Things are Good, Part II

1) When young Muslim dudes are told about the 72 virgins in paradise that are waiting for them after they’ve committed suicide, doesn't it occur to them to wonder why EVERY guy hasn't done it? I would think I'd immediately ask the guy that told me about the wondrous heaven that awaits me "Well, why don't you do it, then?" "Nah", he probably says "You go on, get to heaven where there's 72 virgins and no line at the Shoney's buffet waiting for you...I'm cool here in the scorching desert, drinking my own urine waiting for US soldiers to come torture me."

2) Where'd they get the number 72 from? Does anyone know this? And really, is there anything worse than 72 VIRGINS??!? Oh, goody. 72 chicks to not want you to see them naked, to not talk dirty, and will bleed all over your silk Star Wars bedsheets. Great.

3) After you've done each of them once, they're no longer virgins - then what happens? Is that all you get? Therein, when you're deciding whether or not to be a suicide bomber, wouldn't it be a game of calculating whether or not you'd have sex 72 times in your life or not? Or do they become 72 "girlfriends"? I'd break them into little teams, have them do events to entertain me. "Heather? Yeah, she's on the Bears...volleyball champs, and they give great head..."

4) I've noticed that when you go to bars carrying a 15-lb country ham, all of a sudden girls walk right up and talk to you. Interesting.

5) A moment of silence for Jon Spencer, Leo McGarry from The West Wing. I only remember him in one other role, some ref in Forget Paris, but I have no problems imagining that Leo was the role of his lifetime. If he had shown up on CNN as the real Chief of Staff I wouldn't have batted an eye. Leo, we will miss you.

6) My friend and I are compiling a list of hot celebrities that have not slept with him. So far we have Alicia Silverstone, Denise Rich and Heather Thomas. Will keep you posted.

7) Where did the myth about sexy, slutty flight attendants begin? The stereotype is of gorgeous horny babes banging dudes at every layover. I don't fly a lot, but every time I do the attendant is usually, if not a flaming dude, some spinster who weighs in at 400lbs. She's out of breath while showing us what to do in case we crash, and constantly scraping my shoulder with her fat ass every time she squeezes by. What the fuck.

8) If Gina Gershon and Angelina Jolie wanted to get into a fight over who gets to make me a pitcher of iced tea, I probably would not stop them.

9) Because my hands would be wrapped around my penis, flailing away.

10) And by "Gina Gershon and Angelina Jolie", I mean "any women on earth"

11) Ladies: after you've received your change from the cashier, step aside and let the next person do his transaction. Don't stand there in front of the line carefully placing your fucking change in your purse and closing it all up nicely and neatly and then putting on your fucking gloves and scarf while we all stand there staring at you, including the cashier, you stupid fuck. Get your change, step aside to do your fucking banking, bitch!

12) In high school, I used to dream of standing at one end of the hallway between classes, and then barreling through everyone bowling-ball style.

13) Why does Coca-Cola spend $1 billion a year on advertising? Who on the planet is not aware of Coke? Take the one billion and do something useful. I'm stepping over homeless people with AIDS everyday, but at least I can't swing my dick around without hitting a Coke ad. Christ.

14) I have 11 days to learn the robot to fulfill my 2005 New Years Resolution. I might be in trouble.

I'm Really a Greyhound Man...

I'm not a good flyer. I'm one of those people that just, for whatever reason, thinks it's not natural for humans to fly. When I'm on a plane, I see myself as a fish behind the wheel of a car: "I shouldn't be doing this, I shouldn't be doing this..." Several things happen to my personality when I fly, though. Number 1, I turn into the nicest, most polite person in the world. I'm terrified that if I don't open doors for ladies and do the ol' "Yes sir/no sir" routine, then the fates will send me hurtling into a mountain. "whoa whoa whoa...the Xmastime kid isn't being polite? Well, how bout I end his and 200 other people lives right now?" Also, as soon as the plane starts moving, I become REALLY religious. I went to church every Sunday for 18 years, I was a Super-Catholic back in the day. Nowadays, I don't believe in religion, I'm barely trying to believe in God, but you better believe the second that plane starts lurching forward I turn into the choir director from a black church in Alabama.. "Oh, Lord Jesus Jesus save us..." I jump into a few Hail Marys and Our Fathers; I'm praying that the fact that I actually remember the words to these things shocks God (whom I only believe in on a plane, of course) into sparing my life. I also show up at the airport like 3 hours early, as if I'll be rewarded for my promptness. I always assume everyone that's there flies constantly, that if I don't pay EXTREME close attention, I'm gonna miss my flight because I'm an outsider and don’t speak the language.

One thing that kills me (whoops, bad choice of words there...I'm actually writing this so that in case the plane crashes, this will be the most ironic blog posting of all time) is whenever there is a plane crash, and the news people will lament that there are "only" 15 or so survivors. I'm like..."only"????!?!? wtf. How do people survive plane crashes? I'm in a tin box 6 miles in the air that plummets to the earth at an unspeakable speed, and I survive it? How the fuck does that happen? That, to me, is in my "Top 3 Least Preferable Deaths." You have a couple of minutes to sit there and think "great...I'm gonna die...not only are they gonna find my mangled body covered in my own shit, but I should've thrown out my porn before I left for the airport..." And I got news for you: my plane's going down, I'm finding the hottest broad on the flight and feeling her up. Sorry, I know it's wrong, but that's the way it is. Maybe if I got your D-cups in my mitts, it'll ease the pain of my internal organs being strewn all over someone's cornfield.

