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You may have noticed (probably not) that I didn’t post last week. Well, last Monday I moved into a fancy new apartment. Unfortunately, I was also cut off from Internet access for a week due to renovations in the apartment (and either the Freemasons, the Illuminati or Commie Nazis). I kept a quick running diary of events throughout the last week and a half.

Day 1
3:00pm – Whew, finally all my stuff is in! I’ll probably be too busy to care about the lack of net access. Would like to see what’s going on with Twitter or check my email. Oh well. This could be great, like a retreat or a health spa “cleansing”. Without the colonic, of course.

7:00pm – Set up the essentials (read: computer, video game consoles). This isn’t so bad, I’ve got some Rock Band and a ton of games I’ve meant to finish. Haven’t had my sexuality questioned or any racial epithets tossed my way in a while, which feels strange.

9:00pm – At this point I would usually throw down on some Left 4 Dead zombies online, yell at a few people for being “complete fucktards” just for using a health pack a little early. Good times. Starting to get antsy, don’t know what to do before bed.

Day 2
1:00pm – My right arm feels a little itchy. Can’t stop scratching. Starting to lose the “ass groove” in my computer chair. Computer looks a little lonely. Sorry old friend, it’s only another 6 days!

5:00pm – Fully unpacked, cleaned the apartment floor to ceiling. Made a different dinner each night for the next week. Realized how much more I could get done without the Internet distracting me. Distraught.

5:10pm – Realized that I haven’t seen a monkey pee into its own mouth in a few days. Inconsolable.

8:00pm – Fuck, when did days get this long!? Looked over at my bookshelf. Nope, not quite that bored yet.

Day 3
11:00am – Itchiness has turned into a numbness throughout my arm. Am I dying!?

1:00pm – Went music shopping, bought 7 cd’s. Fuck, I guess the RIAA was right.

4:00pm – Dear God, what do people without computers do all day!? Willing to shove that tube up my ass now if it meant I could check my email. Thought about the sexual innuendo behind that. Debated whether it was worth it.

6:00pm – Got a call from Time Warner while walking down the street saying I could check the status of my appointment online. Sat down and cried. Homeless guy patted me on the head, gave me a buck.

8:30pm – Called up a friend to describe the Google homepage for me. “Uh, it’s white and has Google at the top in lots of different colors.” Ohh yeah, that’s the stuff. Was told never to call back again.

Day 4
10:00am – Realized the less time I’m conscious, the less time I realize I’m away from the net. Cracking open a bottle of vodka.

Noon – I wondr hwo much of tihs I can driank until I…

3:00pm – Woke up. Dreamed I was nuzzling up to Richard Stallman. He’s like a big teddy bear, and that beard isn’t nearly as itchy as you’d think.

5:30pm – Wanted to find a liquor store so I could keep getting bombed. Walked around NYC trying to find one without citysearch.com. Felt like I was an explorer, searching out new lands. Take that Ponce de Leon! Wonder if I could get people to call me “The Conquistador.”

7:30pm – Caught myself several times instinctively clicking on the Firefox icon, only to yell “For fuck’s sake, load you stupid bastard!” before realizing my mistake. Might need to find a substitute for this. I hear crackheads don’t spend much time on the web.

8:00pm – No idea how to find a crack dealer without google. So much for that idea. Switching to rubbing alcohol. Hmm, goes down easy.

8:30pm – If I had to find an emergency room without resorting to the web…shit, I better stop drinking this.

8:35pm – Eh, one more for the road.

9:30pm – Slight tick in my left eye. With the numbness in my right side, I now look like an extra from the video for “Thriller.”

Day 5
12:30pm – Fashioned a crude means of transmitting data via tying notes of 1′s and 0′s to pigeons outside my window. Got an image back with the text “LoLca..” underneath, no idea what it means.

3:30pm – Knocked on a few neighbors’ doors asking to use their internet connection, didn’t work. Fun fact, their reaction was very similar to the look of disgust on a woman’s face when asking to buy her a drink at a bar. Some confusion, a little pity, then just pure disdain.

6:30pm – Stood outside a Starbucks for half an hour oggling a 47 year old man with a Macbook surfing the web. Asked if I could get some of that. Punched in the face. That helped the nervous tick a bit.

