Can I tell you about my weekend?
Well, it all started Saturday morning. My Friday night was a hard, long, grueling night of sleeping, so when I woke up at 9 AM, I was too tired to get out of bed. I slept some more, until about 1, then until 3. I got up to "urinate," then took a nap until 5. Now I was ready to start my day!
I only had one thing on my to-do list for the weekend: obtain a lint mop. I had noticed my jacket was full of lint and hair, so much so that a normal brush probably wouldn't do the trick. This was a mop job. So, I high-tailed it over to Bed, Bath, and Beyond, assuming that the Beyond would undoubtedly include the object of my desire.
After walking the aisles for a good 2 minutes, I was on the brink of giving up. Luckily, a pretty young saleswoman wandered down my aisle, so I asked her for assistance. When she heard the words "lint mop," her face instantly turned into a James T. Callahan scowl. She had never heard of such a product! I prodded her some more, hoping that some extra description and pantomime might jog her memory, but she just shook her head like a young Charles S. Dutton. That's when I started to cry.
My tears must have stirred something inside of her, possibly all those feminine hormones I always hear about, stirred them like a soup. A woman soup. She took my hand, and led me to the darkest corner of Bed, Bath, and Beyound, and stuck a business card in my hand. It read "Tiger Crenshaw III - Lint Mops," and had a phone number in the bottom lefthand corner. The lettering was all in Batang font, which I now know was a foreshadowing. When I looked up from the card, the pretty saleswoman was gone. I knew now what I would be doing on my Sunday.
Monday, March 27, 2006
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Patrick Duffy Goes to the Gas Station
Now, see, why do you have to do that? I ask you to fill it up, premium, so you put the nozzle in the tank and let the pump do its thing. See, I like that. That machine knows when my tank is full. What I have a problem with is you pumping more gas into my tank so that the total is a "round" number. I'm paying with plastic anyway, there's no need to make the numbers even. There's no change!
This is why I hate getting gas in Jersey. The prices may be lower, but the savings aren't worth it when something like this happens.
Look, I know you're trying to do a nice thing. I know you think it's a convenience for me, but I'd just rather that when the pump says my car is full, you believe it. I like to take care of my car, and I don't know what kind of effect overloading the tank with gas could have on it.
See that card you just swiped? That Gold Mastercard? Now look at this chest. See the masculine hair, the round and toned muscles? This was my Gold Mastercard. This is what bought me my mansion in LA, my house in southern Oregon, and this magnificent Jetta. It bought me friends like Sasha Mitchell, and a temporary voice role on Justice League. You may work at a gas station and do this type of thing for a living, but this chest gives me the authority to tell you that what you're doing is wrong.
I don't expect you to understand. I'm not even surprised that you don't recognize me. How could I expect anything less with that beard you have? My chest hair is cleaner, more fragrant, and more masculine than that beard will ever be, and one more thing...oh, wait, you do recognize me?
No, I'm not Randy West.
(Puts magnificent Jetta into drive, pulls away with trademark exasperated face)
This is why I hate getting gas in Jersey. The prices may be lower, but the savings aren't worth it when something like this happens.
Look, I know you're trying to do a nice thing. I know you think it's a convenience for me, but I'd just rather that when the pump says my car is full, you believe it. I like to take care of my car, and I don't know what kind of effect overloading the tank with gas could have on it.
See that card you just swiped? That Gold Mastercard? Now look at this chest. See the masculine hair, the round and toned muscles? This was my Gold Mastercard. This is what bought me my mansion in LA, my house in southern Oregon, and this magnificent Jetta. It bought me friends like Sasha Mitchell, and a temporary voice role on Justice League. You may work at a gas station and do this type of thing for a living, but this chest gives me the authority to tell you that what you're doing is wrong.
I don't expect you to understand. I'm not even surprised that you don't recognize me. How could I expect anything less with that beard you have? My chest hair is cleaner, more fragrant, and more masculine than that beard will ever be, and one more thing...oh, wait, you do recognize me?
No, I'm not Randy West.
(Puts magnificent Jetta into drive, pulls away with trademark exasperated face)
Friday, March 10, 2006
Three Floors Up
They put a bus stop indoors,
Over a couple of handicapped
parking spaces.