Ironically, I spent a few years in the Air Force. I remember flying little planes all round and not even noticing. I remember hanging from helicopters during training drills to recover "dead" bodies. Didn't bother me at the time. But put me on a commercial plane, and I'm a nervous wreck. And they LOVE to tell you how low the odds of crashing are: "You have a better chance of being beaten in 3-card Monty by a French Yeti in a pantsuit than you do of crashing in a plane!" oh, fuck you. Anyway, my flight leaves in 7 hours, so I gotta get to the airport. Our father, who art in heaven...

The Kool-Aid Kid

Oh, man. Came across this picture a minute ago and can’t stop laughing. Christ, until I was 12 I’m pretty sure I drank Kool-Aid every single day, all day. As proof I had a permanent Kool-Aid stain above my upper lip. The mix of cherry/grape/orange is an interesting color, and does not help you out as much with the ladies as one might think. Of course, at that age I guess I wasn’t thinking of girls, but of…well, Kool-Aid. The spots above and below my lips were an exciting place to be in the early 80’s: not only was the upper spot the home of my Kool-Aid tattoo, but the spot below my bottom lip was permanently gnashed in with my teeth marks. Whenever my brother would anger me (which is constantly when you’re that close in age and pretty much spend every waking moment together), I’d instinctively clamp down on that spot and dig in with my overbite as I charged him. I’d be WHITE HOT with fury as my little-man fists would start wailing; I’d actually sometimes get the better of these fights because my brother would be laughing so hard at how ridiculous I looked, with my teeth clamped down almost on my chin and eyes raging with utter anger. After a few minutes of laughing he’d take care of business, but boy. I must’ve been a sight. I believe I inherited this anger-clampdown method from my mother. Many was the time I’d hafta get an ass-whuppin - I was one of those kids that simply could not go to bed unless I had gotten a spanking that day; as I’m bent over awaiting the sting of leather against my (then) bony ass, I’d make the mistake of looking back at my mother, and SHE’D have that tooth clampdown going on and, like my brother with me, I’d start laughing. Which, of course, would INFURIATE my mother – the one thing in the world you can do to piss of someone giving you an ass-whooping is to start laughing. So instead of getting the ol’ “you fucked up, I gotta spank you, lets get this over with etc” whooping, I’d get the “Is this fucking kid LAUGHING at me while I beat his ass?! Oh, laugh at THIS, motherfucker!!!!” whooping. I never learned – don’t fucking look back! It will only make you laugh! Ah well. Memories.

Kids Today.

Dig this.

A boy whose parents are accused of making their special-needs adopted children sleep in cages testified Thursday that the couple forced him to live in the bathroom as punishment for bed wetting.

Kid. Stop crying. At least the one room they let you stay in was the BATHROOM!!...which is lucky, seeing as you seem to have a problem pissing yourself. Maybe if you got caught beating off you woulda gotten stuffed in Mom's lingerie drawer. Which, of course, you would've immediately filled with piss.

"I couldn't come out of my room until I wrote the whole book of Deuteronomy," he said. "I was up there for like a month."

Are you fucking retarded? Sneak out, hit the local Kinkos. Camon. Take an hour to copy it, spend the next few weeks learning how to fart in a mason jar. Do kids even have brains these days?

The Gravelles are trying to regain custody of the 11 children, ages 1 to 15, who have problems such as fetal alcohol syndrome, HIV and a disorder in which children eat dirt. One girl's head was shoved in a toilet by a parent because she was drinking water out of it

Sounds like someone is crying out for some attention from a gentleman.... (applying Canoe cologne). This girl would be a cheap date. Doesn't mind drinking outta the bowl, is okay eating dirt. Wouldn't be in a rush to get home to her abusive parents, so would be receptive to staying over. Give her a mild deformity, like puppy foot, so that she is thrilled that a male is even paying attention to her, and I do believe I've found Mrs. Xmastime.

He described various punishments for wetting the bed. "We'd have to go upstairs and scrub it. The younger ones would get spanked. We would have to go pull a bucket of weeds," he said.

Boy that is tough. I remember when I was a kid and wet my bed, my parents would have a big parade for me, then take me to Mickey D's and let me fill up on anything I wanted, all while telling me how much they loved me as a few hookers they bought blew me. Hmm. I remember weeding, too. It's called The "I don’t own this house, my father does, so when he says 'I just fed you, you're wearing clothes I bought under my roof, get your fat ass outside and weed'" Law. go figure.

Fucking kids. Shut the fuck up, get in your cage, and stop pissing/drinking outta the bowl!

2:33pm...

...while you're playing hardball and waiting to contact me mon cherie, I've noticed that both Nicole Richie and Jessica Simpson are SINGLE. So unless you not only wanna lose me AGAIN and see my mug on every magazine you walk by for the next year, I'd take those little mitts of yours and pick up the phone and start dialing 1-800-IMS-ORRY. Bonus points if you're drunk dialing from a Hooters in my neighborhood. And have a credit card. Baby - let's DO this!!!!

