies. At least of all movies dealing directly with the Holy Grail (with the possible exception of Monty Python's film dealing with said Grail). Where else than in this world can you combine the stylings of James Bond and Han Solo? Visionary. And who doesn't hate the Nazis (this a joke that only us total Indy buffs will get. Am I right?!) Having realized that the paganism route can only get you so far (gutted), you guys returned to Christian lore, which was a good movie in securing the Christian vote for "Movie of the Millennium" (until the title was passed on in a tie to Mel Gibson's The Passion and Andrew Adamson's The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe). Truly, by the third movie, you two had hit a stride, having finally gotten over that awkward hump of you guys getting used to each other. You felt it, America felt it, we all loved it. So now, I come to the next part of this letter.

I just have so many questions. Not least of which is: "Why?" Secondly: "Really?" After everything we had all been through with the last three movies. We just all had to move on, putting Dr. Henry Jones, Sr. and Marcus Brody behind us and look to the future next to the guy from Transformers. He played with giant toys, for the love of God. How am I supposed to take him seriously in his role as the dreamy renegade, Mutt Williams, especially when at one point when he makes friends with monkeys and subsequently swings from trees (which, by the way, was fairly impressive to me as monkeys can prove quite unruly in front of a camera. Well done.)? This question demands an answer. And who will give it to me? Will you? If so, buckle your seatbelts because I have a few more questions I need to put out there.

Why the title? It's practically novel length.

Why does Cate Blanchett crushing a manivorous ant between her legs turn me on?

Who are these aliens, and where did they come from?

Did bringing aliens into the story seem like the natural step to linking theStar Wars Trilogy and the other Star Wars Trilogy with the Indy films, not to mention Close Encounters, A.I., and Saving Private Ryan?

Regarding the aforementioned aliens, are they judges of good and evil?

Was Shia LaBeouf's line, "Oh, s**t!" supposed to be a veiled reference to the possibility of a fifth Indy flick (fingers crossed for six)?

Why am I still turned on by Cate Blanchett's insecticide?

Do Russians really sound like that?

What happened to the Christian lore? We had such a good thing going there.

Do the powers that govern the world Indy inhabits continually exist in a state of flux or is Indy's truth not Truth but merely his perception of It which remains indisputably true (for him)?

How did you guys get in touch with Janitor from NBC's (now ABC's) Scrubs? He really lent to your credibility as filmmakers.

Have you guys ever bathed together (this is just a fan question. Nothing really to do with the movie)?

Anyways, S-dawg and G (if I may), I look forward to hearing back from you guys regarding the numerous concerns (as well as appraisals) I have heretofore enumerated. You don't need me to say it, but as always, you guys are the best.

As usual, we'll be having a July 4th block party and, again, as always, you guys are invited. Maybe this year we'll see you! Haha. I kid. But seriously, my wife's red, white, and blue latkes are to die for.

Mazel tov!

More Clothes Need To Come Off

Let's all just take a moment to sit down and face the facts:

1) It's winter.

2) And we are all wearing WAY too many clothes.

It's that time of year where everyone is breaking up, people are getting tired of being stuck inside and looking at the thermometer that reads "24 degrees fahrenheit" knowing that between now and March in can only get - you guessed it - colder, and for those who live below the Mason-Dixon line, Christmas will be tepid at worst.

"Damn," you may say. And rightly so. I'm sure we can all think of things that we would rather endure than the seemingly never-ending pangs of wintery Chicagoland, including, but not limited to, the eternal torments of the fiery lake itself (God save us all). Of course, it seems needless to say that it's not just the cold that's getting us down. We're all watching those yuletide movies that get us so "pumped" for the holiday festivities of the year. Let's take a moment and examine some of these films.

A Charlie Brown Christmas - a great holiday flick...if you like the message of Christmas mixed with one part existential introspection and two parts suicidal appeal.

