In the spirit of Halloween, I thought today would be a good day to face my fears, admit my shortcomings and tackle these issues head-on so that terror will not hold any sway over the course of my daily life.
A good first step, and one that any self-help book is likely to suggest, would be cataloging my litany of fears.
They include (and in no particular order of importance):
1) Snakes
2) Dick Cheney 
3) Quicksand
4) Pinky rings
5) Excessive small talk
6) Cannibals
7) Everclear
8) Mutant vegetables
9) Chyna
10) Freemasons
11) Ritual floggings
12) Log cabins
13) Mrs. Butterworth
14) Spandex
15) Wal-Marts
This is not the end of the list, but I see no reason to rattle myself on a day where I have work to do, and thinking about walking into a Wal-Mart and coming face-to-face with Mrs. Butterworth wearing spandex while waiting to take me to her log cabin and ritually flog me, while the Freemasons sit on mutant vegetables and twist their pinky rings symbolically and discuss the weather is a thought too horrible to ponder.
Of course Dick Cheney would be pulling all the strings to the whole sordid affair.
So what scares you? - And Happy Halloween.
-BDS
{Editor's Note: This post contains graphic images not suitable for small children or my grandparents.}
Every year there's always at least one Halloween party to attend, and virtually every year due to cheapness, laziness or filthiness I fall back on my standard costume - The Flasher. 
This came about in college at the 11th hour as I combed the streets of Austin looking for inspiration. I found it in the form of an adult store called Forbidden Fruit.
$20 and one giant fake penis later I was walking out the door and The Flasher was born. 
The only catch was the store made me sign something saying that I would only use the item for educational purposes, which I figured I could stretch to mean almost anything and some lessons could definitely be learned from the apparatus.
After I had this little gem, the only thing left was a visit to the salvation army for an old trenchcoat and a big pair of sunglasses and I was easily one of the most popular people at the party that year.
It has remained that way since then as it's amazing just what kind of ice breaker a giant rubber penis protruding from your pants can be.
One minute you're talking stocks versus mutual funds or UT football and then a collective gasp goes up from the group as your coat parts and they see this hanging out in front of them:
It looks pretty damn real doesn't it?
I also appreciate the craftsmanship and attention to detail required to add the vein along the side.
One might argue that it's too early on a Monday morning to be confronted with this, but I consider it a public service announcement because if anyone still needs a costume, you could do a lot worse than The Flasher.
Besides, who needs to see another version of that guy from "The Matrix" anyway?
-BDS
{Editor's Note: I hope everyone re-adjusted their clocks as I love getting an extra hour of sleep, but hate changing about 27 different clocks (and I always forget at least one and consequently scare the shit out of myself the following week)}
As I mentioned yesterday, my brother has been working on our site re-design but our original goal was always to have both of us posting.
Like most of our lives, however, I was forced to take the reigns and build this ship (or blog) into a seaworthy vessel while my brother worked from the shadows - like a political advisor or serial pervert. 
Starting this week that will all change as he will also be posting on varius topics as well as overlapping with me on dueling reviews and other new ideas.
This should mean more frequent posts and more relevant topics, although unlike Ryan Adams or Jude Law, I do realize that quantity does not always equal quality.
Just make sure to note the bottom of the posts as his will be listed under -JWS while mine will continue to be -BDS. I have enough problems without being mixed up with his perverse and unnatural thoughts. 
{Editor's Note: Photo taken in St. John 2005 with two points - 1) There were also women on this trip 2) He is my brother and that cancels the questionable nature of the shot in my mind}
I can say that because my brother will be able to respond soon enough, and we plan to let it all hang out like Kirsten Dunst at a pool party. 
I'm not sure if that's the solution, but for good or ill, anyone who visits starting next week will finally their full two dollars.
-BDS
As some of you already noticed, 2 Dollar Productions has a new look thanks to the efforts of my brother, who has been working on this re-design with an expert for the past several months.
This is still a work in progress, however, and new things will be added (and possibly subtracted) over the next few months, so if you've got any feedback and/or suggestions, feel free to send them along.
