As you may or may not be aware, there have been a rash of fires in the San Fernando Valley over the last week and a half. Some of the cities effected by the fires, directly or indirectly, in the San Fernando Valley and surrounding areas, are: Chatsworth, Van Nuys, Simi Valley, Porter Ranch, Woodland Hills and Calabasas. I happen to work in Calabasas, and it looked a little bleak and doomsday-esque outside.

Our office is South-West of where most of the fires occurred, but even still, we had a lot of smoke overhead, and we were definitely not safe from the threat of the fires jumping the hills, and heading our way. Here was our view of the smoke from the North:

Smoke from the San Fernando Valley Fires

With high winds for the last several days, there was definitely a sincere doomsday feeling around the office. Then you see this, rolling around the streets, and you just have to giggle:

This is the Worst of Days

Seems like the Calabasas fire station got some back up, just in case they had to deal with containment. Taking a quick drive by the station, they had 10 fire trucks mobilized, with lots of (hunky) firemen waiting around.

I really did not feel like dealing with the boatloads of traffic, since they closed part of the 118 freeway, near Sylmar, so I took a more scenic route. Our office happens to be in a part of Calabasas that makes it super easy to just drive down to the Pacific Coast Highway, and completely avoiding freeways along the way. So I took PCH over to the 405 freeway, on my long-winded journey.

Here is an image along my path home, further solidifying the fact that Southern Californians are very far removed from giving two shits about anything but themselves. These people are clearly not effected by the fires, so they are just enjoying a busy day of beach volleyball:

Not a Care in the World While Others are Evacuating

I start to approach Santa Monica, and feel a little traffic building up. No matter any way you cut it, there will be traffic somewhere in L.A., even if you do your best to avoid it.

Entering Sunny, Traffic-Infested Santa Monica

Another grim, doomsday shot as I approach the 405 and 101 freeway interchange. Traffic was actually pretty smooth while I was on the 405.

Fires Looming in all Parts of the San Fernando Valley

Seems like October is the month for high winds and lots of fires in the San Fernando Valley, so it is really nothing new. At least this time around I have some images of it to share.

A few days ago, I started using my brand-new camera, and decided to take some images of my office for your viewing pleasure. For the most part, the office is pretty tame, with a few highlights here and there, which I tried capturing.

As a side note, if you are looking an amazing digital camera, then you need to check out the Sony Cybershot DSCW170 with 10.1 megapixels and 5x Optical Zoom, which is what I am sporting nowadays. All thanks to the extreme kindness of my brother, Lenny, who got it for me as a birthday present.

Now on to the exciting picture – score! For starters, here is an exterior shot of where all the magic happens. And by “magic,” I mean lazy corporate drones smashing their keyboards all day, pretending to work.

External Shot of the Office

And now, the way I verify everyday that I am still employed – does the keycard still work?

The Daily Keycard Swipe

Huzzah! I am greeted by that friendly and familiar chirp of success. Now I get to trek up the stairs, and plunk down at my desk. As I walk into my office, this is my view:

Home Sweet Desk

Now I get to connect my handy dandy laptop, and prepare for a fun day of internet surfing, phone calls and emails. Here you can see my point-of-view, seated at my desk. As you can imagine, it can get a bit distracting as people constantly walk by that hall-way all day:

The View from Command Central

Assuming you did not have a fancy keycard, like myself, but still wanted to enter the building, you would be able to from the front entrance, during normal business hours. If you do need to breach our walls, you will notice a warm reception area, with our delicious sign on the wall.

Front Entrance Reception Area

Really, the only other things worthy of noting are the sales office, the conference room, and our studio. First I take you in for a quick peak at the sales office. People were actually working, so as to not disturb them, I only took a shot of the huge banner on the opposite wall to the entrance of the sales office:

Big Banner in the Sales Office

I took three shots of the studio, so you can get some perspective of size, and what it is like sitting in the booth. Obviously, there is a lot more action when the cameras are rolling, but you will have to make due with these shots for now:

Last, but not least, our exciting conference room. This is where some brainstorming happens, but usually more dirty jokes and social time than anything else. It certainly looks much fancier, compared to what the content of the meetings would really necessitate.

