Portland has too many lucid let-me-entertain-you hobos. While I was down in San Francisco I got to see a lot of the superior incoherent-ranting-preacher hobos. They teach us a lot more about Jesus' magical powers and the government tracking devices he uses to impregnate our assholes while we sleep.

Speaking of society's downtrodden, my editor at The Wave took me out to a sushi place where the waiter introduced us to our lobster, made a bunch of different dishes out of his tail, and brought it back so we could eat him while the front half of him was still alive. He also gave me a crash course in reading lobster body language, so I was able to distinguish between the varying degrees of happy and upset he was going through while I was eating the totally delicious him.

I had a level 10 rad time eating and dancing with Dave_H, Lil_Tuffy, Butterfly, Sadie, ninjarobot, and papawheelie while I was down there too. But the best part of the trip was hanging out with commie, and I'm not just saying that because her profile lists her favorite book as being me.

My work over the last two weeks required me to watch Jean Claude Van Damme's entire filmography, sit through ten music videos performed by or conceptualized by pro wrestlers, attend a Breast Feeding for Peace rally, and play a Nintendo game about Mary Kate and Ashley learning to drive. Strangely, I kind of enjoyed all of it.

I'm going to be in San Francisco the rest of this week, where I don't plan on writing even one more joke about freedom inspiring milk-filled babies or homoerotic martial artists doing the splits in underground karate tournaments. Unless, of course, it's an emergency.

I'm still working on my Moonwalker video review with my pal from the Onion, which is not only distracting me from actual paying writing work, it is constantly forcing me to create Michael Jackson-themed profile pictures of me and Eve.

If you weren't at the Suicide Girls movie premiere at Clinton last Tuesday, and a lot of you weren't, I just posted some photos from the afterhours at Dot's: Troma Premiere Photos

And in case you came here looking to ride a rocketship to happiness, I just came across a book called 2002 Ways to Cheer Yourself Up. For only $8.95, I got 2002 brilliant tips on turning my frowns upside down. And even though that's less than half a penny per tip, here are a few keys to happiness that were overpriced.

#507 - Listen to Mariah Carey's song "Hero" to give yourself a little courage.
If Mariah Carey is what you use to give yourself courage, you don't know what the word "courage" means. Fag.

# 945 - Go out today and purchase two or three books on how to deal with stress. Start reading them tonight.
It doesn't inspire confidence when your book about dealing with your problems tells you to go out and buy different books about dealing with your problems. In fact, that sounds like the beginning of a vicious cycle.

# 1108 - Order one of everything from the dessert cart at a French restaurant.
Somehow gaining thirty pounds and having an entire room full of French waiters mock your gluttony doesn't seem like the best way to cheer yourself up. But if you were a sucker enough to buy this book, you're probably going to do it anyway.

# 1192 - Fight injustice.
That's right: if you're depressed, fight injustice. Because who could be sad when his or her crime-busting fists of freedom rule the night?

# 1213 - Practice KISS: Keep it simple, silly.
I hope you know that whether this cheers you up or not, every single other person in the world hates you.

One of my side writing jobs is projecting astrological messages from the future. Keep in mind that all these predictions, while totally screamed to me by distant planets inhabited by violent space criminals, are not to be used for evil.

Also, if you're lucky enough to be a member of our totally fucking rad SGPDX group, enjoy these hot Anti-Valentines Photos.

Scorpio: (Oct. 24 - Nov. 21)
Despite the encouragement you're receiving from the chat rooms, the stars want you to know that most people in the film industry did not get their start by writing erotic fan fiction about Indiana Jones marrying Luke Skywalker.

Sagittarius: (Nov. 22 - Dec. 21)
The position of Jupiter in the sky indicates that this week your revolutionary thirty minute ab workout is going to be soundly defeated by a sixty minute hot dog eating contest.

Capricorn: (Dec. 22 - Jan. 19)
These are changing times we're living in Capricorn, and the increased sensitivity of our society promises to cause serious problems for the production of your Savage Bunny Liquifier(tm).

Aquarius: (Jan. 20 - Feb. 18)
New developments at work promise to bring about change after your coworkers discover that you're the only Earthling that has yet to be assimilated to the Martian Lord's hive mind.

Pisces: (Feb. 19 - March 20)
The dozens of horrible flaming accidents about to take place will make you realize just how bad an idea it was for you and the other motorcycle daredevils to hold a "Bring Your Kids to Work Day."