A smokers’ enclosure,
parallel black benches,
runners for a circular dirt-filled
concrete pot, a garden
where butts will never take root,
where the harvest is twice daily.
Three floors up
but the fall is forever,
and across the way you can see
yourself, a distant figurine,
in the tinted office windows,
a white shirt surrounded
by a sun-slaying brown.
In twenty years we’ll pull in,
drive by in our Lincolns,
an iron lung strapped
in the passenger seat,
and wheeze
“Now where should I put
my car?”
Over a couple of handicapped
parking spaces.
A smokers’ enclosure,
parallel black benches,
runners for a circular dirt-filled
concrete pot, a garden
where butts will never take root,
where the harvest is twice daily.
Three floors up
but the fall is forever,
and across the way you can see
yourself, a distant figurine,
in the tinted office windows,
a white shirt surrounded
by a sun-slaying brown.
In twenty years we’ll pull in,
drive by in our Lincolns,
an iron lung strapped
in the passenger seat,
and wheeze
“Now where should I put
my car?”
Here comes the bride
I always joke about my life. Sometimes, I joke about preposterous things.
For example, I'll always remind my parents how easy it is for me to go out find a sperm donor to impregnate me whenever they start with the whole, "We want Grandchildren" spiel.
Or, I joke about dying in a car accident a lot. There have been three, yes - Three, fortune tellers that have foreseen my demise amongst wrangled metal and dripping gas. Therefore, my death in a car accident is a scientific fact.
Yet another joke that I constantly make is that of the Green Card Marriage. Where I marry some poor illegal immigrant soul just so that he can submit his application for residency to this great nation of ours. Well...the wedding is April 1st and you are all invited. Yes, it's April Fools Day, and that will be our inside joke. Life is a comedy. What better way to continue from this point than with a fake, illegal marriage? I can't think of a better way, either.
For example, I'll always remind my parents how easy it is for me to go out find a sperm donor to impregnate me whenever they start with the whole, "We want Grandchildren" spiel.
Or, I joke about dying in a car accident a lot. There have been three, yes - Three, fortune tellers that have foreseen my demise amongst wrangled metal and dripping gas. Therefore, my death in a car accident is a scientific fact.
Yet another joke that I constantly make is that of the Green Card Marriage. Where I marry some poor illegal immigrant soul just so that he can submit his application for residency to this great nation of ours. Well...the wedding is April 1st and you are all invited. Yes, it's April Fools Day, and that will be our inside joke. Life is a comedy. What better way to continue from this point than with a fake, illegal marriage? I can't think of a better way, either.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
open to doubt or suspicion
So I was walking down the street, minding my own business, not doing anything dubious whatsoever, when a man with a dubious look on his face approached me. I saw his hand dubiously pull something out of his coat pocket, something hard and cold and dubious, when he said in a dubious voice, "Give me your wallet."
I was stunned. I'd heard of these dubious sorts(or 'dubes' as I call them), but had never had such a dubious encounter before. And now, here I was, on a semi-dubious corner, a dubious gun pointed at me, a dubious finger on an even more dubious trigger, and this dube's face just staring at me in a half-dubious smile. I almost dubed myself.
But then a miracle! A not-dubious-at-all policeman must have seen the dube, because now he was behind the dube, his barely dubious police-issued gun pointed at that damned dubious back. I couldn't help cracking my least dubious smirk, and I could tell in his dubious eyes that the dube knew what was up. The obviously un-dubious cop told the dube to drop his dubious gun, which he did, in a quite dubious manner, I must admit. Soon enough, his dubious wrists were encircled in hardly dubious handcuffs, and I was escorted to my never-dubious house.
If there's anything I learned, it's always be on the lookout for dubes. They can dubiously appear on any dubious alley or sidewalk. I've also begun to practice my dubious face in my bathroom mirror, because, as I've heard dubious, i mean numerous times, the best defense is a dubious offense.
I was stunned. I'd heard of these dubious sorts(or 'dubes' as I call them), but had never had such a dubious encounter before. And now, here I was, on a semi-dubious corner, a dubious gun pointed at me, a dubious finger on an even more dubious trigger, and this dube's face just staring at me in a half-dubious smile. I almost dubed myself.