That, folks, is all she wrote. Hope you enjoyed some of the pictures, even though I know they are pretty boring…but what do you expect? It is just an office building.

As part of any good trip to a foreign country, there must be a certain amount of drinking shenanigans, and my last trip to Amsterdam was certainly no exception. To see my other shenanigans, while in Amsterdam, check out this post. Part of my drinking shenanigans took place at P. King Restaurant, which is located at Herengracht 515 Amsterdam, Netherlands.

These particular drinking shenanigans took place after a delicious meal at P. King Restaurant, and some regular drinking took place during the dinner. The plan was that we poured a double shot of Sambuca, then lit it on fire, and covered said shot with another glass. Afterward, we removed the extra glass, but kept it covered to keep the fumes inside. Then we drank the double shot of Sambuca with a straw, and when we gave the go-ahead, the person taking care of the extra glass (with the fumes inside), lifted the glass, for us to inhale the fumes via the same straw. The rush that hits your brain is a mixture of confusion, shenanigans, and a feeling of joy when it all left your system.

A Bottle of Sambuca A Day Keeps the Doctor at Pay

Being the wuss that I am, I was not really interested in taking part in these drinking shenanigans, but peer pressure is certainly a bitch. After seeing my buddy JMK, of Hustler, and adult film star Penny Flame taking part, I pretty much had to man the fuck up. JMK is first up to bat:

JMK Preparing to Enter Manhood by Way of Sambuca

Then miss Penny Flame shows us that two can play at that…

Penny Flame Prepares Herself Mentally for Sambuca Destruction

After she has prepared herself mentally, she goes in for the kill:

Miss Flame Adds Some Hair to Her Chest

Of course, I am not going to have it that I am outdone by anyone, no matter what the competition is, so I go for two rounds of organ-killing Sambuca. Round one:

Sambuca is Most Certainly Destruction in a Bottle

And as I alluded to, if one round of drinking shenanigans was not enough, I go for two. I promise you, my liver and lungs are still not talking to me:

Fool me Once, Shame on You...Twice...I am Retarded

That now concludes my drinking shenanigans from Amsterdam. As you probably know yourself, if there is one place it is acceptable to be a retard, it is Amsterdam. I fit right in.

Recently, I was in Amsterdam, Netherlands for a work convention.  On one of the nights out, the main party was held at this place called Club Marcanti, located at Jan van Galenstraat 6-10, 1051KM Amsterdam, Netherlands.  If you are ever in Amsterdam, I would definitely recommend checking out Club Marcanti.  It is a cool spot, with hot Dutch waitresses, good music, and a big enough dance floor where you making a complete ass out of yourself will go unnoticed.  Unless, of course, you are the drunk retard that is the reason for this blog.

Club Marcanti Lit Up Like a Christmas Tree

At first, I did not make much of this character.  He was inside, being kind of belligerent, but nothing really that I would classify “off the deep end”.  My buddy Steve did mention this drunk retard to me, saying that he looked like a trouble maker, and to watch out for him.  I kept my distance, but once again, did not really make too much of drunk retard at the time.

The evening is coming to a close, and now we are heading outside to grab a cab back to the hotel.  We are greeted by a couple things – one familiar, one a little worrysome.  We see the drunk retard playing a game of “gonna go to jail” with a motorcycle cop that was called to Club Marcanti by the bouncers.

The next two pictures are of the drunk retard getting pulled to the ground, and then getting detained until another cop (with a car) showed up to take him to jail.  Good job, drunk retard – you made it to my blog!

Drunk Retard Getting Pulled to the Ground

And after getting pulled to the ground, drunk retard gets held down:

Drunk Retarded Detained While Backup Arrives

For other Amsterdam, Netherlands hijinks, check out this post at BehindtheHype.com.

