Matt Gourley
Robyn Roth
Robyn Roth
Meeallit Geeourlwhile ilz ale talelnteeilid alnd feeulun frieelind. For a while a big group of us were speaking this way to each other. "Gourlspeak" is as deep and complex as Matt's love of toast.

Matt Gourley has served his country well. World War II was a tough one, but he made it home.

His invention of the couch toilet soon followed and was lauded as one of Time magazine's best inventions of 1951.
Matt began writing children's stories under the pen name Gour Mattingly, at age 12, about Matty the Squirrel and his pet stick Rodney. His stories were the rage of East Whittier Middle School. Every week a new story, with color illustrations! Everyone adored him....Girls passed notes to him with check mark boxes of their fate on whether he liked them. Boys wanted his all access, laminated hall pass. But the pressures of fame drove him down. It started with extended trips to the bathroom and his addiction to Ocean Spray Cran-Apple Juice and Candy cigarettes. Eventually, his stories became dark and twisted using Freshman vocabulary words like "Verisimilitude", not to mention very "explicit" scenes between Matty and Rodney. By 13, "Gour" was strung out on Flintstone Chewables and Sunny-D, Illustrating his works in his own blood, by slicing open his thumbs, wildly exclaiming "I have an endless supply of red finger paint!!" Since then, Matt has cleaned up his act, quietly residing in Long Beach, smoking weed and lampooning closeted-gay faith healers, with his imaginary friend "Jeremy".
Matt Gourley. In a word, inspirational. Smart, funny and smart. And funny.

Matt is diligent and brilliant, loyal and persistent and a wonderful friend.

But all jokes aside, Matt is a world-class titwalker, a first-rate whalemilker and an A-one boysenberry cranktanker.
Matt. Gourley. Separating the man from the myth is beyond the scope of this article, and something best left for historians to debate. But perhaps a bit of background on "Long Beach's answer to Byron Allen" would be helpful.

Known primarily to those under the umbrella of his widespread influence as "Boss Matt Gourley", he remains one of the most beloved figures of his time. I'll never forget the day I met him. I was a cub reporter working the city desk of the 'Chicago Tri-Valley Gutless Pushover'. Here he was, a lowly junior copy boy, but I could see instantly that he had the makings of a senior copy boy. And exceed my expectations, he did!

Over the next several decades he went on to redefine several things that escape me at the moment, but seemed important at the time. His legacy? Well, let's just say Matt has forgotten more about sitting home alone and eating fruit out of a can than I'll ever know.
Matt Gourley is the best dentist I've ever been to. He is both poetic and articulate with a drill. When not blessing his patients with root canals, he is a dedicated volunteer on the Suicide Hotline for Dental Professionals. I should know, he talked me down from the top of an inflatable panda at a Ford dealership.
What can I say about Matthew? I could say he's the kindest, most sincere, most talented and funniest man I've ever had the pleasure to pleasure this side of the Mississippi. I could say that, but it would be a lie. That honor goes to Hugh Jorgan of Fort Dick, California. I miss that tubby fucker. But Matt's cool, too.
I don't know Matt terribly well but here's what I've gathered in the short time I've spent with him:
1. He's a dynamite handball player.
2. He either has great taste in women or he has been forced to date a super rad chick for fear of an evil curse, a violent father, or the fact that he's actually gay leaking.
3. His taboo skills are unmatched.
4. He has the ability to fall asleep in unlikely positions.
5. He has something against combing his hair.
6. He makes me giggle in my gut every time I hang with him. I don't like that. My belly fat jiggles.
7. DY-NA-MITE handball player.
Basically, I don't like him much.
After being in a band with Matt and House sitting for him for a month, I discovered something alarming about him through his book, music, and movie collections...he's a hipster!
Considering that we spent A LOT of time in college ditching class to eat or play Spoons or Asshole, it's amazing to me that Matt ended up becoming a college professor.