We just happened to dig the colors so far, and that counts for something I suppose.
But not all things look so nice, so with that in mind, here's a few images to balance out the newly-minted 2 Dollar Productions site which are not quite so good:
I would be terrified to meet Serena Williams in a dark alley (or a lighted one for that matter)
A Madonna wig bad enough to scare that Malawian baby back to Africa.
Patricia Arquette and Thomas Jane look like they got dressed in the dark to attend a bad Scottish orgy.
Here's hoping all the other orgies going on today look better, and it's 70 degrees and sunny in Austin, so the computer needs a break and I've got to get outside for a beer and a college football afternoon.
Besides, a decent orgy never starts until the sun goes down anyway.
-BDS
It's a strange Friday in Austin as this week has caused me to think that Britney Spears might be smarter than a turnip, and Jessica Simpson might have sunken to the turnip's level.
For Spears, it seems that the pop princess may have been so wily as to fool the world about the real name of her baby, Sutton Pierce. Britney has refused to confirm the name until his picture appears in People magazine and rumors now suggest he is actually called Jayden James.
If this is true then Britney and K-Fed played us like cheap violins, and it makes me sick (though I do have a grudging respect for her now).
As for Simpson, she recently talked up her Father Joe Simpson to Jane magazine and addressed his sleazy talk about her breasts ("You can't cover those suckers up!").
"No, I've had double-D's for a long time," Jess helpfully points out. "Are you kidding? No. My family is extremely close. I talk to my mom about my sex life. That's not something that creeps me out." "We're Podunk Southern."
Simpson grew up in a semi-affluent suburb of Dallas, not some backwoods town in the middle of nowhere. It's not reasonable to blame your creepy Dad/Manager's shortcomings on your geographical background. She should simply say that I wish my Dad would stop talking about my breasts - there's just no excuse.
During his radio show this week, Rush Limbaugh criticized actor Michael J. Fox – who suffers from Parkinson's Disease – over a political ad in which Fox shows signs of that disease while speaking about stem cell research. Limbaugh claims that Fox was "either off his medication or acting" while filming the spot.
Limbaugh is quite simply a fucking idiot. I'm sure there are ways to express that more eloquently, but it's true and I don’t feel like wasting any more space on a man who is so flat-out backwards and repugnant that I can't honestly believe that anyone listens to him at all.
"[Anna] waits forever to bury him [her deceased son, Daniel] and two days after he dies, she's selling pictures of him to the tabloids and I'm thinking, 'What a freaking waste of a human being, my sister is.'"- Anna Nicole Smith's sister, Danna Hogan
I think that about sums it up, but damn was Anna Nicole good-looking in those Guess ads. 
Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes have confirmed reports they are to be married in Italy on November 18.
There have been no reports as of yet if aliens from the highest order of select Scientologists will attend the nuptials. But I wouldn't rule it out. 
To end with a good image, let's go with this one:
I know people will argue that this is not good at all, however, despite the logistical challenges that it might present it would likely be fun for at least one night to discover just how gravity works in a real-world example . . . Happy Friday.
-BDS
I don't watch "Dancing With The Stars" nor do I know very much about country singer Sara Evans, but her recent divorce proceedings caught my eye due to allegations against her husband which included adultery and as one headline read "a dangerous porn addiction."
That last bit puzzled me as I was left wondering if this guy was watching porn while holding a knife?
If so, the main danger would obviously be to himself because I like to have both hands free when I watch adult entertainment and holding any kind of blade could be lethal if you happened to forget which hand was grasping what instrument of destruction.
This actually could be very dangerous because this kind of activity typically transfers a substantial amount of blood from one head to another, and therefore, his thinking wouldn't be too clear.
I guess it could also be dangerous if Evan's soon-to-be ex-husband watched so much porn that he actually believed himself to be living inside of one.