To start, I will say that I hate that I have succumb to the pressures of society myself, and am an avid text messager.  That being said, I hate text messaging.  To send a text message is to say, “Hey buddy, I need to tell you something, but I’ll be damned if I’ll hear your voice to do it.”  Do not get me wrong, there are times where text messaging comes in handy, but there is definitely a thin line of need and annoying that text messaging walks every day.  There are several forms of text messaging & text messagers, and I will go over the most common ones, as I see it.

Forms of Text Messaging:

• Mass Messaging
• Bored at (insert the blank)
• Securing the Cock / Securing the Puss
• Non-confrontation
• Getting to know you

I will not argue that there are plenty of other forms of text messaging, but there is only so much patience I have while writing about text messaging before I have to Hulk Smash! the shit out of everything. While going over each form, I will mention who might be the best type of text messager for said form. This is obviously not an exact science, which is why I decided to submit a blog about it, rather than try to win a Nobel Prize. The choices we make…

Mass Messaging

This form of text messaging will best suit the guy or gal that has a slew of acquaintances, and/or groups of people he/she is associated with. There is usually little, if any, overlap between the groups he/she rolls with, so there is little worry that person A from group X, and person B from group Y will receive the same text message (in which case, the jig will be up).

Mass messaging, I feel, is most effective when you are trying to organize an impromptu outing, and have no time to spare. The fact that you are doing this last-minute means you do not have the 1-4 minutes, per phone call, that a decent explanation would take, which could turn into an hour-long process if you have a good number of people in mind. A properly sent mass messaging will include all relevant information (the what, where, when), and will be open-ended enough that it can be presumed to have been sent exclusively to each person.

Fucking Hippies

In some cases, you want to show your hand, and you will start with “Hey everyone,” in the hopes that this will stir artificial excitement about your outing.

Oh, he said, ‘everyone’ so there will probably be a ton of people, and maybe some puss. Nice – I am going!

Another sub-form of mass messaging has some overlap in the securing the cock / securing the puss category, so I will leave that for later, and cover it in more-depth as we proceed.

Bored at (insert the blank)

The person that uses this form is usually not easily entertained by themselves, and needs some form of company, even if just via text messaging. You know these people; you have seen these people; you might be these people. They walk around, with cell phones specifically designed to text message, and text people whenever a 30-second lull in activity occurs.

Being bored at work, school, the DMV, getting a haircut, while waiting for their food to be ready, while waiting for their car to be ready, while waiting for their test results, while driving, etc. The list goes on indefinitely. These sort of text messages usually come in long spurts, and spin off into frenzies. The people that text while they are bored at something are usually able to hold several text message “conversations” without inadvertently texting the wrong thing to the wrong person. I hate to say it, ladies, but I see this much more often from the female population. Not to say there is anything wrong with your ability to machine-gun out 100s of text messages per minute, but just know we see you doing it, and it is OK. Everything will be OK.

You will never believe what Ben said in a text message just now! I wonder if he is really naked, or just saying it! OMG!

Securing the Cock / Securing the Puss

This form of text messaging caters to a specific type of gal, and a specific type of guy. If a gal is securing the cock, she is trying to hit up some various guys she has in her cell phone, to get some pipe laid that night. If a guy is securing the puss, he too is trying to get laid that night, in a pretty passive-aggressive manner. In a nutshell, this form of text messaging is the equivalent to a booty call, but on a larger scale, and do not necessarily go to people where the random fuck has already occurred…so in some cases, it is used to test the waters.

For the gal securing the cock, this is the modern-day version of survival of the fittest. Each individual guy does not know about one another, and the gal decides who is the lucky stud for that evening. It is tough to be funny, charming, and not too overtly perverted in 160 characters or less, so really the top dog will prevail. These text messages will usually be late in the day, maybe after the gal has had a little liquor in her, and has decided that none of her current prospects at the bar/club/concert/etc are up to her usual pipe-laying standards. Usually pretty vague too, because she does not want to show her hand, or come off too cock-hungry. Heaven forbid!

