Took some time out of my Holiday weekend (ha! as if I'm uber-busy Turkey weekend) to finally getting around to making some Mitcz : The Expert episodes. One of them, the more serious one, I was sitting on for a few weeks. I probably poured about 15 hours into all the editing and re-recording I did. I whittled it down from 23 mins to 9mins 56secs. The 2nd one was originally going to be split up into smaller chunks, but I figured "fuck it" and tossed it all into one MTE episode.

So, if you're in the mood to watch a slightly more serious Mitcz : The Expert where I debunk psychics, here's that...

And if you're in the mood for funnier shit and my take on Michael Jackson, Transsexuals, Bombing the Moon, Balloon Boy and more, then check this shit out...

Enjoy, and let me know what ya think!

First off - huge thanks to everyone who read/listened to that last sample chapter. It gave me a boost of confidence about the project that I simply can't describe. It's hitting a note with people, male and female. In just 3 pages, somehow I achieved genuine interest from folks who are now yelling at me to "finish the damn book already!".

That being said, it's also very hard for me to get up the courage to put all of my work onto the written page. This is a labor of love for me. I've spent many years actively working on the material and I'd be lying if I said I haven't, at least in some way, sort of spent my whole life trying to unravel the mysteries I'm trying to uncover in the book. So, putting that sample chapter up in the first place felt like inviting the whole world over to give me an in-depth physical. "Go ahead.. put a finger in my ass, complete stranger!".

Now comes a veritable "moment of truth". This chapter I'm seeding out (again in both PDF and MP3 formats) is the most representative work of the book. It's the first non-introduction chapter of the book. It sets the stage for everything that comes after it. It's brutally fucking honest. Men and women, both, will likely feel a sting of discomfort at some point in the course of the 7 pages of this chapter. And, frankly, I have no idea how the world at large will handle it.

This chapter encompasses my years of research and my personal interpretation of that data in a way that ties it all together to make a point that I feel needs making. This chapter is about the term "slut" - what it means for you, what it means for me, and what it absolutely does NOT mean.

It's over twice as long as that first sample chapter (7 pages instead of 3) and my semi-dramatic reading of it clocks in at 18 mins, instead of 6 mins. I think the average reader could plow through it in under 12 mins - and the only friend of mine so far who's read it managed to read it twice in 20 mins. So... your mileage may vary.

With all of that out of the way, if you're ready..

Download the 1st chapter of my upcoming book by clicking here

As per usual, any and all comments are welcome and you can comment anonymously by sending an email to : book@revmitcz.com

Bored, late-night browsing gets me into some weird mindsets and brings up weird memories and research topics. Tonight, through a series of articles, I was reminded of a close childhood friend, and someone I regarded as my personal hero. The person I always aspired to be, but I was never confident enough. Or attractive enough. Or "built" enough. Or... any number of things. He was, I told myself, what I'd be if I weren't so consistently a fuck-up, and pretty much the polar opposite of all the things I saw in him.

This was the man (well, boy, really.. he was actually 26 days younger than me) who introduced me to D&D and roleplaying.. Introduced me to martial arts. To Frank Frazetta. He taught me how to throw shurikens, wield nunchuks, and eventually how to throw knives. Most of this occurred before we were 10 years old.

From there, we moved onto making our own non-lethal weaponry so we could spar with each other. By the time we were about 13 years old, he and I would hold knife-fighting competitions in the empty desert lot behind his house. That's where I got my first (and so far, only) not-self-inflicted knife wound. I also stabbed a mutual friend of ours in the leg, which none of us thought was a big deal at the time, but that friend's mother "banned me" from ever going into his house. Suddenly, Kevin's mom started wondering if maybe I was maladjusted. Telling her "c'mon, we were all just fucking around - look, I've got a knife wound, too!" didn't help matters.

Kevin was the person who introduced me to classic punk, when I was 12 years old. We even started our own punk band - Flaming Urine (I don't think Flaming Lips existed at the time, that name was just something Kevin thought would get people's attention). We made t-shirts for the band out of puffy paint, featuring an upside-down toilet dripping urine into a wine glass on fire, and I got into a fight in 7th grade when some jock tried to light the shirt on fire while I was wearing it. Hanging over at Kevin's place and writing angry, screamy punk songs about slaughtering said jocks really helped me get through that time.

Together, we attended our first concert, at 13 years old, which was Social Distortion supporting The Ramones. At the time, we had no idea who The Ramones were. We were there for Social D. After the show, we both picked up a few Ramones albums and that became a soundtrack for our shenanigans for a little while. I can remember asking my sister to take us to a crusty underground punk club in downtown Phoenix to see Green Day (this would've been just before the release of Dookie). Her respons was "I'm not taking you to see some stupid punk band... jesus, Mitcz, you're 14 years old". Almost a year to the day later, my sister would pull up to our house in her Jeep, rocking Dookie and asked me "have you HEARD this band, Green Day? They're amazing". *Le sigh*.

