The city of Seoul could confuse a compass.  It is an epic FAIL when it comes to urban organization, but it does boast the funniest commerical I have ever seen.  If you’ve ever craved the superpower of a wall-shattering pee stream, Korean prostate medicine is apparently just the ticket.  Enjoy:

Dear Readers:

It’s August.  And I’m European (have the passport to prove it).  That means lazy days of sipping wine on a yacht off the French Riviera or at a luxury villa in Sardinia.

Or not.

But I am taking a short break from “the blogging”.  There are potentially huge changes in my career and personal life right now that I need to deal with, so the witty assaults on stupidity will have to wait until I get my shit together.

Try not to miss me too much.

Hayden Panettiere is a bitch.  A spoiled, narcissistic little princess who throws tantrums when she doesn’t get her way.  Don’t believe me?  Just ask her Heroes co-star and ex-boyfriend Milo Ventimiglia, who she tried to get fired.

Seriously, this girl annoys me in just about every conceivable way.  She is a naive little waif, exceptionally immature, and really isn’t even that hot.

So basically I hate her.  But oddly I also want to fuck her.  She is the perfect candidate for a hate fuck!

Hayden, in the words of the immortal Hank Moody, “I’m declaring jihad on your pussy!”

So yes, after years of mocking people who come to LA to “make it big” or “get a break” I have apparently become that which I mock so mercilessly.

Yes, dear friends and strangers, while I don’t usually talk about too many “personal” things on this blog, and after years of putting it off, I am writing my ultimate travel tome.  I’ve had some fucked up and weirdly hilarious shit happen to me in 59 countries and 31 years, and it’s time to share some of that insanity with the world.  Hopefully for a large profit.  One that will finance a lifestyle of basically living in Westin and W Hotels and being worshipped by adoring fans.

Sorry, got a little carried away there.  Must be the half bottle of vodka I’ve ingested this evening.

At any rate, if you aren’t already watching Californication you really should be.  And not just because I say so (even though I do know best).  Because David Duchovny is Hank Moody.  And Hank Moody is my idol.

* His response to any challenge is to threaten a “dick punch”.

* He’s 40-something, yet routinely fucks women half his age.

* Ultimately, he’s on the same journey we all are: to find meaning in this Hobbesian life that is “nasty, brutish and short”.

What’s not to like?

I was about to sit down last night to post here, condemning this evil corporation or that federal agency (the usual dissidence) when a chain of events occurred that were as unpredictable as they were illustrative of how fucked up my life is.

6:25  I sit down to crank out another blogging masterpiece when I realize I’m quite peckish.

6:26  Perusing the cupboards and refrigerator I reach the same conclusion I reach every night around this time: the only foods I have in the house are cereal, milk, past-expiration eggs and month-old frozen bread.

6:28  Deciding that cereal (46th night in a row) is better than nothing, I pour a bowl.  Since I have zero counter space I am forced to pour my cereal bowls on the stove.

6:29  For reasons unknown even to me, I pour the cereal into the bowl with a spoon already in there.  Don’t ask; it’s just how it’s always been done.  This turns out to be a dreadful mistake, as…

6:30  I spaz out as I turn to put the cereal box back in its home.  The force of my hand hitting the handle of the spoon is great enough to eject a substantial amount of cheerios from the bowl.  A mushroom cloud of honey nut cheerios is now expanding all over the kitchen.  The fallout scurries into every crevice it can find.  Fuck my life.

6:32  After a moment of shock and horror, I attempt to remedy the situation.  Every step I take is met by a hearty crunch.  And of course it still looks like someone poured the entire box on top of the range.

6:33  I give up on everything except my gourmet meal, pour the milk and retreat to the relative safety of the living room.

6:38  I realize that if I ever actually turn the stove on and cook something the stray cheerios will probably catch on fire and burn my apartment down.  Because that’s my life.

I knew you wouldn’t believe me.  So I brought proof.  (This was after the first round of cleaning up.)

“Good afternoon! Kiev Escort information there. Partner men. Your Kyivska prostitute Rybka. You can visit my blog.”

Dear former Soviet spammer/scammer:

Thanks for reading my blog.  If you’re going to be a regular contributor around here, I want to clear up a few mis-perceptions so that you’ll fit better into the malcontent community.

1. We don’t put information about escorts and “partner men” in the same line of thought unless you are bringing me (female) clients who will pay me for sex.

2. Sorry dude, but real Russian (especially St. Petersburg) girls are way hotter than Ukrainians.  Yes, I’ve been to your cute little nation.  Ukraine is not weak country!

3. I will never, ever stick my greg in anything called Rybka.

That is all.  Oh, hey- come to think of it, I know a Nigerian prince if you’re interested in a sure-thing business opportunity…

_____

And to my dear readers, just because I love you:

Warning: the story behind this really isn’t that interesting.  I just thought myself oh-so-clever in coming up with that headline and wanted to use it.

In the malcontent spirit of calling companies out on their bullshit, I name fcuk, nom de guerre for French Connection United Kingdom.  I occasionally buy their overpriced and (arguably) trendy clothes.  I’m not a huge customer, but really, in this economy how many people are queueing up to spend $125 on a pair of cargo shorts?

Soon after buying the shorts in question I decided that it was ridiculous to spend that amount of money on something a slave child migrant worker in Myanmar made for about three dollars in materials and labor.  I went to return the shorts of third-world destitution only to be told that I was one day over their 14 day return policy, so I could go suck it.

Seriously?  14 days?  I can scarely motivate myself to shave every 14 days, much less drag my ass an entire mile to downtown Santa Monica.

So f u, fcuk: may your legions of malnourished sweat shop peasants rise up against you!

That’s right, the city of legalized soft drugs, prostitution and many other types of debauchery.  So your blogger will be taking some R&R, partying with friends for Queen’s Day, and enjoying some homemade Dutch brownies.  And in honor of my latest euro trip…

I may come back.  I may not.

F-ing things suck.

But first of all, I should say that I’m not much of a work pooper.  I prefer the privacy (and higher sanitary quality) of my own bathroom.  For some reason my shitter clock - which has always run on a 24 hour clock with Swiss-like precision - has gotten whacked to the 2:00pm position from its usual 6:30pm.  So every afternoon this week I have found myself compelled to visit the illustrious 18th floor men’s room.

You know what’s coming.  Those fucking auto toilets have a sensor where it’s supposed to know when you’ve planted your ass down and therefore when you’re free and clear, so they can start their death spiral flush.  But there’s also a timing device built in.  And the one in our restroom is set to about 90 seconds.  God forbid I take more than a minute and a half to sit down and take a shit.  If I do, I’m greeted with a loud whoosh and my balls get a bath in fetid toilet water.  I swear to Allah if it happens again I am going to take a sledgehammer to that offensive piece of porcelain just like Michael Bolton takes out the copier in Office Space.

As if we needed more proof of how evil they are, the one in the picture below is about to swallow that poor little Asian girl whole.  Maybe it is a Chinese invention to enforce the one child policy?

This one is just too good not to share.  Mr. Bale loses his shit in the way that only a spoiled, insolent, over-hyped actor can.  This is up there with the legends, including the famous Bill O’Reilly flip out.

Enjoy, courtesy of our friends at TMZ.