11:46am...

...seriously. It's been a few days now; she hasn't called me or written. I'm thinKing I need to set a timeline to "pull out the troops." I'm gonna give her til 5pm today to contact me. Otherwise, baby have a good life! Good luck with future projects!!!!!! 5PM MEANS 5PM!! Not 5:01 or 5:02. 5:00!!!!!!!!


ps - do you still have my letter jacket? can't seem to find it.

Suicide Etiquette for Fellas

What is it with dudes who commit suicide killing their girlfriends first? How many times do we read about this happening. Can't you be a gentleman about the whole thing, and just kill yourself? I suppose the thinking is "This way we'll be together in heaven." Hmm. If you do meet up in heaven, do you really think this girl is gonna wanna be with you after you've pumped her full of lead? "Oh HELL no..." Plus, let's face it, you're in heaven now, doesn't that mean now you're competing with every dude who has ever died? Now you're up against some of the all-time greats - instead of competing against the fucking fry cooks at TGIFridays, you've got Sam Cooke sending over bottles of wine while the smooth sounds of "You Send Me" glide out of Heaven's stereo. Camon. And don't think you're gonna do well with the beautiful ladies of the past; now you're just the asshole dude who shot his young girlfriend 8 times. Princess Di might not be interested in you after hearing this. That might be the all-time bad dating story: you've killed yourself and your girlfriend so you can be together in the afterlife, but when you get there you get the "I wanna see other people..." speech. Ouch! So think it through next time, fellas. If you think you can compete against Valentino, Chamberlain, Presley et al, go ahead and kill her too. Otherwise, do the right thing and leave her alone before you blow your own brains out.

Ugh

Ridiculously hung over today, got toothpicks keeping my eyelids open. I'll go back to being "funny" tomorrow ;)

John Lennon 10/9/40 - 12/8/80

I reckon like everyone else I'm sitting round listening to Beatles songs today, in particular John Lennon who was, as you know unless you live in a cave, or Kansas, shot to death 25 years ago today. Surprisingly (to myself, anyways) I don't remember the day he was shot. I remember Elvis dying, I remember many things before December 1980, but I don't remember this day. Probably because my parents weren't into the Beatles, they were a little after their time. It wasn't like when Elvis kicked, and my dad told my brother and I to "be nice to your mother today." I guess every other day my brother and I were mean to her. Hmm. Mostly, I've always been pissed at how because he got shot, he became a martyr, while Paul became the "pussy Beatle", a "lightweight fop." In a lot of people's eyes. John IS the Beatles, which is totally ridiculous. Paul could have a tendency to get a bit mawkish at times (one song about your sheepdog is one too many, Paul), but he also CRANKED plenty - witness his bone-shivering cover of "Long Tall Sally", or his heavy metal "Helter Skelter." On the very same day he recorded "Yesterday", Paul also ran through his Little Richardesque number "I'm Down", so don't tell me he's a pussy (and he ALSO recorded "I've Just Seen a Face" - quite a fucking day. jesus.) John and Paul were both great because of each other. Yes, John probably helped Paul steer from his sentimental show tune side sometimes, but Paul also kept John from completely going off the deep end too eary with his "artsy primal scream feeling songs" - or, as I call them, "crap." So everyone, drop the Lennon is the Jesus Beatle and Paul sucked nonsense. Open your ears, listen to the albums and love them both. As for memories of 12/8/80, like I said I don't have any. But I've always thought how he affected the lives of people was summed up perfectly by Bruce Springsteen in Philadelphia the night after the shooting.

The next day Miami Steve called the tour manager to see if the second night was supposed to be postponed. The answer was no. Steve was so upset he went to Springsteen shortly before the show saying that, "I felt really weird about going onstage, that I couldn't put it together. And he really just reminded of why we do what we do, and how important it was to go out that night in particular. I wish I could remember exactly what he said, like 'This is what John Lennon inspired us to do and now it's our job to do the same thing for these other people, that today it was Lennon and tomorrow it might be me, and if it is . . .' That's how he does his show, like it was his last. He lives every minute like it was his last. That's the way to live. It's really lucky to be close to him at moments like that." The band took the stage, most of them wearing black. Springsteen went to the mike. "If it wasn't for John Lennon," he said, "a lot of us would be in some place much different tonight. It's a hard world that makes you live with a lot of things that are unlivable. And it's hard to come out here and play tonight, but there's nothing else to do." I've seen people digging firebreaks to save their homes, and I've seen some desperate fist fights, and God knows, I've seen hundreds of rock & roll shows, but I have never seen a human being exert himself the way Springsteen did that night in Philly.

Moving people when you're alive is hard enough; moving them people after you die, that transcends even death, and that's why we're all taking a moment to think about John Lennon today and what he means to all of us.

