ability is my only obstacle.

I make my fun where I can.

2005-08-29T17:47:00.000-05:00

Click the picture. I'm just impressed at how close the computer got to the proper Jewish pronunciation.

I heart the interweb.

2005-08-22T21:43:00.000-05:00

Sweetie - Nana's uterus fell out, call home.

2005-08-18T11:30:00.000-05:00

I've been e-mailing with my friend Nathan a lot this week. We have a hard time staying in touch for one reason or another, and it's been neat getting to have sort of a dialogue with him for a couple of days in a row. We like to do this thing, like I'm sure lots of people do, where we like to come up with weird non-sequiters as subject lines. It gets a little infantile somtimes; I've been known to toss off a mot bleu before. I've really never given it any thought, as Nathan was always way more hardcore than me at just about everything, salty language included.

So can you blame me for not paying more attention to the (contractor) that appeared by his name on these recent e-mails? Of course not. I got an e-mail this morning with just my name in the subject line, and I knew there was trouble:

friendly reminder: this is a work account so please no
naughty subjectlines, please? You almost got me canned today,
buddy!~nate
I felt really bad about it, but I know Nathan, and I know he was secretly loving every second of it. Here's how I imagine it going down. I picture John Houseman as Nathans' boss. For Nathan, let's say Steve Buscemi. Not so much that he looks like him, because he doesn't. And he's way too old. Let's not use Steve Buscemi. Corey Feldman. Everyone can find something to like in that.

"Mr. H___? Ah yes, ah Mr. H___, may I see you in my office for a moment? Yes, go ahead and bring your bag with you, don't bother setting it down..."

"Oh... what's up?"

"Mr. H___, are you familiar with our institution's code of conduct, specifically the rules and regulations concerning proper use of the equipment and facilities, vis-a-vis, the transmission of pornographic material through company computers?"

"Oh, uh... well, I read it of course. When I was hired. I read it then. What about it?"

"Mr. H___, we intercepted an e-mail this morning addressed to you, containing pornographic content."

"That can't be right. I don't use work e-mail for that."

(Boss gets up, walks around desk, and shoves a piece of paper under
Nathan's nose. Nathan reads it, and stifles a giggle.)

"Really? Then tell me, Mr. H___, in what capacity does your job require you to know that 'sometimes my balls feel like tits'?"

SCENE

It is He who is the one called I am.

2005-08-12T11:47:00.000-05:00

What a great way to start a Friday.

Please forget about that ugly-ass poster.

2005-07-27T01:46:00.000-05:00

Much better. If you didn't see the other poster, you got lucky.

Sometimes Google News has a good sense of humor...

2005-07-07T07:11:00.000-05:00

and sometimes it doesn't know when to take a break.

In other news, I suppose this probably throws a pretty big wrench into the works for theV for Vendetta movie.

If you lose a fight to a midget, you become one.

2005-07-05T12:01:00.000-05:00

From the stepping stone to Williamsburg department:

So I moved a couple of months ago. My new place isn't too bad. I'm paying about $200 less for about one and a half times the space. It's in worse shape than my other apartment, but I prefer to think of it as having character. I live near the square in Denton now, and it's sort of like, if it wasn't for the people who live here, this place would be a total ghetto shithole. But there seems to be a good mix of students and hipster doofuses. It's like Brooklyn.

There's a girl who lives across from me who must be a music major, since the first week I was here, I was getting ready to leave the house, when I heard the ice cream man driving by. I opened the door,and realized that the music was actually coming from her pad next door, via the Good Time Denton Dixieland band practicing. But it's not so bad. It comes through my bathroom almost crystal clear, and I find it quite relaxing while on the pooper.

From the giant boner with a cheesburger on the end department:

Went to see Batman Begins last week. On IMAX, no less. It was awesome, and I reccommend it heartily. The only thing I didn't care for was something that's bothered me for a while about Christian Bale, though I haven't pinpointed it until now. I think whenever he tries to do an American accent, his mouth makes this weird puckery pout, and it kind of gets on my nerves. Of course, when he's kicking the living bejeezus out of people, it's not so bad. I really couldn't think of a thing that I didn't like about it, but of course, I thought the same thing when I saw the first Spider-Man, and I think I've only watched that once since I first saw it in the theater.

Fantastic Four is probably going to really blow goat.

From the leakage through seven layers department:

I had to go get my food handlers' certification not too long ago. The health department came for their annual inspection, and were a little concerned that none of us working at the store were certified. So we all had to go watch an instructional video, and fill out a pop quiz. The video was a bunch of little instructional videos, covering food handling/safety topics, all produced by one of the worst dinner theater groups I've ever seen. When explaining about fecal-hand-oral transmission (or as the black guy in the video kingfished, "Is dat when you get the boo-boo on yo' hand after you wipe?" Swear to God.), and how there can be leakage through seven layers of toliet paper, the 'doofus' character pipes up, "From now on, I'm going to use EIGHT layers. Ha HA!" The black guy then inexplicably loses the accent and offers, "Why don't you just wash your hands?"

And, here's a real sample question from the test:

Pests and insects need:
A) Warm, dark places to breed
B) Immediate extermination
C) Love and tenderness
D) Both A and B

Don't eat in Denton County.

From the world's sexiest granny department:

A woman in her sixties came into the coffee shop the other day. She clearly had tremendous amounts of work done, as her face was pulled impossibly tight, though still peppered with liver spots. She took care of herself it seemed; her arms were actually pretty cut, and she was very trim and small waisted. Of course, it could have just been an optical illusion created by her MASSIVE FAKE TITS. And when I write MASSIVE FAKE TITS, I do not exaggerate. If I had a child, I would swear upon it's head that each of her breasts were literally the size of a small bowling ball. They were just perfectly round and quite pendulous, due to the fact that she didn't feel like wearing a bra under her tiny tank top that barely contained her MASSIVE FAKE TITS. She was a mee-milf. I'm usually pretty quick on my feet with odd situations, but I was at loss. I'm a boob man, and this was blowing my tiny world apart. I couldn't help but look, but I'd immediately get totally fouled out and look up, but that screaming skull of a face would freak me out too much and I'd go back to the jubblies, starting the cycle all over. Afterwards, I fainted.

From the Doobie Brothers used to be called 'Pud' department:

The last gig went off really well. I wouldn't hesitate to say it was our best yet. People actually showed up, though I'm sure it wasn't specifically for us. Nevertheless, everyone seemed to genuinely dig us. We made eight bucks from the door, which was quite the windfall, seeing as how none of us have ever made money from a band before. The japanese dudes were SO good live, and I didn't even notice that they only played two songs until they were almost done. Those boys PLAY. Plus, they liked us well enough to ask us to play with them again when they come back in the fall. So, we've got that going for us, which is good.

The japanese dudes were funny as hell too. Their english could be described as broken, at best. It couldn't even really qualify as engrish, since some words would come out clear as a bell, while others sounded like some odd collision between esperanto and every other language known on the planet. The bass player talked the most, and told us about what it was like touring in a different country. According to him, it's a major hassle to find any kind of drugs in Japan, so they really like coming to America and just constantly getting wrecked. We asked him about where they were headed to next, and he told us they were playing in Oklahoma the next night. We expressed our sympathies, though he really didn't understand. He finally caught our drift and asked, "Many... red neck?" More than he could imagine.

And finally, the band is changing our name, sort of. Magnets by itself is a little generic, and we never really used the asterisk the way we had intended, so we decided to change the name to Anti-Magnets. I'm okay with it, so long as I don't have to try and explain it. There's not really an impetus behind the name, as far as I know, and I sound like an asshole when I try to concoct some kind of meaning. And I've got enough trouble not sounding like an asshole as it is.

Loretta Swit had a bush you could hide a VCR in.

2005-06-10T18:22:00.000-05:00

We'll go on first, about 10:30. We even have a new song, so that mkaes six you've never heard. What a bargain!

There is a God, and he loves me.

2005-05-31T23:18:00.000-05:00

This is going to sound like the beginning of a joke that you'd find in Playboy, but stick with me: every word is true.

So, Vanilla Ice came into my coffee shop this afternoon. That isn't the best part, though. I've actually seen lots of semi-famous people in my mall, and I believe V-Ice has a home in Dallas, when he's not being TOTALLY X-TREEM ON HIS SEA-DOO. He came in talking on his cell phone, and ordered a cup of coffee. As I'm getting his coffee, I hear his end of the conversation. I'm paraphrasing, but it went something frighteningly close to this:

"No, it's not really like a gorilla... it's like, hairy all over, like a fuckin' sasquatch, and it kind of has a dog face... but it can talk, sort of, and shoot guns and shit..."

And it's at this moment that it dawned on me-I was listening to Vanilla Ice explain the concept of Wookies to someone. I know a gift from heaven when I see one.

Farts Are Jazz To Assholes.

2005-05-26T09:56:00.000-05:00

I've been finding a lot of albums just lying in the street lately*, and since I can't just sit still and listen to anything, I'll usually hear just the first song, and then decide whether or not it's any good without ever hearing the rest of the album. For instance, I got really into the Arcade Fire, but I never got past the first song on the album. Then the other day, I was reading an article about them, and they were talking about singing in French, and I was all 'what the hell?'

I've also become the classic punk rock kid who gets his mind blown by free jazz-Habeous Coltrane. Free jazz, as any dude standing outside the College of Music toting a saxophone and wearing a 'Fuck the Plebes' t-shirt will tell you, is music for people who feel that regular jazz just isn't elitist enough. I'll admit, that's part of the appeal for me, but I do genuinely enjoy some of it. That's not to say that I have even a basic understanding of it, but I still like it. Once, while dreaming up million dollar schemes, Josh and I discussed digging up the corpse of Miles Davis, taping a trumpet to his mouth, and recording the sounds of us jumping up and down on the body. We'd release it as the Mung sessions (Japan only, of course) , and retire before thirty. We still might.

Also, I discovered that trying to mow the lawn while listening to the Police and the Talking Heads actually tears a hole in the space-time continuum and stops the rotation of the Earth. I mean, is it so hard to write a song at least as fast as I walk?

*You don't know. It's totally possible.

Why does your breath smell like skittles and dick?

2005-05-17T11:25:00.000-05:00

It had to happen eventually, so I'll just say it: flavored condoms ain't that bad. We'd finally made our way through all the others, and so I was forced to dig out the coffee flavored one. Natural curiosity got ahold of me, and I gave it a quick lick. I gotta say, while it wasn't exactly Taster's Choice, it was way better than I expected. I thought it would be similar to that nasty brown coffee candy you'd get from elderly shut-ins on Halloween, but it had a really natural taste to it. Also, it was only about half the size of a regular one. My self-esteem was doing well. The only real downside is that even after a shower, my junk still smells like a frappucino, and I've been to the Jupiter House twice today.

Yeah, this really happened.

2005-05-02T10:20:00.000-05:00

The full story is here. I don't mind sending comics to the troops, but is it really neccessary to have Spider-Man and Captain America actually attend the press conference?

Also, this bothers me, and I'm not really sure why:

The Press Service also quoted Col. Joe Mudd, who works on the Joint Staff, as saying, "Any show of support is important, and people relate to comics. We like the good guys to win, and we think we're the good guys too."

Bargain of the century.

2005-04-28T19:54:00.000-05:00

Watching the presidential news conference tonight, I've decided that I'd like to make an offer to President Bush. I 'll let the president hang one major murder rap on me, if he'll just learn how to pronounce 'nuclear'. For reals. He can kill anyone he wants in the world, and I'll take the blame, so long as he gets on TV and announces that I'll be executed in the electric chair, which for the first time ever, will be 'NOO-CLEE-AR POWERED'. That's all. Holla back.

So the news conference was depressing to watch, partly because Bush has gotten way smarmier and ballsier since the election, and he was already a huge prick to begin with. Plus, the press got stiff-armed every time they tried to bring up a good question, and had to resort to recapping the speech's talking points. On the upside, I found this today. So in a way, balance has been restored.

No squares allowed.

2005-04-22T19:57:00.000-05:00

Cover is a little pricey, but the drinks will be cheap. Double check the times here. Or just guess. It's probably just as accurate.

Savor the flavor.

2005-04-20T12:21:00.000-05:00

I just had to run over to the local Planned Parenthood to pick up another month's worth of womb brooms for the girlfriend. While I was there, I figured I should go ahead and pick up some condoms because I'm fresh out, and besides, I'm paranoid and don't trust the pill. They don't carry my brand (Trojan Her Pleasure, what what), so I just got a couple of each kind that they had. In doing so, I inadvertently nabbed a couple of flavored jimmy hats, one strawberry and one coffee, of all things.

I really want to see what they taste like. It's taking more willpower than it should to keep from tearing one open and popping it into my mouth like a perverted wad of Hubba Bubba.

Creampie to the hairline.

2005-04-20T09:12:00.000-05:00

Been in a bit of a funk lately. It started a little more than a week ago, when my dad came to town. My dad is what scholars refer to as 'a bit of a douche', and even though this was the first time I've seen him since 2002, I couldn't get away quick enough.

My dad only serves one real purpose, as far as I'm concerned: to show me what not to do in life. Some people, when faced with a decision,will ask themselves, "What would Jesus do?", and then they do that. I have to ask myself, "What would my dad do?", and then do the exact opposite. The girlfriend and I met him at his motel (he's no longer allowed to stay at my apartment, ever since the time he slept in the altogether on my former roommate's bed), and we made our way to a lovely dinner of Mexican food and inappropriate conversation.

It's amazing how, as I get older, I begin to discover that life really is just a series of sitcom cliches. When I hit 26 a couple of months ago, I sort of became the guy who's bemoaning the encroachment of his thirties. My mother, previously a sane and rational woman, has started to drop hints that she'd really like a grandchild in the next few years. And now my dad has become the 'discusses-bodily-functions-at-the-dinner-table' guy. It was really incredible. The hour we spent eating dinner was the longest week of my life. He talked about his new job working for a sporting goods store, which was depressing since I now officially make more money than he does. He told me about all the various physical ailments he's got, that will one day be visited upon me. He threw a guilt trip on me about traveling to the panhandle to visit my grandmother, despite the fact that while I love my grandmother, I really should put stuff like food and electricity as a priority right now.

Oh, and he had a wonderful story about how his local animal control got called out to his place, because the neighbors didn't appreciate how three of his fourteen illegal dogs jumped and killed a fourth in his backyard. Pass the salsa.

But it wasn't all bad. He did bring presents. He brought me a cap from his store, which upon closer inspection, had his name written on the inside. So basically, he just gave me his cap. He also brought me a t-shirt, with 'beauty is in the eye of the beer holder' across the front. I was surprised, yet so relieved that he didn't say, "It's clever, just like you!"

So there was that. I've needed a haircut lately too, which bums me out as well. I've been steadily losing my hair since my early twenties, which I also blame on my dad. I know you get your hair gene from your mother's side of the family, but it's far more convenient and emotionally satisfying to just hang it on my dad. The longer my hair gets, the more apparent it is that I don't have any, so it's beneficial to keep it pretty short. I haven't had time to take care of it, and so it's not looking good. The other morning, I got out of bed, and was just sitting around with the girlfriend, and she looks at me and says, "You've got silly hair." I didn't really think about it at the time, chalking it up to bedhead. Later, I went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror, and realized that by 'silly hair', my girlfriend meant, 'your hair has fallen out into the exact pattern of a clown wig'.

But there is some good news: the first gig was a success, by all accounts, and seems to have seriously gotten the ball rolling. I still have to double check all of this, but we've supposedly got a show at Hailey's this next Wednesday (April 27th), and then a gig at Rubber Gloves on Monday, June 13 with some crazy-ass Japanese psych rock band. So if you didn't make it to the Inferno (now that I've been there, I wouldn't have blamed anyone for turning around at the door), here's another chance to get in on the ground floor while you still can.

Queering don't make the world work.

2005-04-13T11:43:00.000-05:00

Did you hear about this? The UNT college Republicans are a pretty sharp bunch, but apparently their New England branch is a bit more naive. They hired a washed-up wrestler who legally changed his name to his nom de slam to come and speak to the campus. The only part I'm not clear on is if he was given a topic, or if he was just allowed to rant, but either way, he began throwing racist and sexist epithets at random students, and the shit hit the fan.

"Warrior is talking! You do not talk when Warrior talks!"

The UConn kids apologized profusely, in that non-apology-apology kind of way. The Warrior, however, tells the hippies to suck a nut.

I love that he wrote, 'From the Desk of Warrior'.

UPDATE: Not more than 15 minutes after I posted this, I went to Something Awful, where I learned they totally dropped a funny bomb on the Warrior's ass, like, not even two days ago.

Did I already say shit's getting weird? I should have waited...

2005-04-07T02:32:00.000-05:00

So I go to take a look at another apartment today. It's managed by one of the larger companies in town, and since they have so many properties, rather than having individual agents show you the place, they just give you a key and let you check it out on your own. Fair enough. So I show up to nab a key, and it just so happens that the head maintenance guy is headed over to the same complex I am, and so he offers to just unlock the joint for me, and show me around.

