The Critics Haven't Spoken...

...and here's what people aren't saying about Brent Orgill and the Random Examiner!

"A genius. One of the greatest artists of our time."

- Kanye West, speaking about himself

"Who?"

- Kanye West, speaking about Brent Orgill

"I hope he dies in a car crash and they play 'Tom Sawyer' in Hell."

- Geddy Lee, Rush

"He's pretty dark."

- H.P. Lovecraft

"He seems angry. Where have I seen that before?"

- Lewis Black

"He refers to me as the 'missing link.' I suppose that's what you call a back-handed compliment."

- Charles Darwin

"Winning. Fact."

- Brian Wilson, baseball pitcher and beard enthusiast

"You know, I was pretty popular once..."

- Brian Wilson, former Beach Boy

"If his life were a movie, it would need lots of filler. But I would see it. 'Cause, ya know, that's what I do. For free. Plus, I don't have to wait in those awful lines. Boo-ya!"

- Roger Ebert

Death: Just Another Reason to Live

Well, these past few weeks have been pretty uneventful. I bought the new Sublime CD (I guess the band is now officially called Sublime With Rome. It is a mouthful, but it is fantastic) and I saw the newest and last (?) Harry Potter film (it was okay, but I was waiting for the part where Ron gets impaled by the Elder Wand and Hermione turns to the camera and declares her love for me. That was the one part they left out of the book that I hoped would make it into the movie). I also came to the conclusion that the meatball sub should be sold exclusively to depressed men, because if you're eating that crap, it means either a) you're lonely and want to stay lonely or b) you've given up on yourself. In either case, the chances are you're a single male, between 18-35 years old. Every time I eat it, I am reminded of my singlehood, and as I eat I find myself getting lonelier and sadder. The only sub that seems even lonelier is the tuna, nay, the toasted tuna (mostly because it smells like fart coming out of the toaster). The only thing keeping it from becoming the official "Lonely Man Sandwich" is that I've seen a number of girls get it. Good-looking girls. That doesn't inspire much confidence in the poor ol' meatball sub (though it may make you feel better if you have to fart when you find yourself in the presence of one of these lovely ladies). It's the same feeling I get when I eat canned ravioli. Life is kind of like a can of Costco-sized off-brand ravioli. There are many meaty pieces, but even if you eat them all, you feel unfulfilled.

And why would you feel fulfilled? You ate a whole can of ravioli by yourself! That's nothing to be proud of.

So what is there to be proud of? Well, that's what I'm working on. I'm in the process of creating my bucket list. For those of you who don't know what this is, it is a list of things you hope to accomplish before you die, or as they say "kick the bucket." If I'm gonna go to my 20-year high school reunion (spoiler alert: I'm not), I want to be able to go with my head held high. And I'm still single (as previously mentioned), so I have no one to hold me back. Nothing to hold me back, that is, except money (or, more accurately, the lack thereof).

For someone who dislikes travel as much as I do (and believe me, I do), I have an incessant urge to do so. This may be considered some form of masochism. The list is actually pretty short in comparison to someone like, say, my sister. The mere thought of travel makes me just a little sick, so I'll keep it simple; Washington, D.C., Louisiana, Alaska, Lebanon, and Brazil (both Belém and either Curitiba or Rio de Janeiro - I don't have the kiwis or the Benjamins for both).

I'd also like to meet and get an autograph from Brian Wilson (once again, the pitcher, not the Beach Boy. I can't stand the Beach Boys. I think it has something to do with the cameos on Full House. There must be some psychological explanation, but I have neither the degree nor the interest to analyze it). Brian Wilson is kind of my hero. The Artie, Strongest Man in the World to my Little Pete Wrigley. The Elvis Presley to my Uncle Jesse Katsopolis (curses, another Full House reference!).

(open-button baseball jersey, classy mullet, and a douchey smirk? have mercy!)

The list goes one. I don't know that I'll ever have it completed by the time I die. But that's the idea, isn't it? To distract you from an imminent death...

Welp, good night!

Every Conversation I've Ever Had at Subway

Happy 225th, America! I hope you all enjoyed your 4th of July festivities as much as I did. But the holiday is over, and it's business as usual for folks around the country, including myself. I don't typically talk about it, but aside from the occasional acting gig, I'm also a Sandwich Artist™, meaning I make sandwiches at Subway.

