Barney and Friends

So the blog seemed like a fun idea at the time.

Do my little jokey-joke thing, tell a tale or two out of school, jump the shark, go home to my moldy mansion and my weird pets.

But then I wake up and realize I've got a rotting albatross bending my neck like a Jacob the Jeweler Christ-face medallion.

Here's what the bird said just this week:

PRODUCER: So, Josh...Before we get started talking about our dumbass rewrite project that we're not even going to hire you to work on...we just need to know...Is this gonna be on the blog?
ME: I dunno. Are you gonna do something to fucking annoy me? And by annoy, I mean, other than consuming some three days of my life with conference calls where I wrack my brain to solve problems for you as you TYPE THEM INTO YOUR COMPUTER just to make sure YOU'LL HAVE MY ENTIRE BRAIN ON FILE when you want to hire somebody else?
PRODUCER: Cuz, you know, your blog can be pretty harsh.
ME: No man, we're cool. I like to wait about two years before I tell stories about producers. That pretty much guarantees they won't be in the business anymore.
PRODUCER: Cool.
ME: Yeah. Cool.

Shit like this is happening all the time.

Here's another all too-familiar bird call these days. Translations in parentheses for the Hollywood-impaired:

STUDIO EXECUTIVE: Dude. Long time no see. (I haven't thought about hiring you for two years you overpriced hostile little asshole.)
ME: How's the family? (You still have a family, don't you? Or did your wife leave you for someone who uses his dick for something other than pissing all over people's hard work?)
STUDIO EXECUTIVE: They're great. Thanks. (The bitch is fucking her spin teacher. My son's mainlining Ritalin and the only thing I know about my daughter is she won't answer to the boy's name I insisted she have.)
ME: Cool. (Cool.)
STUDIO EXECUTIVE: So buddy (asshole)--
ME: Dude (dickless wonder)
STUDIO EXECUTIVE: I love, absolutely love your blog. (My assistant printed it out and skimmed it looking for my name.)
ME: Thanks for taking the time to read it. (You couldn't spell blog if I spotted you "blog.")
STUDIO EXECUTIVE: God...Remember that last time we worked together? (My assistant reminded me of the last time we worked together.)
ME: Oh yeah. I remember EVERYTHING. (And I mean EVERYTHING.)
STUDIO EXECUTIVE: Yeah...I bet that'd make a funny blog. (Don't you FUCKING DARE make that a funny blog.)
ME: I hadn't really thought about it. (All I have to do is press "Publish Post," motherfucker.)
STUDIO EXECUTIVE: Yeah...It'd probably lose something in translation. (I will crush you.)
ME: They all do...(Don't I know it.)
STUDIO EXECUTIVE: We should get the kids together. (If my whore-crone wife will get down off the spin teacher long enough to pick them up at the nanny's condo.)
ME: We'll set up a playdate. (Take heart. They're not even yours.)
STUDIO EXECUTIVE: Cool.
ME: Cool.

Aaaahhh, I love me my Hollywood friends. They're the prettiest skulls.

As most of you know by now, I'm a pretty busy little monkey. On any given day God has commanded me to do the following:

--instruct my young boy in all things sweatpant
--honor my Ashkenazi heritage by test-driving the Mercedes E55 AMG Wagon
--eat a Chipotle burrito, occasionally adding guacamole if I have the Chipotle Buck Free Burrito Card
--talk to my agent for two minutes
--talk to my agent's assistant for seventeen minutes
--arbitrate
--apologize to the wife
--forget an important meeting
--change a diaper and let everyone know about it
--change my son's diaper and let everyone know about it
--explain to my father why anonymous thinks I've jumped the shark
--apologize to my wife
--watch three episodes of "Dwell" on the Tivo
--give that cool "What-up" nod to that guy I know from that one place but can't recall his name
--realize ten minutes later that one place I know him from is television and his name's Scott Baio
--try to remember how old I am
--don't buy the Mercedes so I can keep it real
--call Nathan at Maserati and set up a test drive
--wonder what I'm doing wrong and why writers I hate get more work than I do
--decide not to call that asshole producer back on that shit project
--wonder what it'd be like to suddenly discover you're a musical prodigy
--poop the dog
--come up with funny lines for yesterday's pitch
--play the peepee game
--apologize to my wife
--vanity google

And that last one just kills the whole day.

Given how jam-packed my day is I have to be very judicious as to how I spend my free time. For my money, there's no better time spent than time spent reading Barney's Blog.

I cannot tell you how reassuring it is to me on those dark days when it hits me square in the face that after you die you're REALLY FUCKING DEAD and they're gonna put you in a pine box and bury you in the dirt for THE REST OF FUCKING TIME AND THERE'S NO SECOND CHANCES that while I'm still alive and vibrant and my soul hasn't yet disappeared like a fine mist I can spend AS MUCH TIME AS I WOULD LIKE READING THE EXTRA-EPISODIC THOUGHTS OF THAT WACKY WOMANIZER BARNEY!

Because nothing fills that existential hole in my heart and gives me hope for an afterlife more than the CONCRETE EVIDENCE that our television friends continue to exist EVEN WHEN THE HALF HOUR IS OVER.

I just quiver with excitement every time Barney writes a new post. Will Barney get "maximum layage with minimal effort?" How will his strategy of multiple Halloween costumes help him procure multiple Halloween Sluts? But he's not just a smart-alecky voice from the broadcast beyond, he's an inspiration to us bloggers everywhere. How about that Venn diagram? Or that Slut Spreadsheet? I mean it just kicks the shit out of John August.com and that's a hill to climb let me tell ya.

I spend hours working on witty comments for Barney's Blog, hoping against hope that the little rascal will start a witty comments section. Oh how witty a fanboy I will be for him!

Now, I'm not exactly sure who it was who met whose mother, or why it is we give a fuck about that. I've never watched the show and at this point I'm thinking that it'd be weird to start. It's kind of like my fear of meeting Bruce Springsteen. Maybe he'd be a dick to me, maybe he'd call me "John" and I'd have to correct him...It'd be crushing.

The point is, I only like to know my heroes from a particular angle. Maybe watching Barney and the other guy and the girl and all the mother-meeting would spoil it for me. In fact, I'll even go so far as to vow that as long as Barney is blogging I will NEVER risk ruining it by watching his television show. I've made that mistake too many times in the past. I will never forget weeping--seriously weeping--while reading Archie Bunker's intimate account of Edith's rape on ArchieBunker.com. The dude was, like, SO sensitive and accepting. So I decided to flip on the show the next week--and Holy Christ the man's a fat old bigot! How could I have been so blind? I yanked him outta my sidebar links so fast it made my Technorati spin.

Then there was that time I got into a serious flame war with this one asshole on Leather Tuscadero's blog when he suggested it was against WGA regulations for craven network marketing executives to require tv writers to help Leather write some of her posts and I couldn't believe Leather would let ANYONE do anything that may violate the Minimum Basic Agreement because Leather had such a strong sense of justice...

But I digress. This is about the divine-inspired glory that is Barney.

I only have one problem with his blog.

I wish that lazy fucker'd post more.