So we get there, and he's showing me one apartment, and pointing out all the particulars I need to know about, and then he mentions that there is actually another floor plan he could show me, so wanting to be fully informed, I say okey-doke. Well, it turns out that he's got an apartment there, and this other floor plan he's going to show me is actually his apartment. He says he's moving out in a couple of weeks, and if I like it, I can just go ahead and take it over. But right now, all his shit is still in there. Furniture, clothing, food, and a parrot. Plus, he's a chain smoker, so the place reeks. Naturally, I can't wait to step inside.

So I'm being shown around this dude's place, trying to always keep him in front of me, and on the way out, he points out his bird. I guess it was nice, as far as birds go. He reaches into the cage, and lets it perch on his finger. Then, for what seems like an hour, right in front of me, he starts making out with the parrot. "Baby have a kiss for daddy? Smooch, smooch, smooch. Give daddy a kiss? Baby have a kiss for daddy?" Meanwhile the bird is chirping constantly, and I'm getting cold sweats. I kept waiting for the guy to punch the bird and scream "DON'T YOU FUCKIN' LOOK AT ME!"

The tour ends, and suddenly Koko B. Ware says, "I have another unit that's the same floor plan as mine, but it's empty, if that'd give you a better idea of the space."

MOTHERFUCKER, WHY DIDN'T YOU JUST TAKE ME TO THE EMPTY ONE IN THE FIRST PLACE?

I said no, I had seen all I needed to see. Then I came home and washed my eyes with gasoline. The end.

Holy. Moly.

2005-04-05T22:46:00.000-05:00

Man, I don't even know where to start. It's probably best if you just watch it. I'll apologize in advance for making your brain hurt.

Shit's getting weird.

2005-04-05T12:05:00.000-05:00

I'm apartment hunting, which in Denton, is a dicey proposition at best. If you're not living in an absolute hovel, you're paying far out the ass just to keep drunken college students away from you. After seven years of living in apartments in this town, I've finally learned that you've got to put some serious effort and time into sniffing out the best places/deals. Especially since the vast majority of realtors around here don't seem to employ any kind of office staff to you know, answer the phones and stuff. One of the many voice mail messages I heard today was:

"Hi, this is Matt. I can't come to the phone right now, but if you're calling about boxing or apartment leasing, leave me your name and number, and I'll get back to you."

How random. I don't know that I want to live in Matt's apartments anymore.

In other news, I got more details about the rock and roll show on Friday. Apparently, it's going to be essentially a mish-mash night. We go on first with our weird, mathematical rock/dub thing, and then after us is a pop-punk band comprised of 13 year olds from Midlothian, followed by an unknown quantity called Neil Eats Grapes, or something equally horrible. Finally, the headliner is an acoustic country singer/songwriter. Those kids' parents are totally going to hate us. The best I can hope for is that it'll be like my first "real" gig when I was in high school. My band played Punk Night at the Dog Star Cafe in Fort Worth when we were all of 17. Our parents showed up just in time to see dudes in mohawks spitting beer on each other in a circle pit and people fucking on the pool table. Then as we were loading out after we played, we happened across a girl we went to school with blowing some guy in a car right next to where we were parked. Hopefully we can scar those kids just as well. Keep your fingers crossed!

Attention area hipsters and tastemakers!

2005-03-31T15:37:00.000-06:00

LIVE - FRIDAY, APRIL 8

MAGNETS*

with

Some other band

Probably one more band

The Inferno

BE THERE OR DON'T!

A shitload of hip.

2005-03-14T08:39:00.000-06:00

Quite possibly the best idea, EVER. The organizers of the Annual South by Southwest festival have taken the entire lineup, and prepared a gigantic FREE downloadable file featuring a song from every artist performing this year.

Which is good. This is the first year I've genuinely wanted to go down there, but as each year goes by, more and more people want to attend, and I just don't feel like fighting through a sea of cool kids just to see Death From Above from the back of a shitty club. I can do that when they roll into town tomorrow, and I don't even have to worry about hippies.

Saturday night at the dong shop.

2005-03-10T22:35:00.000-06:00

After a successful day of thrift store shopping on Saturday, the girlfriend and I made an impromptu stop at My Spicy Treasures, the local lingerie/bachelor party supply/"miscellaneous" store in town. We just wanted to go and look around for a hoot, we didn't have a specific agenda or anything.

The place is a lot nicer than I was expecting, but I really wasn't expecting much. They have a lot of lingerie and novelties displayed when you first go in, with a room of party supplies to the side. Then, behind velvet curtains, and a hazy cloud of opium is... the CHAMPALE LOUNGE. Mmm.

Not really. It's the room where the 'cake toppers' are displayed. See, in Texas, you can't have vibrators and stuff for sale as sexual devices, and so through all kinds of rigamarole, they can sort of be sold as novelty items only, referred to as 'cake toppers'. Even then, the way I understand it, it's still not totally okay. It's sort of a 'just don't get caught' type of thing. I don't know. I don't understand why they don't just call them massagers, like when your grandma had one. My mom had one that looked like an engine off a 747.

We were the only ones in the store for a while, except for the girl working there. Another couple showed up after a few minutes and browsed around for a bit and then left without buying anything. My girlfriend pointed out the corncob vibrator. I learned that there actually is a product called the Anal Intruder. Some dude took way too long to choose which lube to buy.

We actually ended up getting a ______________ (noun) for _________________ (person) to _______________ (verb) whenever I'm not _______________ (place, pronoun) . It's ________________ (color) with _________________ (noun, plural) on the sides. It's cool. It can go __________ (speed) or ____________ (speed) .

Be creative!

The saddest thing I've ever seen.

2005-03-09T13:48:00.000-06:00

When you were in grade school, you had reading groups right? There was the red group (sometimes the red apples) that sat at the front of the room, and then there was the blue group (aka the bluebirds) that sat at the back of the room, and then there was the brown group that went to a special room in the basement every Tuesday and Thursday for an hour to read Little Golden Look Look Books with an old woman who took it a little too personally when, as a response to her question of how one pronounces the word 'the', I said 'duh'.

So tonight at work, a woman came in with her kid who was about 6-7. The kid had a toe head. I know the term 'tow head' means a blonde kid. No, this kid had a TOE HEAD. And a runny nose. They sat down, and the mom pulled out a paper and mumbled, "...arranged by groups... child will... mmrmrmmm... okay, so you've got groups. What color is your group? Are you in the red group?"

"SNIIIFFF...my group doesn't have a color."

Being poor sucks.

2005-03-02T12:52:00.000-06:00

I had to go to the doctor today. A couple of weeks ago, I got this weird rash on my chest and stomach. It didn't really itch, but it just looked weird and I wanted to get rid of it.

The good news is that it's not a big deal, it's nothing contagious, and it'll just go away on its own.

The bad news is that I had to pay FAR out the ass to learn that. I don't have insurance, so I had to charge it. All told, I only saw the actual doctor for only about five minutes, and she just told me there was nothing I could do but wait for it to go away. She could have at least let me raid the prize closet for what I had to pay.

It's only gonna get worse before it gets better.

2005-02-22T23:37:00.000-06:00

I got bit by the photoshop bug and was looking for stuff to make a band flyer out of, when I ran across this.

I can't tell you how bummed I am about not being able to see this, although I really can't think of an idea more suited for Denton. Some local weirdo should totally put together a production of this.

Dearest Valentine, I wiped as many beard trimmings off the counter as I could.

2005-02-15T17:51:00.000-06:00

Yesterday being Valentine's Day, I wanted to assemble a special group of songs to play during romantical/gettin' it on times, as I'm sure many couples do. I've had a set playlist for a while now, but some of my mp3's got thrown out, so I've had to go back to the drawing board.

My technique for choosing the songs consists mostly of sorting through all the death metal, skronk jazz, and various beeps and whistles for the five or six songs that won't totally offend my girlfriend. It's tough; stuff you'd think was a sure thing won't always work. We learned the hard way that it's actually impossible to fuck to Barry White.

I managed to turn up a decent selection, though I didn't actually listen all the way through each. I also didn't pay attention, and so the only songs we heard were ones that had survived the great purge. Curious, I listened to the whole thing myself.

1. 'Midnight in a Perfect World'-DJ Shadow
2. 'So Like Candy'-Elvis Costello
3. 'Easy'-Faith No More
4. 'Walking After You'-Foo Fighters

These were all from the previous list. Tried and true. You'd be surprised how far Faith No More would get you. Specifically, second base.

5. 'Flake'-Jack Johnson

I'll admit, this was a fratboy move, but I'll not apologize for liking that song.

6. 'Wishing All These Old Things Were New'-Merle Haggard

The first new one. This one was risky, seeing as how it's largely about losing friends to cocaine. Luckily, years of chemical abuse to Merle's voice and uncanny volume control helped immensely.

7. 'Untitled #1'-Spain
8.'No Woman, No Cry'-Bob Marley
9. 'Dos Gardenias'-Buena Vista Social Club

We didn't make it this far, and while I'm not happy repeating that, it's probably for the best. Those Cubans set the bar pretty high.

10. 'In The Light'-Led Zepplin
11. 'Bron-Yr-Aur'-Led Zepplin
12. 'Down By The Seaside'-Led Zepplin
13. 'Ten Years Gone'-Led Zepplin

Side three of 'Physical Graffiti' is my secret weapon. I'm not sure for what.

14. 'Such Great Heights'-The Postal Service
15. 'Exit Music'-Brad Mehldau

Eh... this one's gotta go. It gets a little too rollicking.

16. 'Just to Know What You've Been Dreaming'-Will Johnson
17. 'Pussy Footin' the Duke'-Comets On Fire

DUDE, WHAT WAS WRONG WITH ME? Why did I put this song on here? It sounds like it should be playing during the orgy scene in that movie where Peter Sellers drops acid, and leaves his family and job to be a dirty hippie and wear a dashiki so black people don't hate him. Thank God we didn't hear this one. Good song, though.

This... is something special.

2005-02-14T10:46:00.000-06:00

Hey dude, do you know where the Funimation booth-HOLY FUCK, YOU'RE CARL! BABY, GET THE CAMERA, IT'S CARL!

Huh. It's really happening.

2005-02-11T13:31:00.000-06:00

Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons' Watchmen is starting film production at Paramount. The website is here, though I couldn't get it to work. If you go to the Paramount site, eventually you'll see the smiley face logo roll by.

I don't know, man. This is kind of like when the Beatles put out 'Free as a Bird' with some random John Lennon vocals, and everyone really wanted it to be this magical song that would end wars and stop cancer, but now it's just a punchline on VH1. Watchmen is generally considered to be the Citizen Kane of comics, and while I know deep down this is just a bad idea to try and adapt for a movie, I still hope it'll turn out to be wicked awesome.

Atomic balls.

Baloney Holder

2005-02-08T08:20:00.000-06:00

This is one of my top three greatest fears in life, just ahead of pooping my pants when I'm miles away from home, but right behind falling off a tall building before drowning in a pool full of people.

Things are moving quickly for the band. We've got a name, a myspace site, and a couple of irons in the fire as far as playing out. The name is a bit of a compromise; some of us wanted a long name, some of us didn't. The decision was made to add an asterisk to the end, so that we can both have a permanent name, but also be able to add to and change it at any time. We can be Magnets*, Magnets* *which assail the tides with an irresistible force, or possibly even Magnets* *control your cats' brain. We're like an umbrella.

I've got more, but don't you like getting a whole shit-ton of little presents on Christmas, rather than one great big one?

If we don't name the band 'Gay Bomb', I'm quitting.

2005-01-17T17:36:00.000-06:00

I think this is one of the most awesome things I've ever read, probably for all the wrong reasons.

Shh, don't tell her!

2005-01-14T17:18:00.000-06:00

I've started started trying to make plans for myself and the girlfriend on Valentine's Day, and I thought that it might be nice to go see a show if there was a good one.

Oh, there's a good one alright. Who in their right mind would take a date to see a band called 'Scars of Tomorrow' on Valentine's Day? I mean, I know people who would do that, but they also work at a snow cone stand.

"Fuck yeah baby, show Micheal Ant'ny ya titties!"

So I'm lazy. Write a letter.

2005-01-11T13:21:00.000-06:00

Will Eisner died while I was busy slacking off. That's not too cool. But Frank Miller is coming back to write Batman. That doesn't make things even, but it's a good start.

Josh and Diana moved back to town. In related news, my vacation to Boston was a blast! There, I kept my word.

I'm still paying attention... kind of.

This shit is off the wall.

The weirdest daddy/daughter day ever.

2005-01-02T23:46:00.000-06:00

I don't know what was going on at the Teasley Blockbuster New Year's Eve, but something was in the damn water. I had to wait in line for a few minutes, and behind me were a couple who sight unseen, I figured to be early 20's. They were talking about which of them picks the quality movies to watch, a typical argument amongst those of us with someone to prove wrong. My curiosity being what it is, I take a peek behind me to see a weird little goth-y girl who looks like she's 17, with a man who appears to the father of Rolling Stone, Charlie Watts:

Eww, right?

Then I notice that one of the girls jockeying a register has a snake-
A GODDAMN SNAKE-
a snake around her neck. What in hell is going on here? I'm no prude, and in fact have quite liberal views on many things. But come on now. Is it really neccessary, not to mention acceptable to have a snake around your neck at work? Denton's a hip town, but there's gotta be a line. It's not even that I was offended by it, I just wondered why, you know? Had she checked me out, I would have at least asked what the deal was, and you'd think other people would too, but the whole five or six minutes I was in line, not one single person said a word to her. I've been noticing that a lot of the people who I recognized don't seem to be working there anymore, so either some shit went down, and now all bets are off, or the Snakehandlers staged a corporate raid.

This is so hottt, it needs an extra 't'.

2004-12-30T12:10:00.000-06:00

I can't even really explain why I like this so much, I just do. I'd like nothing more than to see this get a proper publishing. It's so dumb, but at the same time, it just works so well.

In other news, I'm going to pitch 'Celebrity Chess Round Robin' to the Discovery Channel, toot sweet. It'll rule. I'll make it all hip-ified, like how poker got cool all of a sudden once Ben Affleck admitted he had a gambling addiction. We'll get some celebrity who's just on the cusp of not having a career anymore, like Alfonso Ribero or Chuck Norris, slap a pair of Oakley's on 'em, sit them in the middle of a roller rink with a chess board and watch the ratings soar!

I actually remember the first time this came around. We used to have this full size table when I was a kid, that was just a big checkerboard on top, and these huge wooden pieces the size of your fist. My parents never used it. It just sat in the corner, and then we ended up selling it. If we still had it, I'd be king of this town.

My dad called me on Christmas to say hi. He retired a few months ago, and after taking some time off, he was horsewhipped back into the working world by his girlfriend. He started working part-time at some new outdoor sports/hunting store. So he's got a retirement package that he could live on, plus he's got some pocket cash from his job, plus his girlfriend is a nurse. He said he'd send some loot in the mail for Christmas. I said that'd be okay, and he didn't have to send anything. He said no, he knew things were tight with everyone lately, and in fact, he'd had to start putting things on layaway again.

Seriously? Seriously. What the fuck are you buying that you have to put on layaway? If you can't afford to buy it right then, you don't need it. They don't let you put milk and bread and shit in layaway for a reason. What the hell do you have in there? My dad is such a pain in the ass about never having money, but he's constantly spending money. I mean, I spend money on bills, food, gas, things like that, but he buys guns and dogs and Dell computers. It's damned irritating.

Don't you think I know I'm a whore?

2004-12-28T13:56:00.000-06:00

Man... I'm getting fat. Someone needs to come break into my place and steal all my leftovers.

We watched Napoleon Dynamite the other night. It feels kind of directionless for most of the film, but then it totally pays off. It had some pretty funny gags, and there were more than a few times when I thought 'oh God! Why didn't someone ever tell me what a spaz I was?' Then I saw Straw Dogs, which I can't in good conscience recommend, unless you feel like sitting through a really uncomfortably violent movie in order to see Dustin Hoffman deliver an absolutely biblical ass-whipping to a bunch of soccer hooligans.

Speaking of uncomfortably violent, I keep forgetting to mention that a couple of weeks ago, we took a chance on going to Hailey's to see a bunch of bands we hadn't heard of before. You may have seen me. I was one of three normal looking, t-shirt and jeans wearing guys. No nehru jackets. No porn-y eighties moustaches, although that one guy did wear the shit out of his. And no scarves. O, THE SCARVES! I wonder if there's such a thing as scarf envy, like if people are always secretly checking out each other's scarves to see if theirs is better. Yeah, you could just go to American Eagle or the Gap to get one, but... you know. I wasn't that impressed with the headliners or that one Cars tribute band, but the first band was alright. The Undoing of David Wright was kind of a weird mix of Swans and the Jesus Lizard doing Depeche Mode covers. We were amazed, halfway through the show, to discover that not only was that one dude not a girl, they were in fact, all dudes. Well, okay. The music was pretty enjoyable, in that 'Counterstrike LAN-party' sort of way.