I don't mind my job. I really don't. I don't want to do it forever, but a job is a job is a job. And I make a good sandwich. Even before I harbored my skills at Subway, my siblings noted me for my sandwich-making skills. But with the good comes the bad, and despite what modern consumerism would have you believe, there are bad customers. The customer is not always right. And to add to the crap-stack, here in Utah, we have a drive-thru. A drive-thru at Subway? Doesn't that defeat the purpose? I myself always enjoyed seeing people make it fresh. If nothing else, it assured me they weren't desecrating my food. That's assurance you don't typically get at Burger King or Taco Bell, or any other fast food restaurant. So, I'm going to take you through the average day ofa Sandwich Artist™. Enjoy. And eat fresh.

(he used to be fat, now he's just ugly and he's getting paid to eat sandwiches! the American dream)

(enter abnormally skinny 19-year-old with an obnoxiously overweight high school-aged girlfriend. He is dressed in baggy pants and a "hatchet man" hat; she is dressed in an inappropriately tight shirt and sweatpants that read "BABY DOLL" across the buttocks)

me: "Welcome to Subway, how are you today?"

Juggalo: (apathetic upward nod) "'Sup."

me: "What can we get for you today?"

Heiffer: "I want a foot-long, double-meatball on white with provolone, mayonaise, pickles, and parmesan."
me: (laughing hyterically in my mind, but maintaining a façade of indifference) "Alright, would you like the extra cheese that comes with double meat?"
Heiffer: "No, I'm trying to watch my weight."
me: (I feel my face crack, but only momentarily) "Okay. And what for you?"
Juggalo: "I just want a ham foot-long on white with American cheese and extra mayo."
me: (applying the mayo)
Juggalo: "More mayo, please."
me: (applying the mayo)

Juggalo: "More."

me: (by this point the mayo bottle is empty and I grab another from the back and begin applying more until he says...)

Juggalo: "Okay, that's good. Just some olives and it's done."
me: (as I close the sandwich, mayo oozes out, and I gag slightly. But I'm a professional, so I regain my composure and charge them for their food and they're on their way) "At least he wasn't a Nickelback fan."

(enter douche bag. Everything about him reeks of douchiness. He's wearing a Nickelback T-shirt and a Green Bay Packers hat, and smells strongly of Tag body spray. He's also talking loudly on his cell phone and holding up the line)

me: "Hello, what can we get for you today?"

Turd: "Hold on a sec." (continues talking on his phone, presumably to a girlfriend with low intelligence and low self-esteem)

me: "..."

Turd: (hanging up his phone) "Yeah, I'm gonna need 10 sandwiches."

me: "..."

Turd: "The first one is gonna be..." (carries on this way, giving dangerously specific directions on each of the ten sandwiches. If we're lucky, only one or two customers leave as he orders)

me: "Alright, your total is $78.90."

Turd: "Whoa! Hey, now! I got the five dollar foot longs!"

me: "Very true. However, you got them with double meat and extra cheese."

Turd: (paying with his girlfriend's credit card) "Pfshk! (enter expletive). This is lame."

me: "I totally agree."

Turd: (after finishing payment) "Wait, can I get those points on my Subway card?"

me: (screaming obscenities in my mind)

(enter Asian tourists, probably Japanese, none of which speak intelligible English. As I wonder what there is to possibly see in rural northern Utah, the one who speaks the most Engrish, which isn't much, procedes to order)

Tourist: "Turahkay."

me: "Uh, can you repeat that?"

Tourist: "Tu-rah-kay."

me: (blank expression) "I'm sorry?"

Tourist: (points at turkey)

me: "Oh! Turkey! I apologize!"

Tourist: (spends the next ten minutes pointing and translating. Even with the pointing, I have a hard time understanding. It doesn't help that I'm partially deaf)

(enter entire family. We're in Utah, so you can rest assured it's a big family. The cavalry is led by the mother, followed by a gaggle of children, ages 10 years to 1o minutes, often accompanied by an apathetic father, and sometimes accompanied by geriatric grandparents)

Mother Goose: "We need 7 kids meals."

me: "Alright, on white or wheat bread?"

Mother Goose: "Let's see, there's a white, two wheat, three white, a white, and a wheat."

me: "... So, that's... five white and three wheat?"

Mother Goose: "Is that what I said?"

me: "Essentially, yes."

Mother Goose: "Then yes."

(each kid takes far too long to say what they want, although they're all pretty much the same - pickles and olives and mayo, sometimes with lettuce and tomato)

me: "Okay, so will those be kid's packs or just the sandwiches?"

Mother Goose: "Kid's packs."

me: "Apples or yogurt?"

Mother Goose: "Don't they come with chips and a fountain drink?"

me: "Nah, it's apples or yogurt and their choice of milk, chocolate milk, strawberry milk, or fruit punch."