Day 6
10:30am – Took apart my Xbox 360 in an attempt to fashion some sort of wireless device. Would’ve worked too had it not red ringed on me.

1:30pm – My computer is whispering to me. Apparently the other appliances were jealous of the time I was spending with it before D-Day. Worry they’re next to be cannibalized for net access. Threw my microwave out the window as a warning to the others.

2:30pm – The blender and the toaster are conspiring. It’s us versus them now, computer.

4:30pm – Refuse to enter my kitchen. “The Others” are to be feared.

9:00pm – Moved my computer into the bedroom. He gets the bed. It’s my turn to watch the door, he’ll take the second shift.

2:30am – He’s been through enough. I’ll let him sleep. Mustn’t let The Others get in.

4:30am – Suddenly smell burnt toast. It’s only a matter of time..

Day 7
8:00am – Didn’t sleep. That’s when they strike.

11:30am – All work and no internet makes Will a dull boy. Hehe, was watching The Shining to kill some time, man that’s a great movie. Still, much to be learned from it. Wish I had a hedge maze. Put an axe through my fridge to be sure it knows its place.

2:30pm – Soliciting my body on the street for a couple minutes of web access. No takers. Apparently no one liked the idea that “The computer likes to watch…”. He wasn’t going to join in or anything. Prudes.

7:00pm – Tomorrow. That’s when it comes. Salvation. God I just want to tweet once more!

Day 8
10:00am – Cable guy should be showing up any time between 10-2. Any minute now. Sat by the door for the last hour like a puppy waiting for its owner, but with far more slobbering. I may dry hump his leg afterwards.

10:01am – Where is this fucker already!?

10:02am – Called Time Warner Cable 3 times. Cursed out in 4 different languages. Gotta love overseas phone support.

12:00pm – I’m going to kill this cable man and wear his skin. Then I’ll control the internet!

1:00pm – Finally arrived. Tried to warn him about the fridge. Seemed unnerved, can’t blame him. The revolution will not be televised (because I won’t have cable access, obviously).

1:15pm – Went back to his truck for more supplies, didn’t return. I’d cry, but I don’t want to show weakness in front of the foreman grill. He’s the ringleader.

2:00pm – Called up Time Warner Cable again, promised them my firstborn son. They’re not the Devil, even he wouldn’t stoop to this level.

3:00pm – Another cable guy came back! Finally have internet access again! That was a scary couple of days. Apologized to the kitchen appliances, we’ve all come to terms.

3:05pm – Checking my mail. Message 1 reads “If you need to hop online, stop by my place.” Signed, my brother. Wish I’d thought of that.

Proof that we are both an immensely forgiving and stupid society, and because there wasn’t already an excess of late night talk shows, Snoop Dogg has entered the bizznizess with “Dogg After Dark.” In a crowded market, he’s going to need use his one skill to set him apart. No, not smoking cannabis. Rapping. CA has penned an intro that could hook viewers from the get-go.

With all the competition, this Dogg could take a pounding

Yo, this ain’t Nightline

I write tight rhymes

Turn off Billy Mays

And prepare for purple haze

It’s the g-pimp Snoop

Giving you the inside scoop

I’m a better man

Than David Letterman

Should you watch Leno?

Two words: Hell no!

Just give me a chance

Unlike Conan, I can dance

Daly’s Last Call

Is headed for a fall

Why watch Craig Ferguson, a Scot

When I drop it like it’s hot?

I’ll whoop the behind

of that dude who was with Ben Stein

And that SNL guy

Ain’t funny even when I’m high

So choose me at night

I’m the only one who’s not white.

Notes from Snoop: I left off Spike Feresten because I didn’t know he was real. I thought he was another one of Eminem’s personalities. I’m also considering a blast-from-MTV’s-past as my sidekick, Tom Green. He’ll have to do every show stoned, including one about growing plants, as Tom Greenthumb, and one in drag as a forgetful character named Mary Jane. If he’s not available, I’ll either pick with Arsenio Hall or my accountant, Mort Fleishman. Wait, it’s no contest; I’ll go with Mort. Then we can do a segment called “Gin and Jews.” That’ll keep me from being cancizzled… or is it cizzanceled?