Christmas was cool. I didn't get much, but then, I didn't ask for anything. Does it make me a bad person because I can't stop laughing at this?

There is absolutely nothing I don't like about this.

2004-12-21T14:27:00.000-06:00

I'm running out of ideas.

2004-12-18T21:46:00.000-06:00

From the crappy bag of chocolate coins dept.

To begin with, Jon Stewart beat me to it, but he's also way funnier than me, so I guess I'll let it slide. Should be the fourth item down. I feel hinkey linking to the gossip section in the Daily News, but they have the most complete version I've seen of Donohue's statement, plus the Rabbi Shmuley's wicked burn. I never saw the Jesus movie (unless you count Heaven Can Wait. Do you? Oh.), so I can't fairly comment on whether or not it's deserving of any/all/more praise than it's gotten. But come on now, it's just a movie. There's no reason to get so bent out of shape and start calling the Jewish kids names, just because you lost to them at kickball.

Kickball being one of those things Jews are just good at, like handling money, and destroying sentence structure. But this, you knew already.

From the half-assed segue dept.

Speaking of movies, I watched Velvet Goldmine, and now I'm conflicted. I want so very desperately to like this movie, but it's a complete and total mess. Here's the good: the idea-it's based very loosely on David Bowie and in particular, his relationship with Iggy Pop in the early seventies. Only, I'm pretty sure there wasn't nearly as much gay sex between them in real life as they put the two characters through in the movie. In fact, I'm pretty sure there's never been this much actual real-life gay sex in the history of the world, EVER as these two have in the movie. The music is hot as hell, 80% of it being old Roxy Music, Brian Eno, and T Rex tunes, and the other few being a couple of originals from Shudder To Think, and a supergroup made up of guys from Mudhoney, the Stooges, and Sonic Youth doing "TV Eye". The costumes and art direction were good, but really, when you set a movie during the glam rock seventies, I don't know that you really have to put much effort into it, other than just cruising the Hobby Lobby for supplies.

The bad: pretty much everything else. At two hours, it's a damn long movie that ultimately doesn't really go anywhere. The whole thing is basically a long form music video, and evey so often, the movie will just break into a proper video-styled segment for no apparent reason. I can't say for sure if it was the actual script itself or just the editing, but there's almost no way to tell where you are, vis a vis, the past or present. It jumps around so much, and there are so many points of view contributing to the narrative, it's a movie you really, REALLY have to be on your toes for. I know the cast was made up of pretty talented people, and maybe that's why it's SO hard to watch them try to make sense of their characters and dialogue. Just take my word for it, and get a copy of the soundtrack and skip the actual movie.

I couldn't pass up the last copy of Collateral, or else I would have picked Monsturd up. I think I'll get that tomorrow, along with some classy, 'safety' movie, so no one thinks I'm some kind of degenerate. Like when you go to the store to buy condoms, and you also pick up a package of pipe cleaners and a copy of Guns and Ammo to be inconspicuous.

From the failing at the Internet dept.

I lost the link, because I suck at mouse-erating, but you should know that Fox is in production on a reality show where a girl has a group of strange old men, from which she has to figure out which one is HER BIOLOGICAL FATHER, WHOM SHE'S NEVER MET BEFORE.

She may choose correctly and find the daddy she never had. She may find out her dad is a total jag, and end up bonding with some random dude as his daughter. No matter what the outcome, I bet someone loses some teeth by the time it's over.

From the bring your own towel dept.

The girlfriend, intrepid news-gal/cub reporter that she is, is working on a story her editor gave her tonight by attending a nudist colony pot-luck dinner/domino tournament.

Not. Even. Kidding.

There are actually two nudist camps in her county, and her number came up to go out there and talk to the attendees of one, and cobble together a story, I guess about how nudists are people too, just with their genitals touching your upholstery. I was invited, and kind of wanted to go, but I finally reasoned that she was working, and my presence/behavior would probably only hinder her efforts. Plus, I don't know that I'm that hot on eating food prepared by a nudist.

The oddest thing though, is that she may have gotten me a lead on a job from one of the guys who goes out there regularly. She met some guy who owns a whole bunch of television stations, and he's looking for a couple of sound techs. Which I can, and have been trying to do for the past two years. So, awesome. A job where I can never get fired, because I know the boss likes to play naked Jenga.

My three-point plan to success.

2004-12-13T01:29:00.000-06:00

Write a biographical screenplay about Don Knotts. Maybe it can be based on a fictional autobiography, where it's Don Knotts telling the story and how he thinks his life went, and he's all hot shit and boning everything that came through Mayberry.
Kill Don Knotts/wait for Don Knotts to die.
Pitch movie to producers, and have it greenlit with Jeff Goldblum attached to star.

Somewhere, an emo band has just found its cover art.

2004-12-08T13:25:00.000-06:00

I can't decide if this is more creepy than cool.

THERE WAS PCP IN THAT HARD LEMONADE

2004-12-06T17:53:00.000-06:00

I'm totally going to push for that to be the name of my band. It's at least a good song title.

Everything is apparently okay; everybody's kissed and made up. Which is great, in a number of ways.

The next time I go to rent a movie, I know exactly what I'm getting. In the comedy section, there's a movie called 'MONSTURD'. It involves an escaped killer dying in the sewer, then coming back to life as some kind of post-mythical poo beast. I can't see it being any good at all, which it means it will be delightful.

This is the lamest shit ever. It makes you think he wanted re-election just to fuck with everyone who fucked with him.

You know, eventually the band is going to need a name. Who's got a good one? A real good one, not something dumb like 'The Rock Nuts-es' or 'Lynyrd Skynyrd'.

Karma is a bitch that dates your guitar player and breaks up the band.

2004-12-03T21:50:00.000-06:00

I got the news last night that my fledgling band may not survive the weekend.

Great.

The good news is, it has absolutely nothing to do with me. The bad news is, there's also nothing I can do to fix it. I'll try to make this as concise as I possibly can: my drummer and guitarist are roommates and best friends for many, many years. They moved here from out of state to attend school and start a band. The house they live in is owned by guitarist's parents, so technically, it's his house. Recently, guitarist got a girlfriend, and has been spending a wealth of time with her. That's important for later.

A few days ago, drummer wanted a friend to stay over at their place for a while. Guitarist either said no straight out, or made it known he had a serious problem with it. Drummer threw a fit about not having any power/say over what goes on in the house, announces he's leaving in January. I call, inquiring about when we'll practice next, get handed all of this.

My theory is that drummer is having a problem with the new girlfriend monopolizing all the guitarist's time; this has been building to a head for a while, and this latest incident was the straw that broke the camel's back. I think my analysis is pretty accurate, because this is almost word for word the exact same thing that happened to me and my last roommate, also one of my very best friends, also longtime band members.

And it's horseshit. It was horseshit when I threw a fit about his marriage, and it's horseshit now that drummer is upset over there being a new queen bee in the hive. The bright side is that drummer feels this can be resolved once he gets to speak to guitarist one on one, and he realizes that he just needs to be the bigger man in this situation. Which is exactly the right thing to do. And perhaps he'll have to move out anyway, just to preserve the friendship. And two, they both seem to like me pretty well, as far as I can see, and judging by how much work they put into finding a bass player before I came along, it's a pretty safe bet that if worse comes to worse, I'll still have at least one of them to play with.

Pray for a brother.

Fantastic Sexual Magnet

2004-12-02T00:15:00.000-06:00

Here's something not many people know about me: I have a deep, sincere, all-consuming, and completely unexplainable adoration for Don Knotts.

For reals. I don't know why, but I can literally watch anything he's in. Ever since I saw the movie Serial Mom, I have been on a fevered hunt for a velvet painting of the man. I could go on for paragraphs about my unnatural fascination with the man they call Fife, but you get the point.

So when I found this linked on A Tiny Revolution, I giggled like a baby with a set of car keys.

Terrorists actually live in the sewers, and can swim up your toilet and bite you on the ass.

2004-11-30T12:37:00.000-06:00

I'd make some kind of snarky comment, but it's not like Ridge really did anything.

An open letter to the motherfucker/motherfuckers who knifed my tires Saturday night.

2004-11-30T10:26:00.000-06:00

Dear filthy animals,

What the holy blue fuck is wrong with you? Why did you do that? And why did you have to do two? Why was one not enough? I couldn't even have put my spare on to drive somewhere to get a new tire. I had to take my wheels completely off and take those to get new tires. WHY DID YOU DO THAT?

I'm not a tough guy; I don't beat my chest at little irritations, I don't threaten violence wantonly. However, if I ever find out who did this, I will shit in your mouth and toss you into the highway.

In other news, I am now in the market for a house to rent. I won't be able to take it until the spring, but I'm looking now. If anyone in the Denton area has any leads on a decent little place, not too expensive, I'd love to hear about it. And I've lived in some pretty sketchy places, so it doesn't have to be the Taj Mahal or anything. Just not a hovel.

I'm tempted to make up a brand new curse word to articulate my feelings about this.

2004-11-24T01:44:00.000-06:00

I know I toss this phrase around a lot, but I believe that this is literally the most insane fucking thing I've ever heard in my entire life.

XYZ, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, XYZ!

2004-11-23T13:30:00.000-06:00

It's sad that the first thing that came to mind was, "I just hope that's an accident, and he's not in the middle of telling the 'one-eared elephant' joke to the prime minister of Japan."

Insert funny here.

2004-11-23T13:28:00.000-06:00

North Texas is quickly becoming the unofficial crazy fucker capital of the United States.

I've been listening to the 911 tape on the radio all morning, and it's pretty freaky. Why is it all the child murderers seem to be super religious? If Jesus told you to kill anyone, much less a 10 month old baby, wouldn't you question it? I know it's Jesus, but still...

This is my favorite part of the story:

"What would drive a person to do that?" said resident Jacob Hopland, 22. "I know kids are hard to handle, but you have to step up and be a good parent."

So, next time the toaster starts laughing at you, and your toothbrush tells you to hack your infant to bits, just chill out.

This is a good idea on paper, but it's Canada, so of course it's all talk.

But really, how awesome would that be if another country actually did that? Even if you're a big Bush supporter, wouldn't it give you a tiny little thrill to be watching the news and see Bush trying to escape Canadian police like the final chase scene in The Blues Brothers?

Time Magazine has been running a bunch of good stories lately.

Unfortunately, you have to subscribe to read them online. Go to the library instead. Look for the article from a month or so ago about the so-called 'God Gene'. A researcher has found that there may be a built-in biological imperative that makes us beleive in God. Certain people are more susceptible to it, kind of a chemical imbalance of sorts. It goes to the length to explain it as a type of survival instinct, using the entire middle east as a large scale litmus test to bear out the theory. It's an interesting article, and an interesting theory. Also, there's a more recent story about al Qaeda bringing radiological material through Mexico, because of course, those people have no laws down there.

I don't feel the need to link to any stories concerning all the resignations from the Bush cabinet, because we've all seen them, ad nauseum. It's true that cabinet resignations are a part of every re-election, and that compared to other cabinets it's about average, but isn't it a little odd that so many are happening in such a compressed time frame?

I'm no hardass when it comes to re-making movies, but I really disagree with this. It's not like they're taking a bad movie and making it better, or taking a rarely seen but good movie and giving it new life with a re-make. They're taking a good movie and re-making it because they think they can do it better, which they can't. You might argue that Burton's going to make it darker, like the book, but I think the original was plenty damn dark. Plus, Johnny Depp's kind of an asshole, whereas Gene Wilder isn't.

I'd like to give a quick plug to A Tiny Revolution. This guy is probably the best I've ever seen at mixing political commentary, righteous indignation, and some of the funniest non-sequiters I've ever read.

Josh and Diana have recently decided to move back to Texas/Denton. I'm stoked, despite the series of unfortunate events that led them to decide to do this. It's nothing catastrophic; shit just happens. They plan to be moved back by Christmas, so I guess I had better get my ass in gear writing down my Boston trip notes from two months ago.

Finally, the girlfriend and I signed up again for the Blockbuster movie pass, which I can't say enough good things about. We were perusing the new releases the other night, and suddenly, we come across the wall o' Soul Plane. "Let's get that!", she says. "Really? Okay." I had been kind of interested in seeing it, ever since I heard rumors of the John Witherspoon/baked potato finger-banging scene, so we grabbed it and came home. I put it in, and the menu pops up complete with naked girls and booty music. "This doesn't look like a Gwyneth Paltrow movie," the girlfriend says.

"It's not."
"It's not?"
"No. Are you being serious?"
"Yeah. This isn't that Gwyneth Paltrow movie?"
"Are you fucking with me?"
"No, I'm being serious!"
"Babe, this movie stars Snoop Dogg and Tom Arnold."
"Oh."
"You looked right at the box! There was nothing but black people on it!"
"I thought I saw a white girl."
"Well, there probably was A white girl. I wondered why you wanted to rent this one."

Luckily, it wasn't horrible. It certainly wasn't high art, but it had some pretty funny moments, and I don't regret getting it.

On the count of three, everyone freak out.

2004-11-10T13:55:00.000-06:00

ONE. The Churchy LaFemmes are officially running amok. There are a number of things to be chilled to your soul over, concerning Bush's re-election. I think it's a wonderful irony that the people who re-elected Bush based on his platform of morality as opposed to his failed record against terrorism, don't recognize that the radical right Christian ideology is one of the things that terrorists hate the most about us. Way to go, guys.

I held off commenting on the election, because for once, I wanted to really sort out my thoughts before I wrote anything down. But... didn't happen. I'm not going to make any smarter insights than anyone else, so I might as well just do what I do best, and spit ill-informed vitriol.

I'll say this: anything that happens to us from now on, we completely and totally deserve, and I'm not even kidding. I think the midwest fucked us horribly. I think people, while voting in record numbers, chose poorly, and I think the impending smoking hole in Fallujah will bear that theory out.

I feel bad for gay people. Let 'em get married. Tell you what, I'm never going to get married, but as a heterosexual individual, I'm entitled to at least one marriage. God says so, apparently. Is there some kind of voucher I can get, that I could give/sell to a gay couple so they could get married? Can I make one? Kind of like a 'free back rub' coupon? I've got photoshop, I can make it look real nice.

If you think Bush looks at his re-election as anything other than an order handed down straight from Yahweh, you are a fool and possibly a communist.

TWO. Alan Keyes makes me want to not be black. Look, as much as the Democrats want to be the party of the people and tout their multi-cultural... ness, they're just as much of a white boys club as the Republicans. As much as I like Obama, and I'm glad he's getting some great attention, you have to admit it was way transparent for the Democrats to prop him up at the convention the way they did. On the other hand, it forced the Republicans to be even more transparent by flying in their own black dude to run against him. The point? Now that he's lost, Keyes should have brought the wrath of God down on the Republicans' head for using him like that. But he didn't, he maintained the party line, and hollered at another brother for being "evil". For shame, Alan.

TWO AND A HALF. This is awesome, right? Right? Maybe not. On the surface, I'm pretty stoked that Ashcroft is out of the picture, but there's two things keeping me from going from stoked to psyched. One, I've heard some scuttlebutt about Ashcroft gearing up to take Rehnquist's position on the Supreme Court whenever he dies/retires/can't remember his way home and is eaten by wolves. I don't have to tell you, that's an incredivbly frightening prospect. And two, we're basically trading in our hooptie for a newer pimp ride. This guy appears to be pretty much on the same page as Ashcroft, and a little more hardline on a couple of issues, he's just younger and a little more brown. So we're not really looking at any significant change, unless Ashcroft actually does wind up on the bench. Then it's going to be infinitely worse. Though I'll be on the edge of my seat waiting for Bush to slip up and call him 'Speedy'.

THREE. This is just really, really funny.

No fun.

2004-11-09T11:53:00.000-06:00

One of my co-workers just called me to let me know that one of my bosses died last night.

My store was owned by a married couple, and for no apparent reason, the husband just didn't wake up this morning.

It's a god damn shame in every sense.

It's official. Bush is president again.

2004-11-04T21:08:00.000-06:00

Straight off of Google news, 11/4/04. No re-touching. Though I do wish I'd thought of it.

You had me at 'EERRGHH-AHHH chickachickachickach-KOW!'.

2004-11-04T18:33:00.000-06:00

God damn you, George Lucas. God damn you to hell. I got into the last one for free, and it was horrible. If I pay for this one, will you make it as good as the trailer?

I'd leave the country, but because of Bush, I can't afford it.

2004-11-03T13:24:00.000-06:00

I'm going to withhold my comments on the election for the time being, because technically, it's not over. It may as well be, but I personally refuse to accept it. All I know is, I was hanging out last night with an economist and a political theorist, and between the three of us, I now fully understand the phrase, 'apoplectic with rage'.