This would manifest itself in any number of insidious and dangerous ways including:
- Trying to maul the deliverywoman every time the couple ordered a pizza because he thought she came to deliver more than just a pepperoni pie
- Attending parent's night at school in hopes of staying after class for some extra hard studying and spanking
- Expecting orgies to mysteriously break out at neighborhood pool parties
Maybe there is something to these allegations, but unfortunately we may never know all the sordid details.
But much like the double-edged sword of viewing porn in HDTV, some minutia like stretch marks and sores and implant scars are best left to the imagination, which can often be the most dangerous weapon of them all.
-BDS
"I'm going to New York City, I never really been there
Just like the way it sounds, I heard the girls are pretty
There must be something happening there is just too big a town," - Steve Earle, "NYC"
I talked to the New York agent yesterday, and despite wanting to add just a bit more size to my lower chest, he said I "look great and I'm right there" for an all-expenses paid trip to the East Coast. 
There's always a catch, and this time it's that this trip won't happen until January or February due to his travel, availability and then the holidays shut down the busineeses and the very people who I would be brought out there to meet.
But the extra time should allow me to add the poundage to my chest with any luck at all.
I'm still not fully convinced that this will happen, and won't be until I have a plane ticket in my name bound for JFK. Besides, a promise from an agent in the NY modeling industry likely doesn't hold the same value as one from Austin, however, I've met with this guy 4 times now, and this is the best response I've ever gotten from him as he's pretty damn blunt.
Here's the final pics that sealed the deal:
I think my smile looks a bit crazy due to partial dehydration and 10 weeks of dieting. I also wonder if I felt like that, then how in the hell does Nicole Richie walk around at all? 
Questions. Questions.
I have quite a few of my own as I need to talk to my nutrionist to see how we're going to approach the next several months. Taking a break from my rigid diet will certainly be part of it, and then getting back on enough to peak in Jan/Feb. will not be a walk in the park - unless I can nail it perfectly and then it will mean a walk in Central Park.
And while I won't chase this thing forever, it would be a nice little present to myself if I could roll into New York near my birthday (Jan 29th) just to say that I did it.
We shall see.
-BDS
This past Friday, I mentioned Lindsey Lohan and Keira Knightly and the hope that an upcoming movie would feature an extended scene that included the pair frolicking with a giant tub of whipped cream. 
I still like the visual.
That is likely wishful thinking as these kinds of scenes don't appear with great regularity.
Food-related sex scenes do occur, however, as "Wild Things" featured a phenomenal motel tryst between Matt Dillon, Neve Campbell and Denise Richards that found Dillon pouring champagne between Richard's saline-enhanced breasts and lapping it up like a parched golden retriever while Campbell pawed at everybody.
I believe the French refer to it as ménage a trois.
A similar theme emerged in "Leaving Las Vegas" as Nic Cage's alcoholic character is aroused when Elizabeth Shue takes the reigns and pours a generous amount of bourbon between her breasts, which Cage then proceeds to suckle on like starving wolf pup.
Unfortunately, Neve Cambpell is nowhere to be found at their particular motel.
But the pinnacle film that combines two of my favorite pastimes - food and sex - into one incredibly satisfying whole is "9 1/2 Weeks."
This is the movie where Mickey Rourke plays a sleazy East Coast stock broker who meets, seduces and perverts Kim Bassinger's art-house worker until she finally throws in the towel and refuses to play anymore of his sick sexual games.
But before that point, there is a very memorable scene that involves Rourke feeding Bassinger pretty much everything in the refridgerator to get her in the mood. Rourke had strawberries (good idea), a jalopeno (bad idea) and somehow even managed to have a jello mold on hand for the occasion.
I guess there is always room for jello, but still . . .
Anyway, after feeding Bassinger a cornacopia of treats, Rourke smears honey near Kim's honeypot before proceeding to get down to the actual sex part of the equation.
This was a fun scene to watch, but some of the choices that were made always bothered me as the honey was particularly problematic because it would just be awfully damn sticky and also inevitably lead to a thorough scrubbing of your pubic hair following the session.