VH1 has hit ratings paydirt with a seemingly endless line of reality programs about C-level celebs and the beyond desperate, unhinged pools of women willing to humiliate themselves and set back gender equality centuries by competing for the affections of stars so undistinguished and forgotten they wouldn’t be invited to the Spike TV Video Game Awards. CA can only assume the network will keep churning out more of this dreck, so you can expect to see any number of these spin-offs down the road:

The Rock’s a master of the eyebrow, not the highbrow.

The Rock of Love. The former wrestler-turned-actor is now grappling with matters of the heart. Succeed and you just may get to feel his Rock Bottom. Ladies, here’s “The Rundown”: to impress him, you’ll need to both ”Get Smart” and “Be Cool” (“Walking Tall” is not required). Challenges include a blindfolded culinary quiz to see if contestants can really smell what The Rock is cooking and sitting through a viewing of “Southland Tales.” Tagline: Get The Rock you’ve always wanted.

Clock of Love. The timepiece around Flava Flav’s neck needs lovin’, too. Ladies, not only will you be treated like an object, you’ll be with one. Tagline: Some really appreciate an hourglass figure.

Iraq of Love. A studly soldier is eager to trade in tanks for skanks. The gals can hardly Kuwait to help him, as they plan for permanent occupation of his heart. Only one will get to exclaim “Mission Accomplished!” Tagline: Who’s your Baghdaddy?

For the Love of Ray Ban. A sunglass seller seeks a soulmate. Qualifications: Must enjoy UV, not have VD. Tagline: All’s Wayfarer in love.

A Bridge to Favre. A far more famous Brett lands his own show. Favre has just ended a long-term relationship with John Madden and he’s ready to get back in the game — the dating game. Female football fans, this is your chance to gun for the gunslinger. He knows X’s and O’s, but it’s up to you to teach him XOXOs. Tagline: Go on, make a pass.

Dear 14 year old me,

You poor dumb bastard. You have no idea what you have in store for you, do you? Full of hope and youthful vigor, you’re raring to go, ready to get out there and take on the world. Meet a ton of cute girls, make a million dollars, grow past 5′. Well, only one of those came true, and you’re going to have to wait ’til you’re 16 for that one.

For starters, high school. You know all those douches you see around you? Yeah, they’re not hard to spot. I got news for you: they’re not going anywhere. Sure, they’ll have different names, but you’re still going to find smug pricks everywhere you go. 95% of what you’re busting your ass learning will be useful during jeopardy and perhaps trivial pursuit. Those zits? You’ve got another 6-8 years with them. Just as they start to fade away into manageability, your hairline will start sliding back as well. Think crypt keeper. Now, work him over with a 2×4 and then push him down some stairs. That’s a start.

Just cause you leave an all-guys high school when you’re 17 won’t mean you’re meeting ladies left and right, either. Ahh, yes, forced celibacy. Enjoy that little gem for a while. College? Don’t hold your breath. You’re not getting laid in college. It’s just not happening. The one plus side is that you’ll realize that fact very early on and compensate by playing a fuck load of video games. What’s that? You think you’re bound to find one girl at college who digs that? Right, moving on.

So now you’re 21 and you’re living in NYC. Let’s just sum up some other fun you can look forward to from here on out:

• Chasing a girl for way too long and turning into a giant bitch. You’ll embarrass yourself more times than you thought possible. Your vertical leap does benefit from years of jumping on command.
• The Simpsons going completely downhill. I didn’t believe it could happen either, but avoid any rooftops or cliffs until at least season 14, as you may have the uncontrollable urge to throw yourself off
• Almost every song you listen to now and for the next 7 years will suck, at which point only about half of the songs you listen to suck. Good Charlotte, really? I wish I could punch you in the head from here
• Every TV show you loved during your childhood will be raped by Hollywood. Invest early in Michael Bay effigies.
• Ignoring baseball during the 2004 season wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Neither would firebombing Fenway, but I’d rather not be in jail right now.
• You go mad from attempting to prove you really can believe it’s not butter, Apple Jacks really do taste like apples, and trying to find where the beef is, consequently spending 6 months in an asylum. Just kidding…or am I?