So instead, I'll focus on the bright side. The aforementioned 'smaht kids' are the new band I'm going to start playing with. We're going to play some totally complicated shit. I don't even know that I have the proper vocabulary to accurately describe it. It's all instrumental, and there's shit-tons of polyrhythmic figures going on. At one point last night, we were laying 6 beats on 5 beats, which in layman's terms is a bit like patting your head and rubbing your stomach while trying to breakdance with another person doing the exact same thing. I was doing well just to stay in key with them last night. But it's good. It's SO good. Stoners are gonna be stoked.

I get the feeling I'm gonna have a really bad night at work. Don't know why, I just do. Keep your fingers crossed that I don't get into a fist fight after kicking a Lexus.

I got a sticker.

2004-11-02T13:31:00.000-06:00

Voted this morning, around 10:30. It wasn't bad, for me. The whole process took about 20 minutes, and most of that was standing in line.

For others, it appeared to be a huge mess. I was seventh in line, and of the six people in front of me, only one got to sign in and fill out a ballot with no problem. The other five people, for one reason or another, either weren't on the registry sheets, or the sheets had been accidentally thrown away. Which may sound shocking, but then, you didn't see the octogenarians holding down Fort Democracy.

I genuinely don't think there were any shenanigans at play; I just think that the place was a mess, organizationally speaking. I came up in line, and after a few seconds of shuffling through a mountain of papers, I spotted my name and went ahead and pointed it out, because there was no way in hell Aunt Jemima was going to find it on her own. Even though my name is spelled correctly on my registration card, she still read a 'T' as an 'S'.

"No ma'am, with a 't'... I think I see my name right there. No, on this sheet. No, on the back. Yes ma'am, right there. Right there. Right there."

The ballot itself was a little goofy. To cast a vote, you had to use a special issue Democracy Sharpie, and complete a broken arrow next to the name of your candidate. But at least there will be a paper trail, which is always good.

Also, Badnarik was listed as the third party, which I found pretty surprising. I know Nader didn't get his petitions in order to appear on our ballot, but I REALLY didn't think Badnarik had either. Eh, whatever.

I have to go to work tonight, so I'll miss out on all the initial electoral hijinks. I get the feeling it'll be pretty slow tonight, which will only serve to make me more antsy. I'm depending on all of you to catch me up to speed when I get home later. Don't be shitty.

Buzz Lightyear has no goddamn manners.

2004-11-02T11:30:00.000-06:00

I spent Halloween in my girlfriend's town. It was weird because they actually celebrated Halloween on Saturday night (the town is full of Churchy LaFemmes-I've never agreed with trick or treating a day early because the proper day falls on a Sunday, but what the hell was I gonna do?), and it was doubly weird because it was the first time in several years that I've actually seen kids out trick or treating like I used to when I was wee.

We had carved pumpkins, but hadn't planned on handing out candy to kids, mostly because we weren't even sure how many we would get. By 7:15, we had to shut off all the lights and make an emergency trip to the store to buy some M&M's.

The best costume(s) of the night were this pair of brothers; the older one, about four or five, was dressed as a hunter, all in camo gear. The younger one, still wearing a diaper, barely walking, and clearly not grasping what was happening, was wearing a set of brown sweats and a giant plush deer head sitting cock-eyed on his noggin. It was pretty damn cute, and I really don't like hunting or kids that much.

The best trick or treater of the night however (and holy hell, I wish I'd had a camera), was the little kid dressed up as Buzz Lightyear. My girlfriend's house has a regular door, and a big glass storm door. We had the inside door open, so kids could see in, and this little bastard runs up and starts yelling at us through the storm door, "HEY, YOU GOT A PUPPY IN THERE? IS THAT PUPPY? YOU GOT A PUPPY IN THERE?"

We didn't have a puppy in there. I don't know what the hell this kid thought he saw, but it wasn't a puppy. My girlfriend was the designated candy matron, while I stayed in the kitchen, dressed up in my costume as 'drunk guy'. She didn't even get to the door before this kid spied the candy, and not really understanding the properties of matter and physics, tried to slam his little face through the glass door in an effort to more effectively get candy. "GIMME THAT KIT-KAT!", he screamed. He opened his candy sack up, pressed it up to the glass, and slammed his head against it again.

"GIMME THAT KIT-KAT!"

The girlfriend finally had to just start opening the door and physically push him away to get outside. Buzz tried to swipe a whole fistfull of Kit-Kats, but being only about four years old, a fistful still doesn't equal one bar.

RUNNER-UP: A mom carried her little girl up to the door. Girlfriend went outside with the candy. Mom says to the little girl, "Can you say trick or treat?" Little girl: "No." GRAB!

My final argument.

2004-11-01T19:39:00.000-06:00

Tomorrow, we vote. Unless you voted early, in which case you are clearly some sort of super-American, intent on proving your worth as a citizen above all others. Or possibly some kind of voting robot, or if you will, 'votebot'.

I'll say it as plainly as I can: I'm voting for Kerry, and if you are under the age of 30, I really don't understand how you can do any different. That being said, I'll only show you one more piece of evidence to try and sway your vote away from Bush.

Still a bit ticked that HE doesn't get a motorcade, Barney lays on the horn while fighting traffic on the South Lawn Expressway.
This is Barney, the presidential terrier. More importantly, this is what your tax dollars ultimately go towards, a dog driving a motherfucking forklift ON THE INTERWEB.

Terrorists are running free. Soldiers are dying daily in deserts halfway across the world. 2 out of every 3 people on the planet hate our guts just on principle. Civil rights and basic human freedom are taking a backseat to Jesus 'n' Bombs. Dude, fucking ALIENS might be looking at this right now, and this is the best we have to show for ourselves?

To: Willie_the_Cat@hairball.gov
Fr: Barney@Barney.gov
Subject: WhEre aRe uuuuu?

wHy is ur ceLL fone tuRned offff? R u in the oVal office?

I'm hEre at the tEnnis CoUrt.

HuRry uP.

: p

If you love me, you'll vote for Kerry. Oh, and if you live in Texas, do me a favor and vote for whoever's running against Kay Bailey Hutchison.

Barney link ganked from Something Awful, with no shame whatsoever. Car photo taken on the highway between Boston and Salem, Massachusetts, courtesy of Josh and Diana's own bad selves.

Yes. Or not. Maybe absolutely.

2004-11-01T17:22:00.000-06:00

Got this as a comment to the election party post:

"Anonymous said...
This Tuesday election shindig is something that sparked my interest, mainly because I firmly believe that dV and you, CM, are two of the funniest mfers whose blogs I read on a regular basis. Also, I know dV personally through Harmony (one of his friends), and I know that he is as intelligent as he is witty, two qualities I greatly admire. Having said that, here is my self-indulgent reservation concerning the Tuesday shindig...

For the 14 years I've known dV, I've had great respect for him. As previously mentioned, he's witty, intelligent, insightful, well-mannered, and an all around good person. Last night, I had a halloween party for which he and X were sent an invitation and also a follow-up reminder to RSVP, please. Now, what happens next is my issue...he didn't RSVP! You must understand how pilllar-wobbling this was for me. I view dV as someone who always acts appropriately in every situation. He's out with X and Harmony tonight, and I told Harmony to beat the poop out of him for me for not RSVPeeing to my invite.

So, here's my dilemma...do I forgive him for not behaving appropriately in this situation and come to the Tuesday shindig, or do I not go and stay at home and nurture this burgeoning belief that dV is not perfect, as I have believed for 14 years now?

Help."

This is by far one of the weirdest things I've ever read, on several levels.

I've just been re-districted into 'Totally Fucked-ville'.

2004-10-29T02:03:00.000-05:00

So I tripped over this article the other day, and it's quite the compelling read.

I don't claim to be the smartest guy around. Oh sure, I try, and I'd like to think I'm pretty sharp, but some things are just over my head. I read through this a few times, made some notes, drew a diagram, added some numbers, subtracted some numbers, carried the 2, found the quotient of x, and solved for the unknown.

When it was all said and done, I had officially crapped in my pants at the very real possibility of this happening, JUST BECAUSE.

Out of the loop.

2004-10-29T01:42:00.000-05:00

Blogger decided to shit the bed for a couple of days, so consequently, I got scooped by dV and Josh on all the happenings/wheelings/dealings that I wanted to write about. So, in an effort to once again assert myself as the alpha blog, I give you PJ Harvey's shorn persqueeter:

On to business. I'm dangerously close to once again being in a band. I met up with Brad the drummer around noon today to talk about hooking up some deadly rock action. We got together at a bar near campus, and it still feels weird drinking before noon, especially when we were the only two people in the whole place. I suppose that's a good thing. We had a lot in common, and we're both the loveable type of asshole, so as long as my chops haven't deteriorated too much in the past couple of years I don't see any reason why we shouldn't be blowing doors down very, very soon. I'm totally stoked. In fact, Lady Luck has already graced me with a killer band name...

I got an email from dV last night, proposing a joint election watching/grain alcohol drink-off party for our readers and ourselves. I'm all for it, though I think the only one of my readers to show up would in fact, be dV. On the off-chance that I have readers in the area of Denton, TX who would like to participate in said shindig, either leave a comment or drop me a quick note. It will be on Tuesday, of course, and will no doubt go until question marks.

The girlfriend was over last night when I got the email. She's got a bit of a jealous streak in her, and began throwing pointed barbs my direction, pointed barbs being her weapon of choice when trying to take me down a peg or two.

"What's that?"

"An email from that guy here in town whose blog I read."

"Is he your boyfriend?"

She does this all the time. She calls it 'endearing'. 'Endearing' is one of many words that could be used.

"Yes. He's my boyfriend. Despite having never met him, seen him, or spoken to him, not to mention the fact that this is the first direct email he's ever sent me, yes, he's my french gay jew boyfriend. We're going to get together sometime when you're not here and be secret sodomites-OH MY GOD, THAT'S SUCH A GREAT BAND NAME!!!"

"Yeah, it really is."

Fucking ewww...

2004-10-26T13:50:00.000-05:00

I'm working on the screenplay as we speak.

It's a remake of 'The Man With Two Brains'. We'll have Steve Martin cameo as Dr. Alfred Necessiter, and cast someone young and hot in the role of Dr. Michael Hfuhruhurr. Maybe Ben Affleck, or possibly Will Ferrell. Only I'll throw in a twist, with a wacky scence where everyone has their brains removed and there's some crazy mix-up, where a first-year med student (maybe the kid who played Stiffler? check with his agent...) tries to get them all back into the correct bodies before they die, with hilarious results.

In all seriousness, I really think this could work.

News In (my boxer) Brief(s)

2004-10-26T02:33:00.000-05:00

From the 'not nearly as bad as it looks... really' dept.

Oh goody! So we never actually had a chance to not guard the big-time fuck off bombs! That's so great to hear. I feel so much safer now that I know our leadership in Iraq is merely ineffectual as opposed to totally incompetent. I guess we all owe Dubya a sheepish apology.

Except... had we not completely destabilized the government by shitting molten death across the country, then there probably wouldn't have been an opportunity to loot hundreds of tons of potential nuclear components.

If I may make an analogy: let's say my friend is going out of town, and asks me to watch his house for him. He leaves, and then I put up a sign that says 'No one will be home for a few days. Please don't break in and steal anything.' Immediately afterward, people break in and steal things. When my friend gets home, he has every right to kick the ever-loving piss out of me. Granted, it's a little different, because we suggested that Iraq leave town and let us watch its stuff, and it will actually be the rest of the world that whoops our natural ass, but I think the general point is the same.

From the banging chickens dept.

For the past year or so, I've really been trying to make up my mind about whether or not I like Hunter S. Thompson. I'm still on the fence. Stories like this make me want to stand up and cheer, but I just can't reconcile those facts with the way he writes. I appreciate the vitriol, and agree with what the man says, but for some reason, I just find it such a chore to read on the page. Sorry. I would still rather have read the article than not read it, for whatever that's worth.

Hey, you get it? 'Cause Thompson does 'gonzo' journalism, and Gonzo on the Muppets was always trying to bang a chicken? Huh? Get it?

Well the hell with you then. You be funny at this hour.

From the Drudge-fuck dept.

We don't need any help, sweetie. We got this one. Why don't you go not draw attention to yourself for a little while.

From the total crock of shit dept.

I didn't want to say anything about this since I first read it on NewsMax (fuck 'em-I'm not linking), and really, I can't say with any certainty that the San Bernadino County Sun is a more reliable source, but at least it's written a little better there.

"We've captured or killed a lot of al-Qaida," a Defense Department spokesman said Friday. "We just haven't bagged the big turkey."

Really? We've been reduced to jive in the worldwide hunt for the most wanted terrorist in history?

Apparently, that sucka Musharraf has said turkey setting up shop in his backyard, and while we've got the Bandit's 20, Smokey just can't catch a break, come back.

I'm sorry. I've just spoiled the Bush administration's October Surprise; our newest weapon in the war on terror is CB radio slang.

From the complete disclosure dept.

I had a conversation with Josh from Damn the Man tonight concerning the state of affairs vis a vis politics, blogging and such. He was really the one who got me interested in politics, and getting involved in more than a spectator capacity. I told him that lately I'd been having a lot of fun doing this kind of stuff, but recently, I'd begun to be gripped with a crushing fear whenever I read anything about the government and the various wheelings and dealings going on.

I can't pinpoint exactly what it is. I just know that there's things that I find intensely frightening in our system, and perhaps it was just a phase; that I'd hit the wall as it were, and soon I would come out the other side.

"Nope."

It's just that sometimes I'll read his blog, and others that he has linked (all very good, and very smart - you'd be doing yourself a huge favor to peruse a few) and more often than not, I'd feel like I was doing little more than making cheap fart jokes at the system's expense. And that's on my good days. I'm not equipped to wax philosophical with the big boys of political theory, and that's fine.But some days I'll sit here typing up a post related to nothing in particular and delete it halfway through because I'll be gripped by an unreasonable need to watch the news rather than write about my wangus.

"Damn the torpedoes!" Josh said to me, in not so many words. My wangus is quite neccessary, and you need to hear about it, whether you know it or not.

He's right, you know. And in that spirit, I nicked my balls shaving the other day.

Again.

I know, I should have learned the first time. But I didn't, and I ain't got no time machine.

The ballsack has way more blood in it than you think it does. In fact, it's kind of a good thing I'd done this before, so that I was prepared this time and didn't freak out the way I did the first time.

The first time I did it, I still had a roommate. He wasn't home at the time, but the band-aids were in his bathroom, across the apartment from mine. Bleeding like a stuck pig, I had to race from my bathroom, out of my bedroom, across the living room and into his bathroom to get a band-aid, bare-assed naked and clutching my sack like a set of rosary beads the whole time.

The bleeding eventually clamed down, and now I've got this totally cool scar that makes my peter look like a badass. (rimshot!)

BREAKING NEWS: Hot Topic's sales to take a serious nosedive.

2004-10-21T14:28:00.000-05:00

So the big flap around North Texas is the recent ritual murder/suicide of a high school girl and her boyfriend around Frisco/The Colony. You gotta register to read the story, but just put in any bullshit. you can also watch a local news report here.

No? Okay, basically, this girl's body was found along some railroad tracks after she was murdered with a sword.

Yeah, I typed it, you read it.

Police ended up coming after her boyfriend, who then licked a couple of shots off at the cops, catching one of the officers in the hip. Police returned fire approximately 17 times, and while it was originally reported that the kid ended up whacking himself, I'm hearing now that the cops nailed him instead. The hook?

"He had a journal, and he and Ms. Jobes had a discussion about what occurred on the tracks. She agreed to it, and he carried it out," Chief Renshaw said, referring to Mr. Owen's writings. "We can't refute it."

Because of the physical evidence, he said, "It makes sense that it was an assisted suicide."

What's that you say? You find this all a little far-fetched, a little too 'Highlander'? Well, I got news for you, boy:

Donnelle Owen, 17, said Tuesday before his cousin was found dead that Mr. Owen collected swords and used to play with them at family reunions.

She said she last spoke to him two months ago.

"I kind of try to stay away from talking to him," she said. "He's pretty crazy."

She described him as "gothic" and said he often wore a Superman shirt and a trench coat.

Mmm. I can't wait for the Halloween bulletins to come out in the papers this year, telling parents to keep kids away from bridges, and be on the lookout for devil worshippers who play D&D and want to kidnap children with blonde hair and blue eyes. The 80's really are back.

If you don't shop at Wal-Mart, you're kind of a terrorist.

2004-10-21T13:42:00.000-05:00

So... let me get this straight. You mean to tell me that I can pick up a bottle of J-Lo perfume, a propane smoker, a miniature crotch rocket, and my very own, honest to bejeezus 'Last Supper' for less than fifty bones, but I can't be trusted to properly handle the contents of a book.

Super. I already bought the book, and I avoid Wal-Mart like brain AIDS, but still and all, it's nice to know that Sam's ghost is looking out for me and my delicate sensibilities.

Uhhhh... stuff.

2004-10-19T23:38:00.000-05:00

#1-

First and foremost, in a couple of weeks, I'll be switching over to the glorious world of Movable Type. I say a couple of weeks, because like every blog system in the world, the templates blow. Luckily, I've got kind of a hot hand with design and my benefactor at Damn the Man has all kinds of ill coding style, so between the two of us, we're working together to create a better tomorrow. But just for us. I'll let you know when the move comes so all three of you won't be left in the cold.