But then a miracle! A not-dubious-at-all policeman must have seen the dube, because now he was behind the dube, his barely dubious police-issued gun pointed at that damned dubious back. I couldn't help cracking my least dubious smirk, and I could tell in his dubious eyes that the dube knew what was up. The obviously un-dubious cop told the dube to drop his dubious gun, which he did, in a quite dubious manner, I must admit. Soon enough, his dubious wrists were encircled in hardly dubious handcuffs, and I was escorted to my never-dubious house.
If there's anything I learned, it's always be on the lookout for dubes. They can dubiously appear on any dubious alley or sidewalk. I've also begun to practice my dubious face in my bathroom mirror, because, as I've heard dubious, i mean numerous times, the best defense is a dubious offense.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Happy Ash Wednesday!
Today marks the first day of Lent, that 40-day Christian thing where Christians give up things so they can feel more Christian. What are the BfN contributors giving up?
Madison: He personally told me that he is going to abstain from blowjobs, both giving AND receiving, which sucks(pun intended) for the BfN staff, but is a godsend to stray cats and Honda Civic tailpipes.
Pinche: I heard she was going to temporarily halt her ongoing molestation of Popes and potatoes. But let me just say to you, body of Pope John Paul II, and you, Idaho's potato industry: you guys better watch out come April 9th, because that won't be a Cadbury egg up your ass. Or maybe it will be.
Shitface: Rumors are circulating that good ol' Shitface Mcstevens is going to give up scumbaggery, but I highly doubt their veracity.
Robert: He's not going to wear his infamous butter-knife beanie, but he's still going to carry it around as a conversation piece.
Vanderbilt(aka Me): I'm giving up soda but it's gonna be hard because you know like I love soda I drink so much of it and it tastes so good so it's gonna be hard I know but I can do it because I love Jesus and I know he'd appreciate me not drinking soda which I lovesomuch, maybe chocolate though because I love that too and eat it a lot but I'm not really fat at all because of my metabolism but noithink i'llstickwithgivingupsodabecauseilikeitmorethanchocolategodthisissucha
hardchoicejesusgavehislifeandicantevendecideifiwanttogiveupsodaor
chocolategodineedaspriteoramountaindewandsomehersheykisses
damnyougodforgivingmethepowerofthoughtitjustfucksmeup
yummountaindew.
Madison: He personally told me that he is going to abstain from blowjobs, both giving AND receiving, which sucks(pun intended) for the BfN staff, but is a godsend to stray cats and Honda Civic tailpipes.
Pinche: I heard she was going to temporarily halt her ongoing molestation of Popes and potatoes. But let me just say to you, body of Pope John Paul II, and you, Idaho's potato industry: you guys better watch out come April 9th, because that won't be a Cadbury egg up your ass. Or maybe it will be.
Shitface: Rumors are circulating that good ol' Shitface Mcstevens is going to give up scumbaggery, but I highly doubt their veracity.
Robert: He's not going to wear his infamous butter-knife beanie, but he's still going to carry it around as a conversation piece.
Vanderbilt(aka Me): I'm giving up soda but it's gonna be hard because you know like I love soda I drink so much of it and it tastes so good so it's gonna be hard I know but I can do it because I love Jesus and I know he'd appreciate me not drinking soda which I lovesomuch, maybe chocolate though because I love that too and eat it a lot but I'm not really fat at all because of my metabolism but noithink i'llstickwithgivingupsodabecauseilikeitmorethanchocolategodthisissucha
hardchoicejesusgavehislifeandicantevendecideifiwanttogiveupsodaor
chocolategodineedaspriteoramountaindewandsomehersheykisses
damnyougodforgivingmethepowerofthoughtitjustfucksmeup
yummountaindew.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
I Saw This
A heart, a heart cut out of construction paper; it was red construction paper. Perhaps it was from the "holiday" that has just passed us by. I saw it floating in the air landing on the roadway, only to be swept up again by the Lincoln Navigator or Honda Accord that passed over it. I could not discern any legible language on it; I might be overlooking the simplicity of it. After all, it could just be a heart; a heart that belongs to anyone but I believe it was intended for someone special, possibly a mother. I'm sure there is some type of symbolism related to this, but I can't find it.