In my freshman year of high school, his girlfriend was transferred to my school. Nad and I immediately befriended her because it was like having a piece of Kevin with us in our crew. And, it increased our odds of seeing him at some point. Didn't hurt that she was a gorgeous punk chick and we were (and, frankly, still are) a couple of geeks with good taste in music.

He got wilder and wilder over the years. I remember him coming to visit me one summer afternoon and my mother almost screamed cause he walked in with about 10 safety pins throughout his ears and face, and only one lock of green hair on an otherwise shaved head. A little while later, he started moving beyond just smoking a little weed and was getting into coke and speed.

Since he lived on the other side of town from me, as I grew up, I ended up moving further and further away from him. By the time I graduated high school, I hadn't seen him in probably 2+ years.

During a short trip to Phoenix while I was living in Seatlle, back in '99, I saw him at the mall. He looked all fucked up. He had this strange, disheveled look on his face, was thoroughly unwashed, and told me "you look good, man". He was impressed that I was running a web design business in Seattle. My life imitated the movie SLC Punk when the conversation ended, as he said "so, uh... how 'bout kickin' a couple bucks to your old pal, Kevin? I could really use it, man. I'm .... ya know, I've just been couch surfin'. Me and the backpack". I couldn't tell you if I gave him any money, but I remember a piece of me dying as I sat there and looked at him. This was my fuckin' hero. Reduced to panhandling at the fucking mall and living out of a fucking backpack.

That was the last I ever saw of him. And I always wondered if he managed to get back up on his feet again. This was a man with amazing potential, incredibly brilliant, charming.. you name it. Honestly, everyone I ever introduced him to wanted to be his best friend within minutes.

So, tonight I went Googling. I was pleased to find posts he'd made on a number of spiritual websites, where he was looking for other buddhists to convene and meditate with. A few clicks later, it appeared he had a nice little group going, and even found a temple he could hold gatherings at. The few photos I could find throughout those sites showed a grown, 30 year old Kevin. Clean, clean shaven, looking healthy, slim (but not scrawny), and he seemed very happy. Way to go, man. Fuckin' rock on. He even had a meetup group where he was helping people learn French. When the hell did he learn French? Crazy motherfucking genius probably learned it in his sleep.

A few clicks later, there's mentions of a church. I thought maybe his spiritual quest had led him to Christianity or some such thing. A few clicks later, and it all made sense...

He passed away back in February. A mere 7 months ago.

Had I done this search before then, I could've connected with him. Maybe even had lunch with him on one of my occasional trips to Phoenix. The obituary was pretty short on words, but it mentioned "a long, hard battle". I wonder if he had Cancer, as that would probably explain the sudden interest in Buddhism. I'd contact his family, as their information is contained in the obit. But, they probably wouldn't talk to me, and it'd probably be painful to have to connect with yet another friend of Kevin's. God knows they've probably had enough of those. His mom would likely still think I was a maladjusted, though now fully-grown, boy.

So, Kevin... I'm sorry. I should've stayed in contact with you. I should've at least made an effort. I'm a terrible friend sometimes, and I wouldn't be half the person I am had it not been for you. Hell, I'm still just a geeky little fuck-up, but I'd like to think you'd be proud.

Rest well...

Don't get too excited, it's not the return of Aural Salvation but in some ways it might be better.

I have a new application on my phone that lets me stream LIVE video all over the world at the push of a button. I've run some tests, and it works great. The quality could be better, but c'mon.. it's like having a TV broadcast tower in my damned pocket.

So, I've decided I'm gonna try something all-new for my next gig (this Thursday, Aug 20th) - I'll be streaming my entire performance LIVE.

You'll get a few mins of pre-show, maybe just me watching other comics. Maybe just me having a pre-show drink and smoke. Who knows. I'm playing it by ear. Then, I'll do my full performance, and ... who knows what happens afterwards.

Oh, and did I mention you can also CHAT, LIVE (I have to put LIVE in all caps, cause it's that important) with EVERYONE ELSE who's also watching?

I know what you're thinking... "Hot damn, Mitcz. That sounds great! What's it gonna cost me? How do I get in on this sweet LIVE Mitcz action?"

For one - it's 100% FREE. No plugins to download. No bullshit registration crap. Nada. Just hop on and watch.

HOW TO GET IN ON THAT SWEET LIVE MITCZ ACTION..

You've got two options here :

1. If you're on Twitter, you can follow me and you'll see my Twitter update the second I'm streaming live.

2. You could just go directly to http://qik.com/revmitcz between 10pm - 11pm PST ("California time") and wait for the live stream to kick on.