#2-

HOW HARD IS IT TO JUST KEEP YOUR MOUTH CLOSED? PLEASE BE QUIET, JOHN. SHUT UP. SHUT THE FUCK UP.

I know your plan, and it is backfiring wildly, my man. Why don't you throw out what an 'uppity Jew' Jesus was, while you're at it? Perhaps most baffling of all, is the fact that by and large, people are still being more or less civil in their responses to you. Well, fuck a bunch of that noise. You sir, are an A-1 douchebag. I hope you get feline leukemia.

Jag.

#3-

We hired two new girls at work about two weks ago. One of them is real cool, she's super-nice and real easy to get along with. I don't get to work with her hardly at all, but from what I understand, she's fitting in nicely. The other girl is nice enough as well, but there have been concerns from the beginning that she's...well, stupid. Just little things here and there that could probably be chalked up to just being new, but still...

The nimroderry was confirmed last night. I was checking out her register, and she had written out the totals of all her cash, standard procedure. She had an extra roll of both pennies and quarters, but on her list she had written 'pennies-23+roll' and 'quarters-43'. The following is as close to exact as I can remember the conversation going, with her starting:

"I wrote down the roll of pennies, because I couldn't remeber how many were in there. It's fifty, right?"
"...seriously?"
"Yeah... is that wrong?"
"How many do you think are in there?"
"um... is it fifty?"
"Yeah."
"Cool, and I added the quarters on the total, 'cause that's just 25."
"WHAT?!?!?"
"It's not 25?"
"No, sweetie, it's not."
"Well how many is it?"
"There's ten dollars worth. Four quarters to a dollar..."
"Yeah, 25."
"Here, try this."

I handed her our calculator. She tapped a couple of keys on it.

"Wait, it says .o13."
"I JUST GAVE YOU A FUCKING CALCULATOR, AND YOU STILL DIDN'T GET IT RIGHT? HOW DID YOU EVEN GET .013?"
"I put in 10, then..."
"You put in 10 divided by .25. And you get?"
"40. Is that right?"
"Yes, that's right."
"I'm bad at math."

I'm bad at math too, but there's a difference between not being able to understand advanced algebra and only being able to count to 'potato'.

#4-

I've more or less traded my television for the interweb these days, but I still make time to catch the Daily Show, cartoons, and other assorted important shows. But last night, I stumbled across an awesome episode of MTV's MADE, the show where they find some kid who wants to... I don't know, not suck for a week or two, and make his/her marginal dreams come true. This episode featured some 17 year old kid from Boston clocking in at almost 350 pounds, and he wanted to A) lose weight, and B) go to the homecoming dance at school with his best friend.

If you can figure out when this comes on again, I HIGHLY recommend it. You've got to at least watch the first half, where cameras follow him to fat camp. In a way, it's kind of sweet, watching him drop some pounds and hook up with a fat girl. But in another, more accurate way, it's riotously hilarious as he and his fat camp hook-up have a bonding session over which fast-food joint has the best value menu (apparently it's Wendy's). Totally worth it.

Can you spot the greatest band name in the world in this post? Answer at the bottom!*

2004-10-14T22:59:00.000-05:00

Have you read the Bill O'Reilly sexual harrasssment suit?

That is some hot shit. All it's missing is "Dear Supreme Court of the State of New York: I never believed the letters you received, until one day..." Try reading it out loud over some whocka-chicka porn music.

Mmmmm.

Here's the thing. I want SO very badly to believe that O'Reilly is guilty. I find him to be perhaps one of the most sanctimonious, self-righteous, arrogant pricks ever to be let loose upon this earth. The idea that he might (gasp!) abuse his power and position with his employees is a natural evolution for a man with his personality and behavior patterns.

BUT-

Here's where I have to step back and remember that it is not the individual who is in question here, it his alleged actions. The facts are not all in, and unfortunately, I have to consider O'Reilly innocent until proven guilty.

And besides, there's one aspect of Mackris' allegations that troubles me. The brief paints O'Reilly as some kind of poon-crazed cum junkie. It makes it seem like he's a one-man vagina wrecking crew. I don't see that when I look at him. I see an drunken asshole uncle. I don't know that I neccessarily buy the notion that 'Balls' O'Reilly exists, and here's why:

Every time we get a news story dropped on us concerning a self styled moral crusader falling from grace, it's a pretty significant fall. Exhibit A: Dr. Laura. You couldn't imagine a more fearsomely straight-laced scruple hound if your name was William Burroughs. What pops up then, but sub-Juggs nudie flicks featuring the good doctor. Exhibit B: Rush Limbaugh. It wasn't enough that Rush was a pill popper. He could have just developed a dependance on Ambien like everyone else, but no, Rush demands excellence in addiction as well as broadcasting. Pumpkinhead was literally taking fistfuls of oxycontin, which I shouldn't have to remind you, is often referred to as 'hillbilly heroin'. THAT'S a fall.

And that's exactly why I can't totally get behind Mackris' story about O'Reilly. It's just not grand enough for him to have engaged in what reads to me as pretty vanilla sexual harrassment. Now had there been a little after-hours chair sniffing, maybe some scat-munching, I could see it. But he never showed her the hairy potato. She never walked in on him banging the severed head of a Real Doll. I didn't read anywhere in the complaint that he asked her to play 'Fireman' with him (That's where the girl pours a bottle of whiskey on the guy's crotch, lights his pubes on fire, then he has to spank it like crazy so the jizz will put it out. Then she beats the shit out of him with a garden hose.).

So pardon me if I reserve judgement.

* Did you find the greatest band name? If you said ' Poon-Crazed Cum Junkie ', ' Vagina Wrecking Crew ', ' Hairy Potato ', or ' Banging the Severed Head ', I'm sorry. It was actually a trick question. While those are all excellent names for a band, everyone knows the greatest band name ever is the Doobie Brothers' original moniker, PUD. Thanks for playing!

True Story #1

2004-10-13T13:27:00.000-05:00

Mustard makes you dumb.

2004-10-12T01:30:00.000-05:00

I've discovered an unfortunate side effect of having a blog, at least for me. Despite my best intentions, I've let enough slip that anyone who put enough effort into it could figure out who I am. It's not a big deal, but in a way, the beauty of a blog is the freedom to be a total ass, my one true talent.

But what's happened is a vague sense of paranoia has now set in. Now when I'm at work, and a dummy walks in, a tiny voice in the back of my skull says, 'This person knows who are. They've read your blog. They're fucking with you right now to see if you'll mention them'.

Ludicrous, I know.

OR IS IT?

Today did not help the argument to the contrary.

We have re-introduced one of our seasonal drinks in the coffee shop. We've long advertised it with caramel and chocolate drizzled on top, though we never had squeeze bottles to do so. We got 'em this year, and while the chocolate bottle is odd (a red cylindrical bottle, like the kind used for ketchup, but not exclusively), the caramel bottle was most assuredly a mustard bottle in its former life. I'm talking, my boss bought mustard, used it, washed it out, and took the label off. It's totally ex-French's. I've had a couple of people ask me, sincerely, 'Is that mustard?' That's a stupid question, but whatever. Today though, a woman ordered the drink, I made it, and picked up the bottle to drizzle caramel, when the woman said AND I QUOTE...
'Oh, no mustard.'
She said it the way normal people say, 'No whipped cream.' Like it was the most natural thing in the world to squirt mustard all over the top of a cup of coffee. I stared at her, and she repeated herself. I asked her, 'Do you even know what you just said?' We must have stared at each other for eleven minutes before she finally realized what she said, and giggled sheepishly. Strike one.
Dude came in this afternoon, ordered a latte with a twist of lemon. I didn't say anything, because I was certain I was being Punk'd. Dude took the latte to the condiment bar and added a packet of lemon. 'You ever try this? People freak out when I ask for it, but it's good.' 'Mm-hm. I'll take your word for it.' If you read my blog, congratulations. You made it.
A new guy working in the mall's been coming in a lot lately. He seems like an okay guy, kind of weird looking, but then, anyone with this guy's haircut game would look weird. I guess he's going to be a regular, because he introduced himself to me today.
'Hey man, I never got your name.'

'Chad(my standard fake name-maybe I'll tell you the story sometime).'

'Chad, good to meet you. I'm Jojo.'
As God is my witness, I swear on my mother's future grave that I'm not lying to you. A six foot four white guy in his mid-twenties with a perm told me his name was motherfucking JOJO. It was at this point that I became certain that these people all know who I am. None of this stuff would have occurred, had these people not seen fit to fuck with me. This was clearly a challenge.

I'm legitimately bummed about Christopher Reeve dying. I don't know why either. I was bummed about Dangerfield eating it, but it's not the same because he really hasn't done much in the past few years, other than defy expectations of living. And really, when you look at it, neither has Reeve. But dammit, Superman's not supposed to die. And at the risk of sounding like a front runner, he really was an awesome Superman. Mostly because he nailed Clark Kent so well. You ask me, that's what sold it. I actually have seen non-Superman Christopher Reeve movies, and he was really a pretty good actor. But he'll always be Superman.

I had an odd experience on Saturday night. The girlfriend was assigned a story in the middle of nowhere to cover a local karaoke contest at a little dirthole bar/restaurant. Advertised as 'Backyard Idol', it was a chance for local rednecks to get tanked and sing Toby Keith songs for the chance to win $200.

Naturally, I had to attend.

I wish to God that I had pictures to accompany this, but I didn't know to grab my camera, and the girlfriend only got flicks of the winner, and the light fought her every step of the way on those. But I know you have a good imagination.

We arrived around eight o'clock, to a parking lot with more pickups than I was really comfortable with. Once inside, we were immediately assaulted with approximately eleventy billion decibels of young country, slicing its way through our eardrums. The girlfriend met her contact, and we were seated. The paper paid for us to eat, and of course, it's scientifically proven that the harder a place is to find, the better their chicken fried steak is.

The contest was already underway, so we sat back and enjoyed the show. Three women and three men competed, aged anywhere from mid-twenties to late fifties. There was much whooping and hollering.

Lisa, the M.C., kept the audience fluffed, if you will. She was unusually attractive considering the rest of the clientele, and I felt kind of sorry for her, trying to calculate exactly how many drunken rednecks she must have to fight off on a nightly basis. Of course, she had quite a mouth on her, and she wasn't afraid to use it.

To tell the truth, the contestants were pretty good, and after a bit, I actually started to kind of get into it. Oh, I wished that the girlfriend didn't know the words to as many of the songs as she did, but after graduating from Tarleton, it wasn't unexpected.

I can even pinpoint the exact moment I realized that I had a vested interest in the contest. One of the guys, Todd, quickly became the man to root for, and I'll tell you why: during the opening round he got up, and while nervous, and not at all pitch-perfect, by God, he gave it everything he had. I suspect he knew he wasn't as good as the others too, because he pulled out his secret weapon for round two. You guessed it: A leather vest with a giant American flag sewn onto the back.

We're post-ironic here, people.

I may have had the least business being in that place, but I'll be damned if that didn't make me want to shout 'THAT'S THE BADDEST MOTHERFUCKER I EVER SEEN!' Moreso, when he hit a pause in the song, and whirled around to give the audience some. Yeah, Todd knew what the crowd wanted. And he grabbed them by the hips and gave it to 'em.

Sadly, Todd's showmanship couldn't hold up to the vocal stylings of the other contestants, and he was robbed of his shot at a quarter-grand. But I had a free meal, and a reasonably good time and really, my enjoyment is what counts.

Ugh. This post looks like ass. Maybe I'll try to clean it up tomorrow when I'm sober, but... probably not.

2004-10-11T16:59:00.000-05:00

UNACCEPTABLE.

...and for our next trick, we're going to sink into obscurity!

2004-10-09T17:36:00.000-05:00

Hey dickheads...

There's an excellent reason why you weren't allowed into the debate:

NO ONE HAS EVER HEARD OF YOU.

What are you, retarded? You could not have done a worse job with your campaigns this year if you had tried.

Well, okay. Maybe.

Why do third parites always, and I mean always miss the point? Why don't they try to do things the right way? Start small. We will never elect a third party candidate straight out of the box. It's possible to get third party people elected to lower offices, that's proven. Build your ranks in local and state governments for a decade or two, until, gee, I don't know, you gain the voting public's respect, and then give the white house a shot.

Remember: crybabies never get laid.

Oklahoma! O-K-L-A-H-FUCK YOU.

2004-10-09T17:16:00.000-05:00

Dear backwoods retards,

The game's over. Your team probably won. Now please get the fuck off of my roads.

I suppose I should be thankful that you only venture down here en masse once a year, but I'm not. I hate every single one of you Okie turds that simultaneously get onto I-35 during Friday afternoon rush hour to make your way down here for the Texas-OU game. Thanks for turning a twenty mintue commute for me into an hour and a half ordeal. And put the flags away. Believe me, we know where you're coming from.

Listen, I used to have a set of grandparents who lived in Oklahoma, so I've been there many, many times. I can understand the feeling of needing desperately to escape, even for a weekend. But maybe next year, you can call each other, and make arrangements to stagger the travel plans, so that not every single one of you hits the road at the same time, causing a log jam coming through my fair little town.

And I know you're not alone. I'm sure jag-offs from Austin are making things pretty tough on people from say, Waco right now. But I don't live in Waco. I live in Denton. Our stretch of the highway has two lanes. It would be nice if you could figure out how to use them properly.

Maybe an alternate route could be considered. Louisiana is wonderful this time of year.

Or perhaps you should give some thought to staying home next year. I hear that you folks have televisions up there now. Enjoy technology. I promise the tiny people inside won't steal your souls.

BEHOLD! RUSTY, KING OF OKLAHOMA!

'Wireless-passive-transducer-ear-piece-gate'

2004-10-08T13:09:00.000-05:00

So there's a new brou-ha-ha circulating, that Bush may have been cheating during the first debate last week.

Read Salon's article here.

I know fair's fair, and by all rights, since every conservative and they momma tried to jump up Kerry's ass for rooting around in his pocket, I should now get to yell 'hahahayuo are teh ch3atar faggor!!!'

But I'm not going to. In fact, let's say that for argument's sake, Bush had Rove feeding him information during the debate. It's fairly evident to me that it didn't really work. So I say, cheat more. Give Bush a life-line. Supply him with a copy of "Snappy Answers to Stupid Questions". Let the man tag out to Condoleeza Rice when the questions get too hard.

It really doesn't make a whole lot of difference to me. If this is legit, it needs to be exposed. If not, let's just drop it. If you want to bone up on this stuff all the way, after Salon, you can go to Is Bush Wired or (sigh) Indymedia.

The 'unofficial' official retraction.

2004-10-05T13:24:00.000-05:00

Ummm... sorry everyone. My bad. See, what I thought you said was, 'Do you not not know of any strong, hard evidence linking Saddam Hussein to al Qaeda?'. Thought you were trying to fake me out with a double negative there. Oh man, talk about egg on my face!

Needless to say, ol' Dick and George got pretty steamed over that one. They called me into the sit room to yell at me a little, but I kinda nodded off in the middle of it, so I'm not really sure what the fuss is all about. I woke up, and there was this paper sitting in front of me, and a big black feller shoving a pen in my face, so I went ahead and signed it without really reading it. I'm sure it'll be okay.

So I guess, whatever I say, from now on, just turn it into the opposite, and print that. Except for this.

XOXOXOXO

Rummy

Playing catch-up.

2004-10-04T23:50:00.000-05:00

I'm gonna split this into two parts: the first part will deal with a comic book-related issue, and I'm going to assume many of you will have little to no interest in that. Which is cool. That's why you'll want to skip below the bar to find something you may like better.

I've been slacking on this for a while, partly due to laziness, and partly because I wanted to see if anyone else was going to come to the same conclusion that I have. The Fantastic Four movie is currently in production, and about a week or two ago, some publicity photos surfaced, and as per usual, geeks everywhere lost their shit. Lots of people hated them, because they didn't look like they'd stepped straight off the comics page, but those people are called assholes, and they don't realize how reality works. I like the Fantastic Four okay, and I'll see it when it comes out, but I'm not going to freak out because the cosmic rays aren't the right color. You have to make compromises when you adapt comics for movies, end of discussion. It doesn't mean you can no longer enjoy the comics.

One of the big to-dos when the photos appeared was the casting of Jessica Alba as Sue Storm. In fact, before the photos got out, lonely fanboys were screaming bloody murder about a brunette being cast in the role of a character who has always been a platinum blonde.

Blah blah blah. Do I care? Not a bit. But...

Once the photos came out, John Byrne: professional asshole, chimed in with his two cents. Here's the quick cowboymonkey background on John Byrne: once great penciler (Uncanny X-Men, Avengers, Superman, Fantastic Four, etc.), hack writer (everything), currently ruining Doom Patrol (gah-another article), and all-around opinionated jackass. Up to speed? Great.

