Someone's Home Early For Dr. Phil

Wow. Doodle! As you can see from her photo above this morning, she was in rip-roarin' a mood as felinely possible to go out and conquer the world Mary Tyler Moore style. Her cute blue skirt suit and white shirt starched and pressed, the whole bit.

But a few short hours later she was back. She ran into the bathroom, threw her briefcase on the tile floor, and flung herself atop the toilet. Presumably to vomit*. I closed the door behind me and have left her alone for the time being. It's just that bad out there. Thanks for the crappy economy, George W. Bush!

I'd show you the picture of her slumped on the floor with her briefcase but Blogger's being a pill.

*or there's always the possibility she was trying to get away from me. Why? Because I crammed her into an outfit I stripped off of an old Vermont Teddy Bear which I'm selling on eBay?

What? Doodle's suit needed to go to the dry cleaners! There was Beef N' Chicken Entree all over the lapel.

Happy 1000th Post To Me

Happy 1,000th Post to me

Happy 1,000th Post to me

Most people are annoying

Happy 1,000th Post to me

Please, no gifts! Your well wishes and congratulatory remarks are enough, trust me! I've got too many objects in my life* as it is, most which will be listed on eBay in the next few days.

Yeah, so it's a pretty big day. It began with a couple loads of laundry, two HBO on Demand workouts (Belly Dancing I and II), a large cup of coffee, the washing of a few dishes, the reading of today's New York Post (don't judge me, I can't afford the Times right now), The New York Times Magazine from Sunday, and a little photography--of Doodle before her second day on the job hunt.

We skipped the pantyhose today due to the weather (and because frankly, they're totally lame) and she zipped up her briefcase and marched out the door. Can't say she seemed to thrilled, and can you blame her? I know I can't. I told her to bring my cellphone and call me from the street to let me know how it's going, but my cell didn't really fit into her briefcase. She said she'd be back for Dr. Phil at 3. Her paws and my fingers are crossed that today is better than yesterday.

*unless of course you're offering me a date with George Clooney or a Mac G5 or whatevs, those I could use, so please email me directly before you decide not to give me anything, you know, just in case I decide it is something I might need afterall. Great, thanks. Bye.

Two Great Terrible Tastes That Taste Terrible Together

Help! Being recently booted off the island called Work, I'm not used to being at home at this early hour and don't know what the hell to do with myself. What's on television at 7:30 pm? According to my now unaffordable Time Warner Cable Package (soon must cancel this luxury feature due to lack of funds)? Must Love Dogs, on HBO. Add that to my heartburn, and you're talking about a painful evening at Chez Altman!

What on earth happened to John Cusack? I was so so so so so so in love with him in Better Off Dead and other flicks from our youth...and now, well, let's put it this way: he doesn't look like a crystal meth addict, but he doesn't look good. It's probably LA and that taste in terrible broads that's done him in over the years.

This House Rocks

Caspian Lake, VT, 8/06

Sure, we've got a place on the lake, but this house is ON the lake. Or rather, in the lake. Cool.

Unemployment Benefits Exist

Doodle and I are just lovin' today's Dr. Phil. She came home around 2:45 after a few hours pounding the pavement in her suit. Now's it's crumpled on the floor and we're both on the sofa watching a blended family self-destruct in the new "Dr. Phil House" which is his new series, a combination of Big Brother and Intervention. I've got to say, though Doodle came back with no leads, her job prospects are a lot better than the survival of this couple's marriage. Pathetic. It's easy for me to critique, being unmarried and all, but I think calling your husband a "fat piece of shit" and calling your wife a "big fat slut" aren't buzz words for success. They aren't lying to each other, though; both of them are seriously friggin' fat.

On a seperate note, the commercials are tiring. These Lunchable things that parents are throwing in their kids' lunchboxes? Pizza Lunchables? Someone, tell me how a piece of pepperoni on a cracker is a miniature piece of pizza, please?

Speak Softly and Scare the Shit Out Of Them

Many of you know that I hate people. Not good people, mind you, but bad people. Bad people include murderers and public space cell phone blabbers. They also include the hypocritical, the phony, the martyrs, and last but not least, the Earth Parents.

What are Earth Parents?