As I was driving into work today, I saw this.
Friday, February 24, 2006
a lost gem
I came back from the lab and sat down to eat my dinner. After flipping the channels furiously I finally settled on watching the last 15 minutes of Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey. I will provide some insight into these last minutes, but before I start let me mention a couple of things about what this movie means to me.
Vanderbilt is an asshole. He didn't invite to his movie birthday party in which he and a number of his friends watched Bogus Journey in theaters. It would have been cool if it was just like three or four of his closest friends, but if my memory serves me correctly, is was a shitload of random peeps. It was people who had invited him to their birthday party, and even acquaintances, but no I wasn't invited.
Also, the first time I saw this movie, it was on channel 11. It was the Sunday afternoon movie. My parents weren't home and I don't think I discovered jerking off yet, so I was pretty entertained. I recall eating popcorn and drinking soda. This movie infatuated me. I was satisfied when it was done.
Anyway, today I decide to watch it, and what do you know, the good Robot us's are on the scene. Yes, if you remember correctly we must mention robot versions of Bill and Ted in the context of good and evil, because the real Bill and Ted were killed by bad robot versions of themselves. With the help of midgets who look like scrotums, they build good robots out of common products one may find in a hardware store. How did they build with their short arms? Why would they help Bill and Ted? Really? If they were so advanced, why could they only speak one word? (station), which is also both their names? We are left in the dark with these questions.
Anyway, Death otherwise known as the grim reaper has accompanied our friends under some ridiculous circumstances. Death has a German accent (maybe), and loves to make little jokes and pop culture references. He's so cute. Wait wait wait... death isn't supposed to be cute... The five of them (station (2), bill and Ted (2), death (1), and the good robot us's walk into the San Demos battle of the bands, Which totally rocks by the way, by any times standards!
The bad robot us's, the ones who allowed our hero's to meet death, are somewhat shocked at the real Bill and Ted's entrance and say something like DUDE!. The thing is, you really can't tell them apart. Its funny, can people who say dude, and that rocks be evil? This is problematic in many ways.
The real Bill and Ted announce that they have arrived to save the day and proceed to use their 'joy sticks' haha to decapitate the evil robot us's with the good robot us's. This is really complicated so bear with me. The bad robot us's do not resist. They should considering they supposedly nefarious. They have 'the babes' (some broads the dog shit duo (what I will describe the real Bill and Ted as from now on) picked up in the middle ages) (Geographically you know where I'm talking about when I say middle ages) ... Ok ok so they have the babes tied up to rafters of the place, and claim they will kill them at the end of their purposely shitty number. Genius. However, they do not struggle when their enemies come back and use the good robot us's to kill them. They say bye to each other in their dude like ways, and the good robot us's decapitate the bad robot us's.
There are fireworks, the crowd is pleased, and the heads of the bad robot us's land in the dog shit duo's arms. They have saved the day, right? If you think that's it, you need a reality check dude. The boss character, (excuse my video games jargon), comes out of the famed phone booth. He's also probably German, is dressed in black, and has a gun that looks like it was purchased in KayBee. He states his name, like a true gangsta, and then uses a remote control to actually get the attention of the whole 'universe'. We see a worthless sequence in which purple electricity goes through satellite dishes. I am now a believer.
This is when we take a turn for the worse. An obligatory shot of people around the world is necessary, so we know that this shit is really international. Up First, is a scumbag, hairy, unshaven, fat Italian man in a wife beater watching to what we can assume to be a soccer game. He tries to change the channel, but no he can't. This 'melvin' has taken control of all tv, everywhere. He could read, or jerk off or something, but he chooses to keep on watching. Next we go the England where the prim and proper shitfaced family is drinking tea at the breakfast table or some shit. They all simultaneously say 'my word'. Is this really the United States' pop culture's view of the British? Shit, that's garbage. Then in a typical stereotype not given much play anymore, we visit China. In a bar or gambling den, old surly Chinese men bet their life fortunes on the role of the dice. They even have the nerve to give one of the men a farmer's hat.
