WWW.ALMIGHTYRAY.COM

So, I’m sitting here at my computer getting ready to go take a nap before going out to Hollywood. Of course I have the windows and screen door open and I don’t even think about it.

This is when I peep on Yahoo where my location is still listed as being in Michigan, where the temperature in 48 degrees.

I now take for granted that every day will be beautiful.

This is a good thing.

So buck up Michigan, get bundled up for SNOW and ICE and COLD.

I am once again reminded why I love living in LA.

-Ray

Ps. GO TIGERS!!!

Dear Kenny Rogers, (Starting Pitcher, Detroit Tigers)

Mr. Rogers, I would like to apologize for my actions last year. I was present at the All-Star game in Detroit last year and I was one of the huge crowd that booed the crap out of you. I was probably louder than most cause I have a loud voice. Please understand that whole reason we booed you was because there was talk you would drop out of the game and open up a spot for your current teammate Jeremy Bonderman. We all wanted to see Bonderman pitch at the game and, no offense meant, at the time nobody there wanted to see you. We were not mad about you hitting that cameraman, to be fair, we didn’t give a crap about that, the reporters who were saying that were dumb. We just wanted to see the hometown guy pitch, and we felt that you were keeping him from seeing action in that game.
After tonight’s performance, I wanted to publically say I was wrong and I am sorry. You are a baseball deity, and did what nobody thought you could do, and I wanted to say thank you, from not just myself, but from the whole city of Detroit and Tiger fans all around the world.
You are a man among men, and deserve only good things, if ever I meet you I will buy you a drink of your choice.
Thanks again, that was awesome.

-Ray

This is my semi-popular Chuck Woolery Poem…..

The day started as any other, I woke from my drunken dreams of midget orgies to find that my cat had scratched a tic tac toe board into my arm. Little did I know that this would be the day of a personal awakening, one which would alter my perceptions and realities forever.

This would be the day that I met Chuck Woolery.

I was waiting tables, acting too busy to talk whenever management would find me. Alas, find me they did, they informed me that my table had been sat.

And there he sat, his majestic orange skin glistened in the lamp light like an Oompa Loompa in a tanning booth. As I approached his face elegantly creaked into the same plastic smile he had spent 50 years perfecting. I was struck speechless, here was one of the 5 greatest Americans in the history of the universe gracing me with his rapt attention. Me, a loathsome and undeserving serf who was not worthy to lick the Bubbelicious from the bottom of his heel. Yet I ventured forth, and dutifully requested a drink order.

Iced Tea.

His words resonated as if they had been fired from a cannon. Our eyes met for but a moment, but I quickly turned and bowed my head with shame, for I am but a man, and Chuck Woolery is…a…God.

The meal was now completed, and everything was “Great” in the words of He whose name I am not worthy to speak. He stood up and asked me where the restroom was. My trembling hand could merely point in the general direction. He elegantly waltzed to the lavatory as Michael Flatley would Riverdance.

Upon returning from his messy voyage he pulled me aside, away from the rest of his table.

Was he about to admit that he was actually my father, and that my whole life up to this point was a test to make sure I was worthy of his name, and his love?

Or…Was he about to ritually murder me in a satanic ceremony and wash his face in my blood, a sacrifice I would gladly make if it pleased him might I add?

(More ‘Or’ statements can be added here to taste)

No, nothing I could have possibly imagined could have prepared me for what he was about to say, the words sparkled from his lips like diamond dust.

“I just wanted to tell you that you’re out of toilet paper in the mens bathroom.”

Each sylable struck me with a tsunami force. He left me to gather my thoughts, but it didn’t take long, because I had one overwhelming thought that I couldn’t shake from my head.

“Chuck Woolery was walking around with a poopy asshole.”

But you would never had known it to see him, talking and laughing and enjoying his meal, carrying on as if nothing was wrong. A whole new world opened up to me, how many beneath the surface details have I not been privy to in my lifetime? I tried to close the Pandoras Box of internal uncertainty, but it was too late.

So with an 18% tip, a smile, and a poopy handshake he was gone, leaving my mental balance the same way we left the Berlin Wall, in pieces.

And so now here I am, my world continues but nothing seems the same it was before Chuck Woolery told me that the mens room was out of toilet paper.