Earth Parents are those parents who think that their child is God's Gift--To You. Earth parents begin way before the birth of their Christ child, but during the pregnancy. No other woman on earth has ever had their husband bang them and render them in such a condition--their pregnancy is the first ever recorded in history. The mother-to-be can't be near a microwave, the expectant parents can only listen to classical music, and the Baby Einstein crap piles up for the big day, the first day that a woman in the history of the world has ever shot a kid out of her cooch.

That's how it begins.

How it ends is even more terrific for us. These Baby Einsteins grow up to be mobile. They make noise. They dine with their Earth Parents at a public restaurant. But since they're God's Gift To Us, they don't have to sit in their seats, nor speak in "Indoor Voices". In fact, they get to run around and squeal because it produces so much joy. For us.

Last night I went on a date to a restaurant. We sat outside to enjoy the weather. What we didn't know is that there was a party of 10 (6 parents and 4 kids) also outside to enjoy the weather. Since it was techincally outside, apparently the Earth Parents thought that "Indoor Voices" were out and "Outdoor Voices" were in, and we, the other diners, would enjoy watching their Christ Children play a game of raucous Capture the Flag while we drank our margaritas.

Not so much.

Why? Well, for one, the Earth Parents weren't watching, and they were missing all the good screaming and tackling. You know, all the best plays were lost on them. Especially the ones played at the post right behind my table. There was a lot of athletic prowess and totally not annoying action going on right there. I felt sorry that the Earth Parents were missing it. Of course, they were blessing me with the show, and the right to enjoy their children while they socialized.

But then I remembered, "Wow. I just got fired. I don't have a job. Yet this lovely dinner feels like work. Like babysitting. Yet I'm working for free. I don't like this." After an hour of seething and steaming about it, I got my shit together. When the gaggle of Christ Kids attacked the pole next to my table again I swooped in like a Navy Seal, parted the plant in the planter like the guy from Laugh In, got down on their 3 foot levels and barked in my firmest "Indoor Voice",

HEY! SETTLE. DOWN. NOW.

The look of fear in their eyes was all it took for me to know they wouldn't be running by my table anymore, and they didn't. The parents didn't notice shit, of course, still enjoying letting the rest of the patio enjoy their kids. I wonder how much they'd enjoy it if one of their children disappeared?

We finished our margaritas and actually stayed for a beer as well. See, life can be nice if people treat other people with respect. I don't hate kids. I actually plan on breeding myself one day. What I do hate are people who don't take responsibility for their kids and believe that their kids are blessings to us, the rest of the world. WTF? What is so difficult about not being an a-hole? Remember, Earth Parents--a-holes beget a-holes beget a-holes, and the cycle continues. Don't contribute to the a-hole population, please? Stop the buck with yourself.

Good grief, I need a drink. Just repeating that story has given me the shakes.

Freaky Fireday

I was Kentucky Fired Chicken on Friday.

Simply put: It was lame.

It wasn't lame that I was let go, because temps are let go all the time, and that I understand. It was lame how I was let go. You'd think that a year of professional service would merit a professional shitcanning, but no. People have to be crappy, and that's what I don't understand.

Obviously this means that Doodle has to get a job. I got her suit out of the closet this morning, and thanks to a dear who gave me his old laptop, we're currently working on her resume. It needs a little tweaking; she hasn't worked since 9/11. I'm trying to spin "sitting in the sink" and "sleeping on the window sill" and other action phrases into the office environment to make them more compelling. So far I have "sitting on the copier" and "sleeping under the desk". Suggestions are appreciated; the rent is 3 days overdue.

A Bottle of Wine and a Weird Cat

Doodle, 9/06

The One That Got Away

Go piggie, go!

I love this story. Unfortunately, pigs are smart, and they know when they're being slaughtered. I love sausage, but if they send him back, I'm going to cry. There's got to be a better way to get sausage.

Perhaps from spinach?

Oh, maybe not. It's full of shit.

Don't Park Here Or I'll Cut You In Half

Seriously.

Man. Just when I think I have a low tolerance for a-holes, I remember that I haven't resorted to bisecting them.

Yet.

"Everytime He Sees Me He Meows"

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

This is excellent. This kid is my soul brother; we're related somehow for sure.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

MEOW!

Can I Get a Good Grief?

I just went to the cafeteria. I figured a little sustenance would make me feel better. You know, something get me through this latest bout of weltschmerz which is occasionally peppered with moments of sheer terror.

