Just heard the Rick and Morty opening song coming from the Randy Cunningham writers room
that would be a TERRIFYING crossover.
The even more terrifying part is that Eric hears all of our hair metal and McFist impressions all day long. #LoudWriters #sorryErica
You just called me Eric, you’re not forgiven
HA! TOTALLY RAZZED YOU! YOU GOT RAZZED!
(…boy do I feel like a shoob.)
Let the Good Times Roll
Sunday, February 5, 2006 - approximately booze o’clock - Hollywood:
The game ended. Who won? I couldn’t tell you. Apart from a three year stint playing Pop Warner football, I never gave football much thought. Sure, if the Patriots made it to the big game, I’d watch. You’ve got to support the home team. Barring that, I didn’t give a shit. But my roommate did.
Jim and I lived in an apartment on Hollywood Boulevard, just west of Gardner. When we moved in, we concocted some rules of the house. I don’t remember the exact verbiage, but the gist was this: the party should never stop and the party should never stop. A few months in, the party stopped. Eight years out, and I still can’t quite identify what caused both of us to sporadically act like dicks, but I guess that’s part of being young, barely out of college, and working shitty jobs that pay enough to keep the beers in the refrigerator cold.
Here’s a story that’s true in which I’m a character named “Jim.” It was fun and you should follow this blog for more stories like this.