Wake up, Fiery Scarecrow!
Last night I woke up to the phone ringing. It was 11:30 p.m. and I was out cold. I’m always nervous about answering the phone at that hour because everyone knows I get up really early (3:00 or 4:00 am) to go ballooning and it could only either be an emergency, or the occaisional call from Costa Rica from someone wanting to know if I want to place a bet (I have no idea why they call me, I don’t gamble and have no intention of EVER placing a bet by telephone — especially to some random casino in a foreign co

Tweetings From 3000 Feet
The main reason I got an iPhone—aside from the fact that my previous RAZR phone had reception equal to that of a 1960’s short-wave radio (”Come-in Tokyo!”)—was so I could keep connected to the internet and my billions of fans no matter where I was or what I was doing. So, on Monday, I decided to take it up in a hot air balloon. Normally, I don’t fly much, but when there are too many people for the mid-sized balloon but not really enough for the big balloon, the pilot likes to have some

Drinking Beer Not That Exciting Anymore
The great thing about being a horder and never throwing anything away, is that you are often nostalgically surprised when you pull something out of a box you’ve had stored in the attic for 20-years. Take this Farfrompüken t-shirt I discovered this morning. This thing brings back memories. Memories such as waking-up under a freeway overpass in a shopping cart and wondering at what point during the previous night I agreed to wearing a “Picasso-deranged” version of clown makeup. It’s funny ho

How to Poken a Dead Rooster in Public
In the past, when anyone asked how they could find me online, I usually just told them to type Incredibly Hot Men into Google and hit the “I’m Feeling Lucky” button. But the way Google keeps changing its indexing criteria, it’s only a matter of time before it improperly redirects to the website of a slightly less-hot guy such as George Clooney or Abraham Lincoln. But soon, none of that will make any difference because everyone will be carrying a little g

Celebrity Ghost Stories: Dead Rooster Author Tells His Tale
Its cold, black eye-holes began glowing with hell’s orange embers, and when it opened its mouth, I thought it was trying to speak, but to my horror, it was merely a build-up of maggots forcing its jaws and spilling onto the floor like globs of writhing oatmeal. OK, not quite. What really happened was this: It was in the fall of 1992, and I was working as a quality control manager for an aerospace firm called American Automated Engineering in Huntington Beach, California. I had heard random stories of ghost