I have never been able to understand the everlasting allure of having the top bunk bed. What is the big fucking issue?

When I was in college I always gladly took the bottom bunk. It seemed to be the obvious intelligent choice.

Yet some people seem to have some stupid power trip on this topic. There seems to be some dominance issue, people with less confidence see this as their one chance to be ‘the man’. It’s sad really.

This is where I think we intelligent, lazy people win. Think of all the work it takes in climbing up to that top bunk every freaking day. Not only that, what if you are asleep and roll out of bed, straight 6 feet onto the cold marble floor? That would suck. On top of it, if it’s late at night and you need some, how you say, release, it shakes the whole god damn bed, thusly waking your roommate and causing you shame?

It has been said that the higher you climb, the further to the ground it becomes, did someone say this, yes, it was me, just now, to make my point. If you are stuck with some silly roomie that needs to have the top bunk to prove his worth as a man, then let the poor fellow/chick have it for pete’s sake! There are plenty of battles to be had in the roommate war, and giving this one away is easy. There is nothing particularly great about the top bunk, it’s more work, and the risk is greater. Remember this when you are drunk on the bottom bunk, and your roommate is drunk on the floor below you cause he couldn’t muster the ability to climb up to his higher ground.

In closing, give little Napoleon his higher ground, then laugh at him, for if it is all he needs to be happy, then it is a joyful, stupid life he leads. You will be the one trying to figure out the proper angle to shove the harpoon from below, and he’ll be too enraptured with false esteem to ever see it coming.

-Ray

Ok seriously now, what the fuck?

What is wrong with all you people? I mean, I see so many of you in shitty as fuck relationships that you are totally not happy with, yet you continue to suffer through them. Here is my simple plan for ending a shitty relationship.

1) Remove the obstacles
2) Dump the prick

It’s not that fucking hard, is it? The problem is that people get comfortable in their own myopic lives, and have a hard time inviting change into it.

Hell, some people even marry fucking loser douchebags that are not good enough for them, why? Sense of obligation? Inner self loathing? Mental retardation?

I have no answers for stupid human behavior. I choose to live life in a semi-rational way, attempting to make good decisions, trying to see things for what they are. Pity that doesn’t always add up to joy. I am convinced that joy only comes to the sheltered and the stupid.

I mean, take me for example, I am a beautiful, intelligent, caring mother fucker. Where does that get me? The sad thing is if I was a bit more successful, and had a bunch more money in the bank, I would easily rank on the most beautiful people lists, and the most eligible bachelors lists. But I am not in that fortunate situation just yet, my number has not been called, and I wallow in going for it obscurity. And so I sit down, the only ones wanting to be on my lap are my cats. But hey, at least they want to! Makes typing kinda rough but, I shall survive.

Anyways, what am I talking about? Oh yeah, relationships. Why the hell do people stick around with those that have cheated on them? What the fuck is up with that? I mean, if they did it once, they will surely do it again. So basically they have given a free pass to fuck for life. You honestly have to have serious mental problems to hang with somebody who cheated on you, cause you never get caught the first time, and those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it. You are stupid and deserve what happens to you.

Was that too harsh? Good, you deserve it.

Not that this applies to anyone in particular, but if you reading any of this and it applies, then yes, it is aimed at you and you only.

I think what I need is to start dating a chick that is a total jerk. To date someone that I don’t even like. Then I can cheat on them like crazy and when I eventually get caught I can be like, well, you’re fat, and I don’t even like you, and the only reason why I cheated is because you weren’t good enough, fatty.

Man, that shit would be awesome, sadly I already know I am incapable of such actions, which blows for me but is good for potentially sucky girlfriends as I will pass on you. I mean, if I pass on you, there is an obvious fucking reason, cause I’m looking for attention and warm feelings, so if I actually walk away from you know that you are shitty.

Ok, I think that this is probably really long, and yet here you are at the end of it anyways, good job, you get a cookie from the jar, you deserve it.

Now continue to either keep on rocking, or living your miserable existence.

I gotta go back to my cocktail.

No, that;s not code for something you fucking sicko.

Why do I get hit on by men all the time?

No, I’ll save that for my next drunken rant.

-Ray