We return to the gym. This guy is talking shit. Some nonsense. He won't shoot his gun, and we know it, but shit it's pointed right at the dog shit duo. What will they do? They have a conference. They agree to escape, but they don't say how. There is a toy gun pointed right at them, you would think they might respect it, but they anger the German even more. Instead of just leaving in the phone both to escape danger, they decide to go back in time and set up a dropping sandbag. A motherfuckn sandbag that falls at that moment and knocks the gun out of the German's hand. Instead of just picking it up, he stands there with his dick out, vulnerable to attack. As they discuss what they will do next, magically a cage falls on the German's head.
So in this scene the dog shit duo are in the present and they are describing what they will do when they use the phone booth. Man, this logic is more fucked up than Back to the Future. Well, as they contemplate what they will do to beat this gypsy, it just so happens, they are experts at timeing this shit perfectly. I never understood this when I first watched it, and I still don't. If you have any theories please let me know immediately.
The German claims he can manipulate time as well. He gets a key for the cage and another gun. Silly German! He forgets that Bill and Ted are 'the men' and will come up on top. So they fuck with the dude. Instead of having a toy gun that shoots lasers or some shit, a flag that says Wild Stallions rule pops out. Hilarious. Ted's father handcuffs the fiend and we are all good, but not before death, that daffy bastard, gives the German a huge weggie. He is labeled a melvin and figuratively shit on.
The next shit is the shit that really pisses me off. When the German gets over the shock of being humiliated on world wide TV, he smiles. He liked the wedgie. Logic says he likes things up his ass. The villain is not only a scumbag, and evil, but gay too. Fucking hilarious, really. The fucked up thing is death has undoubtedly dabbled in homosexuality himself, and here he is ostracizing the German because he likes wedgies. Tisk tisk.
Some insignificant shit happens, and then they decide to 'get good' by traveling back to the middle ages and practicing guitar. Wait wait wait... where did they plug their electric guitars into? They did have Station though. They come back to the present with ridiculous mustaches and beards, the type a man might spend a life time growing. Lucky Bastards. They introduce their band, death spits a rhyme: 'whether you are a king or a little street sweeper, you know you got a date with the reaper'. His nick name should be the cerebral assasian.
The dog shit duo had twins that were conceived at the same time during the duration of a 'mediaeval honeymoon' They practiced for 16 months, and for what, so they could play GOD GAVE ROCK AND ROLL TO YOU, considered by most to be a shitty power/monster ballad by a garbage band. Everyone loves it, because everyone is still watching internationally. Practiced for so long, and this is it? The British family loves it though. The reserved, conservative, prim and proper Brits are dancing to it. Shiiiit.... The Asian guy gives the other Asian guy a high five.
It is clear they are not actually singing this song. The message hits home with all. God did give rock and roll to us, and everyone.
The credits start rolling... wow that was some ride. Wait, wait, we get to see the future even though it didn't' t happen yet. Apparently, the dog shit duo become Sportsmen of the year, and take roles in world history that they could never have imagined growing up in San Demos. They cure the problems of the middle east (whatever that happens to be at the time) by simply going there. When the dog shit duo goes to the Midwest, agricultural production goes up 30 percent. There is a string of these events, which are obviously just correlation not causation, such as causing the Dow to drop because of break up rumors. Not only do they use the world's atomic bomb supply to fuel their amplifier, but they cure pollution with air guitars. Heavy stuff. The one I didn't understand was about death winning the Indy 500. The headline is a quote by death saying 'I didn't know I could run that fast'. Totally out of context. And finally like a real American story, technology improves and Bill and Ted play on Mars. Utter trash. Through this we are subjected to hearing a tall tale about the origins of rock and roll. Ya know, how god gave rock and roll to us, and everyone.
Needless to say, my reaction to this was WOWSERS! Really stupid shit. Surreal, and thus entertaining. I'm glad I could share this experience with others, and fuck you Vanderbilt for not inviting me.
Vanderbilt is an asshole. He didn't invite to his movie birthday party in which he and a number of his friends watched Bogus Journey in theaters. It would have been cool if it was just like three or four of his closest friends, but if my memory serves me correctly, is was a shitload of random peeps. It was people who had invited him to their birthday party, and even acquaintances, but no I wasn't invited.
Also, the first time I saw this movie, it was on channel 11. It was the Sunday afternoon movie. My parents weren't home and I don't think I discovered jerking off yet, so I was pretty entertained. I recall eating popcorn and drinking soda. This movie infatuated me. I was satisfied when it was done.