Love Actually - a fantastic movie to watch when you want to be reminded that you have no one to snuggle up next to while you watch a man fall for his best friend's wife and subsequently observe Alan Rickman's marriage fall apart. A real spirit lifter.

A Christmas Story - the moral of which is this: if you get what you want for Christmas, you may, no, WILL shoot your eye out. There's scientific proof.

A Muppet Christmas Carol - terrific. Everything works out. Of course, there's only two human characters in the whole thing, one of whom is a miser who lost his opportunity for true love after putting all his hopes into the races, the other of whom is a needlessly annoying alto with aspirations of sounding like Norah Jones but only sounds like a post-tracheotomy Marlboro man singing about how close he and Ebenezer came to being close. No thank you.

And the list goes on and on. My solution to this heart-wrenching time is not that we spend more time thinking about "The Reason for the Season," but that we all get off our asses and take off our clothes. Think about it. Who would be angry in a world full of naked folks? I know I wouldn't be. Hell, I would lead the way if I believed people would follow me - if I were alone, surely I would be committed for claiming to be Santa Claus and offering to show off my "Bag of Goodies." But seriously, we would all have a better time if drank less egg nog and just took off more clothes. This is why I, a humble devotee of this new holiday tradition, implore you to join me in my quest for naturalism. If we all take a moment and even think about the spiritual implications, it would be great. Let's be honest, I doubt Jesus was born WEARING swaddling clothes, certainly that was an after thought. If we all freed ourselves from the tyranny of materialism, and even material in general, we would all have a much more splendid time where caroling would probably lessen and snowball fights would come to have more long-term, damaging effects. So, dear friends, join me, and hear me when I say, more clothes need to come off.

For the love of God.

Please.

Yup. We're still here. [Bitches.]

Z: And our first question is: where's our money, man? You've ALL been ducking us for, oh, at least 4 months now, and We. Are. Tired. Of. This shit.

Seriously tired. Isn't that right, Christian?

C: So fucking tired.

Z: Seriously watch your language bro. The F-word? On our first blog entry together in months? Kinda crude man.

C: I'm sorry. It's just...you know...::starts sniffling::...it's been hard lately...that's what she said...::sniffle::

Z: Are you quietly weeping, cursing, and mumbling "that's what she said" simultaneously?

C: That's not exactly a conversation I feel prepared to have right now, Zachary. Please, let's move on. ::sniffle::

Z: Wow. You're right, brother. That's my bad on that one. Sometimes I get carried away with these "live" feeling blogs, you know dude? Wow wow. It's like, once you actually take a second and READ the words you're saying to another human being...Jeez. I really value you. I really do. Sometimes it becomes all about the readership and it's like, this friendship, this wonderful leaping of electrons between two human souls, the real shit,you know, the shit we do this for, the shit we breathe, that shit gets left behind man, and its just me talking to some puppet-Christian, when all I really want is the real man, the flesh-and-blood man I've come to love and know every inch of. Every inch.

C: Uh-huh. Oooh, where'd you get that whiskey? Is that...is that Jameson Irish? Oh, and that really tugged at my heart strings, seriously it did. Whiskey and Scrubs? That Zach Braff...he's a silly bitch.

Z: A)I drink more Scrubs than you watch in a day. B) Wow do I have a STORY about silly bitches! Ok. So this past Wednesday night me and a few guys-

C: --Wasn't I hanging out with you guys on Wednesday?

Z: are getting pretty toasted down at Curly's--

C: Yeah, no, I was definitely with you guys at Curlys.

Z: and this DUDE is just completelyyyyyyyyyyy WASTED! gone gone gone dude. so gone. and we're all raggin' on his ass 'cause he can't find his shoes 'cause we unlaced 'em and hid 'em in the car and

C: Dude. I was the DD. And you guys only took one shoe. I still haven't gotten it back.

Z: and get this get this, we start paddling him with one of the shoes

C: I still can't sit.

Z: and by the end of it, we're pouring whiskey down his shirt front, two guys holding him down, while "Pour Some Sugar on Me" is playing. Get it, we're basically interpreting the song's lyrics.

