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The following are rejected names for the Daniel Day Lewis film, "There Will Be Blood".

There Will Be....

 An Intermission

A Slight Pinch And Some Minor Discomfort

None Of That, Mister!

A Short Wait While We Transfer You To An Available Representative

Some Explaining To Do

30% Off In All Departments

No Television If You Keep This Up

Refreshments Afterwards

Consequences

An End To This

Debbie Does An Entire American City, With No Apparent Standards, Yet Won't Come Near Your Ugly Ass

Do Me Doggie Style -- So I Don't Have To Look At You

Wild Asian MILFs Who Don't Even Bother Taking Their Shirt Off, Because, Let's Be Honest, This Isn't Going To Take A Whole Lot Of Time From Their Day

Girls Who Like Girls And Hate You

Naughty Housewives.. Are Giving It Up To Their Husbands... Because They're Married... And In Love... And You're Single... Loser

Hot Naked People Who's Lives Are Better Than Yours

Since the bulk of our business comes from streaming radio stations on the Interweb, as part of my job, I have to listen to a plethora of shitty Morning Shows. You know the kind-- "The Morning Zoo with Smarmy and Douche-Nozzle", "Gonzo In The Morning with Yelly and Screamy", etc, etc. Basically, a sonic parade of endless hacky comedians and coked-out former child actors, making horrible prank calls and re-hashing fat jokes about Rosie O'Donnel. Just awful.

Anyway, here is what I've surmised to be a list of base qualifications one needs to meet in order to perform as a morning radio DJ:

A functioning larynyx.
Ideally, one that makes you talk like Fred from the Scooby Doo cartoons.

The ability to read the time off a giant digital clock.

Ownership of a slide-whistle, cow-bell, or old-timey bicycle horn.

A free sweatshirt you can periodically look down at to remind you of the station's call letters.

Enough cognitive horsepower to memorize a minimum of three Adam Sandler jokes.

A failed sit-com. Preferably on basic cable. (optional)

Status as a "regular" in at least one Hooters location.

The neural capacity to grasp automobile traffic, as a concept. For instance, it seems there's more of it in the morning.

Ability to recognize basic shapes and forms...  like... your producer's boobs, or a microphone, or, your producer's boobs.

Seeing a movie on the weekend. Or something on television. Talking about it.

Deafness, or an analogous mental condition which grants you immunity to algebraic, incalcuable repetitions of  Guns N' Roses, "Welcome To The Jungle".  

At least one friend who can operate a telephone and can speak like Speedy Gonzolaes, a lispy gay man, or Arnold Schwarzenegger. (All three in the bag is the sign of a true professional.)

An uncanny knack for somehow punctuating each and every news item with a wisecrack about Paris Hilton's cavernous vag.

Access to a window:  weather reports.

My friend Tony at work just bought a baby horse for his little girls.
Being the thoughtful co-worker that I am, I put together this list of potential names for his new mare:

Bitey

Stampy

Crushy

Christopher Reeves

Napping With The Stars

Smoking With The Stars

Repairing My Credit Report With The Stars

Apartment Shopping With The Stars

Drinking With The Stars

Playing Guitar Hero III When I Should Be Working With The Stars

Making Regrettable, Insensitive Jokes With The Stars

Admitting I Have A Problem Making Romantic Commitments With The Stars

 And their sex-life withered in a connubial wasteland.

And they embitteringly resigned to ignore each other.

And they desperately saught to resuscitate their nuptial corpse with a drunken impregnation.

And they communicated by leaving passive-aggressive notes on the refrigerator.

And the silences multiplied like a cancerous bloom of stifled regret. 

And their pill-popping numbed the methodical decay of their dreams.

And for the sake of the kids, they barely tolerated their matrimonial sham.

And their seething contempt periodically boiled over with inappropriate outbursts in crowded restaraunts and family gatherings, causing excrutiating social discomfort for friends and strangers alike.

And they screamed obscenities over the deafening roar of their future's vacuuous collapse.

And their crippling dysfunction finally alientated their troubled, lesbian daughter.