A friend of mine once told me that he did an impromptu re-creation with one of the foods being some tiny pork sausages that he had grilled the previous evening. I just looked at him. 
This was just nasty. Although I like pork sausages, I don't like the breath that it would give you or your lover. The only way it makes sense is if my friend wanted to create a misleading sense of proportion so when he whipped out his love sausage (couldn't resist) later on that it would appear much bigger that its actual size (and no I haven't seen it).
In my book, you definitely get points for original thinking, however, the best food accessories I've ever found have been champagne and strawberries because they seem vaguely decadent and leave you smelling and tasting like something you want to devour.
And if you do it right, that's always what happens next.
-BDS
"You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes, you just might find
You get what you need," - Mick Jagger, "You Can't Always Get What You Want"
The air was clean, crisp and cold last night in Austin as Mick Jagger jumped and gyrated around the Zilker Park stage and Keith Richards merely tried to keep from falling off of it. 
The Rolling Stones made their first ever concert appearance in the city, and I was there.
It was my first Stones show as I was busy being born at the peak of their power, however, those guys can still put on a hell of a performance despite the wear and tear on their bodies. Jagger never stopped moving the entire night, Richards played a mean guitar and looked as reptilian as ever and the rest of the band was tight. 
Although I was listening to the Rolling Stones, it was a snippet from a Tom Petty song, "You never slow down, you never grow old," that kept running through my head.
I believe it. And I think if you saw the show last night the lyric holds up because after a solid first hour, the Stones ripped through the last 45 minutes of their set by blasting out classics like "Satisfaction," "Jumpin Jack Flash," "Start Me Up," and "Sympathy For The Devil" before encoring with "You Can't Always Get What You Want" and "Brown Sugar."
As the last notes of "Brown Sugar" died, an impressive fireworks display erupted from the giant stage that supported the band throughout the evening. 
It's a pretty cool feeling to be standing amongst 60,000 people who are all whooping back at Jagger as he churns through "Brown Sugar" while running amok all over the stage. This is the power of an open-air concert venue like Zilker Park, and while I prefer a more intimate setting 9 out of 10 times, some bands were not meant to be corralled and the Rolling Stones fit that bill.
The only problem was that all this occurred on Sunday night, and now I feel about half-dead on Monday morning as I ponder my workload and guzzle coffee like Richard's consumes whiskey (and after listening to him last night it's easy to see that Johnny Depp did indeed model Capt. Jack Sparrow on the rocker). 
My hollowed out condition also got me thinking about which 3 songs I would want played at my funeral, which I admit is somewhat morbid, but it is Monday morning and "You Can't Always Get What You Want" would definitely be on my set list followed by "I Ain't Ever Satisfied" by Steve Earle and "To Live Is To Fly" by Townes Van Zandt.
And before anybody points it out, I do realize that "You Can't Always Get What You Want" was used in "The Big Chill" and referenced in "High Fidelity" - I'm still using it.
If anybody else has got some good ones, let me know and I hope the day goes quickly because I feel somewhat ashamed that Jagger is more than twice my age, yet he seems to have more than 4 times the energy.
-BDS
Since Kate Moss put on some weight from her original heroin chic phase, I've thought she has looked pretty hot in several magazine shoots like these:
When Moss got busted for snorting lines of cocaine like Snuffalufagus (sp?) last year I can't say I was particularly shocked. A model snorting coke? You must be kidding me. Who would have guessed it?
Probably about 98.5% percent of the population, and that 1.5% percent who didn't are likely the same group that believes that Long John Silver's is fine dining.
But I saw a picture of Moss recently without makeup, lights and a team to make her look good and it wasn't quite as stirring as her glossy images:
Obviously, nobody looks perfect all of the time, but with the magic of Photoshop and a team of stylists, I don't know why I'm dieting at all because it seems like they could just carve in a 6-pack and whatever else they wanted at a later date.
I guess real life doesn't mirror the reality seen inside the pages of a glossy magazine - who would have thunk it - probably most people not currently ordering the fish, chicken and hush puppies platter (but damn does it sound tasty).