C: A cop gave me a DUI because I reeked of booze. My record is permanently tainted.

Z: Yeah. Yeah. Wish you were there bro.

C: I was. I'm the main character in this story. I drove all of you home. I called your parents. You humiliated me and hung me out to dry. And all you guys did was buy me a stupid shirt that said, "My friends stole my shoes, spanked me with one of them, then poured whiskey on me whilst an ironic song played-- ON SPRING BREAK!" My left foot is so cold.

Z: Uhuh. Wish you could have been there dude.

C: *sigh* Me too.

Z: Here's your shoe.

C: Terrific. Now I can finally stop wearing this Piggly-Wiggly bag to work every day. Not nearly as slip-resistant as you'd hope.

Z: Do you ever say anything interesting?

C: Ouch.

Z: I mean, seriously. In the time that you've been at my house, all you did was talk about how you took advantage of some guy at a bar. That's sick, bro.

C: I'm having a little bit of a Salvador Dali moment right now...

Z: I like his early shit.

C: Yeah, it's the best. It was really all downhill from the melty clock peice.

Z: Word. Whiskey?

C: No thanks. It makes me surly.

Z: Good. 'Cause I don't like it when you drink, dude. This was a test. I mean, remember last time you drank all the whiskey in the house? Hodge and I had to hide in the closet until you stopped asking for more ice cream...I've never been so terrified. You just kept making this scooping motion at my head. You really wanted it. Kudos.

C: Thanks.

[Long pause.]

Z: You will never love a woman who will see you and love you fully in return.

C: Yeah? Well...you'll never...um...climb...Mount...the...Eiffel Tower...bitch.

Z: Right. Well. You know what this means, then.

C: Of course.

Z: We always said, "If one of us ever threatens the others dream to climb/mount the Eiffel tower, we would duel each other to the death.

C: Aren't all duels to the death?

Z: Not in olden times. Their pistols often caused severe entry wounds, but small exit wounds, resulting in relatively slow deaths but quick recoveries if proper exterior medical care was provided, tertiary concerns really-- quite the opposite of today's firearms!

C: Fascinating!

Z: Yes--agreed. I'll meet you at midnight. Ak-47's?

C: No OddJob.

Z: Of course.

C: And I'll bring the S'mores stuff.

Z: Of course.

C: Your mom got Hot Pockets in the freezer?

Z: Think so.

C: Pepperoni Pizza?

Z: Those are the best.

C: I know!

Z: Man, now I really want one...How long do those take?

C: I think only a couple minutes if cooked on high.

Z: Thank God. I don't think I could wait much more than two minutes.

C: Yeah.

Z: Yeah...

C: Yep.

Z: Mhmm...

[Long pause.]

C: But seriously, Hot Pockets are just delicious.

Z: Agreed.

The Interview

Dearest readers,
It has been far too long since I have graced you with a post on this illustrious site, and for that I apologize. However, I have been exceedingly busy with such things as heartache, book writing, poetry creation, theater innovation, and dragon hunting/slaying/swimming lessons. However, I was recently interviewed by the ever laudable establishment of StartFrowning. They published the interview in their latest issue, so without further ado, enjoy this article. Next time, I swear I will have written something myself.

StartFrowning: So, Mr...

Christian: Whoa, Mr. Gonzalez is my father. Let's drop that, first of all. You can just refer to me as your Lord and Master.

SF: Ahh...

CG: Ha! Kidding.

SF: Right.

CG: Any way, so, I'll bet you're wondering why I called you and asked you here today.

SF: Actually, Christian...we called you. In fact, we've been calling you for since last April. It took you eight months to finally get back to us.

CG: I doubt that.

SF: You must be joking.

CG: Well.

SF: Never mind. Let's just get started, shall we?

CG: With what?

SF: The interview...

CG: Right.

SF: So. As I was saying, Christian, we have noticed that your name keeps appearing in different places, we were...