So the photos came out, and he posted this on his forums:

"Personal prejudice: Hispanic and Latino women with blond hair look like hookers to me, no matter how clean or "cute" they are. Somehow those skin tones that look so good with dark, dark hair just don't work for me with lighter shades. Like I said -- personal prejudice."

Okay. Now granted, if anyone could be allowed to wax academic on the FF, I'll agree that it should be Byrne, but only by virtue of Jack Kirby being dead and all. And while it could be argued that his statement is mildly racist, that's not my beef. Alba doesn't appear to be that hispanic to me in the first place. MY beef is that Byrne intentionally phrased his statement to provoke. If you were to break the statement down to its essence, all he said was, 'I don't think Jessica Alba looks good cast as Sue Storm.' He didn't have to mention anything about race, or how certain races are predisposed to hooker-looks at all.

But he's a dick, so he did. Why he did it, I don't know. Perhaps his star has fallen a little too far for his tastes, and he needs to sell more books, so he gets his name thrown out there in a really ham-fisted way. That's my guess.

Heidi MacDonald put together a pretty good piece where she went digging for morons in the Byrne forums, so if you're REALLY interested, by all means go read it. There's some excellent redirection using the word 'negro'. I just wanted to yell at the interweb for a bit.

Hi! Glad you could join me down here in the ghetto. Good for you, skipping over that funnybook bullshit. Here's a real story:

I am so goddamned confused, and apparently, I'm not the only one.

So now Rummy says there was NO link between Hussein and bin Laden. Hm. How queer.

The thing is, the story suggests how this may be a part of the Bush administration "retreating from previously held positions." But is it? It was only last Thursday, if you'll remember, Bush was defending his assertion that there WAS a link. If the whole administration is backing off that, it's awfully quick, and also, a little late in the game, I would think.

Of course, Rummy's made a habit of getting confused in public lately, mixing up Hussein and bin Laden while talking to reporters. And not just once.

Multiple times.

In the same press conference.

Now, it's my bedtime, so I'll not jump to any conspiratorial conclusions, seeing as how I'm pooped and all. But without getting too tinfoil tophat, let me just throw this out there:

Is Rummy getting legitimately confused, or is he doing it on purpose?
Is he talking to anyone else in the administration before he runs out in front of the press, and contradicts the official white house position offered up only days before?
If this is an full on backtrack, why is he the guy giving it up? And if so, what prompted the backtrack?

Just fishin'. That's all. If you have any smarter insights, let me know.

Keep saying Bush won, it'll come true. Jesus might come back too.

2004-10-03T19:59:00.000-05:00

Kerry did a damn good job the other night. Not perfect, but certainly better than Stutters McGee. I'm just shocked by how much I'm hearing and reading after the fact about how people (Democrats and Republicans both) didn't expect Kerry to do as well as he did. Really? I couldn't have been the only one to call the outcome, could I?

Then again, dV (my favorite blogger that's not me) points out that sometimes even smart people have to take a day off.

Then there's this horseshit. What the hell,Drudge? Bush lost the debate. You're a fuck-up. What's left to argue? Dude, FOX MOTHERFUCKING NEWS lead with the Newsweek poll that said Kerry won. You are so out of the loop that it's gone from being funny, to not EVEN being funny, all the way back around to being superhumanly hilarious again.

What could he have possibly pulled out of his jacket to give him the upper hand against half a retard? I don't know, maybe air? It's not like he whipped out a vial of pixie dust that turned Bush into a dolt:

"Hey Dubya... GLITTER!"

"Duuhhhhh..."

But perhaps I'm not being fair. Upon closer inspection...

*Original image ganked from Drudge, then I photoshopped funny all over it. Eat me.

[i'm officially cooler than you.]

2004-09-29T20:10:00.000-05:00

I arrived home today to find a large padded envelope waiting for me in my mailbox. The return address read 'Atlanta Marketing Solutions, Inc.'. Upon opening it, I found a t-shirt and a letter reading:

Hi!

Thanks for your interest in the [adult swim] marketing manager position. You took the bull by the horns. You reached for the brass ring. Opportunity knocked and you listened.

You go!

We received a lot of resumes. A ton of resumes. Enough resumes to make us wonder what we were thinking, posting this position on national television.

We did some careful deliberation... and the thing is, someone else got the job.

While that may vex you right now, we want you to know that you got the better end of the deal. Not only will you have more free time than the new marketing manager, you are also getting a brand spanking new t-shirt. The new manager isn't.

Anyway, jobs are overrated. Recreation is where it's at. No hard feelings? We still really like you. Wear your new t-shirt with pride, [adult swim reject].

Bye.

[adult swim]

Black t-shirt with the aforementioned [adult swim reject.] slogan on the front, and Ignignokt flipping you the bird on the back. Even though this was probably some elaborate marketing ploy, I don't really care. I'll follow [adult swim] into hell.

FYI: Boston travelogue is in the pipe. I forgot to get the CD of flicks from my girlfriend, so once I get that in the next day or two, I'll throw the whole thing together.

You have cast a spell: Feline Impropriety +3

2004-09-25T23:44:00.000-05:00

2:15 AM: DRINK, PUSSY!

It works on exactly two levels.

12:28. Five pumpkin ales each, and we've already stumbled upon our first genius idea:

www.drunkcatsinwizardhats.com

Bookmark it, bitches.

Check back at Damn The Man for the third installment, uh... sometime.

More than a feeling.

2004-09-22T01:15:00.000-05:00

So here's the deal: Thursday afternoon, I'll be heading to the airport with my girlfriend to spend an extended weekend in the hair-lip of America, Boston. We'll be staying with Beltane and his wife, and hopefully absorb some glorious northern culture while trying like hell not to constantly giggle at the way people talk.

I know it's a little early still to be signing off until next week, but between work and trying to get all my I's dotted and T's crossed for the trip, I'm going to be the proverbial busy beaver. I have many things still in the barrel, waiting to be written up for the blog, but you'll have to be patient, both of you. There may be a slim chance of a blackly hammered update from bean-town, but I kind of doubt it.

To tide you over until Monday, I present an article from a month ago, written for Robotskull. I unfortunately neglected to post it, along with others on my blog, forgetting that Robotskull can be both a confusing and wondrous (but mostly confusing) place for new visitors. If you've never been there, I wouldn't blame you for not going. If you're feeling brave and have an hour to kill, I'd recommend it highly. We're coming to the end of a membership drive, and I still have invites if anyone is interested in joining.

But enough of the doo-doo. Be back Monday, posting Tuesday. Be good while I'm gone. No parties, no boys.

I don't even live in Florida.

Originally published at Robotskull - 8/20/04

This morning, I did the most spectacularly white trash thing not involving a T-top or statutory rape. I'm poor, and on top of that, I'm lazy, so I haven't been grocery shopping in a while. I ran out of my deodorant a couple of days ago, and in the meantime, I've been using the spare stick that my girlfriend leaves at my place. Today when I got out of the shower, it finally crapped out on me. I mean completely. There was a little bit left, but since it was a stick, it was all trapped down in that little plastic widget, and I couldn't get it to make contact with my skin. I was already running late for work, so I didn't have time to run to the store and get any more.

So I went to the kitchen and got a butter knife.

I came back to the bathroom, and dug around in the widget with the knife, and managed to extract a surprising amount of leftover deodorant. This was deposited into the cap, and when I got it all, I smushed it around a little to soften it up.

I then proceeded to apply said deodorant with said butter knife.

Midway through my right pit, I caught my reflection in the mirror. I don't mind telling you, I was god damned ashamed. What's happened to me? I'm an artist, a writer, a musician. I'm a college graduate, and smarter than 99% of all the people I meet on any given day. And here I am, slathering my underarms like a loaf of garlic bread.

But at least I didn't stink, which is more than most of you can probably say.

You beautiful bastard...

2004-09-21T01:11:00.000-05:00

You said all the pretty words that I needed to hear. You made me feel so safe and secure.

Sometimes, it feels like we're running with the shadows of the night. But then baby, you take my hand, and it'll be alright. I'll surrender all my dreams to you tonight, and I know they'll come true in the end.

I love you, you know.

Dear John Kerry...

2004-09-20T13:36:00.000-05:00

Please hold your thumb and first finger as close together as you can without having them actually touch each other. That is how close you are to totally fucking everything up.

Seriously, I like you. But the way you've been running the show lately, if I didn't already know just how evil George Bush is, I'd have serious reservations about you and your abilities.

Now, I know that I'm no political genius, and I'm not trying to second guess you or the people running your campaign. That being said, here's my second-guessing you and the people running your campaign:

Formulate an exit strategy for Iraq. I don't even care if it's viable. Make something up, just make it sound like it will work. It's painfully clear that Bush is in over his head with the situation, and is completely clueless. But to the great unwashed, it appears that he's sort of in control. It's not enough, however, to point that fact out. You have to expose him, and then tell us how you're going to do it better.
Lose the negativity and stop preaching to the choir. Look, I know how bad things are. Everyone else who's going to vote for you knows how bad things are. The vast majority of people who have decided to support you aren't going to switch their votes because we've suddenly forgotten that Bush is a turd. And as much as I hate to say it, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.
Let John Edwards feast on the adminstration's entrails. Dude, you really have no idea how good Edwards is for your campaign. He's such a perfect hatchet man. He's at his best when he calls the Republicans on the carpet after they say something extraordinarily stupid, i.e. Hastert's ham-fisted terror/election alert or this campaign's leader for the 'exactly how goddamn stupid do you think we are award', Cheney's laser-accurate economic analysis. Edwards could tell me he just showed his balls to my mother, and I'd still high-five him.
Please don't waste your shot on Letterman tonight. Seriously. It's crunch time, my man.

How unprofessional.

2004-09-15T13:09:00.000-05:00

How dare the terrorists notify the media ahead of time of attacks!

They should follow the example of the United States and only notify the media in the event of invasions, staged rescue attempts, military coups, false terror alerts, initial bombings of any and all foreign people, subsequent destruction of cities and/or culture, dictatorial overthrows, human rights abuses, imaginary threats from our country's enemies used to cower the populace, irrelevant arguments over a person's military record, and the exploitation of innocent people, BUT UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCE SHOULD THEY BE NOTIFIED IN ADVANCE OF A YUGO 'SPLODING IN THE DESERT.

Amateurs.

...I heard the DVD will include 'Frank Miller's Five Minute Stab You In The Face School'.

2004-09-14T13:40:00.000-05:00

The elusive Comic-Con footage of Sin City is finally available.

A lot of people have been complaning about it being shot in gray tones, rather than trying to ape the hard contrast style Frank Miller uses in the books. I'm okay with it, only because I think shooting the entire movie that way would end up giving the audience severe headaches or possibly even seizures. There are a couple of shots I'd rather see in that really stark style, but keep in mind that this is nowhere near being finished, so anything is possible.

It's a pretty hefty file at 54 megs, and you gotta have Quicktime/mpeg4.

Real World Philly Style: Crammed with Meat & Dripping with Cheese.

2004-09-14T02:25:00.000-05:00

So a new season of MTV's Real World began this past week. I was just as surprised as you. I don't even watch MTV more than maybe an hour a week, and I hadn't heard anything about this new season, ensuring that it will truly be a terrible, terrible experience. But despite myself, I'm sure I'll sit and watch the whole thing, like I always do. For those of you like me who were caught unaware, I've prepared a primer to get you caught up before the next episode. I've combined the biographies from the official website, along with some of my own expert analysis, based on years of being beaten into submission by the drunken antics of the most telegenic my generation has to offer.

Karamo
Age: 23
From: The 'hood, Texas
Sign: Scorpio
Mood: Dangerous
Currently living in Los Angeles, Karamo is an African American from Houston whose parents are from Jamaica. He's the youngest of four and has three older sisters whom he considers the most important people in his life. He lives his life for others and gives much of his time to charities, politics and non-profits. Karamo struggles with his feelings about interracial dating as a result of his upbringing that was filled with strong anti-white prejudices. He works toward keeping an open mind and overcoming these fears and prejudices. Karamo attended Florida A&M University where he majored in Business Administration. Recently, he worked at the Brotherhood Crusade in Los Angeles writing proposals for grants and establishing new programs to help people who live in underprivileged areas.

What the bio doesn't tell you: Karamo is this season's 'gotcha gay'. In an interesting twist, the producers have recruited two gay guys to live in the house this season. Karamo keeps his sexuality under wraps for the better part of the first episode, claiming he wants to wait until 'the time is right'. Apparently, that time is when he's hanging out with the two homophobic redneck roommates who immediately make with the eye popping.
Over/Under on Karamo leaving before the end of the season: +5. Karamo is the most normal appearing one of the group, which means he's due to explode in a fit of molten rage and smack one of the girls around by week 7. Black guys don't have the most stellar track record in the Real World house to begin with, plus, dude's a sissy.
Distinguishing characteristic: He's the black guy.

Landon
Age: 24
From: My school, Wisconsin
Sign: Leo
Mood: Kickin' it
When you think sports fanatic, think Landon. In high school, Landon was a state champion in doubles tennis and ranked fifth in the state in wrestling. At the University of Wisconsin, he was on the waterskiing and wakeboarding teams. Landon is sensitive about being labeled a "dumb jock" and is afraid to "let go," fearing that others won't accept him. He recently ended a seven-year relationship with his high school sweetheart and still hasn't gotten over her. He loves female attention, and he craves a real relationship again.

What the bio doesn't tell you: Landon is this season's designated sidekick. The previews show him having one pretty good confrontation, but other than that, look for him to either be No Show Jones, or to simply follow along with the house hive-mind in the face of conflict. Also, he's scared of pussy.
Over/Under on Landon leaving before the end of the season: -2. Although I've got good money that says Landon is the first in the house to cry, probably after a night of drinking when he confesses to the house that no matter how hard he scrubs, he can't wash off the way daddy touched him.
Distinguishing characteristic: Homeboy's haircut game is totally fucked up.

Melanie
Age: 21
From: The 'hood, California
Sign: Capricorn
Mood: Kickin' it
Melanie most recently attended the University of California at Santa Cruz and hopes to become a high school English teacher. Her long-term companionship with her friend Andy has evolved into a steady romance. Melanie claims to have a spontaneous, wild streak, loves to dance and party and believes if you follow your heart, you'll be happy.

What the bio doesn't tell you: Melanie is in the lead to win 'most likely to be an ass-blown psycho'. There's definitely some crazy living behind those eyes. Also, this is just a guess, but I'm thinking her 'steady romance' with her 'companion' is code for 'comfortable closeted gay/beard routine'.
Over/Under on Melanie leaving before the end of the season: +20. The season previews have already given us strong clues that we may be in for a full blown freak-out the likes of which we haven't seen since Tammy got her titty twisted in Los Angeles.
Distinguishing characteristic: She's the quiet one. You gotta watch out for the quiet ones.

MJ
Age: 23
From: A parallel universe, Tennessee
Sign: No trespassing
Mood: Flirty
MJ is a good-looking, blond, hard-bodied Southern boy with a warm heart. He is a recent grad from Vanderbilt University where he majored in Human and Organizational Development and played the role of the star football player. He had dreams of playing professional football, but those dreams were recently squashed when he was turned down by the NFL. MJ entered a two-month relationship before moving to Philadelphia, and he struggles to maintain this relationship while living with his new roommates.

What the bio doesn't tell you: MJ (aka, Eric Nies '04), is clearly the lead of this season. He's the one the producers are banking on to be the breakout star, possibly going on to co-star in a made-for-MTV movie version of Jabberjaw with Ashley Simpson and a CGI shark voiced by Jay Mohr.
Over/Under on MJ leaving before the end of the season: -50. It ain't happening. The producers would have a voodoo priest perform a ritual murder on at least two of the other roommates to ensure that MJ stays.
Distinguishing characteristic: Has the worst goddamn tattoo on his back that I've ever seen, and I know people who live in trailer parks.

Sarah
Age: 23
From:An undisclosed location, Florida
Sign: Sagittarius
Mood: Naughty
Born and raised in Florida, Sarah just graduated from Emory University and plans to attend the University of Florida School of Law in the fall. Sarah isn't afraid to use her sex appeal to get what she wants. She is most attracted to bad boys who are witty, independent, athletic and a challenge. She's highly opinionated and ready to debate at a drop of a hat. Sarah struggles with her weight and has overcome an eating disorder.

What the bio doesn't tell you: Sarah is the house cum dumpster this season, with the possible exception of Willie. She needs attention in the worst way, and will probably have no trouble getting it. A good fifty percent of her screen time in the first episode was spent ogling the guys in the house, and trying not to constantly scream 'I NEED COCK!'
Over/Under on Sarah leaving before the end of the season: -50. For many of the same reasons MJ won't be leaving, neither will Sarah. In fact, chances are good that one will always be inside the other at any given point during the series.
Distinguishing characteristic: Has a god awful boob job that the guys in the house swear they couldn't pick out. Plus, she has these weird nodules/bone spurs between her cans that gross me out.