-BDS
"It's good to be the King," - Mel Brooks, "History of the World"
Luckily, it's Friday again and here's a small dose of the important stories of the week (with the exception of Iraq, N. Korea and "Lost.")
Lindsey Lohan recently announced that she'll star along with Keira Knightley in "The Best Time of Our Lives," a film where these two vixens have a lesbian interest in each other. 
Now that's a Lohan movie I might pay money to see, and while it won't be the time of my life, I would pay $7 if there's a hot enough scene between the duo. May I suggest that whipped cream is somehow introduced into the story?
I suppose it was only a matter of time, but Scarlett Johansson just signed a recording deal making her the umpteenth actress who suddenly decides that they must record an album. The recording is currently titled "Scarlett Sings Tom Waits."
I like Johansson. I like Waits. I don't like the sound of this project. Not one bit.
Actor Wesley Snipes was indicted this week on eight counts of tax fraud accusing him of trying to cheat the government of $12 million in false refund claims. Snipes, 44, also failed to file tax returns for six years.
My main question is how did Snipes get so much money in the first place?
Those "Blade" sequels must have paid out a lot better than I would have guessed, but how the hell did Snipes think he could forgoe paying taxes for more than half a decade and think that the IRS wouldn't notice?
Snipes faces a maximum of 16 years in prison, and if convicted (which he won't be - "always bet on black" - movie reference not a racial one), he'll have a lot of time to ponder these very questions.
In the latest round of gay denial rumors, Lance Armstrong and Matthew McConaughey have come out and said that they are NOT gay lovers.
The pair - who are often photographed together shirtless - have laughed off rumors that their close friendship has turned physical.
McCaughney said: "A lot of people don't understand friendship and brotherhood. I have a great friend in him. I'd do anything he asked me to, even though he'd probably never ask me to, and he feels the same way."
Armstrong added: "I think people see pictures and they think we're these overgrown frat guys, but we all have those kinds of relationships - and relationship isn't a bad word."
I think it's fine for guys to be good friends and hang out, and when the pair aren't running together they are usually photographed chasing women, which puts a crimp in the whole gay affair rumor.
As long as they don't play the bongos naked together, I think it's all good.
But I suppose there's probably just as many people who get excited about the prospect of them getting together as I do when I think about about Keira and Lindsey.
Different strokes, eh?
Per usual, let's end with an image that is pleasing to me, and hopefully others as well. 
I don't know why, but there's just something about this picture that makes me want perform deviant acts . . . Happy Friday.
-BDS
The deed has been done - at least I thought it was - and I sent a 6-pack of pictures to the NYC agent yesterday to see if this grab for easy money was going to happen or not.
Those images which made the final cut were:
The last one was sent more as a joke, and also a confirmation that I do occasionally wear clothing while hanging around my loft.
But I've met the agent in person a few times already, and it was always the body that was holding me back from a free ticket to New York.
I got the call today, and the verdict . . . Is still out, although he did say that I looked "great."
However, to be absolutely certain he needed some pictures taken where I wasn't flexing my chest to see if the lower portion would be a deal breaker. The agent has a chest fetish that would put Larry Flynt, Hugh Hefner and Charlie Sheen to shame and I have a sneaking suspicion that mine is a bit small for his liking. 
Despite my guess that it won't quite cut the mustard, I'm now back on my diet (I never fully vacated as I was waiting to hear from him) and it is marching ever closer to 10 weeks. I need to "peak" again on Sunday to take more of these relaxed pictures that will help him determine my future in modeling, which has about as much soul as cornered rattlesnake and seems twice as deadly to me right now. 
I'd go on, but I have chicken breasts to cook, carbs to throw out and then I get to start cutting my water consumption on Friday. This has sure been a hell of a fun ride for what will likely be no pay-off beyond the self-satisfaction of knowing that I gave it everything I had short of steroids.
And while that won't win me any trips to New York it will keep my balls from shriveling to raisins, which I suppose, is cause for celebration in and of itself.
-BDS