CG: What, like the sky?

SF: Uh...no.

CG: On the sides of buildings?

SF: It's a figure of speech.

CG: Oh.

SF: Yeah.

CG: I knew that.

SF: I'm sure. As I was...

CG: You don't think I knew that?

SF: (sigh) I believe that you knew that.

CG: Good. Because I did.

SF: Let's get on with it, shall we?

CG: I'm waiting for you, dude. My time is yours.

SF: Excellent. So, Christian, we were looking at last month's issue of "Uncanny Greatness" and could not help but notice that you had written an article for them entitled, and I quote, "The Art of Being Great." You then go on to enumerate the ways in which you yourself are terrific, however, you never actually got around to any bit of practical advice on how to attain such awesomeness...

CG: I had hoped you would ask that question.

SF: Um. I haven't asked a question yet.

CG: Yes, you did.

SF: No, I didn't.

CG: Yeah...

SF: Please. Christian, I have a tape recorder right here, would you like me to replay the tape to prove to you that I have not yet asked a question.

CG: No. I believe you.

SF: Good. So, now, here's my question: How does one actually attain such awesomeness? If you yourself have listed the various ways in which your greatness is manifest, how can the common person, such as myself, rise to your level?

CG: I'm sorry.

SF: You're sorry?

CG: Yeah. For before.

SF: What?

CG: I wasn't really listening and I was going to make up a response.

SF: I know. But, Christian, we're a little beyond that now.

CG: No, we aren't. We need to face it now...Give me your hands.

SF: What?!

CG: Just give them here.

SF: Please, don't touch me.

CG: Just for a little.

SF: No, stop it.

CG: Come on.

SF: Stop. Just stop it. Stop.

CG: Just for-

SF: Enough.

CG: Jus-

SF: No.

CG: ---fine.

SF: Thank you.

CG: Yeah...

SF: So, anyways. How do we attain such awesomeness?

CG: (silent)

SF: Christian?

CG: (silent)

SF: Please, Christian. Stop pouting.

CG: No.

SF: *sigh* Fine.

CG: I hate you.

SF: Good grief. This interview is over.

CG: No, I'm sorry!!!

SF: Christian...

CG: I'M SORRY!!!!!

SF: Get off the floor.

CG: I'M SO, SO SORRY!!!

SF: Stop hitting the ground. Get up. Stop it.

CG: AHHH!!

SF: Okay...I'm leaving.


Yep, so there you have it. Me in all my glory. I was pretty excited to see it in the magazine. Hope it was as enjoyable for you as it was ego-boosting for me!

PEACE!

This Is What Happens When You Sleep Until 4 P.M.

This is what happens when you sleep till 4 p.m. You're up in the middle of the night doing God-knows-what. Looking for anything to do. Maybe watch that new episode of The Office - you love that show; or you could play with that new toy you got for Christmas - except you hate reading instructions at 2 in the morning. Oh, you could start writing something - nah, nothing good comes out at this time, anyways.

So then, what are you to do?

Well, the simple solution to the problem is this: go to bed. Only then you realize that this is what happens when you sleep till 4 p.m.

You stay up late, trying to get yourself tired. Then you say, tomorrow I'm going to wake up at 8 in the morning, exercise, stay up until the time that proper people actually go to bed so you can get up the next morning and be ready to go...yeah right, dude. Just face it, you're gonna hit snooze because there isn't really anything that you especially want to get up for. You can tell yourself that the world is an exciting place, which, yeah, it is, but you'd rather stay in the comfort of your own bed.

Your life has become an endless cycle of staying up late and sleeping in and the only thing that will be able to break you out of it is an act of God. You have become entirely nocturnal. Your parents think that you live in a state of hibernation because they haven't seen you in months. You're a child of the night and the only thing that can help you get out of this horrible state is fervent prayer. Just remember to fall on your knees and beg that you will be spared from your nightmarish present and be delivered unto a new life of peace and joy. Just keep hoping. Get calloused knees, then, only then, shall sleep meet your eyes.

