This is what happens when Jesus loving meets keeping up with the Joneses in South Orange County… Everyone is always judging everyone else here. Everyone is always trying to be the biggest and the best. The reality of “The OC” is that it’s PRECISELY like all those shitty “Real (insert noun here) of OC” TV shows that are floating around on cable.

Let me set the scene. You’re driving down the street, and there’s this house and practically every inch of its yard is covered in blinking christmas lights. You chuckle a little bit and you’re like, alright… Then you look a little closer, there’s a big glowing sign that says “Tune your radio to 103.5 FM!” Uh, okay? You tune in the radio and you quickly realize that those lights aren’t blinking at random, they’re synched with the horrid christmas tunes that are now blasting out of your car stereo. Seriously crazy shit. Crazy enough that I actually stopped to video it.

So these guys win it, hands down, in true over the top, “hey everyone look at me!” OC style. Their love for Jesus and the Christmas Spirit is obviously greater than that of any of their other neighbors (based on the number of Yes on prop 8 signs stuck in all of the front lawns this past election, the neighborhood is FULL of Jesus lovers)

Or maybe they just like Christmas lights, I dunno. Whatever.

“What. The. Fuck. I don’t even know what to say, Platypus. YOU MAKE NO SENSE. You’re like some kind of anti-drug message, designed to make high people totally freak the fuck out. You are so weird, Platypus, that they don’t even have a universally agreed-upon word for the plural form of you. That’s because if you see two of these animals(?) together, the fabric of space and time will literally tear apart. Remind me to never close my eyes again, Platypus, you duck-billed asshole.”

To read more from a guy named Rob “telling cute animals what’s what” visit his site: Fuck you, Penguin.

I’m always one to give credit where credit is due; My friend Sarah sent me the link to that blog. and I’d also like to take a moment to apologize to her, personally, again… for thinking that she might like a point and shoot digital camera without all the adjustable bells and whistles. (that’s four out of 1000 apologies, or is that five now?)

I’m to lazy to look and see what percentage of posts Harvey is included in in my new little blog venture, but I know its way to fucking many.

I came back from lunch today, I’d left my checkbook sitting on my desk, and whadayah know… Harvey decided to write himself a check out of my checkbook as my going away present to himself.

I dunno why he made it out for 5,000 dollars. I would have made it out for way more. Maybe he’s trying to tell me he thinks I’m to poor or something, like my check would bounce, cause I haven’t sold any stupid skiing websites recently, or not so recently. Whatever, eat me. Your Ferrari is gay. At least now all five people that read this blog will finally see what a hoser you really are!

How noble is Shay Williams? So noble that apparently he feels compelled to work on a Sunday. Maybe noble isn’t the right word but I don’t care. Just like I don’t care about a bunch of other stuff that I can’t think of off the top of my head. I also don’t want to be seen as a slacker, so here is proof that I also work on Sundays. (When I’m not updating my blog obviously.)