Hehe…how r u? Long time no see. What u up to? U busy 2nite?…Haven’t seen you in 4ever…

For the guy securing the puss, what he will do is sent out a mass message (as mentioned above) to a group of potential hens. He needs to be wise to their circle of friends, because he could be shooting himself in the foot if Sally and Lisa are out together and get the same securing the puss mass message.

He Wants to Fuck!

These messages are usually pretty short, to the point, and also relatively late. If a guy does go this route, rest assured ladies, you are most certainly his last resort. He wants to get his dick wet, and this is just two steps away from hoping on Craig’s List and picking up a whore.

Hey babe…whatcha doin’ tonight? Wanna stop by for a drink?

Non-confrontation

This form of text messages is what really grinds my gears about text messaging. It is also, in my opinion, the most common form, and most often used by guys. I cannot call myself a truly manly man, but I do not drink my tea with my pinky finger in the air, and I do not agree with non-confrontation text messaging.

Non-confrontation text messaging will have its routes dating back to when people started getting their feathers ruffled about disciplining your kids with a belt or a back hand. America is not only the land of the free, but it is also the land of the giant pussies. Men are not men anymore…at least not all of the, anyhow. There is really no honor in America today, and chivalry is most certainly dead. This form of text messaging occurs when a guy does not have the brass to pick up the phone, and call to ask a girl out, tell someone off, or apologize.

Men, nowadays, need a strong kick in the nuts and a slap in the face. I do understand that in this day-and-age, it is so much easier and convenient to be a pussy, but there is some point where you need to draw a line in the sand. Draw the fucking line, pussies. You want to ask a girl out? Call her. You want to tell someone they are being a dickhead? Call them to arrange for a time to see them, so that you can tell them in person. You want to tell someone you are sorry? At the very minimum, call them.

You Pussy!

And the one that really, absolutely gets my goat is the break-up text. Whoever was the first pussy that decided a text message was an appropriate means to break up with a girl needs to have their balls permanently removed – I do not need you accidentally knocking up a chick and producing more pussified Americans. If America had a giant sign on the front, showing the number of available positions for pussied men (a la a parking structure), it NEEDS to say:

FULL – GROW A PAIR

Getting to know you

The last form of text messaging that I will cover. This form is typically used by gals who are more on the shy side of the spectrum; occasionally adopted by guys who are not smooth on their toes, and need some extra time to be witty or charming. They are usually also more socially inept, and need this form of text messaging before they resort to online dating sites.

This form is tedious, and can span over hours, sometimes days. For the people that use it, it seems to work to their benefit. They pick the setting, which is usually at home, work or school, and they are most certainly in their comfort zone. For the shy girls, it allows them the ability to get to know a guy at their own pace, and even sometimes be a little naughty. For the awkward guy, it gives him ample time to come up with just the right way to phrase his lame joke, or enough time to confer with his buddies (i.e.: The dude working at the gas station / liquor store / laundry mat / etc).

Even though I wish these people would just get out of their comfort zones, and break through their shells, that is something easier said than done. So to them, I cannot really pass much hatred onto them, even though I really want to. I guess they do not seem to mind that it takes 700 years before their first date rolls around.  Oh well.

In general, the concept behind text messaging is a way to avoid reality, and start losing touch with the humans around them. Voices over-the-phone took over face-to-face contact, and slowly but surely, text on the screen is taking over voices over-the-phone. So very sad, America…so very sad.

Now I understand why people go ape shit that work for USPS.  The Post Office is useless.  It took me nearly an hour to get a P.O. box setup today.  First time through the line, I am told I need to fill out a form to apply for a P.O. box.  It would be nice if this form was somewhere other than behind the register area.