I couldn't fake a smile for anyone in the elevator ride, nor the corridors, and I was simply hoping that the 1 pm lunch rush had subsided so that I could get in and out of there with the least bit of annoyance.

Salivating at the salad bar was a giant woman with a tiny head. She had a short grey pixie cut and a pinched face. She was loud and demanding to know what was being refilled into the special salad station chafing dish.

Eggplant parmasean, apparently, so the conversation went between her and the attendant.

More hovering.

She grabbed the spoon, and started tapping it on the side of the dish. That's when I noticed her thick black mustache.

Good god.

Tap tap tap went the spoon, to get the old eggplant parmesean off the spoon so she could dig into the new.

That's when I noticed her enormous cans. They were at her knees, at a kickable level. No proper support.

And then there's the machine made bright blue cardian sweater with the kittens on it, and the text that wrapped around the back of it that read A CAT IS A CAT IS A CAT IS A CAT IS A CAT IS A CAT IS A CAT IS A CAT...

tap tap tap

At first I was enlightened by the sight of this person, happy that I don't have that mustache, those tits, that sweater. But then I realized I could quite possibly be looking at my future.

She didn't end up getting the eggplant parmasean. And I've also lost my appetite.

Anyone Else Feel Like Sh*t Today?

I believe the word is ennui.

Or weltschmerz.

Either sum it up pretty well.

These Are The Daves I Know I Know

...these are the Daves I know.

Bruce McCullough knows a lot of Daves. He probably didn't know however that his jeans were really high waisted, bein' the style and all.

Daves are good kids.

Hairy Turkey

Doodle, 9/06

Stickball

I watched a fascinating documentary on stickball last night on Channel 13. It's a game that began in NYC in the 1920's and remains in NYC to this day though it's not always played in the street anymore. Too many cars these days. www.stickball.com

Stickball Poetry

By Margery Wynne

My childhood,
the building blocks
that formed my identity,
my character.
Humble beginnings,
a city child with
cement instead of grassy fields.
Stickball in the street,
not little league.
I didn't know that I was deprived.
How can you miss what you've never had?
Now my children have grass, trees,
soccer teams with fancy equipment.
But I don't see the joy in their faces
that would envelop me, the exhilaration
when I slammed that rubber ball
with a mop handle
and scored a triple.
A child with no backyard
or a child with no broken mop handle.
Which ones of us were deprived?

Times Square On a Rainy Night

Oh, I love a rainy night, such a beautiful sight...

I do love a rainy night. People think Eddie Rabbit and I are crazy, but we likes what we likes, and we like rain. Why are people only allowed to love sunny days?

The building in the background there is apparently the Superman building.

Here's a better shot for the nerds out there who know Metropolis well:

Say What?

Doodle, 9/06

I Hate Him So Much I Can't Even Friggin' Believe It

Here is an excerpt from a fantastic piece by Paul Slansky I just read in The New Yorker whilst killing time at the conference:

It's called The Bush Quiz: The Twentieth Hundred Days

7) Complete George W. Bush's quote:

"Nobody likes ________"

a) it when the press commits treason
b) being lied to
c) Osama bin Laden except the Democrats
d) beheadings

Answer tomorrow. There are more true terrible-isms. 19 in all, actually.

Doodle-y

Doodle, 9/5/06

Have I Told You Lately How Much I Love Warren Haynes?

If I haven't, I need to tell you again: Goodness, do I ever love Warren Haynes. Too bad he's totally in love with his wife. Sometimes fidelity is lame. For me.

Gov't Mule at McCarren Park Pool in Brooklyn on September 9 was quite a show! And I knew it would be. Sure, the Corey Hart show was good, but that's another story. Back to the Mule: Wolfmother opened, and the band that opened for them was unmentionable in my opinion. Plus, I don't remember their name. But regardless, an outdoor show at 4 p.m.??--what's not to love?



Just ask this guy:

He was shakin' it like he "just don't care" from 4:30 onwards. Even during the crappy opening opening band. I was seconds from asking him to share his happiness with me.

Here's hotstuff Warren Haynes after he soon took the stage:

And again, later:

And here's me, still later, trying to take a picture of the moon, while 6 sheets to the wind:

Crescent Moon!

Snoozefestival

Wow.

I'm exhausted.