I don't know when I'll be taking the stage, I only know the show runs from about 10pm until about 11pm (or so). It won't be a very long set (weekday shows are generally "practice time"), but.. I figured I'd give this a shot and see what happens.

Mkay. See ya then? (err.. you'll see me ... fuck it. you get the idea)

I'm often in gradual transitions of lifestyle and behavior towards some strange ideal person I've cooked up in my head that I hope to one day become.

Moreover, I also pick out behaviors I despise in others and tell myself to avoid inching ever closer to having them myself. The unfortunate side effect of this is that, in moderation, most "bad" behavior is actually good. And normal. Even worth celebrating. When I go too far out of my way to avoid what I find "bad behavior" in others, I risk losing an essential piece of what's made me.... ya know, ME.

Helluva way to start a blog, but there's a point a-comin', I promise. Let's talk about creeps and creepy behavior.

It's no secret that I'm full-on single for the first time in almost 3 years. This means I've gone back to a Mitcz I was far more comfortable with - the single Mitcz. Who takes opportunities and runs with them. Meeting new people whenever there's a chance and.. yeah, maybe there's a date with someone new here and there (specifics withheld to protect the innocent and um.. not-so-innocent).

One thing I've seen/heard a lot of over the years is the overwhelmingly creepy behavior of people. Mostly men, sad as it is to say. What women admire and are attracted to above all other things is COMFORT. I could get into a rant on just that alone, but suffice to say that creepy behavior is the world's biggest turnoff.

So, I've become paranoid about being creepy. To such an extent, in fact, that women have recently considered me timid and shy on dates.

Yes, me. The guy who's stand-up has opened with jokes about baby rape and necrophilia. The guy who spent 4-5 nights a week for over 2 years getting women to flash tits on an internet TV show. The guy who went into the bathroom with my reality show date's friend to play show-and-tell (oops.. I'm still under contract. pretend I didn't say that).

But, now I'm timid and shy. And... much as it pains me to say, a bit of a pussy.

How the fuck did that happen?

The grey line.

Look, women tend to dig on a man who's confident, self-assured, dominant and (sometimes) a bit rough. And that's great in theory, but... hey, no one likes a rapist. So, you can't just go around groping women and jerking off in their face at the first sign of a "hello, what's your name?".

And therein lies the rub. Because I love talking intimately about sex, and I love the little secrets women hold about their sexuality, I get into these long conversations that I adore the fuck out of. About the first time they saw a penis, first time they held a penis, orgasms, squirting, awkwardness in bed, their penchant for rough sex, you name it. And, because I'm not using this conversation as an interview for potential bedmates, I go out of my way to seem non-threatening. Like I'm Alfred Kinsey or some shit. Or, as they're more likely to think... their non-threatening gay friend.

This is where it stands, then. I try to not be a creep and I've backed myself into situations where women think "aww.. little puppy". G'damnit, woman, I will cum in your fucking eye.

Just.. ya know, not before I go down on you or something. I'm still a chivalrist.

(quick note : I wasn't going to write this rant, but a friend of mine threatened to beat me to it when I made a much shorter version of this rant on Facebook[1])

It seems TEH INTARWEBZ are all a flutter (can't say all atwitter anymore, thx you guys) about concept art and imagery released to build up the hype machine surround Tim Burton's "re-imagining" of Alice in Wonderland. While many are excited, I feel an equal mix of worry, anger, disappointment and confusion.

Why confusion? Well, it seems to me that many of you have forgotten how many times Tim Burton has smeared fecal matter on celluloid and you're ready for him to fuck you in eye sockets yet again. How lovely. Maybe that's his secret appeal, though. Maybe that's why studios continue to give him money. Call it artistic amnesia if you will. Sure, he's always had intense and amazing visuals in his films (this is to his credit), but maybe some of you let that cloud your memory banks and you wake up the next day only remembering his dream-like dark worlds and little else. Not unlike the time your uncle touched your bathing suit area, and you don't even think about it anymore and would sooner pretend it never happened until... well, some asshole like me brings it up.

Sorry about that. You wanna show me on the doll wher.... nevermind. Let's just move on.

To cure a small corner of the internet of this artistic amnesia it seems to be suffering, let's take a quick walk through Tim Burton's cinematic guano[2].

I'm leaving out Ed Wood and Mars Attacks because, while not exactly "great cinema", I can appreciate that the dude was having campy fun with shit no one cares enough about to protest. And, hey, they're not too shabby.

Sleepy Hollow

To me, this is the high-water mark from which you can see his movies slip further into unwatchable crap. At the time he was making this film, he stood atop a grand mountain. High up there, sitting on the success of Edward Scissorhands, BeetleJuice, Nightmare Before Christmas, 2 Batman films, Pee Wee's Big Adventure .. and, hell, even James and the Giant Peach to some degree, he must've sat and thought "From way up here.. I can shit on a lot more people's heads".