But then again, probably not. You're screwed, dude.

Oh well, at least you have your health. But seriously, you have to stop smoking.

It kills.

On Why Dudes Should Look Like Dudes

I don’t know if any of you have ever had the experience of working as a waiter, but if you have, then you have probably experienced this scenario at least once in your illustrious career:
you walk up to a table with two women sitting opposite one another. One is a beautiful brunette wearing plastic rimmed glasses and looking like she is having the time of her life laughing hysterically at some witty quip from her smart girlfriend, the other, the aforementioned girlfriend is sitting with her back to you, has beautiful hair that is dirty blonde and falls to about shoulder length, and you can’t see her face, but judging by her friend, you assume she is pretty beautiful herself. So you walk up to the table, gathering whatever semblance of courage you may be able to gather, and you, as confidently as your weak heart can be, you say, “How’s it goin', ladies?” You throw down your coasters on the table, look at the brunette and smile. Then you look at the blonde and notice that her face is hairier than any woman her age should be. In face, now that you see this face attached to the beautiful hair that you had once been ogling, you realize that there is no way you could ever understand this humanoid to be anything but a representative of the male type. Now that you have successfully mistaken the sex of your restaraunt's patron you have six options:

1) Laugh it off confidently and say to the guy, "Nah, I'm just kidding. But seriously, I bet I could kick your ass, you long-haired wuss."

2) Apologize profusely and hope that the guy isn't secretly a ninja hired by corporate sent to eliminate the weaker servers, the list you "just-so-happen" to be on.

3) Look at the brunette that's with him and say, "Seriously, though. What's with the bearded lady? What's YOUR circus act? Freaks." Then walk away.

4) Swiftly kick both patrons, steal their wallets, run away, and pray that they have enough money for you to buy that ticket to Rio you've been wanting so bad.

5) Refuse them service for being out of the legal bounds of marriage in this part of the state. This may be hard if you find yourself in Massachusetts. If that's the case, refuse service on an ethnic ground and when they ask, "Haven't you ever heard of the Emcanipation Proclamation?" think for a second, and then reply: "Sorry, I don't listen to hip-hop."

6) Make it seem like you are the one who has just been egregiously offended. Start crying and then tell them that you think they should leave.

Any one of these options should prove itself to be an effective way of dealing with these asinine and largely-gender-confused people. You're pretty much sitting pretty regardless of what you choose to do. However, the point of this scenario (it is a hypothetical scenario. i may or may not have had this experience myself, and i may or may not have responded with option six. regardless of the truth of the matter. it remains hypothetical and largely theoretical) is to illustrate the desperate need for a call to greatness to the men of this great nation. So all that said, all apologies made, here goes:

If you're a dude. Start looking like it. Seriously. Nobody likes dealing with the awkwardness of mistaking gender. There is no way to recover from it. If you would just cut your damn hair and wear either loosefitting or oversized pants, you would save the service world a whole lot of heartache. Leave the girl pants to the girls. They look a lot better in them, and they look like they feel way more comfortable than any of you men with the tight-fitting crotch. Forget it. Maybe you'd feel less emo if you had pants that your legs and crotch actually had room in. You sing and whine about how you feel like you don't have a place in this world, but my theory is that it starts with your pants. How can you have room for people in your heart if you don't even have room in your pants for your body? Remember, you're a boy. Your girlfriend is a girl. If she wears a 4, you should not be wearing a 2. Wear the freaking 26 inch waist. In fact, Target is probably having a sale right now on pants, It is the holiday season after all, so hop on over there, throw down the $12.99, and buy yourself a pair of baggy jeans. Do it. I dare you.

There. I said it. Go forth into all the world and proclaim the good news.

Emo rules. Just stop singing about the heartache and do something about the clothes. It hurts me to look at you.

I'm serious.

The Beginning of Life: Sex Ed From Christian and Zac, or; Is It True That If You Don't Use It, You Lose It?