They even made insurance jokes. People even laughed. The best part I think was me trying to bring a name tag to a "grey-haired gentleman in a blue suit" in a room full of grey haired gentlemen in blue suits. Needless to say, that fellow didn't get his tag.

And I'm feeling so out of it, having been held hostage all these hours in the name of insurance considering Whitney Houston is filing for divorce from Bobby Brown? ? ? Sure, he may smack her around, but he pulled a turd out of her bunger once because she couldn't do it on her own. I'm going to miss those two together.

And Anna Nicole Smith's son dying in her hospital room and the whole thing is considered suspicious? Sad but totally intriguing!

Britney having a baby boy? Whatevs!

Tomorrow another conference, this time at the Westin Hotel in Times Square. Start time 7 am, end time TBD? Envious? They may be discussing life insurance securitization or other structures to access capital in the property and casualty insurance industry, so...stop salivating, ayite? P. Diddy is totally going to be there. It's in Times Square for cryin' out loud.

Just think of the overtime I accrued with these gigs! That's like $30 cash money. I smell four words. Down Payment Lincoln Navigator.

Christ, How Can I Gamble Now?

Here is the view from our first room at the Tropicana Hotel in Atlantic City before we switched to a new room facing the ocean. Clearly the ocean is not the only reason I wanted a new room.

In case you can't see it too well, click on the photo--the sign on that church says "CHRIST DIED FOR OUR SINS" and I don't think it's placement was accidental. Right smack in your grill so you don't screw your tits off and gamble your life away in Atlantic City? Buzz kill. Thanks a lot, Christ.

Long Day Tomorrow

Booo. A seminar. All day. On insurance. An insurance seminar. A seminar on insurance.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

FOR REALS!

People want to come and hear all about it. They are dying to register. It's hilarious. I'm already so bored as I type this, that with every key stroke I get more and more bored until I...

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzz

My Cat Is a Piece Of Work and I Can't Get Up

Doodle, 9/11/06

What do you do if this is your cat, and this is how she stares at you when you're watching television? The Comeback on HBO for example. Great show. Perhaps you're enjoying a nice bottle of Pinot Noir, even. And you look to your left, and this is what looks back. Right up in your grill. How do you deal? You're already drinking wine, and it's still fucked up. I mean, sure, she's in love with you, but isn't it almost too much? It's too much. She's too much.

Her expression says, "9/11" doesn't it?

Please note that Phong's* painting hangs in the background, fresh from the framer.

*You know Phong, the 3 year old elephant from Bangkok who is primarily a xylophonist but has dabbled succesfully in painting of late?

Green Tea

It's all it's cracked up to be. Drink this crap.

Anne's Book Report on Mary Todd Lincoln by Jean Baker

I read Mary Todd Lincoln, a Biography by Jean Baker on my summer vacation. It was very interesting. Mary Todd came from a rich Kentucky family. She lost her mother young, and her stepmother was a bitch. Mary was smart but nobody paid any attention to her because she was a girl and she was one of several (like 15) children. She met Abraham Lincoln the attorney while visiting her older sister in Illinois. He came from a poor family and was also very smart. He passed the bar and became an attorney without any formal schooling for cryin' out loud. He was tall. She was short. She liked to talk. He liked to read. She liked to write. She liked to socialize. He liked to think. They fell in love and got married.

Then Mary had a baby boy. They had another baby boy and it died. Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln moved to Washington because Abraham became President of the United States. They had two more boys. Another died. There was a wicked big Civil War goin' on, and the public was pissed at Mary Todd because she renovated the shithouse that the White House was when they arrived. People thought she was strange because she liked to talk politics. She had a shopping problem. Days after the war ended, she and Abraham went to the theater and John Wilkes Booth shot him in the back of the head. Asshole. She freaked. She didn't have any money; pensions, life insurance--none of that crap existed.

She went abroad with her second to youngest surviving son Tad and traveled around Europe. People thought that was weird; women didn't travel unaccompanied. Tad was named Tad because it's a nickname for Tadpole which is was a nickname that she and Abraham came up with because Thomas's (his real name) head was so huge in childbirth it ripped her cooch apart and she suffered complications for the rest of her life. They traveled back to the US, Tad's health failing. Then Tad died at 17 sitting upright in a chair he couldn't leave because he couldn't breathe. Then she really freaked. Then her oldest son Robert, a huge dick, got married and was embarrassed and annoyed by his mother so he put her in a mental home.