And so he did. And he did it by taking one of my favorite childhood short stories (and probably many of yours) and turning it into some film student's half-assed attempt to put way too much fucking thought into something so simple. You've got a headless fucking horseman! And Johnny Depp! And millions of dollars budgeted! And a beloved tale! And.... you turned it into an episode of Scooby fucking Doo?

If you don't remember the plot, here it is :
Johnny Depp is an investigator from New York sent to Sleepy Hollow to look into some beheadings. He doesn't believe in ghosts and ghouls (how fucking original), so he sets out to solve the case with SCIENCE! Alas, science doesn't win cause an evil witch stole the skull of the headless horseman (not sure how one manages that feat, but hey... she's a witch!) and she commands the horseman to, ya know, go forth and do her bidding. Johnny Depp gets the skull back, gives it the horseman and he drags the witch to hell. That'll show her!

Planet of the Apes

Seriously? Fucking SERIOUSLY? Now, I know you younger kids like your movies action-packed and all that backstory and endless dialogue really chaps your hide (what do you kids wear on your hides these days? girl jeans, right? Pussies.), but there's a pretty important element in the original POTA. You see, the humans are treated BY APES the way apes are (ostensibly, and for the time the movie was released) treated BY HUMANS. To the apes, humans are morons. They've not the capacity to speak, or think grandiose thoughts, or... barely even wipe their asses. They are kept in cages because, as the apes long ago learned, humans do some pretty unruly shit. This is why the scene where Charlton Heston says "get your hands off me, you damned dirty apes" is such a big deal. No, it wasn't the usage of "damn", but it's .. "HOLY SHIT! THE HUMANS CAN TALK!" and suddenly it fucks up their whole society cause they always thought humans were complete fucking morons. That they could talk unravels the very fabric of their reality.

In Tim Burton's Planet of the Apes, the humans are talking the whole time. They're just, for no discernible reason, being treated like shit by some kind of super-human (well, super-monkey, I guess) apes. No rhyme, no reason. No backstory. No big revelation. Just "hey, we can jump 40 feet in the air! We're so much better than those humans. We should, like, take over shit". Ooga booga.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

Here's TIm Burton, reaching far back into the recesses of my mind where everything I hold dear from my childhood hides out, hoping no one will get to them and.. he just smacked it around like a little bitch and tried fucking it in the ear. Probably took photos, too, the sick fuck.

I'm not going to go into great detail on why this remake was not only unnecessary, but also near-insulting to fans of the original. Once again, however, we have quite a lack of backstory on the children. The importance of the golden ticket isn't played up NEARLY as much as it should've been - and the humor behind the world's search for said tickets in the original is one of the greatest moments in the history of cinema. In Tim Burton's version? A few minutes here and there, with some fucked up fascination Burton seems to have with proper dental care. His Willy Wonka also has some deep-seated daddy issues that made him basically run the factory just to piss off his daddy. Thanks, Burton. That's a WAY better story. Oh, and he also left out all my favorite fucked-up shit going on in the original[3]. That shit's character-building, motherfucker.

Sweeney Todd

I don't know anything about the original musical. The few people I've known that did, however, have said the movie adaptation was mostly a pile of campy shit. The female amongst them added the obligatory "...but Johnny Depp wielding a straight razor made me wet"[4]. I'm not in a position of knowledge on the comparison, but I can say I left the theatre thinking "gosh... I sure wish I'd have used that 2 hours watching my dick wiggle instead".

A hope, and a Plea

Admittedly, I have enjoyed quite a lot of Tim Burton's work. I'm still on the fence about Batman Returns, but I own it and I've watched it.. maybe twice in my life. It's decent. Though, compared to Nolan's rebooted versions, neither of Burton's originals are worth a shit. But then, I also have a soft spot for Michael Keaton cause he was Mister fucking Mom!

My hope in writing this is to remind everyone that Tim Burton has done a LOT wrong, and if he were anyone else, I'd half expect some angry nerd to have lit his house on fire by now (this is not a plea, it is a joke. Don't burn anyone's house down, least of all Tim Burton's).

And, Mr. Burton, for the love of all things once wonderful and sacred PLEASE don't fuck this shit up. I won't be seeing it in the theatres, anyway cause I only let people piss in my eyes so many times before I learn to say "no" when they ask if I "want another drink there, big fella?". But when I pirate the fucker, I might one day consider buying the DVD if it's not as full of suck as I'm betting a shiny angry fist it will be.

Quick Notes

1. Julene told me to write this. Read her blog, too. She's funny. And she shows her tits on there a lot.
2. Guano is bat dung. Yes, I'm aware of the irony. We call this "humor".
3. You can see what I mean right here
4. Hey ladies - I use a straight razor, too. I'm no Johnny Depp, but uhh.. I have a lot of his DVDs.