Anyway, today I decide to watch it, and what do you know, the good Robot us's are on the scene. Yes, if you remember correctly we must mention robot versions of Bill and Ted in the context of good and evil, because the real Bill and Ted were killed by bad robot versions of themselves. With the help of midgets who look like scrotums, they build good robots out of common products one may find in a hardware store. How did they build with their short arms? Why would they help Bill and Ted? Really? If they were so advanced, why could they only speak one word? (station), which is also both their names? We are left in the dark with these questions.
Anyway, Death otherwise known as the grim reaper has accompanied our friends under some ridiculous circumstances. Death has a German accent (maybe), and loves to make little jokes and pop culture references. He's so cute. Wait wait wait... death isn't supposed to be cute... The five of them (station (2), bill and Ted (2), death (1), and the good robot us's walk into the San Demos battle of the bands, Which totally rocks by the way, by any times standards!
The bad robot us's, the ones who allowed our hero's to meet death, are somewhat shocked at the real Bill and Ted's entrance and say something like DUDE!. The thing is, you really can't tell them apart. Its funny, can people who say dude, and that rocks be evil? This is problematic in many ways.
The real Bill and Ted announce that they have arrived to save the day and proceed to use their 'joy sticks' haha to decapitate the evil robot us's with the good robot us's. This is really complicated so bear with me. The bad robot us's do not resist. They should considering they supposedly nefarious. They have 'the babes' (some broads the dog shit duo (what I will describe the real Bill and Ted as from now on) picked up in the middle ages) (Geographically you know where I'm talking about when I say middle ages) ... Ok ok so they have the babes tied up to rafters of the place, and claim they will kill them at the end of their purposely shitty number. Genius. However, they do not struggle when their enemies come back and use the good robot us's to kill them. They say bye to each other in their dude like ways, and the good robot us's decapitate the bad robot us's.
There are fireworks, the crowd is pleased, and the heads of the bad robot us's land in the dog shit duo's arms. They have saved the day, right? If you think that's it, you need a reality check dude. The boss character, (excuse my video games jargon), comes out of the famed phone booth. He's also probably German, is dressed in black, and has a gun that looks like it was purchased in KayBee. He states his name, like a true gangsta, and then uses a remote control to actually get the attention of the whole 'universe'. We see a worthless sequence in which purple electricity goes through satellite dishes. I am now a believer.
This is when we take a turn for the worse. An obligatory shot of people around the world is necessary, so we know that this shit is really international. Up First, is a scumbag, hairy, unshaven, fat Italian man in a wife beater watching to what we can assume to be a soccer game. He tries to change the channel, but no he can't. This 'melvin' has taken control of all tv, everywhere. He could read, or jerk off or something, but he chooses to keep on watching. Next we go the England where the prim and proper shitfaced family is drinking tea at the breakfast table or some shit. They all simultaneously say 'my word'. Is this really the United States' pop culture's view of the British? Shit, that's garbage. Then in a typical stereotype not given much play anymore, we visit China. In a bar or gambling den, old surly Chinese men bet their life fortunes on the role of the dice. They even have the nerve to give one of the men a farmer's hat.
We return to the gym. This guy is talking shit. Some nonsense. He won't shoot his gun, and we know it, but shit it's pointed right at the dog shit duo. What will they do? They have a conference. They agree to escape, but they don't say how. There is a toy gun pointed right at them, you would think they might respect it, but they anger the German even more. Instead of just leaving in the phone both to escape danger, they decide to go back in time and set up a dropping sandbag. A motherfuckn sandbag that falls at that moment and knocks the gun out of the German's hand. Instead of just picking it up, he stands there with his dick out, vulnerable to attack. As they discuss what they will do next, magically a cage falls on the German's head.
So in this scene the dog shit duo are in the present and they are describing what they will do when they use the phone booth. Man, this logic is more fucked up than Back to the Future. Well, as they contemplate what they will do to beat this gypsy, it just so happens, they are experts at timeing this shit perfectly. I never understood this when I first watched it, and I still don't. If you have any theories please let me know immediately.