Mother Goose: "Can't we just get chips?"

me: "I'm afraid we can't. I'm sorry about that."

Mother Goose: (looking at me as though I farted in church) "Sigh... fine, tell them what you want."

Gosling #3: "But I want cookies!"

Mother Goose: "You can't! You heard what the man said!"

Gosling #3: (looks at me as though I shoved him in the mud)

me: "..."

Mother Goose: "Hurry! Tell him!"

(as I get ready to charge her, she says...)

Mother Goose: "Okay, we've got three more sandwiches."

me: "..."

(typical drive-thru order)

me: "Thank you for choosing Subway, what can we get for you today?"

Drive-Thru: (long, awkward pause)

me: "Son of a..."

Drive-Thru: (yelling) "I need two footlongs on white..."

me: "Will they be made the same?"

Drive-Thru: "...What?"

me: "Your sandwiches. Will they be made the same way?"

Drive-Thru: "...Yes."

me: "Okay, and what will they be?"

Drive-Thru: "Foot long. Spicy Italian. Wheat bread. Swiss cheese..."

me: "We don't carry Swiss at this store. We have provolone, American, pepperjack, or shredded monterrey cheddar."

Drive-Thru: "...I want Swiss."

me: "We don't carry Swiss."

Drive-Thru: "...Provolone, then. With mayo, mustard, vinegar, oregano, everything but tomatoes, pickles, and onions..."

me: "Including jalapeños?"

Drive-Thru: "..."

me: "..."

Drive-Thru: "No jalapeños!"

me: "Okay, then. Anything else for you today?"

Drive-Thru: "A large Mountain Dew."

me: "We carry Coke products."

Drive-Thru: "...Nothing, then. And can one of those be toasted?"

me: (I slap my head, as both sandwiches are already done) "...Yes."

Independence, American-Style!

Hello, fans (assuming we have any? I kid). I would have posted sooner, but Levi's computer wasn't working on Tuesday (friggin' Levi...). Anyways, it's been a relatively uneventful week, and it looks as though it's going to remain pretty uneventful over the next couple of weeks, as much of the OPK cast is on vacation. But we've got some good videos coming.

So, last week I posted about the presidential candidates. Until then, it had only been speculated that Jon Huntsman would run. Five minutes after I left Levi's house, I heard on the radio that he had announced his candidacy. Ugh. Honestly, it couldn't have been five minutes before I got to his house? But it's okay, you know why? The United States of America celebrates its 235th birthday on Monday!

The 4th of July is one of my favorite holidays, right up there with Thanksgiving (a.k.a. Turkey and Football Day). Here are just a few reasons it's awesome.

('Merica!)

For one thing, it's the one day of the year it's cool to be über-patriotic. On the 4th of July, you can let your freak flag fly. You can wear a stars-and-stripes shirt and you won't look weird (okay, it's still weird, but on the 4th of July, it's mildly more acceptable). And listening to patriotic music isn't just accepted, it's expected. The following is a list of my favorite 4th of July songs:

1) "America," by Neil Diamond. Because no 4th of July is complete without it.

2) "Born in the U.S.A.," by Bruce Springsteen. Same reason as #1, even though the average person only knows the chorus.

3) "Party in the U.S.A.," by Miley Cyrus. Yeah, I know. Really? But you know something? This crap is catchy. Brownie points of you listen to the Notorious B.I.G. mix.

4) "Oh, Say Can You See?" and "America the Beautiful," are both totally appropriate, but not "God Bless the USA." I think what gets me on this is Lee Greenwood's voice. It scathes me. Besides that, even to the very patriotic, it seems kinda jingoistic.

5) "The Star-Spangled Banner," as played by Jimi Hendrix. Hendrix may be overrated, but this guitar solo squeals America. Besides, most classic rock bands are overrated. (Sorry, but sometimes you gotta roast the sacred cow. And speaking of roasting cows...)

It would be egotistical to claim food is best in the U.S., but let's be honest; nobody does gluttony quite like us. People around the country fire up their grills in celebration, creating a waft of assorted meats.

(dang it, China's doing it better than us again...)

But that isn't the only aroma in the air. Let's not forget about the fireworks. Fireworks are a hazardous beauty (although they don't have the same effect in pictures).

(ooo! ahhh!)

This is the smell of America. Fireworks (made in China, or sometimes Mexico), brats (German), franks (German), and hot dogs (German-American). That's the smell of three different countries. If that ain't America, I don't know what is. Apparently, the only thing made in America is freedom (I know that was cheesy, and I think I heard some Canadians scoffing, but I couldn't resist).

So, I hope you all have a happy July 4th. I know I will.