Mary Todd wasn't mental; she got hooked on seances and the supernatural because she was a bit bummed about losing her husband and three sons. Who wouldn't be a little bummed? But back then, a woman could be committed by her husband or family for that kind of crap. While she was in the sanitorium Robert took all her shit. Finally some friends were able to spring her, but she never forgave him. Then she died, falling off a chair in a crappy boardinghouse room whilst trying to hang a picture on the wall. Then Robert took her money.

The End.

Anne

Atlantic City Beach Scenes

Former Convention Center (previous home of Miss America Pageant). Peter Max mural to the left of the Convention Center.

AC, NJ, 9/06

Cuter Than That Apple Martin

Here are a few shots I took of this cute little girl and her family from the Gov't Mule show in Brooklyn on Saturday night. She loves Warren Haynes, but she loves her Daddy more.

Doodle Loves You

Doodle Cat, 9/4/06

Smell It Isn't So

Ok, ok, here's a great story that I know you're just going to love. Clearly, I'm well-connected. If I don't know the people, then I know the people who know the people. It's just a matter of fact.

One night I went out with a couple of gals from the office. One of the gals is friends with this super hot super human super model. Ok, maybe she's not techinally a super model--does the term 'super' prior to model indicate bitch who maims? I don't know. Not important. What is: She's hot. Men want to bang her. Famous actor style men want to bang her.

The story: She may or may not have banged a famous actor-style man on the side of this bus. The show is called "CSI Miami" starring none other than that gross redhead formerly of NYPD Blue who left for greener pastures and then realized that the pastures aren't that green for a gross redhead. He's not pictured on the bus. Duh.

Anyway, she and this famous actor-style man on the side of this bus (pictured here) was totally into her. What was he totally also into? Her panties. Eeew. As in, her underpants. In the middle of makin' out with her, or ravishing her or whatever, he picked up her panties from the floor or the side of the bed or wherever they were, looked her right in the eyes, brought them up to his nose, and inhaled deeply and creepily, whilst still maintaining eye contact.

It's his thing.

I Love SkeeBall

There's an arcade on the Atlantic City Boardwalk, and I spent a lot of time perfecting my SkeeBall game. Here's a photo. You see, with this machine, unlike a slot machine, sure, you put coins in, but you always walk away some kind of winner*.

I won:

1) a spider ring (fake spider)

2) a little parachute guy

3) a ruby ring (albeit, a fake ruby)

4) a large yellow rubber ball with smiley face

5) a snakeskin (fake snakeskin) lighter which I left on the counter because I was so excited by the parachute guy

6) a little dignity back after being pounded in the casino

I garnered dozens more tickets but gave them away to the kids in the arcade just like Robin Hood. Or Santa. Or whatevs.

*unless you're totally friggin' retarded, because even the bottom rung is ten points and if you can't get the bottom rung you may dead and just not know it yet, like most of the people I saw walking around the casino.

Is It Possible To Play Three Slot Machines At Once?

This woman proves that it is.

Slot Slut @ The Tropicana, Atlantic City, NJ, 9/8/06

Nice Beard, Better Than Tom Cruise's

Doodle, 9/5/06

Partly Cottony Skies

36th Street and 3rd Avenue, NYC, 9/4/06

Watch Two Assholes Posture For the Camera

Two of my least favorite people trying to bullshit themselves and us into thinking they know what the hell they're talking about.

Ridiculous!

I recommend you watch this first with the sound off. Their body language says it all.

Part 1.

What does the body language say?

It says, "Wow, we certainly are a couple of highly paid assholes who are full of shit--I hope at least some of you are buying some of it with our knitted brows, our serious facial expressions full of 'concern' and our forceful hand gestures because both of our ratings are low."

Part Two if you can stomach Bush and his condescending tone. I couldn't. A direct quote: "We got a lot of diplomacy goin' on."

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

This Kid is Fucked

Let's wish her luck.

Good luck, kid.

So Much To Post So Little Time

Hi, kids!

I owe you (in addition to sardonic wit, joviality, and other reasons to stop by and read this crap):

1. A review of the Mary Todd Lincoln Biography I read on my vacation
2. A review of my trip to AC
3. A review of the Gov't Mule show at Brooklyn's McCarren Park Pool
4. A picture of Suri

There's a chance I may inherit a complimentary laptop this week, so this could get me back to my regular posting behavior that you expect: giving you the news you need when you need it.