Here Come the Waterworks

As I do every year, I stumbled into the middle of Jimmy Valvano's 1993 Arthur Ashe Courage Award Address last night. First of all, those who know me know I'm a sucker for anything that smells of ACC hoops, in particular the 80's - a decade of ball that seemed to last forever (lined up perfectly with my own age, 8 to 18, which does seem to last forever to everyone, no?), as amazing player after amazing player stayed for 4 years on an at-least semi-regular basis, and even the coaches seemed to have been there forever. I couldn't imagine a league without Smith/Holland/Dreisell/Ellis/Krzyzewski/Cremins and, of course Valvano. These coaches and players were part of a warm friendship with myself, and nothing was better than a huge February game with a foot of snow outside, or desperately trying to get home early from school to watch the tournament. So as you can see, any remembrance of things past re: that era usually gets my waterworks at least greased up a little. But back to Valvano's speech. We all know some of the great quotes, and we knew as he was speaking that he didn't have long to live, that cancer had pretty much overtaken him. Every year I try to test myself to see if I can watch w/o getting a lil choked up, but by the end when they have to pretty much carry him off the stage, I'm at total surrender. But last night got me to thinking about how it's okay for dudes to be emotional when it comes to sports, but anything else, nyet. I'm that way. You could tell me that my family was eaten by wolfpups, you could tell me that all the puppies in the world had committed suicide, etc etc. More than likely I'd give you a blank "oh man" but stay stone-faced, prolly even turn on Mr. Funny perhaps. But certain sports moments, I got no problems welling up, even after seeing them year after year. I do believe that sports is one of the true, spontaneous emotional outlets we have - joy, anguish, ecstasy, agony etc. Movies? Camon. Who actually cries at movies? You know exactly what's gonna happen, you should be offended by the Hollywood suits that are writing such tearjerker crap and making you pay $10 a pop for it. But a kid who hits a buzzer beater and leaps into the arms of a coach? Or a man not used to speaking trying to articulate how much a certain game or players means to him? Unbelievable. From the heart. True human emotion we can actually relate to. Plus, another reason we give ourselves a pass and allow some emotion is that in the end, MOST of these moments don't really matter to us personally. Therefore, they're not so real to us as to be as either sad or happy as they would be in "real life." I get emotional thinking about Jimmy V's speech, but I didn't actually know him, he wasn't a friend of mine. So I can allow some waterworks to flow without having to worry about the floodgates crashing open and my life being turned upside down. Anyways, I do have a few moments throughout the years that ALWAYS get to me, so here's a short list. I'm sure I'm forgetting some, so feel free to send in your own. I'm not listing them in any real order. - Jimmy V's speech: amazing quotes, you're watching knowing he's dying, has to get carried off. You can hear him speaking faster and faster as the speech goes on, like he's trying to outrun his fate. AND, in true Jimmy V fashion, is funny throughout. One of the funniest characters in the history of coaching. Except, ironically, for his cameo on "The Cosby Show." - John Cappelletti's Heisman Speech: good lord. You wanna see a room of grizzled football coaches bawling (Joe Pa, I'm looking at you), this is your moment, when he dedicates his trophy to his little brother who is dying of leukemia. Jesus. So tough to watch they only bring this out every coupla years or so. - Terry Bradshaw's HOF Speech: always loved this one, where he starts hurriedly going thru about how all he wants is 2 minutes left to play, just give him 2 more minutes to play, and he excitedly takes us through what he'd do. Still funny, imitating Stallworth's (apparently) high-pitched squeak of a voice. In an emotional, funny moment opens up both the camaraderie that comes from playing with people you love for a long time, and the fact that there's probably not an athlete out there who wouldn't shave years off their lives for just 2 more minutes on the field. - George Brett's HOF Speech: fairly unremarkable until the end, when he talks to his older brother Ken, who had also played in the majors. If you can watch while he fights through to tell his brother "all I ever wanted was to be as good as you", then you're not human. - 1980 US Hockey Team: the Babe Ruth of all "Chokes Xmastime Up Moments." If that damn HBO doc was on a loop, I would never leave my house. By the time I've worked myself up about the enormous political innuendo, and the fact that they really were a bunch of kids playing the greatest team ever assembled, I'm at fever pitch when Mike Eruzione talks about Coach Brooks telling them before they skated out to play the Russians "You were born to play hockey. You belong here." At this age, I can barely get through another viewing of the medal ceremony when he calls all his teammates to jump up on the podium with him. Man. Can't imagine this one being topped, with all the periphery stuff going on. So there you have it. Xmastime's a crybaby! 

4:15pm...

...(calling all the hospitals in her area - something must be awfully wrong; or worse, she has no cell service)*




* this is a lie - I have no idea where she lives. this is not going as well as I had hoped. At all.

3:05pm...

...and still haven't gotten a hold of my high school girlfriend. This is getting weird. As if she hasn't been waiting for this moment...or doesn't know I exist. Ha! IF YOU ARE PLAYING HARDBALL, DARLING - YOU WILL LOSE!! BADLY!!

please call me.

Mix Tapes

Tell you what i would like to see: a website devoted to chicks listing the mix tapes dudes have given them throughout the years. There's the "I fell in love to this one" batch to the "This is when I figured out he was gay" batch to the "I dont have the dude anymore, but I still got a copy of 'Radio Free Europe', so we're even" batch. I was complete loser with mine, too; I'd always make little notes with each song

"I Need Your Love" The Ramones - You know, cause I need your love so much baby, I just love you...can I tell the guys we did it now? No? Please?