The German claims he can manipulate time as well. He gets a key for the cage and another gun. Silly German! He forgets that Bill and Ted are 'the men' and will come up on top. So they fuck with the dude. Instead of having a toy gun that shoots lasers or some shit, a flag that says Wild Stallions rule pops out. Hilarious. Ted's father handcuffs the fiend and we are all good, but not before death, that daffy bastard, gives the German a huge weggie. He is labeled a melvin and figuratively shit on.
The next shit is the shit that really pisses me off. When the German gets over the shock of being humiliated on world wide TV, he smiles. He liked the wedgie. Logic says he likes things up his ass. The villain is not only a scumbag, and evil, but gay too. Fucking hilarious, really. The fucked up thing is death has undoubtedly dabbled in homosexuality himself, and here he is ostracizing the German because he likes wedgies. Tisk tisk.
Some insignificant shit happens, and then they decide to 'get good' by traveling back to the middle ages and practicing guitar. Wait wait wait... where did they plug their electric guitars into? They did have Station though. They come back to the present with ridiculous mustaches and beards, the type a man might spend a life time growing. Lucky Bastards. They introduce their band, death spits a rhyme: 'whether you are a king or a little street sweeper, you know you got a date with the reaper'. His nick name should be the cerebral assasian.
The dog shit duo had twins that were conceived at the same time during the duration of a 'mediaeval honeymoon' They practiced for 16 months, and for what, so they could play GOD GAVE ROCK AND ROLL TO YOU, considered by most to be a shitty power/monster ballad by a garbage band. Everyone loves it, because everyone is still watching internationally. Practiced for so long, and this is it? The British family loves it though. The reserved, conservative, prim and proper Brits are dancing to it. Shiiiit.... The Asian guy gives the other Asian guy a high five.
It is clear they are not actually singing this song. The message hits home with all. God did give rock and roll to us, and everyone.
The credits start rolling... wow that was some ride. Wait, wait, we get to see the future even though it didn't' t happen yet. Apparently, the dog shit duo become Sportsmen of the year, and take roles in world history that they could never have imagined growing up in San Demos. They cure the problems of the middle east (whatever that happens to be at the time) by simply going there. When the dog shit duo goes to the Midwest, agricultural production goes up 30 percent. There is a string of these events, which are obviously just correlation not causation, such as causing the Dow to drop because of break up rumors. Not only do they use the world's atomic bomb supply to fuel their amplifier, but they cure pollution with air guitars. Heavy stuff. The one I didn't understand was about death winning the Indy 500. The headline is a quote by death saying 'I didn't know I could run that fast'. Totally out of context. And finally like a real American story, technology improves and Bill and Ted play on Mars. Utter trash. Through this we are subjected to hearing a tall tale about the origins of rock and roll. Ya know, how god gave rock and roll to us, and everyone.
Needless to say, my reaction to this was WOWSERS! Really stupid shit. Surreal, and thus entertaining. I'm glad I could share this experience with others, and fuck you Vanderbilt for not inviting me.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
She used to hum
She used to hum
when I guessed correct
(a song, an unknown
destination), a two-note measure
with a slight crescendo,
her smile a pressed leaf.
She used to breathe
a nectar breeze,
and sometimes a gust
of vodka and vomit,
like the moment before
she stumbled onto my lips
for our long-delayed
first bilious kiss.
She used to quake
my skin with her fingertips,
run them smooth along my neck,
or push her nails to enter,
puncture my back
to draw a red retribution.
She used to leave
pink imprints
on her Friday night glasses,
which I’d notice, but still
allow my lips to cover,
allow my tongue to swim
in crayon-waxy wine.
She used to whisper
my name into my ear,
and I couldn’t help but shiver.
when I guessed correct
(a song, an unknown
destination), a two-note measure
with a slight crescendo,
her smile a pressed leaf.
She used to breathe
a nectar breeze,
and sometimes a gust
of vodka and vomit,
like the moment before
she stumbled onto my lips
for our long-delayed
first bilious kiss.
She used to quake
my skin with her fingertips,
run them smooth along my neck,
or push her nails to enter,
puncture my back
to draw a red retribution.
She used to leave
pink imprints
on her Friday night glasses,
which I’d notice, but still
allow my lips to cover,
allow my tongue to swim
in crayon-waxy wine.
