I'm getting shit because of the lengthening time between posts.

I'm sorry that I've been MIA. Boo to hectic schedules that consume your day, night, early morning, and any other time of day thus keeping you from your all important blog.

I'm working on a new internet sitcom. There's a lot to be done, but for you guys, there will be plenty to watch.

Check it out: Ass Wipers, Inc.

"Grande Boob Latte, Please."

According to Gizmodo, this mouse pad is appearing in internet cafes all over Hong Kong for breast cancer awareness.

Part of me doesn't even feel the need to post a single line of text to elaborate as to why this mouse pad is completely wrong. The other part of me realizes that, sadly, this mouse pad is currently seeing the light of day; therefore, someone fails to recognize just how ridiculous it is. I realize that the Chinese will one day soon take over the world, or just simply buy it, but I kinda feel like maybe they should be a little bit more appropriate when they actually do control everything.

More than most I recognize the need to promote breast cancer awareness and regular mamograms, as well as the need to raise money for breast cancer research--but am I the only one that sees anything wrong with someone's mouse rolling over and/or fondling a pair of tits at a cafe?!

Breast cancer alone should have enough shock value to earn the attention of the masses. Why trivialize it?

Yeah, you're probably right. I'm sure that those getting the most out of these mouse pads are charitable organizations and cancer foundations--rather than the ogling eyes of testosterone filled males.

Also wrong? The fact that Gizmodo superimposed Justin Timberlakes face over both nipples to censor themselves. Justin Timberlake covering nipples...

...So wrong.

Big boo to boob mouse pads.

**DISCLAIMER**
I realize this is the second boob related post in nearly as many posts... Deal with it.

Body Recontamination, Day 1

Today is day five of my body cleanse.

Last night I had two vodka and cranberries, and a sex on the beach--way out of style, I know, but I'm bringing it back, and there is a large, very caffeinated cup of coffee on my desk right now.

So let me start over...

Today is day one of my body recontamination.

Call me weak, call me unmotivated, say that I lack self control--I realize that I was only one day away from my five day goal. Things were going so well, and then last night I was persuaded to go out. I had doubts of my ability to keep my distance from the bar, but I entered the club with what I thought was a strong build up of willpower.

That buildup lasted approximately five minutes when the posh Los Angeles bar setting triggered all my insecurities. Admittedly, everyone was already trashed so mingling with a cup of water wouldn't have been too difficult, but let's be honest--one is always more relaxed when they've had a drink.

Two vodka and cranberries, one sex on the beach, and one Oliver Stone encounter later, I was walking with a couple friends to the pizza joint down the street--where I did NOT get a slice...I've got to give myself some credit.

While I suck at life and didn't quite meet my goal, I am still proud of myself. For four days--and yes, four entire days because I didn't have a drink until about midnight, I recovered from my addiction to caffeine, and let my liver recover from alcohol consumption. My coffee this morning actually served its intended caffeination purpose for the first time in several months. I haven't touched a Diet Coke in several days and for the first time would actually prefer to grab a water. I'm not sure that I lost any weight, but I feel so much healthier and optimistic about continuing on a healthier path. Coffee won't be a staple of my morning anymore, nor will Diet Coke or sugary fruit drinks pretending to be all natural, and the alcohol in my apartment will no longer serve as my entertainment when bored.

Although grapefruit and water is a bit extreme, I will join all those that said the body cleanse gave them more energy and a much healthier outlook. It's difficult, but I'd recommend it to anyone.

So...boo to my lack of willpower and falling just shy of the goal, but I give the antithesis of a boo to body cleansing, formerly known as "new age shit."

Body Cleanse, Day 3

Last Sunday I decided that I had reached a point of ridiculousness that was entirely unacceptable. Arriving home Sunday night after yet another alcohol, smoke, and horrible food filled weekend, my liver was throbbing (yeah, I wasn't aware it could do that either) and I felt and looked as if I had gained approximately twenty pounds. After this realization, it's difficult to function without constantly thinking of said throbbing liver and extra pounds. It was time to cleanse.

This week I will be drinking nothing but water--plain, no flavors, no extra vitamins water and eating nothing but grapefruit.

It's important to note that some people on MySpace decided to do a group cleanse about two weeks ago. I read what they had to say...and laughed.

"Cleansing the body? No smoking? No alcohol? I'm definitely not in need of all this new age shit."

Right.

On Sunday I spent a significant amount of time reading about several different cleansing programs, and the benefits of certain fruits and vegetables to the skin, lungs, liver, colon, intestinal tract, etc. and decided I was all about it.

Now it's day 3.

I'm tired. My stomach is growling. I've already determined that I won't be able to cut smoking out of my diet while also fighting my body's need for caffeine. Someone in the building just brought in some kind of food that smells really amazing. My headache has subsided, but I fear it will return when my boss comes back with his Coffee Bean beverage. And finally, I've spent more money on grapefruits than I normally spend on regular food.

The benefits of this cleanse seem minimal, if there are any. Am I just too rotten inside for this to work? Ugh.

Scarlett's Top

According to In Touch Magazine's latest "Best Breasts" poll, Scarlett Johansson has the nations best set of tatas.

I wonder what the trophy looked like.

But seriously--regulations for any good boob competition should cover artificial enhancements to bodily assets. Is anyone else wondering where those "best breasts" came from? It's as if they appeared out of nowhere somewhere between In Good Company and Match Point. This actually isn't surprising considering Woody Allen is a huge perv, but let's stick to the facts.

The first movie I saw with Scarlett Johansson was The Horse Whisperer which was released in 1998. Scarlett is one year younger than me. I was a junior in high school in 1998, meaning she was a sophomore, even possibly a junior as well. I had a lot of things in high school--insecurity, a crappy car, a couple good teachers, a boyfriend or two, a part time job, pimples, and my breasts. Yet somehow, by some delayed growth syndrome, Scarlett, at the age of 15, did not have any breasts whatsoever.

Fine. Fifteen is still fairly young. Flash forward five years to the release of Lost in Translation. Scarlett is 20 at the time, and although she has breasts, they are nothing like the award-winning rack pictured above.

Is it possible to delay puberty until the age of 22? I think not. What I really think? Woody Allen pumped up her chest like an inner tube.

My friend Blake wants Scarlett to be his girlfriend, first to save him from the hells of online dating, but her ginormous rack probably figured in there somewhere. Be careful what you wish for, my friend...I've heard implants don't fare well to the touch.

At any rate, I have my own set of tatas that, in case you were wondering, I'm pretty proud of, so this post is in no way rooted in jealousy. I've also been told a couple times that Scarlett and I look alike. Whether that's the case or not, my breasts are real. I'm not saying hers aren't, I would just like to see In Touch's polling rules.

Boo to fake boobs winning any "best of" competitions, boo to Woody Allen's blonde hair, big boob fetish (I could probably also insert something in here about step-daughters), and lastly, for Blake, boo to shitty online dates that suck the life right out of you.