AND I'd even list the album and the year the album came out. No girl I ever gave a mix tape to even pretended to care about records, but I guess after one of my tapes I expected them to look up CREEM and ROLLING STONE on the microfiche every waking hour, researching the albums I had told her about. Christ. I know a lot of music geeks - no girl I've ever mix-taped (I just made up a verb!!!) was ever a music geek. I'm expecting her to figure out who engineered different band's albums, meanwhile she's smiling at me, trying to see out how long she has to have that gleeful look painted on her face before she can place it in the Vault: the bottom of her pocketbook, where it would never be seen again. Oh, until the next time I was in her car. We'd get in, I'd be like hey, lets put in the tape I gave you! Totally not reading the look of "oh god no, cant you tell I hate you and your stupid cuts?" on her face, I'd happily dig around for it until I've got my head stuck underneath the spare tire compartment , shouting "here it is!!"

Sigh.

...

....just occured to me...you think she took all the mix tapes I gave her and had them burned onto cds? mp3s? iTunes? hmm.

Little Progress So Far

Hmm. Just realized the last phone number I have for her is from 1990. PREEEETTY sure she ain't still living with her folks, but what the heck. Gave it a whirl. Her father answered. I finally hung up after 5 minutes of "Who? what? You're who? Who are you? what the -." You'd think my stalking skills would be more refined; but I guess I did kinda cash my chips in during the early 90s when Caller ID came around. Maybe I'll try the ol' "ask mutual friends" route...but after I broke her heart, do I really think this girl's friends are gonna wanna help me get back with her? Hmm. I'm thinking, in a word, "no." Reckon I can't casually lay waste to a girl's feelings like I did and expect things to be easy when I decide I'm done tomcatting around, and ready to have something real with her. Surely she's heard of the numbers I've put up through the years with the ladies (DEFINITLY why my back is fucked up!) all while she, bless her heart, probably sat by the phone. Probably has a sweater that's a mile long by now for me, knitting by the phone for me to finish sowing my oats and let her love me again. Aight, I'll try some other tricks up my sleeve. Stay tuned.

Great News!!!!!!!

I've decided that after 15 years, I'm ready to call my high school girlfriend and let her know hey - break's over, I'm ready to really commit now. Last decade & a half I guess we've "seen other people" while on a break from each other, but that's all done with and I'm ready to start our lives together. I'm a little nervous calling her, but when I think about how absolutely THRILLED she's gonna be, man...makes it alll worthwhile. I'll keep you posted on what she says, what our plans are, etc. Can't wait!! Wish me luck!!! I'm back, baby!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Things Are Good, Part I

A few things I'm thinking of right now (all at once):

1) If priests aren't supposed to have sex with anyone, how do we know which ones are homosexuals? And if they get "busted" for having sex, isn't THAT the crime - is it better to get busted for breaking your vow of celibacy with a woman? Shouldn't the Church have a policy of ignorance when it comes to homosexuality? "Our dudes aren't supposed to be having sex with ANYONE; so if they do, the person they have sex with is nebulous", no? ie - That they're having sex goes against their vow of celibacy, not WHOM THEY'RE HAVNG SEX WITH.

2) I'm 50% certain I used to word "nebulous" correctly - that's one for public schools!

3) The only way to cook bacon perfectly is stick it in the oven and leave it. Skillet-fried, 1/2 of it burns, 1/2 of it sticks to the pan, 1/2 of it don't cook, you get the idea. Stick it on a wire rack w/foil underneath, leave it for 20 minutes

4) The BCS, while getting lucky this year, is an abomination. And I think Texas beats USC 72-69. Yes, I mean in football.

5) I have 26 days to fulfill my New Year's Resolutions of a) finding my wife b) learning the robot. Hmm.

6) Why do people buy multiple lottery tickets? Don't the laws of such complete randomness tell us that you have the exact chance of winning with 1 ticket as 100? If your odds of winning are 1 in a billion or whatever, you're better off buying one ticket, and using the other $99 on booze to soften the blow. "11 18 23 36 38 43...great. I'm still poor" (glug glug glug)

7) I just read that coffee can help cure liver cancer. Doesn't that just mean I'll be awake more, worrying about it? Thanks, Pablo.

8) I've completely lost track of what the fuck is going on on The West Wing. Thanks for moving it to Sundays, NBC. Now it can fritter away in absolute obscurity. Like "Frasier", or "my sex life."

Thanks Theodore!

Many thanks to Theodore for holding down the fort here on Friday. Though there were several complaints about Theodore's um, shall we say "off color" comments, let's face it - his hands are actually stuffing with fur, and he's a red-state stuffed animal living in the bluest of blue states. He has no money, no woman, no real reason to get out of bed in the morning...oh, wait thats me! HIYOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Only kidding. Thanks again Theodore; I'm sure we haven't heard the last of our favorite conservative, bordering on the dangerously right-wing stuffed bear.

Tappahannock, Center of the Universe

Apparently Tappahannock, VA is the center of the music universe. As well as being the hometown of Chris Brown, who last week had the #1 pop single in all the land, and indie-rock semi-living legend Will Croxton it's also the home of "The Barber Bluesman of the Rappahannock", Mr. Bill Moore. Coupla years ago my buddy Ryan stumbled into hearing about him and learned that Bill Moore had recorded around the time of the legendary Robert Johnson, laying down 16 sides for Paramount Records in 1928. Check out his story and listen to some of the songs here. Also there's a nice article about the town giving him a roadside landmark in the Richmond Times-Dispatch. Back in 2002 me and Ryan went looking for Moore's grave in Warrenton, VA (reminiscient of our search for Robert Johnson's grave(s) in 1999). We

found it!