Aries: (March 21 - April 19)
You can tell yourself anything you want Aries, but the stars no longer consider it "normal everyday curiosity" after your seventeenth straight hour of watching octopus pornography.

Taurus: (April. 20 - May 20)
Correction: last week when the stars said, "For Taurus, total lasting passion is felt through communication that is frank and bold," I thought they said, "Chuck Norris, was totally kickass in Delta Force 2: Operation Stranglehold." So I apologize for any confusion.

Gemini: (May 21 - June 21)
This will be a week for shocking revelations when a Japanese friend reveals to you that the Asian characters you got tattoed on your arm do not mean "Spirit of Wind," but "Caution: Contagious Butt Disease."

Cancer: (June 22 - July 22)
Despite its brilliance with musical metaphors, your message of bicycle safety translated into the moving sounds of the violin will continue to have little effect on inner city children.

Leo: (July 23 - August 22)
After you receive a merit badge for The Seductive Art of the Tango, the stars think there's a pretty good chance that your boy scout troop leader will be removed for questioning.

Virgo: (Aug. 23 - Sept. 22)
A song on the radio will bring back a flood of memories and help you relive moments from your past. Unforunately, the name of that song is, "Terrifying Woodshop Accident Sha Na ShaBangBang."

Libra: (Sept. 23 - Oct. 23)
There's no time to explain everything right now. Just immediately go out, get a cowboy suit and a parachute Get fourteen sticks of dynamite, a watermelon, and a giant tire big enough to fit two people. The stars can't say any more, but let them assure you, it's going to be sweet.

Since we all got out of it alive and mostly topless by the end of the house party, and since none of us lost limbs to the walking terror of Chuck E. Cheese, I'd say this weekend's party was a triumph of rad. There were a few incidents where anonymous children would enter the curtained off secret Chuck E. area never to return, but seriously, if some idiot kid is wandering into a child-eating robot's backstage lair, they probably weren't going to grow up to invent rocket cars.

PS: Despite her dirty communism,commie is my new favorite Suicide Girls member.

I cannot recommend Hulk Hogan's autobiography enough. I read it the other morning instead of working on this week's articles and he tells the most awesome stories about Andre the Giant. He once drank 108 beers in 50 minutes. One hundred and fucking eight, brother! There's also a story about how Andre couldn't fit on the hotel toilet, or in the hotel bathtub, so he covered the bed in newspaper and took a shit on it. Andre thought it was the funniest thing ever; Hulk Hogan described it as a three foot pile of horse manure.

Last week my pals and I were watching wrestling and Hulk had to wait 15 minutes for the crowd to stop chanting his name so he could tell them he was going to lead them in a Hulkamania-powered war against the forces of evil. I'd jump with that man into Hell without a parachute, brother!

I'm back from the bay area, and I think I invented an incredible new system for avoiding hangovers-- never stop drinking. My editors at The Wave and Electronic Gaming Monthly threw at least one party every day for five days, They took me backstage at The Screaming Udders and fed me that insanely good Kobe beef from cows that only eat beer and spend every day being massaged. And judging by how expensive it is, I think the actual massaging is done by Japan's hottest celebrities.

I'm off to San Francisco in about 12 hours. I'm partying with the guys from The Wave, slaughtering the EGM editors in Halo, and hopefully spending the rest of the time playing with Dia.

Meanwhile, I still have to review the Playstation version of The Amazing Virtual Sea-Monkeys. And if you're reading this, Satan, good work on the Playstation version of the Amazing Virtual Sea-Monkeys.

Rocco's Part III was a lot like Rocky Part 3. We started out by fighting Thunderlips, the Ultimate Male, for charity and ended up avenging the death of Burgess Meredith in a comeback match against Mr. T. Then, like Rocky, we went to a hippie compound for a garage party. Stewd and I scoured every one of the many tiny hippie houses in the area for a trace of a drink, but found nothing. The hippies either drank it all while we were getting Rocco's liquor license taken away, or, more likely, they had beer but had to use it for some kind of beer-fueled hippie death ray they were secretly building in one of their teepees.

Eve - I always love seeing you, and you totally amazed me when you made it all the way through Brazilian Star Wars with me.

Chicoboprincess - You are adorable. I want to put you in my pocket, take you to a teddy bear picnic, and pick flowers that we'll braid into the hair of unicorns.

Nala - You're rad to the max, my damie, but you really are so hot that it's kind of hard to look directly at you.

And Ragingwhore43 is my n-word, motherfucker.