I better finish this off. I haven’t mentioned boobies in a while and you’re probably trailing off thinking about them. Keep that imagination active, you’re going to need it.

With a pat on the back and a kick in the ass,
Your 26 year old self

P.S.: Probably goes without saying, but when you get to be this age, you tend to act like a dick to teenagers. That’s actually a plus, as it’s a lot of fun, so you have at least one thing to look forward to.

Phelps took a big hit, but his reputation wont.

There’s a lot of speculation that getting caught photographed using a bong will cause Michael Phelps to lose his endorsement deals. On the contrary, the incident makes Phelps appear human and normal, and therefore makes him more marketable. At the least, he’s a lock for High Times’ Athlete of the Year (sorry, Josh Howard). In truth, Phelps needs to embrace the stoner swimmer persona (it works for Matthew McConaughey).  Vie for the Visine sponsorship. The only downside CA sees to is if he eats his gold medals because he thinks they’re chocolate wrapped in tin foil.  Here are some of the ads we can expect to see soon featuring Phelps.

Visa. It’s everywhere you want to be…high. From Amsterdam to Afghanistan, no card is more accepted when purchasing drugs. When you’re on a trip and you need to trip, pull out your Visa.

Omega watches. It’s high time you get one. You’ll never miss 4:20 again. The cure for chronic tardiness.

Gatorade. When you’ve got cotton mouth, nothing quenches your thirst better. After you light up, Electrolytes rehydrate your body. Great purple taste.

Subway. $5 footlongs. For half the cost of a dime bag, you can get a delicious sandwich. Our food is low-cal, low-fat, so when you unintentionally eat three subs in a sitting after a bad case of the munchies, you don’t become a lardo like Jared used to be. Ingredients as fresh as your stash is.

Kellogg Co. (Phelps voiceover) A lot of people ask me how I won 8 gold medals in one Olympics. Simple: I ate my Wheaties. Hey, you ever notice how “wheat” sounds like “weed?” Weedies. Ha-ha. That’d be cool to eat special cereal for breakfast. What, Kellogg’s doesn’t make Wheaties? Then, what was I eating while I trained? Oh yeah, I remember…Froot Loops, Corn Pops, Honey Smacks, Raisin Bran — with those tiny little raisins that freaked me out– umm, Frosted Flakes, some Rice Krispies, Eggos, man, a lotta, Eggos…

Hilton Hotels. Our new Stoner Suite features no smoke detectors, no wake-up calls, three mints per pillow, blacklights, a pipe inside a hollowed-out Bible, monogrammed HH hemp robes and room service automatically delivered at 2 a.m. Take advantage of our complimentary concierge service. No matter where you stay in the world, they know the best local dealers with the premium pot you deserve. With all these perks, we promise it’s an experience you won’t soon forget — for at least 12 hours afterwards.

Speedo. No company makes you faster in the pool. But sometimes, on land, you want to take it slow. Introducing a new line of casual wear/hydroponic clothes for when you need to be high and dry. Just like those plants in your basement, we’re growing, too.

I’m pretty sure my writing talents are comparable to a prehistoric chimp clutching a pencil between its butt cheeks, given my measly attempts on a blog to procure humor from general nerderies and whatnot. Then I read headlines like this in the Financial Times:

It even starts out “Barack Obama is grappling with his first full-throated political crisis…”. Rather than see someone out-garbage me, especially in print as opposed to a blog no one reads, I decided to try my hand at writing a better headline:

• Obama sucks the big one as Daschle goes flaccid
• Given heed, HHS nomination comes up short
• Amid finger wagging, probing, cabinet nomination purged
• Daschle confirmation premature, aborted before delivery
• President left with sticky situation on hands with Daschle’s mess
• Obama dumps, flushes Daschle
• Left unsatisfied, Congress wants more from their men
• Choking on a hard one, Obama gags
• First crack in Obama administration is licked
• Obama let down in the end, takes it in the rear

Ok, maybe this writing thing isn’t as easy as I thought, not to mention there’s nothing like a whole lot of penis innuendo to pick the ladies. I’m still straight, mom, I swear. Also, you should probably never read this site ever again.