She used to whisper
my name into my ear,
and I couldn’t help but shiver.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
A couple of observations
1. I was listening to NPR. There was a segment about the recent efforts of including more players from the Negro Leagues that may have been overlooked during the first half of the 20th century. First, I wondered, is it okay to say Negro? Secondly, I laughed out loud at Monte Irvin. He's the only currently living hall of famer from the Negro Leagues and he presently does voluntary tours at Cooper's Town Hall of Fame. As NPR broadcasts Irvin conducting his tour, he says, as I imagine him feebly pointing his 94 year old finger at a picture on a wall, "And that was Cool Papa Bell (slight pause as he probably licks his lips)...He was cool." Then, he heartily laughs at his own joke and I wish I could be there during that tour to laugh with him. Irvin is a comic genius.
2. I met a club guy. You know the type - they are regular club-goers and they come equipped with gelled hair, cheesy pick up lines, and condoms. The club guy I met is Peruvian, so add to him the 'Rico Suave' effect. I hesitated writing about this because it meant that I would have to admit that I was at a club. But, I digress, the Peruvian is sweet eye candy with slim to no intelligence and a heck of a kisser. He throws out a couple of lines about beauty and eternal love, of which I laugh at. I mean: I was laughing hysterically and even had to step aside to catch my breath. He looks at me with a hurt, perplexed look on his face. He actually uses those lines on girls that probably take off their panties right then and there for him. And, for me to laugh at him must have been a blow to his ego. This is his trade - lovin' the ladies. So, for me to ridicule his talent was like a doctor losing a patient or a trial lawyer losing a career-building-slam-dunk case.
3. I read a book - a great book. Memorias de Mis Putas Tristes - Gael Garcia Marquez - seriously - I love this book. I read it with my dad. Kind of like a father reads bedtime stories to their little kids, except I was doing the reading and we were both drunk. I can't vouch for the English version - but, in Spanish it is the most beautifully and poetically written novel having to do with a love affair involving a prostitute. Read it. Now...right now. I'll lend you the book, if you want it. So, like I said previously, the general gist is that of an old, old 90-year old man and his affair with a teen virgin prostitute (sans sex). Folded nicely in the crevices of that love story are poignant observations of self-awareness, brilliant ridicule of our society, and a defiance of life and our silly preconceived norms. It's not a sappy romance novel - don't get the wrong impression. But, it deals with the themes of lives lived and loves lost from the point of view of the wisest, wrinklest old man. (I know wrinklest isn't a word)!
2. I met a club guy. You know the type - they are regular club-goers and they come equipped with gelled hair, cheesy pick up lines, and condoms. The club guy I met is Peruvian, so add to him the 'Rico Suave' effect. I hesitated writing about this because it meant that I would have to admit that I was at a club. But, I digress, the Peruvian is sweet eye candy with slim to no intelligence and a heck of a kisser. He throws out a couple of lines about beauty and eternal love, of which I laugh at. I mean: I was laughing hysterically and even had to step aside to catch my breath. He looks at me with a hurt, perplexed look on his face. He actually uses those lines on girls that probably take off their panties right then and there for him. And, for me to laugh at him must have been a blow to his ego. This is his trade - lovin' the ladies. So, for me to ridicule his talent was like a doctor losing a patient or a trial lawyer losing a career-building-slam-dunk case.
3. I read a book - a great book. Memorias de Mis Putas Tristes - Gael Garcia Marquez - seriously - I love this book. I read it with my dad. Kind of like a father reads bedtime stories to their little kids, except I was doing the reading and we were both drunk. I can't vouch for the English version - but, in Spanish it is the most beautifully and poetically written novel having to do with a love affair involving a prostitute. Read it. Now...right now. I'll lend you the book, if you want it. So, like I said previously, the general gist is that of an old, old 90-year old man and his affair with a teen virgin prostitute (sans sex). Folded nicely in the crevices of that love story are poignant observations of self-awareness, brilliant ridicule of our society, and a defiance of life and our silly preconceived norms. It's not a sappy romance novel - don't get the wrong impression. But, it deals with the themes of lives lived and loves lost from the point of view of the wisest, wrinklest old man. (I know wrinklest isn't a word)!
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