Just cuz' they were co-opted by The Man to sell toilet paper, cell phones and laundry detergent, it doesn't make 'em any less amazing:

"Gravity Rides Everything" -- Modest Mouse
"Cold Hands, Warm Heart"-- Brian Benson
"Getting Better" -- The Beatles, via Gomez
"Walk On The Wild Side" -- Lou Reed
"Disseminated" -- Soul Coughing
"Bittersweet Symphony" -- The Verve
"Monkey Man" -- The Specials
"Song #2" -- Blur
"Picture Book" -- The Kinks
"Flathead"-- The Fratellis
"Our House", "Driving In My Car", "It Must Be Love" -- Madness
"We've Been Had" -- The Walkmen
"Don't Wait Too Long" -- Madeleine Peyroux
"Mr. Blue Skies" -- Electric Light Orchestra
"Just What I Needed" -- The Cars
"Surrender" -- Cheap Trick
"Happy Jack" -- The Who
"At The Hop" -- Devandra Bernhardt
"Pink Moon" -- Nick Drake
"Personality Crisis" -- The New York Dolls

The list goes on and on...

The use of "Disseminated" is probably my favorite, just for the irony of it. It was placed in a commercial for a Ford model in Europe called the "Transit". The lyric that most likely drew them to the song mentions the manufacturer, but it's not neccessarily very flattering to their product:
"The goat chewed up, once a tin can.
The goat shat out, was a Ford Sedan".
Nice work, Ford marketing team.

Racism.

Braces.

Acne.

Weight Gain.

An Older Guy With A Car.

An Older Guy With A Car, Who Liked To Hit Women.

Stupidity.

Beer.

My Band.

Selfishness, England.

Stupidity, Kansas.

Sex While Sober.

Unemployment.

House Pets, Allergies, Domineeringness.

An Older Guy With A Really Expensive Car.

Bat-Shit Crazy.

Captain Morgan.

Hillary Clinton.

Do not, under any circumstances, hand out the follwing items to the kiddies this Halloween:

Spoonfulls of Mayonaisse.
Bricks.
Eggs Benedict.
Dental Dams.
Car Batteries.
Brass Knuckles.
Girly Magazines.
Live Mice.
Rave Flyers.
Kool Menthols.
Stock Tips.
Broken Legos  (Fun-Sized: perfect for tiny windpipes!)
Poached Salmon.
Stem Cells.
Smoked Gouda.
Jagaermeister.
Mark Foley's IM Address.

My boss, Drew, sent me these yesterday from the Interweb-- hilarious:

+ + + + +

When Chuck Norris gives you the finger, he's telling you how many seconds you have left to live.

Chuck Norris' calendar goes straight from March 31st to April 2nd; no one fools Chuck Norris.

Leading hand sanitizers claim they can kill 99.9 percent of germs. Chuck Norris can kill 100 percent of whatever the fuck he wants.

Chuck Norris' tears cure cancer. Too bad he has never cried.

Chuck Norris once visited the Virgin Islands. They are now simply The Islands.

Chuck Norris counted to infinity - twice.

Chuck Norris has to maintain a concealed weapon license in all 50 states in order to legally wear pants.

Chuck Norris can slam revolving doors.

Chuck Norris doesn't pop his collar, his shirts just get erections when they touch his body.

Chuck Norris was once on Celebrity Wheel of Fortune and was the first to spin. The next 29 minutes of the show consisted of everyone standing around awkwardly, waiting for the wheel to stop.

Chuck Norris doesn't read books. He stares them down until he gets the information he wants.

Chuck Norris is the only person on the planet that can kick you in the back of the face.

Chuck Norris has no hair on his testicles; hair doesn't grow on steel.

Chuck Norris doesn't use pickup lines, he simply says, "Now."

Chuck Norris once had a heart attack; his heart lost.

Superman owns a pair of Chuck Norris pajamas.

Chuck Norris' dog is trained to pick up his own poop because Chuck Norris will not take shit from anyone.

Chuck Norris is currently suing NBC, claiming Law and Order are trademarked names for his left and right legs.

There are no weapons of Mass Destruction in Iraq. Chuck Norris lives in Oklahoma.

The quickest way to a man's heart is with Chuck Norris's fist.

When Chuck Norris exercises, the machine gets stronger.

Chuck Norris' wristwatch has no numbers on it. It just says, "Time to kick ass."