Album of the Year

My good friends Marah just got some free publicity from Stephen King himself, listing their new record as the best album of the year. And that's not even counting their Christmas album! Go here and buy both albums, they're great. Also, Shooter Jennings "4th of July" shoulda been #1 single, Steve-O. But hey.

Theodore's New Hero

Tell you what I've just discovered. Usually, the only tv I watch is Fox News and, of course, whatever channel Tucker's on. But the other day the tv got left on another channel and I was, having no fingers to change the channel, forced to watch a show called "All in the Family", and I gotta say....

MY KINDA GUY!!!!

Archie Bunker, who is this guy? And why the hell isn't HE the voice of America? A regular joe, a simple, pragmatic man who knows his own, and others' place. LOVES his country and God! Everything this guy said sounded like absoulte wisdom to me; how in HELL had I never heard of him before? A few favorites:

Archie: I ain't gonna eat this food with these Chink pick-up sticks.
Mike Stivic: How can you say that, Arch? With one word you attack an entire race of people and not just the Chinese, the Laotians, the Cambodians, the Vietnamese.
Archie: Wait a minute, Meathead, I never call them countries Chinks.
Edith: He calls them Gooks.
Archie: I'm saying they're all a yellow race. They ain't exactly Chinks, but they are definitely offshoots of your Chinks, they're what you call Chinkish.

Archie Bunker: Well if all blood's the same, let me ask you this: how come they ain't got no Swedes in the mafia?
Mike Stivic: What does that got to do with anything?
Archie Bunker: Because your Italians got a lock on it. That's why. It's in their blood. Same way it's in your blacks' blood to do the 'scooby-dooby-doo'.

Mike Stivic: You got a hang-up about sex.
Archie: I ain't got a hang-up about... That.
Mike Stivic: See, you can't even say it.
Archie: I don't use four letter words in front of women, ya dope.
Gloria: Daddy, you shouldn't be afraid of sex.
Archie: Listen, little girl, if I was a afraid of it, you wouldn't be here. Right, Edith?

This guy is pure genius. I'm kicking off the Carlson/Bunker in '08 campaign right now. Im only pissed that it took me this long to finally meet my mentor. Y0u can find more great quotes here.

THEODORE

Theodore + Ann. Sigh.

Man. This internet thing is a blast Was, uhm, "massaging myself" over at Ann Coulter's website while ordering from Fresh Direct. I love this country!

Speaking of AC - Ann, if you're reading this, please call me. I've left you 165 messages in the last week; I'm really starting to worry that something happened. I don't wanna spend my weekend calling hospitals to make sure your freakishly thin, long legged, bordering-on-the-insane right wing FINE self is alive and well.

Hey chinks, this one's for you: when you deliver my sweet n sour chicken, don't spend 10 minutes rifling thru your wad of cash, looking surprised that someone might actually want change. I gave you a $20; no, that doesn't mean you get to keep the $14 change, gookface. And hey, you're IN AMERICA LEARN TO SPEAK THE FUCKING LANGUAGE!!!!!!! I speak better than you, and I'm a stuffed animal whose "mouth" is sewn shut for chrissakes. Get it together. Fwy wice, indeed.

Ann!! Call me! I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!!!!

THEODORE

GUEST HOST

NAME: Theodore ("If you call me 'Theo' I will do some major dancing on your face")
OCCUPATION: Ultra-conservative right-wing stuffed bear
LIKES: Tucker Carlson, George W. Bush, tax cuts, explaining to left-wing dimwits why gays shouldn't marry
DISLIKES: left-wing dimwits, gays taxes, Al Franken, basketball
QUOTE: "For the last time - I'm not racist. I'm just pro-white, goddammit."

First of all, thanks to Xmastime for letting me guest-host today. I'm not an idiot; I know how rare an opportunity it is for a stuffed bear to actually get to do something like express himself to other people, and, well, type on a computer. It's a relief to get outta the house, my roommate Kirk "The Barber" Henderson is back after his "band" toured Europe. Now he's gonna be lolling around with the other guys playing that loud, screechy crap they call music. "Rock and roll." Seriously, when did people stop listening to real music? I got my headphones on embracing Mozarts smooth crescension of a movement from a sonata, and BLAM! here comes a jet plane landing in my ears to the tune of whatever new crap they just came up with. I actually like the Barber. Mostly cause we're the same height heyoooooooooooooooooo!! Anyways, I'll be here all day, check in to see my posts and feel free to ask any ????s in the comments section.

THEODORE

Wilbon, Juan & Steve

Amazing, touching article today by Michael Wilbon re: Juan Dixon & Steve Blake and what they mean to folks round the DC/MD area. I ain't a Twerps fan, but you don't have to be to know how much these guys mean to those fans. Christ, just seeing Wilbon rattle off names like Sampson/King/Bias etc got the waterworks turned on here. Check it out, then join me & Op in our WILBON IN '08 presidential campaign. And yes, I was surprised to hear Steve Blake is in the NBA too.