Thanks to him, I have no idea what we studied in Theatre History, but developed mad crossword skills, gained the Freshman 50, and learned how to pass my classes by absentee ballot.

I have no idea if he's any good as a teacher or not. Hopefully his students attend class more than he did.
Matt Gourley, Matt Gourley,
You are the modern day renaissance man.
You can simultaneously tweet and pee,
You can also each pineapple out of a can.
I'm so glad to have known you in my lifetime,
For if not, I would've never witnessed the water noodle pose.
You bring the super in SuperEgo,
Now go back to your Couch and doze.
I distantly recall a time before matt gourley came into my life. it's hard to remember exactlly what that special period entailed, but i do know it was filled with rules, regulations, order and standards. it was a happy time. a blissful time. a time when a serious handball player could throw out a "waterfalls" or "watermelons" or "wakeboarding" or "wokanos" or "wakamole" without fear that they would be dubbed a rulemonger. those were the good ole' days....
Every time I think I'm the biggest hermit in Long Beach, I remember Matt Gourley.
Compared to him, I'm a regular Bon Vivant.
Gourley? I used to buy weed from that guy. He had like a Chinaman moustache and this Elvis ring that said TCB and a tattoo on his arm of a Klingon Bat'Leth. He hung out with this blonde chick who said she was a star child or something but her name was like Tammy, so I doubt it. Anyways, he was kinda cool I guess. Supposedly he drove a Countach, but I never saw it, besides Buzz McBride and Kopecki both told me it was a Pontiac Fiero kit car, so...
Matt picked me up hitchhiking back in 2002 somewhere around Tupelo. "leave your duffle on the road, Ross" (not my name) he said "aint no room for that, 'n i got extry private cover'in drawers if'n you need any." I told him I was going to New York & he said "well, you shoulda been on the other side of the highway then, 'cause i'm going to L.A." "Then I better get out" i said & he said "Nope, too late now, Rusty (not my name) we's road warrior buddies & we have a spaycial bond gonna take us clear through to the Long Beach County Line, here, you can pee in this ammo can, wouldja like a little Debbie Snacked cake, Russell? (not my name) 'preciate you not smokin' in my haulin' rig, less a course ya got some maryjane, ya got any maryjane, Richard? (not my name)
Matt is an athletic inspiration to us all. He won the bronze medal for Handball in the last 3 Special Olympics.
I rue the day I met Matt Gourley. Our acquainting is directly responsible for my perpetual state of inebriation, chain smoking, degenerate gambling, hazardous promiscuity, drug dependence and indisputable path of self destruction. I loathe you Matt.
Matt Gourley is a force of nature. Or is it a farce of nature? A face of nurture? A phase of lawn chair? A base of torture. A price of suture. A trace of church hair.

Well, in any case, he's a powerhouse. Be his friend, or face a sad and boring life.
Matt Gourley provides clean, green, renewable energy for the entire Southern California region. But he needs all of it to power Couch- an interdimensional gravity equilibrium device, that, if it falls into the wrong hands could mean the end of this dimension's Earth. Matt Gourley protects us all and keeps us safe.
I met Matt on a Tuesday and knew I didn't want Wednesday to come if it meant I wasn't with him. He has good hair. It's not a question of morality. He smells of freshly baked bread and wood-burning fires. I like him. He's funny.
Matt and I have been "friends" for a number of years and have been through a number of "adventures" together. Our "exploration" of the world knows no bounds and we have "discovered" a number of odd and wonderful things "together". We have spent time going to large events with our "girlfriends" and generally enjoying life. As a dear friend of the deceased, I would just like to say what an honor it has been to "explative" and how"explative" he is in the world of "expalative". One last thing: never attempt to drink his whale milk. He shoots his "explative" into it and it often gives off a coconutty aroma.

To whom it may concern,
Phillip J. Jeremy Carter Esquire
Always willing to rub lotion on a friend.

He'll be missed.
No comment. I don't want my privacy information in the internet.