Shavonda
Age: 21
From: The 'hood, California
Sign: Aquarius
Mood: Playful
Shavonda is a beautiful African American young woman who is the life of the party and loves attention from guys. In high school, Shavonda was a cheerleader and her school's first African American homecoming queen. Shavonda struggles to support herself without any family aid and is putting herself through Grossmont Community College. Shavonda currently has a boyfriend to whom she wants to be faithful, even though he is not the kind of jock that usually pursues her. She likes a jock with a sense of humor and likes to be pursued. As a result of a turbulent childhood, Shavonda generally hopes for the best, but expects the worst.

What the bio doesn't tell you: Shavonda is the wild card this season. She could be the most sane, reasonable person in the house, or she could be filled to the brim with classic black sass. We know for sure someone gets all up in her kool-aid, we just don't know who. It'll be fun to watch her go off, but if she keeps her cool, she's easily the least interesting member of the house. Also, her name is hard to type.
Over/Under on Shavonda leaving before the end of the season: Even. Again, she could go either way. If she leaves, I'm betting it'll be not because of a problem with her, but rather, she can't deal with everyone else's bullshit.
Distinguishing characteristic: Has no ass.

Willie
Age: 23
From: My crib, New York
Sign: Scorpio
Mood: Playful
Willie is a gay Puerto Rican American who loves his friends and is passionate about the arts and performing. His religious parents don't accept his lifestyle which caused Willie to leave home when he was only 15. Willie and his straight twin brother are the oldest of six children who all remain close. Willie admits that he possesses the "stubborn" family gene and isn't afraid to be confrontational. At times, Willie insists that it's "[his] way or the highway!" As a child, Willie worked in commercials and musical theater and was a regular on the children's television show Ghost Writer that promoted literacy for children.

What the bio doesn't tell you: Not much. It pretty much says it all for Big Willie Style. He's the usual flamboyant gay guy who manages to win the drunken respect of the homophobes before they find out they've been betrayed by Karamo's sneaky tactics of not shouting 'I'M GAY!' from the rooftops. It is fun watching Willie play Sherlock Homo trying to figure Karamo out in the first episode, piecing together clues like 'My ex's name was Willie', and being playfully slapped on the ass by a six foot four black man.
Over/Under on Willie leaving before the end of the season: +10. Only in the event that he gets an offer to be the touring scarf-boy to John Leguizamo, and his newest one man show, 'Guess What? I'm Still Hispanic!'
Distinguishing characteristic: Wears pointy shoes.

Scrods & Ends

2004-09-10T23:24:00.000-05:00

(Updated 9/11/04-If you've read this post before seeing this addition, read it again. I added some stuff and hopefully made some points more lucid. If nothing else, take a look at the final addition at the bottom.)

FROM THE EATING CROW DEPARTMENT:
*If you don't care to hear me wax academic on comics, just scroll down a little farther. Dick jokes will be waiting for you. Probably.

I'd like to take this opportunity to publicly apologize to Grant Morrison for being an ass about his writing. There is actually a method to his madness and I've managed to finally crack the code. Morrison is part of a new wave of 'auteur' writers in comics. That is to say, he establishes his complete and total dominance over whatever character(s) and titles he writes, and bends them to his will. I've long had a beef with his writing because I've felt that he was too high-concept and too low-execution. In reading his run on New X-Men, for example, it seemed as though he left entire panels out of pages, seemingly just to let the readers decide what they thought occurred in between.

I haven't changed my mind about that. I still think he fucked up pretty big on that title. He bookended his run with the death of the SAME FUCKING CHARACTER. That's a hack move, and I suspect he knows it.

But here's the thing: I also suspect that he doesn't really give a damn about writing someone else's characters. I think he does it these days chiefly as promotion for his own creator-owned books. Back in the day, he snapped asses on Animal Man and Doom Patrol, but back then, he was also still held in place by editorial. Lately, I haven't been too thrilled with his JLA, I hated his New X-Men, though I really liked both of his creator-owned series, The Invisibles, and The Filth, despite the latter being yet another chapter in the long line of the new trend of meta-fiction. And two, it's important to understand that to really get a modern Morrison story, you have to know a lot about 'vintage' Morrison. Anymore, the man writes mostly for his fans. Yeah, it's a catch-22: if you're interested in reading a new Morrison book, it's in your best interest to read as many of his older books as you can. He's been working through this theme of meta-fiction and deus ex machina for a while now, and he's made it to the point where his stories are so densely packed with what seems like total bullshit, that unless you're really willing to invest some time in decoding them, you're up a creek.

Left to his own devices, Morrison is capable of greatness seldom seen in mainstream comics. When he's held down by the restrictions of publishers and licenses though, he tends to kick against the walls, and try to make the characters a little too much like his own. And that's not always appropriate. And that's when I tend to wish he would just die. For that, I apologize. For continuing to tear my favorite comics to pieces, I don't. Shape up, limey.

FROM THE MORE GEEKY SHIT DEPARTMENT:

I don't want to alarm anybody, but I think I just came a little.

FROM THE RUINING CHRISTMAS DEPARTMENT:

Attention all gay guys: please stop being so flamboyant. If you want to be gay, that's perfectly cool. By all means, be gay. I don't care. But it gets on my nerves when you come in to get a cup of coffee wearing a mesh t-shirt and coating me with a fine mist of saliva as you lisp out 'soy milk'. And I understand not all gay guys are wildly effeminate. But some of you are, and I know you weren't wearing your pants that tight before you came out. Also, if you are gay and over the age of 35, please stop being gay. You are too old, and are probably grossing out all the young gay guys you're hitting on, not to mention ME. Being gay is really a young man's venture, and you'll be doing EVERYONE a tremendous favor. If you get bored, try your hand at interior design. If you are a gay guy, and you take offense to this, e-mail me and give me a good reason as to why you should still be allowed to swish about, unabated. I'll try to keep a straight face (lol butts!).

FROM THE EATING FORTUNE COOKIES DEPARTMENT

Something really cool happened at work yesterday. These two Japanese girls came in, ordered coffee, and sat in the store for ten minutes or so having their drinks. I had things to do, so I didn't pay much attention to them. They finished up, and left, and after they left, I noticed that one of them had taken one of our napkins, and folded it up into an origami swan and left it behind on the table. I thought that was pretty awesome, so I went over and snatched it up. When I was inspecting it, I noticed some writing on one of the wings. I gently opened the napkin up on the side, and lo and behold, one of the Japanese girls had left me her phone number. Nothing even remotely like this has ever happened to me before, and it made me feel like the prettiest princess in the world. Of course, I'm spoken for, so the number was useless to me. Which figures. One of my teenage fantasies finally comes true, and I can't capitalize on it. It's like winning the lottery, and then not being able to accept the money because your girlfriend would get totally pissed at you, and kick you in the balls and probably fuck a bunch of your friends for good measure.

Did I mention next to the number, the girl had written "Carr me"? No? Good, 'cause it wasn't. And now you're just as bad as me for laughing at that, you racist dick.

FROM THE 'DOUBLE DOWN ON THE EPIDURAL' DEPARTMENT:

My boss had to travel down to Georgetown (just outside of Austin) last night to pick up the grandkids for the weekend. I really don't like kids, but I've been around these two long enough that they don't really bother me anymore. Mitch is about seven I think, and his sister (can't remember her name) is about five, though she was born premature, so really, she's about three. They're neat kids, and the girl is a little sweet on me, though to be fair, she is developmentally challenged. I got to thinking tonight about how weird it is to have named the kid Mitch, though. Maybe it's just me, but that seems like one of those names that's only for adults. Like, you'll probably never meet a child named Burt. I doubt I'll ever run into a first-grader named Arlo.

I was telling my girlfriend a story about a baby I saw the other night, and I was comparing it to the little girl that a couple we know has. They named her Antares, because they're sort of hippies (i.e., they used to do tons of drugs and were into the Polyphonic Spree before anyone else), only when I was telling the story, I couldn't remember her name.

I blanked out on frigging ANTARES.

So I called her Aquaman instead. Now I really want to have a little girl and name her Aquaman.

FROM THE PRETENDING TO BE SMART DEPARTMENT:

I read a lot, nowadays, but I really wish I hadn't gotten out of the habit for so many years while I was in high school. I wish I'd been as voracious a reader then as I am now, because I really feel that my vocabulary is lacking the proper words to express my feelings over this.

The man is really reaching with this one. If I may make a bit of a hacky joke, I'm shocked over the sheer absurdity of Cheney's statement, and in complete awe over how monstrous the man's testicles must be. Really? eBay? I'll be damned. So that's what the problem with the economy these past three years has been. In future news, analysts predict that by the year 2010, the U.S. economy will be run solely on the strength of the tchotchke. One set of salt and pepper shakers shaped like a pair of tits will equal roughly one million Yen. The British pound will be devalued to approximately 50 Betty Boop melon ballers.

Someone should tell Delta about this. Maybe once they pull their hub out of D/FW airport, taking some 7000 jobs and millions of dollars out of the local economy with them, they can auction off some of their spare jetliners to flyboy69@yahoo.com...

DICK.

FROM THE REAL MEANING OF PATRIOTISM DEPARTMENT:

Please believe it.

From the Desk of Jeff (redux)

2004-09-08T01:51:00.000-05:00

Figured I'd do this one proper while I had a hot hand. Working with text in Photoshop is much like masturbating with a cheese grater, in case you didn't know.

The Smoking Gun Can Kiss My Ass.

2004-09-01T21:00:00.000-05:00

Make with the clicky-click if you wanna read it.

Sweet Jesus, NO.

2004-08-25T23:54:00.000-05:00

(sigh.)

Kevin Costner Is 'Bankable', In That If You Put Your Money Into Him, It Disappears Forever.

2004-08-24T23:19:00.000-05:00

"Hey Ted. How are you? Yeah, that's good, 'cause you're FUCKIN' FIRED!"

I don't know that that's how it really happened. Ted Griffin was supposed to be kind of the next golden boy breakout of Hollywood, a la Charlie Kaufman. Apparently, Kevin Costner thought differently, and took it upon himself to try and single-handedly ruin the career of someone who was younger, smarter, and generally sucked less as a human being than himself. Jeffrey Wells, Hollywood Elsewhere writes:

I should have run this earlier, but the new rumble is that the conniving heavyweight behind Ted Griffin's firing off the Graduate-sequel flick a while back was not Jennifer Aniston (an allegation that I've passed along in this space), but costar Kevin Costner. The Fly on theWall guy has claimed in an 8.16 posting, quoting an anonymous crew member, that Griffin's dismissal "was totally Kevin's fault, not Jennifer's."

Costner "was constantly in Ted's face about what he was doing wrong, and criticizing him repeatedly about his setups in front of Paula [Weinstein, one of the film's producers]."

Costner, it is further alleged, "said several times loudly to anyone who would listen, 'This movie'll take a year to shoot if you don't get rid of Ted.' It was more and more difficult for Ted to maintain any kind of respect from his crew with Costner constantly bitching at him. Finally, Ted asked Costner rather firmly, but not loudly, to return to his trailer. Costner screamed, 'I will not! Not until you change the lighting set-up like I told you!'" Hey, it's just another view.

Just because no one in the industry has the grapes to stand up to Dicksmoke McGee and tell him that his movies suck donkey balls, and he should sit quietly in the corner waiting for the icy hand of death, doesn't give him the right to cry like a bitch because the key light is pointed incorrectly at his bulbous head. If you ever see Kevin Costner, do me a favor and punch him square in the dick and scream "SHOELESS JOE TOLD ME TO DO IT!"

PUSSY.

UPDATE 8/25/04: Wells is now reporting that Costner may not in fact be responsible for Griffin's firing. Don't care. The above cock-punching still stands.

*title courtesy Beltane, Damn The Man

...and now we're cha-cha'ing.

2004-08-18T11:21:00.000-05:00

For the past month or so, the New York Times has been having a total love fest with comics in their reviews section. With a couple of exceptions, Hollywood has finally figured out how to make a good comics to film adaptation. The next year and a half or so is going to see some huge flicks based on comics. While economically in a tailspin, one could argue that the industry is at a creative peak not seen since the mid-Eighties.

Then DC has to go and do this, and set the wayback machine to 1978. Thanks DC. You were winning me over, and then you gotta go and break my heart. You've forced me to find comfort in the arms of that whore, Marvel. Are you happy now?

0MG! ZERG RUSH!!!1 CUE UP 'T3H SAF3TY DANC3'!!!1

2004-08-17T21:11:00.000-05:00

I am the living embodiment of the phrase 'love my job, hate my customers'. I manage a coffee shop inside of the mall, and while I genuinely like what I do, the people who come in are a constant itch all up in my ass.

Today, we lost power in the whole mall at 11 AM. You would have thought Ragnarok was happening. People left IMMEDIATELY. Businesses slammed their gates shut, and so I poked my head out to see if perhaps Odin was pulling up on his golden chariot, driven by a team of 1000 wolves. Nope. With the gods narrowly foiled, I pulled a chair up and watched people lose their minds.

A dude came in after a minute or two, and asked if he could get a cup of coffee.

"Well, I'd like to give you one, but because the power's out, I can't open the register."
"So?"
"So... I can't take your money for the cup of coffee."
"Can't you give it to me for free?"
"No, I can't do that."
"C'mon man, be cool. The power's out."
"Yes, I know. Unfortunately, society hasn't crumbled in the past three minutes. There isn't a phalanx of the undead waiting for us outside. We haven't been reduced to jousting on motorcycles with each other for food and gasoline yet. I think it's a little early to play the survival card."
"What if I had exact change? Could I just give that to you, and when the power comes on, then you could put it in the register?"
"Yeah, I suppose that would be okay. Do you have exact change?"
"No."

After he left, I noticed that even with the power out, for some reason, the mall's P.A. system was still playing music. Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians, to be exact. My store has a small backup power system, just to keep some emergency lights on so we don't kill ourselves, but that's it. The mall doesn't have that. They don't have the power to keep elevators running. They have emergency tunes power. Electricity returned around 11:25, and one of the gals in mall management I'm friendly with came in, and I quizzed her about it. According to her, post 9/11, the corporation who owns our mall (along with several others), decided that they needed to make contingency plans about the protocol if there were indeed some terrorist action. Against a mall. In the middle of North Texas. And not even a good mall either. One of these contingency plans was to scrap the more helpful and sensible evacuation notice that would play in the event of something catastrophic, in favor of a compilation CD that was designed to soothe the nerves and keep everyone calm.

Really. I'm dead fucking serious.

Naturally, I asked if I could possibly see a track listing for the CD, and while I'm sure I'm not supposed to have seen it, I did. I learned that the parent corporation actually commissioned a survey to determine which songs would appear on here. They took money, and paid someone to figure out what songs would keep people calmest during an invasion by the brown people.

SOMEONE RECEIVED AN INSANELY LARGE PAYMENT TO MAKE A MIXTAPE FROM TOP 40 RADIO AS A SOLUTION TO A TERRORIST ATTACK.

Here's the track list to the General Growth Corporation Terrorism 2004 Megamix Internationale:

1.Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians-"What I Am": Tension will undoubtedly be high in the event of a bomb/face incident, so you want to keep everyone loose with the grooves in here.
2.Rupert Holmes-"The Pina Colada Song": HE WAS GOING TO HAVE AN AFFAIR WITH HIS OWN WIFE LOLFART!
3.Katrina and the Waves-"Walking On Sunshine": Fuck yeah! Class of '86 forever!
4.Deep Blue Something-"Breakfast at Tiffany's": Like any good mixtape, around the third or fourth song, you want to dial it back a little, give the listener time to breathe.
5.Christina Aguilera-"Genie in a Bottle": Just in case anyone's feeling sexy.
6.Nelly-"Ride Wit Me": Show Al Qaeda we're not afraid to get dirrty by including the Pat Sajak of hip-hop.
7.Rick Springfield-"Jessie's Girl": For the longest time, I thought the line was "I wish that I WAS Jessie's girl." Really! Can you even imagine? I know!
8.Eric Clapton-"Layla": The sleeve didn't say if this was the original or the unplugged version, but every time I hear the original, I think of the ending to Goodfellas, and Joe Pesci getting whacked and it bums me out. So it's probably the acoustic version.
9.Sugar Ray-"Every Morning": Like them or not, you gotta respect the time the singer got faced, finger-banged Madonna, then went on live television to invite the world to smell his finger.
10.Beach Boys-"Kokomo": On the off chance you're still in the mall after this long, and the anthrax hasn't yet caused you to crap out your eardrums, this'll certainly be a nice way to wrap up your big day!

Originally published at Robotskull 8/13/04.

A bunch of little stuff that can't stand up on it's own.

2004-08-12T22:59:00.000-05:00

I can't stress how much it bothers me to see senior citizens with hard nipples.

I saw a young mother tonight wearing a Linkin Park t-shirt, and was deeply saddened. That would have been like my mom wearing a Starship t-shirt when I was a toddler. Teach the children well, sweetcheeks.

In the right light, Colin Quinn can be an incredibly disturbing looking individual.