Then I fill it out, go back through the line, and expect things to go much smoother.  WRONG.  I get back to the same woman (unfortunately) that gave me the form in the first place, and she nearly takes a shit when she sees my driver’s license, car registration, and current address are all different.  Give me a fucking break, lady.  I look like an older version of Opie from The Andy Griffith Show – I’m not a fucking threat.

USPS: We Suck

Is it so unheard of to have different addresses?  I guess her boss didn’t seem to think so, ’cause when she came back (after 20 minutes…the first time…), we continued the process.  Then came the actual part of assigning me a P.O. box, which was another solid 20 minutes.  I mean…fuck…it’s like this is new to her.  Just a bunch of dead weight working at USPS.  If the Post Office wants to not continue to lose the battle to UPS, FedEx, etc – they need to hire some people with at least HALF a brain.

This week I am in Amsterdam, Netherlands for a work convention.  The convention is being held at the Radisson (SAS) at Rusland 17 NL-1012 CK Amsterdam, Netherlands.  Pretty nice hotel, but too bad their breakfast buffet is from 6 a.m. – 10:30 a.m.  Last night, I didn’t even get to bed until 5 a.m. – gimme a break, Dutchies!

Radisson (SAS) - Amsterdam, Netherlands

In any case, at the end of last night’s festivities, a big group of us came back to the hotel.  There is a hotel bar that was still serving everyone drinks past 4 a.m.  I was drinking with a few people, and then my buddy Svenn (who is from Amsterdam) started asking me some questions about this chick I was flirting with.

Svenn: Are you sleeping with this girl?

RMTC: No, man.  She’s really cute, but she’s married.

Svenn: In Netherlands, we have a saying…

All things can be destroyed.

…KABLOOM!…

From time-to-time, I think about some of my former coworkers I have had in my day.  For the most part, it is because I have run out of material to masturbate to, but other times it is just a morbid curiosity of the “what ever happened to X” variety.  Where do these former coworkers go?  Do they end up with better jobs?  Maybe one died?  Occasionally, if you are lucky, you have the luxury of finding out first-hand.

When I went to see Appaloosa, the other day, I was able to find out what happened to one of my fallen brothers. This guy used to be a video editor for us, and now he is working as a cashier at the Arc Light theaters in Sherman Oaks, CA.  To say either job is glamorous would certainly be a stretch, but moving from an office setting to dealing with the public must have been one hell of a transition.

Not trying to put the guy down at all – just thinking about what could possibly happen to anyone else I know, let alone my faimly or myself.  I would imagine the pussy-acquiring portion of someone’s life goes down with that kind of change as well, which is both literally & figuratively a kick in the pants.

Then you could have a situation where “the Bobs” interview people, and see what it is they do.  Maybe they are an unnecessary liason between the engineers and the customers?  Maybe they just collect a check by accident, long enough to burn down the fucking building?

It just goes to show you that you should always be on your toes, sleep with both eyes open, or have your Louisville Slugger within arm’s reach if someone wants to go ape shit.

Beyond that though, we all have several hundred (if not thousand) former coworkers.  These could be people we liked, or hated; people we shared stories, good times and lunch with, or people we shared dirty looks, and awkward silences with.  In any case…they were there…where the fuck are they now?  They have one of those former classmate sites…where is the site for former coworkers?

Another thing that comes up…what do you do if you have them on your Myspace, Facebook, etc?  Are those insta-deletes, or do you just keep them there for the convenience of avoiding confrontation ?  This is obviously the super-pussy way to do things, but it is often much easier than explaining.

This story is brought to you by The Good Reverend.  What I experienced that day is not for the faint of heart…keep that in mind before you read on…

We had a number of odd or unsettling people who worked with us on the graveyard shift, and with them came many stories of incest, shame and plenty of shenanigans.  Little did I know that one of those stories would bring the worst visualization I have ever been exposed to; its lasting affects have completely ruined two of America’s favorite food and drink items – chicken and apple juice.