Oh, and Doodle says "Hi."

Here's what she's been up to lately:

Keep Your Feet Planted Firmly In the Sand

Atlantic City, NJ, 9/8/06

Do I Love Atlantic City?

Yes I do.

Am I good at gambling?

No, I am not!

I'm terrible at those slot machines? I'm just no good. I can't win to save my life on those things. People seem to love 'em, though. At any rate, this broad is excellent at gambling, and for as much as I love her for being "in it to win it", I hate her because the bitch keeps "winning it!"

sigh.

Is That a Comment In Your Pocket Or Are You Just Happy To Read Me?

Happy 9/11, folks!

I'm back from A.C. with $12 dollars in my pocket.

Almost lost my job while I was away. Exciting!

Will keep you posted.

Hope you all enjoy your exciting 9/11 activites planned for today! The president is!
More fake tears and anguished face, Laura! There are cameras!

Atlantic City Here I Come

Red! Black! Snake eyes! Cherry Cherry Cherry!

Doodle Smoked Some Catnip Last Night

Step 1: Inhale



Step 2: Roll Around For an Hour



Step 3: Chill

A Night in Nevada

Nevada Smith's Tavern, NYC, 8 /29/06

Good Advice

I heard a New York State.Gov public service announcement on the radio yesterday that said something like "Over-the-counter drug abuse is blah blah blah* than heroin and nicotine addiction combined.

*I can't remember that part.

I think it means stick to the needles and cigarettes. Making your own meth is a pain in the ass.

Dina Martina Has a Huge Front Wedgie and Is Proud of It

Dina Martina's show "Soft Palate, Fallen Arches" has been described as such a tragically hilarious trainwreck that adult diapers are recommended.

So of course, I can't get my ass there fast enough.

Bizarre.

Doodle Trying To Watch Beyonce On the MTV Video Music Awards Last Night

This Week in NYC

Anne's Smokin' Gams, Apres My Set @ Chicks and Giggles, 8/29/06

My Mantra: If You Suck, Distract Them With Great Shoes

Evening Sky on West 24th Street, 8/30/06

Joan Rivers at the Cutting Room 8/30/06

from left: Lance Cruce on Piano, Man at the Gay Table Not Laughing, and Joan Herself

Doodlefest 2006's End is Nigh

September 1: Sink Season Is Over for Doodle

What'd You Watch On TV Last Night?

I had the intention of watching my Scarface, but something is fucked up with my DVD player. As I fiddled with the thing, Indecent Proposal with Robert Redford, Demi Moore, and Woody Harrelson was had just started on HBO. Just one of those movies that Anne Altman had never seen before and I must say, the first 15 minutes to half hour are excellent. When Woody goes nuts and chases after the helicopter after they make that deal with the devil is a seriously intense scene. I felt for him. But cut to an hour later where Demi gets with Robert and now she's all society, sitting pretty at an auction by his side with a parasol?

A friggin' parasol?

And it's huge, and she's in the front row, and it's so lame and hilarious. But now I'm too far into the thing to cut it off, so I stay tuned, and Woody shows up at the animal auction and buys the hippo for a million dollars. Demi: "I thought you needed the money." And he goes, "I thought you needed the hippopotamus."

WHAT?

Then I watched the last hour of the MTV Video Music Awards. I took all kinds of notes for a revew today but left that shit at home, so let me just give you the best part of the night:

When Panic! At the Disco went on stage (I think that's who the hell that band is, am I right?) to receive the MTV Video of the Year Award and some huge black dudes gets muscles past J. Lo who presented the Award and the band themselves to get on the mic and shout, "So and so never gave me a music deal so you need to call up so and so and make it so" and I'm all confused like is that this band's manager?

And then I realized along with everyone else that he was just a freak stage stormer plugging his own crap during Panic! At the Disco's thunder. Ha! Ah, well. I think it's hilarious. He looked just like the guy who stole my wallet at MTV from right out of my cubicle. He was dressed wearing a hard hat and carrying a tape measure around. I saw him go in there and come out and I thought, "Wow, someone's finally fixing the broken shelf in my office." Yet I never told anyone it was broken. Then he went around "fixing everyone else's shelves" on the floor. MTV did always have shitty security.