I lie to you a lot about things that happen to me, but I always tell you, 'cause you're good shits. So in that vein, not a single word of the following is a lie. Honest. I really had this conversation at work tonight:

"Hey buddy, you got some strong coffee back there?"

"Yeah, french roast is the strongest we have."

"Great. I love strong coffee. I like it so strong it makes my dick hard."

"Well, I don't know if it's that strong."

"Maybe it'll be just strong enough to make it jump a little."

"Pal, I'm not gay."

"I'm not either."

"Then shut up about your dick."

2 WYCKED.

2004-08-12T12:50:00.000-05:00

On one hand, this is pretty sad to hear, coming from Shearer of all people. On the other hand, it finally confirms what a lot of us were thinking, but were too afraid to say out loud.

Maybe now that the actual talent is pissing and moaning, the show can find it's legs again.

In other news, why didn't he just get the "Please Steal Me" graphics package?

No Cold Cuts Yet.

2004-08-09T23:17:00.000-05:00

I don't want to sound like one of those fags who's WAY too into Drum Corps/marching band at WAY too old an age, but I heard a performance from this year's Cadets, and I'll be damned if they didn't play 'Aqualung'. It was hot as shit.

Actually Heard Today in My Coffee Shop.*

2004-08-08T01:35:00.000-05:00

"Man, fuck Spielberg. What has Spielberg done for me lately, you know?"

She was right. This could go either way. It has the potential to both lick, as well as rock balls. They need to get James Cameron on that, toot sweet.

*Yeah, not really.

Call 911. I'm choking on my own bile.

2004-08-02T23:20:00.000-05:00

Jesus and Bon-Bons?
Hallibur-nana Split?
Western Devil's Food Cake?
Al-Quoconut?

You try. It's fun, in a vaguely retarded way.

Horseshit, Clark. HORSESHIT!

2004-08-02T18:04:00.000-05:00

So, in 2000, Bush vehemently opposed the creation of a flat tax. Now it would seem that there's a pretty significant groundswell of Republican support for a flat, ahem, 'value added tax'. Oh, and they want to completely dismantle the IRS. Did I say that? That's important.

I don't believe it for a single second. I got shafted once over that $300 rebate crap, and I'll sit on a bed of dicks and let you piss in my face before I fall for something like that again.

Also, I wonder how long it takes Drudge to write an article. I can't imagine how difficult it must be to type with your fists.

Old Habits Die Hard

2004-08-01T18:11:00.000-05:00

Disclaimer: I like Marlene. She seems to be doing very well, last time I saw her. She's married, and expecting her first ankle biter. To my knowledge, she has never even seen a drug of any kind. That being said, this was too good to pass up. I'm sure I don't know why this was written and sent out to my friends back in high school, and I'm even more sure I don't know why I have a copy after more than eight years. I feel confident that this will be of interest to all of maybe five people in the world, and my only reason for posting this is just that it's fun sometimes to look back and see how out of our goddamned minds we once were. All typos are intended.

Subj: t-shirt talk
Date: 96-03-28 01:29:02 EST
From: MARLENE225
To: Sara, Josh, Eliz93
CC: Snitram, UNTScout

This is a very good example of what can happen to a person after too much sleep, too much stress, too much caffeine, and too much English!!!

T-SHIRT TALK------by marlene ******

Do people tend to psychoanalyze everything? I mean if you maintain a certain perspective isn't everything or doesn't everything become an expansive, extensive metaphor? Why do we manage to create a world full of comparisons-can't we see anything just as it is-"unmisted by love or dislike"...or is it truly- "a tale told by an idiot"... Take the ultimate example---"life"--For all the great people that have ever existed has anyone ever managed to find a single,consistent definition? Or is life truly undefineable? Life is "like" or "as" many things- a journey, a box of chocolates, a rollercoaster, a flowing river, a mountain climb...etc.------BUT WHAT IS IT??
Do people use metaphors,similies-figurative language and all that other good "stuff" as ways to sidestep the true meaning in things? Everyhting seems to be dressed up in some kind of imagery....Why such a fascade? Is there never anything straightforward and honest? Are we really that starved for adjectives and colorful language?
Take me--If I wanted to find a bizarre way to describe my personality--alterego, whatever you want to call it---I could always find a comparison-generic, commercial, conformist--it really doesn't matter. I could talk a whole lot without really revealing anything that significant. I could say that "I am like a white t-shirt with a whole lot of Dr.Pepper stains on it. Now -stretch our imaginations--O.K.--- white symbolizes purity and stains obviously make the t-shirt somewhat tainted. Sometimes the stains are gone-washed away. and the t-shirt becomes fresh and clean-comfortable to wear and appealing to others. But after a while even the neatest of t-shirts gets dirty and tainted--and if neglected it may start to reak an odor 'horriffic" to others and miserables to wear. One often wishes to be able to shred the cursed garmet-- but does not for the fear of indecency. But what is indecency? Is it more indecent to don a putrid, foul smelling t-shirt, or to expose something more compelling underneath? Which would we rather? How often do we wash out t-shirts? Are most t-shirts even white? They could be black, red, or tyedyed for that matter-- Do our t-shirts even feign a glimpse of purity-white? Is another shade of color more provoking or less difficult to attain for that matter? What defines the difference between a white and a black t-shirt? Is it symbolic that one color absorbs the sun and the other does not? How much sun can a tyedyed t-shirt absorb? How does a t-shirt fit?-not to mention how does it look. Is a t-shirt tight,oversized,sleeveless,tanktop, or if we dare--croptop---?? Why is a simple white t-shirt never good enough? When we change t-shirts, do we do so for:necessity, personal, or secondary satisfaction? Or do the three options correspond with each other? Or--here's a left-wing alternative--perhaps we change to establish variety for the sake of maintaing sanity. What determines comfort in a t-shirt? Is it acquired or does it come naturally? Some people seem destined to be comfortable or uncomfortable--no matter what fit or style.
And if t-shirts themselves aren't enough for you--stop to consider satins. Perhaps I'm lucky to have a t-shirt with only Dr.pepper stains to taint it. After all, there are much bigger stains..."Down the road between hither and yon". Some t-shirts are inflicted with nail polish and permanent marker---Some have even managed to come into contact with the most nitty gritty--GREASE!!!! Some are even self inflicted stains....Perhaps a paint stain or two in the hopes of achieving aesthetic approval, or perhaps a failed attempt to become an aberration from the masses of white cotton and polyester. T-shirts are often likely to be the direct result of..."rasied hopes and failed expectations"..a la Toni Morrison. Which is a t-shirt stain more "abhorrent"- a stain from a 1st,2nd, or 3rd party? Is it better to have ketchup on your shirt because you put it there or because someone else did? Does the ketchup look the same regardless of who spilt it? Or are you just paranoid--maybe no one cares if you have ketchup on your shirt--Why should they? What makes certain stains more noticeable and significant? How should you go about gettin a new shirt if the one you have has a stain DEEMed irrevmovable----How many stains determine the breaking point between a clean and a tainted shirt? What if you don't want a new shirt but everyone else thinks that you really need one? Who determines our desires? Is the appearance and attire of a certain t-shirt always hereditary? Why do we somehow tend to wear the same shirts as our parents? Are such habits involuntary? How do we avoid such habits? Should they be avoided? Why do some people deter from such hereditary pathways? Whay do we try so hard to remove certain stains but leave others so obvious? WHY? WHY? WHY?.... WHY DO WE BOTHER TO WEAR AND TAINT OUR T-SHIRTS?????????????

don't ask

WHY---this was a completely spontaneous/capricious effort on my part.

MARLENIE RENEE ******

-All embarrassing essays/photos of me playing Ouija board with a fat girl under the bridge circa 1993-1997 can be sent to cowboymonkey@damntheman.net

"Well, yeah, heads -- they're important."

2004-08-01T16:01:00.000-05:00

That quote's a little unfair to be using it as a title line. It comes off way dumber than Alan Moore actually is. He's actually one of the smartest and most consistently amazing writers of the 20th century.

This article is pretty fascinating to read, regardless of whether or not you read comics. It's always interesting to hear voices from outside the U.S. speak about the state of the world, especially when they're so on the money and bullshit-free as his. Granted, the last page or so gets a little weird, what with all the magic talk, but still, it's well worth your time, as are any of the comics he's written. Even the absolute worst of the bunch still beats the Holy Christing Fuck out of your favorite book.

DNC Analysis, pt. 1

2004-07-30T19:34:00.000-05:00

As you can probably imagine, being a liberal in Texas is a pretty lonely endeavor. If every Republican in Texas were to fart simultaneously, we'd all be dead. Even on supposedly friendly turf, Texas Democrats get the high hard one.

Not to mention that for all the hype surrounding the various bloggers covering the DNC, there is precious little commentary coming from below the Mason-Dixon line. I decided to hit the streets and do something about that. By 'hit the streets', I of course mean, 'went to the mall'.

I arrived at the mall, purpose in my heart, and humidity thick in my lungs. I had my mission, and I had my means. But where to begin?

Think, Pooh, think... you want response about the DNC... the DNC is pushing hard this year for the youth vote... of course. Logic galloped across the finsh line of my mind, with that time a black girl gave me a handjob coming in a close second. I made my way downstairs to the childrens' play area.

Bodies writhed their way in and out of cartoonishly oversized barrels and fake plastic replicas of the local landmarks. The screeching was almost unbearable, but I soldiered on, bravely. I sized up the crowd and found my first target.

He was a young man of perhaps six or seven, and as I approached him, he seemed less wary of me than I might have thought. I asked him for his thoughts on the convention. I told him I was an independent journalist, and promised him anonymity in exchange for a quote or two.

"My name's Mitch." he offered up immediately. So much for anonymity.

"What are your impressions of the general tone of the convention this year as compared to years past? Specifically, the attitude towards many of the speakers and prominent Democrats held by many members of the constituency viewing them as something akin to rock stars and celebrities?" I asked him.

"I'm going to Six Flags tomorrow. But you can't tell my sister, it's a surprise. Do you know my sister?"

You don't have to be a rocket scientist to read between those lines. I got his message: 'I come from money. Therefore, I'm better than you, and I've got Dubya to thank. I'd sooner lick a bum's nutsack than see Kerry in the white house. Get a real job, hippie!'

I threw my hands up, showing that I meant no offense. Just my luck to pick a young Republican as my first interview.

Little did I know, I had only begun to scratch the surface.

I spied a young girl sitting nearby, and after introducing myself, asked her what she thought of Al Sharpton, and the possibility of the black community being an important factor as the swing vote.

"My bike is fast. FAST!"

"I see... so you feel that the Tawana Brawley scandal is still too closely linked with Sharpton to..."

"I go go play now."

Damn! I had walked right into that one! I was slowly being consumed by this pit of vipers. I decided to go for the hail mary, and give it one last shot. Next to the super slide, there sat a cherubic lad gazing into the abyss of his free mortgage company balloon.

"Hi, I was wondering if I could get a couple of thoughts from you concerning the Democratic National Convention and the impending election."

"Aggle baggle gaggle laggle!"

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" I had had enough. I would not sit here and take this abuse from a cadre of pre-adolescent, jackbooted thugs. "YOU SKULL & BONES MOTHERFUCKER! HOW DARE YOU TAKE THAT TONE WITH ME!"

I popped his balloon with my car keys (not as easy as you'd think-I drive a Honda), and vaulted the googly-eyed giraffe to the sweet air of the free press.

From the Desk of Jeff

2004-07-30T17:31:00.000-05:00

INTERNAL MEMO - NOT FOR RELEASE - INTERNAL MEMO

From: Jeff Shipley, Grand Dragon of Marketing/Public Relations
To: Grand Wizard of the KKK, All Grand Dragons of the KKK, Area Recruitment Heads, and Shift Managers

Hey gang-

Jeff Shipley here, thrilled to be working with the Ku Klux Klan. Little background on me: I’m 31 years old, spent the last three with Pierce & Banner PR after leaving MPACT Marketing. Married, no kids (unless you count our dachshund Contessa!), and a sweet summer duplex in Portland.

I was hired to help bring the Klan up to date with today’s marketing. Folks, public opinion is worth a lot. It can literally make or break you. Literally. Historically, the Klan has always been at odds with public opinion. I’m here to change all that.

I’ve looked at the facts and figures, and talked to a number of you personally, and I think I just might have a plan. A 4-Point plan to make the KKK bigger and better than ever before!

Point-1: The Blacks

I know, I know, I just hit you with the big one right off. Well frankly, I just don’t have time to screw around. Not if I’m going to get this ship back on track. I understand several of you have a lot of anger and bitterness towards the increasing number of black celebrities in the world; rap artists, professional athletes, etc. Yes, more black people enjoy fame and fortune than ever before, but look at the overall picture: the numbers of black people involved in serious crime has climbed higher than ever, civil rights are constantly being ignored, and discrimination has been holding steady for the past 5 years. Don’t let a few good apples spoil the bunch.

And another thing: let’s cut out using the ‘n’ word. I know how fond of it many of you are, but let’s face it: due to the acceptance of the word within black culture, they mostly don’t care. It was high time to let it go, anyway. I mean, we don’t still ride around on horseback when we burn churches, right?

Point-2: The Hispanics

The good news is the so-called ‘Latin explosion’ in popular culture never really materialized. The bad news is that statistics show that by the year 2010, Hispanics will become the majority, surpassing Caucasians. This means we have to start making more proud white people. So let’s get started on this as soon as possible. 2010 isn’t that far away, and your retarded cousin isn’t going to get pregnant by herself.

Point-3: The Gays

Gay culture is constantly making new inroads with mainstream pop culture through television shows, movies and other machinations of the Homosexual-Jewish conspiracy in Hollywood. Rather than attack, I say we use them to our own advantage.

David Duke was arguably the most visible leader of the Klan, and look at the man! No wonder he lost the governor’s race in Louisiana! Duke wants to run for Congress when he’s released from prison later this year, and someone’s obviously set the wayback machine for 1988! I’ve got a call out to 2 of the 5 ‘Queer Eye for the Straight Guy’ guys, and hopefully (fingers crossed!) we’ll have David ready for his inauguration photos in no time!

Point-4: The Kids

This is really the backbone of the whole plan. We need to stop thinking in the now, and think in the after-now. Young people are not as in touch with racism as they once were. Sure, your kids know white from wrong, but what about their friends, their schoolmates? To that end, I give you the official mascot of our new children’s recruitment campaign, Krakker Jack!

Krakker Jack is a sprightly, anthropomorphized butter cracker that helps teach kids all about the KKK with his ‘Krakker Jack Facts’!

A Mexican stole your daddy’s job!
Arabs smell!
Don’t trust a Jew with your money!
Black people have extra muscles in their legs. That’s why they’re so good at sports!

This, more than any other initiative, must really be a team effort. Make every Klan function into a family function. Everyone loves a parade! Turn rallies into singalongs! Cross burnings into cookouts! Nothing says family like the Klan and s’mores!

By all means folks, this is just the beginning. I’m totally open to any suggestions you might have. Feel free to give me a call, and I’ll be happy to talk. Unless I’m not there, then Donna will take a message.

Jeff

Originally published at damntheman.net-7/21/2004

An Open Letter To My The Fans

2004-07-30T17:25:00.001-05:00

Rocco Siffredi

Dearest my the fans-

I am apologizing first for my English. She is not so good. Without doubting, I am sure you know that I, Rocco Siffredi: Italian Porn King have decided to retire from the porning.

I remember when I was young, I see many old men with young, hot pussy in porn. I say then, "How disgusting! Old man should not be fucking such pussy!" Then I turn 40. I look in mirror one day and say, "Rocco. You are old man. You are not German. Stop the porn." So I stop.

I have wife and family that I love very much and want to spend time with. Surely you say to yourself or another someone in the area, "Rocco has the wife? Does he give her the toilet love like in his movies?"

Do not ask the silliness.

Work is work, where I put the girl in the toilet. My wife knows the work sex is not the love sex. I make the love sex to the wife, and do not put her head in the toilet. We have a bidet.

Ha HA! I am making the joke.

Do not have the fear. Rocco still wants to direct and produce movies, just not to be on the camera fucking fannies. Perhaps even one day, my son young Fabrizio will grow to take my place. "But Rocco," you say, "is it right for child to have father who makes love to lactating mommas on the camera for the porning?" No to worry. I teach young Fabrizio early that to have oral favors on toilet is act of love. All women should have respect from men, even if woman is tied up with electrical tape and wearing hood with zippers on eyes.

What will Rocco miss the most? The plumpers, the teenies, the doms, DP's, Three-P's, gang fucks, fistings, toe sucking, turtle huffing, preening the cat, red barons, dirty sanchezes, flying dutchmen, dick whipping, blumpkins, donkey punches, Tony Danzas, pearl necklaces, purple mushrooms, jelly donuts, dogs in bathtubs, rim jobs, Cool Hand Lukes, jersey turnpikes, rear admirals,buttplugs and the so on?

I will miss it all.

Love, Rocco.

Originally published at damntheman.net-7/16/2004