Greetings to all. Zac and I have descended from on high to let you all (y’all for the NC-toolbags among us)…

(WHOA. Okay, Christian. I know you have the computer, but that was uncalled for.
Sorry.
It’s cool.
So anyways.)

We have descended from on high to…

(Hey, Christian!
::sigh:: What, Zac?
Well, fine, nevermind. Not if you’re gonna have that attitude.
Dude, what attitude? You interrupted me.
::whispers:: What makes you think I won’t cut you?
…::points:: That security camera.
Fair enough. You were saying?
Right…)

Zac and I have descended from on high to share with you Cretans the stuff we know about sex and why you shouldn’t have it…ever. Under any and all circumcisions.

::Zac coughs::

…sorry, circumstances.

(Don’t worry, it’s cool, dude. My bad.
No, Christian. It’s not cool. You always do that.
No, Zac, I frequently do that.
I frequently do your mother.
I’m not going to high five you for that. Put your hand down.
Come on, just once.
No.
But seriously,)

::Zac turns to audience that isn’t there::
Expressions like, “I frequently do Christian’s mother” or “I’d tap Christian’s mother,” reduce women to kegs and/or lesson plans that need to “get done.”
::Turns back to Christian::
(But seriously, I’d get your mom done.
For the last time, Zac, I am NOT going to give you a high five.

::Zac begins to mime sweeping the floor, implying that he would “clean that s*** up,” a gesture of sexual domination::
::Drew walks in::

(What’s up guys?
Zac is threatening to have sex with my mother.
Yeah, dude!
See, Christian, Drew gives me high fives. Why can’t you?
I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.
::Zac whispers to Christian::
Dude, how gay is Christian?
You're talking to me, dude.
Oh…my bad.
::Zac whispers to Drew::
Dude, how gay is Christian?
::Drew whispers back::
Seventy percent.
That high five looked stupid, AND I can hear every word you guys are saying.
So you guys called me in today to talk about sex, right? You know I’m a sexual Jedi.
Yeah, we heard that.)

Can you say a few words about your ascent to “sexual Jedi” status?
Well I’d better start with my training.

(No. Stop. Wrong. Bad.
Christian, seriously. You are such a naysayer.
No. Screw you, guys. This sucks.
So does your mom.
First of all, stop with the mom thing. Secondly, no high fives. Thirdly, you're sort of an ass.
::Zac starts crying::
Well, mom and dad fight because you cry at night.
::Zac runs out of the room::
::Drew and Christian look at each other::
You cry at night?
No.
Pansy.
::Drew leaves::
Seriously...I don't.)

Okay, so I'm glad you're all learned now. Have a good night.

(::Runs after Drew and Zac::
My crying is NOT why mom and dad fight!)

and they will know us by the trail of pecan pies and grandpa chairs......and dead.

Hey ya'll, how's it doin'?? (That's translated "you all" and "how are you today?" for all you yankees.)

Asheville, NC was great, and the turkey was all right too, I guess (know what I'm sayin'!?)

I spent quality time with 4 to 5 slices of pecan pie, each saddled with a strapping portion of creamy vanilla icecream. I also fell asleep in an upright sitting position more times than I can recount, pushing my grandpa out of his prized nappin-chair and causing general disruption of routine in the patriarchal Chastain home. I also would like to here apologize for the horse language used in describing pecan pie I ate this week.

It hurts me to say it, but...

ya'll take care now.

zBc

What's in Your Turkey?

I never really understood why the turkey companies decided it would be a good idea to cut off the turkey's neck and shove it back in the turkey's body through an orifice that needs not to be named. Who does that help? It's sort of debasing to the turkey, and that means that the turkey consumer has to reach his/her hand into the body of his/her soon to be meal, simply to pull out what never belonged inside in the first place and, furthermore, could simply have been discarded by the folks at Butterball. And need I mention the giblets?

Thanksgiving is a confusing time.