It started out just like any other lunch time…some people left to their local fast food joint for a burger, some brought their own food, some broke out their 20-sided die and fake plastic swords.  I, for one, went to my local Subway for a delicious foot-long treat (non-homo).  When I returned, I was greeted by the sight of one of our larger co-workers, who decided to visit the local super market for a bounty of flavor.  When she sat down and situated herself, before her sat two items…a large bottle of apple juice and an entire rotisserie chicken.

Bounty of Flavor

Many of us had our doubts that she would be able to complete this meal of epic proportions, but my god, we were wrong…dead fucking wrong.  She made a mockery of the chicken; it was a tornado of fingers, grease and teeth.  After 10 minutes of shame and hate, all that was left was the skeletal remains of a chicken with small bits of meat still connected to the harder-to-reach areas.

To wash down this spoil of poultry?  Nothing but 24 ounces of sweet sweet apple juice.

Before all of the apple juice could be put to use, however, disaster struck and our friend was called away to do ungodly things in the restroom (talking about poop).  What came next has stayed with me to this day.

From across the room, I heard a combination of laughing and gagging I had never heard before.  Normally, you would hear a sound like this if you were stuck in an elevator, you really liked fart jokes, and another person in the elevator just sat there for half an hour farting – over and over – until the smell was enough to make you light-headed.  Not one to be left in the dark, I went over to check out what the deal was.  I was greeted by an awful site.

Imagine if you will, a bottle of half-drunken apple juice, and on top of said apple juice…

…A thin layer of little bits of chicken, half-chewed chicken…mixed in with the half-chewed little bits of chicken, are larger chunks of half-chewed chicken…

Poor Chicken

To this day, I cannot think of those two delicious items in the same place at the same time.  Apart they are fine…together, I vomit.

- The Good Reverend

When you go through the Express Checkout lane, there are some assumed facts.  Some of these assumed facts include: X amount of items or less, you want to get the fuck out of there ASAP, and you don’t pay BY MOTHERFUCKING CHECK.

Who, in their right mind, uses checks nowadays anyhow?  WHO?!  How fucking dare you use a check for anything but rent?!  I am really sorry that you can’t manage your money with simple online banking, or Quicken, but give me a fucking break.  Is this the stone age or something?

Cavemen use Checks

So I plan on taking a short lunch break, and head over to my local Albertson’s to pick up some grub.  In about 3 and a half minutes, I am done with my shopping experience, and ready to hand the corporation my hard-earned duckets.  I take my leisurely stroll over to the checkout area, and notice I have two options in front of me – 1.) Self-Checkout, which can be a bit finicky, or 2.) Express Checkout, with cute cashier.

Well, ladies and germs, this is a pretty easy toss-up.  Obviously I am swayed instantly by cute cashier, so I strut over to her lane.  The lady that she is helping has already had her items scanned (all 4 of them), and the dude behind her (and in front of me) has well over the allotted 15 items or less.  But no worries, I have faith.

Low and behold, the whore at the front of the line pulls out her fucking checkbook.  At this point, I am

thinking that maybe she just has what appears to be a checkbook, but it is really just one of those female wallets, and she will slide that shit, son.  Slide that beautiful plastic-y goodness through that 30-second approval process.  So I stand there patiently, thinking the potential nightmare will be avoided by common practice.

Fuck was I wrong.  Sure as my dick is small, she pulls out a check.  Do you even understand what I just said?  She is paying for 4 items, in the Express Checkout lane, with a check.  I am no English major, but when I hear “express” I immediately think fast, and I certainly don’t ever think paying by check.  For instance – you get an express handjob…don’t expect to get teased.  The lube flies the fuck out, and that dick is RAW because of how fast it is being pumped.  Fucking RAW – you hear me?  RAW.

What should be a quick turn-around has now turned into a 6-minute fiasco.  Is it really 2008 where someone thinks it is appropriate to pay by check?  Maybe I am over-reacting, but paying by check, in my mind, is un-American.