Greatness Called, and Got Disconnected

Each of us has MAYBE one chance at greatness in our lives. Robin Lovitt had a chance of becoming a milestone, a Trivial Pursuit Genus 6 edition answer, a footnote in history - until Governor Warner granted him clemency, thereby preventing him from becoming the 1,000th person in the United States to be executed since the death penalty was brought back (like "The Family Guy"!!) in 1976. How sad. Now instead of having his name roll off the lips of Alec Trebek, Robin goes back to a life of weightlifting, trading cartons of smokes, anal rape and, worse, finding God. Poor bastard. A dubious distinction, yes, but how the hell else could the dude have made a name for himself? And, as I'm thinking about it, I'm not sure I wanna be in the Big House with a name like "Robin." "Hey Fang and Throatslash, this is Robin..." yeesh. Holy Prison Bukkake, Batman. Got a feeling I know who does the salad-tossing in that relationship. I'm sure there's a box of letters from Robin to Gov Warner: "Please!! Kill me!! Please!!!" I'm hereby dedicating this short list of "I'D LIKE TO BE THE 1,000 PERSON TO..." to my man, Robin:


I'D LIKE TO BE THE 1,000TH PERSON TO....

1) ...hold Tara Reid's hair back while she blows chunks at Hogs n Heifers
2) ...find a $evered finger in my food at a re$taurant KA-CHING!!!
3) ...have a laugh with Bin Laden while replaying the footage of Bush's "He can run, but he cannot hide!" nonsense
4) ...be an astronaut, floating into the heavens, seemingly touching the face of God, and pointing to Earth - "Look! I can see Kirstie Alley!"
5) ...help somebody move, and when I hand them a box marked "FRAGILE", pretend-read it as "FRA-GEE-LEE" and honestly think that I'm the first fucking retard that came up with that
6) ...hold Lindsay Lohan's hair back while she blows chunks at Hogs n Heifers...well, after eating a meal and jamming a finger down her throat, I mean
7) ...take the SATs and all of a sudden jump up and run to the proctor screaming "Largesse is to humility as my fist is to your face, bitch!!" and knock the shit out of him/her. I don't know what number we're up to on this one, might be a while.

Christmas Tree Cam!

Hey, dig this - Rockefeller Center Xmas tree web cam!! Live feed of the tree here in NYC. Can't beat a Christmas Tree. Ironically, Xmastime's childhood was spent with the same crappy, small artificial tree year after year. All the branches were short n stubby; approximately the length and thickness of a submarine sandwich. Ugh. And for some reason I was in charge of our manger scene, which was so old I think part of it was made from the original cross. Every year I somehow broke a piece - a lamb here, Mary there - by the time I left for college I'm sure I was just shoving groups of chalky dust around ("Look! wisemen! "). I dig that shit though - the decorating, the accompanying Xmas songs, Grandma coming in with her fuck-buddies nodding out on the smack. "Tis the Season Fuckface!" she'd always say. Sigh. We were always the last family I knew to set up our tree for some reason. Everyone else would have their shit up first week or so of December, meanwhile I guess my dad thought Santa himself was gonna set the fucking tree up at Chez Wilson. Ah well. And every Christmas morning we'd all line up in the hallway while our mother went to the living room to "see if Santa Claus came after all." She'd always come back saying yes, indeed he had come. Whew!!!! Some dolls for my sister, a Mickey Mouse record player for me, Wall Street Journal subscription for my brother etc etc. Now all I can think of is having children, if only to play that cruel joke: walk back in the hallway, shrug "oh well. he didn't come. go back to bed." and watch the little ones lose their minds. zzzzing!!

Paddy Mac!!!

Got to hang out some with my nephew, Patrick McKenna "PADDY MAC!" Wilson this weekend.
Boy, it's really amazing. Little ball of flesh that can't talk, farts constantly, can piss himself at any moment and can't see the tv screen, but man I wish we were hanging out right now. Being the uncle and not the father means that I am constantly wanting the little man to be awake so I can play with him; of course all Pops wants is for him to sleep. Naturally. I find myself when he's sleeping going back and forth between the ol' "stare at him and use a Jedi Mind trick" trick and "accidently" kicking his seat to jar him awake; both to elicit my own response "Heeeeeeyyyyy, looks who's up!!!" which, of course, really wakes him up for . . .Uncle Xmastime Time!!! :) Hahaha. Amazing to think that one day this guy is gonna be a feared linebacker, a grizzled farm hand, a powerful (Democratic!) Senator, but I'll always remember the first time I held his helpless, limp little body, and he immediately ripped one. Nice.

Unsportsmanlike Football Fans for Truth

I wanna link a buddy of mine's blog here - I usually don't agree with him because he's a right-wing, snake-handling Dubya strychnine-drinking nut job, but it's actually a great site and he throws a Bruce post on there now and again to keep me interested ;) ALSO, dig the first post, about teams from the Northern Neck District, the beloved sports district I played in in high school, NOT shaking hands after games. Where the hell was this when we were getting pounded 48-6 every game? Christ. And Miami??....

I'll Take Irene Morgan for $400, Please

A few weeks after we lay Rosa Parks to rest, this article was sent to me about Irene Morgan, a lady from only 25 miles outside of my hometown who also refused to move from her seat, and this was 11 years before the Rosa Parks' incident. Very interesting read about a woman I for one had never heard of, even while growing up,as I said, nearby. Thanks to Ryan Croxton for sending the article.

Also, this made me think of 2 things about Rosa Parks' funeral:

1) I was watching part of the service on CNN and Rev. Sharpton was speaking, and really working up a sweat, really gettin into it and taking me with him...and CNN decided to come in with a report on Nathalie Holloway. Hmm. Then it dawned on me hey, I bet BET will be showing it...click click click...naw. Too busy showing 50 Cent videos. Is that weird? Believe me, I've given up being ashamed of being white when we're held hostage for weeks by these "news stories" of white girls disappearing; but am I wrong to think that BET of all channels would want to show as much of the Rosa Parks' funeral as possible? I dunno. I can't say I know anything about BET, or black viewers, or black people for that matter since I'm white, but it seemed a lil weird to me, tho for all I know they showed plenty of it and I just didn't see it.

2) Anyone else think it's funny that Rosa Parks - a real American society-changer, the human clarion call of equal rights in the "home of the free" - dies, and they immediately ship President Bush off to Argentina? Wow.

Stove Top Passing

The inventor of Stove Top stuffing passed away on Nov. 13; never mind that the media found it amusing to announce her death the day before Thanksgiving, of all days. Man, I loves me some Stove Top - if my brother was the Puddin' Boy growing up, I was the Stove Top Boy, as it was my job every Sunday to make the stuffing. I like mine slightly dry, and with more butter than water (surprise.) And since this is a post of mourning, I won't get into how I hate when people put crap like raisins/oysters/etc into the stuffing (my sister-in-law Pam adding sausage to the stuffing mix is the only addition I approve of...so far). So tomorrow when you're stuffing your face with one of America's all-time food inventions, take a second to thank Mrs. Ruth Siems. If you'd like, check out Stove Top's website and try some of their recipes to add a lil' flare to your Thanksgiving Trough.

Star Spangled Crap

At first it felt like a warm-hearted and genuinely nice thing to say: "Hey, whether or not you're for the war, seriously guys, we all should be so grateful for all the men and women serving in Iraq!" Pundit after pundit, guest after guest on tv/etc preface everything they said with this comment. And only recently have I started wondering, what the fuck - do we really need to say this? Has ANYONE come on tv and said "Hey, I'm against the war, and the troops can go fuck themselves?" No. And these twits like to act chagrined when they say this, like they're preaching to the millions and millions of Americans who are sitting around thinking about how much the troops suck. They'll throw out this patriotic cliché and we're supposed to get all teary, all "hey, what a great guy!" and throw them 4th of July parties whenever they come on tv again. They act like they just invented the sentiment. Gimme a fucking break. It's bad enough we gotta hear how "unpatriotic" being against the war is; but we also gotta get this shit - and if we're lucky, only one story about some sergeant overseas who somehow contacted Senator Fuckwad's office to report what it's like over there. Maybe what "patriotic" really means is not wanting those "precious, heroic troops!" in harm's way in the first place when 1/2 the country disagrees with the very war they're in. But I'm getting sidetracked - knock it off with your by-the-numbers tearjerker crap. You're not a hero for stating the obvious, you're just wasting mine and everybody else's time.

The Xmastime/Kennedy Phenomenon

As today is the 42nd anniversary of JFK's death, the inevitable Xmastime/Kennedy "unexplainable coincidences" chatter begins. Such as:

1) Kennedy went to Harvard. Xmastime went to Longwood, which a professor once snidely called "The Harvard on the Appomattox." hmm. pretty bad when professors are making fun of the very college they teach at. Yes, I chose to end that sentence with a preposition, Professor Fuckface.

2) Kennedy was a well known womanizer, using his movie-star looks and incredible wealth to bed a slew of ladies. Xmastime is a local legend with the ladies, using enough vodka to kill a bear and a strong back to bed a slew of ladies.

3) Kennedy wrote "Profiles in Courage" at the age of 38. Xmastime has publicly proclaimed that he hopes to make it to 38.

4) Kennedy and Xmastime, both Catholic. What are the odds of that???!!

5) Also, both white. I'm freaking out as I type this.

6) Kennedy was born in Massachusetts. Xmastime's parents were born in Massachusetts. That makes 3 people who: can't pronounce an "R", can't drive, and repeat themselves over and over when they talk. Great.

7) Kennedy's defining moment was the Cuban Missle Crisis. Xmastime once had a Cuban sandwich on Bedford Avenue with David Bielanko...who was on an album with Bruce Springsteen...who was in a movie with John Cusack...who once shit in Kevin Bacon's mouth.

8) Kennedy was Irish. Xmastime is blacked out right now.

Eerie, eerie stuff I know.

All I Want is a Freaking Paper, People

Ladies. For the love of Christ. HAVE YOUR FUCKING MONEY READY AT THE COUNTER!!!! Whenever I'm in line to buy anything, I frantically have my money counted out and in my hand, ready to present to the guy before the word "cents" has left his lips. I always assume that if I take more than .0004 seconds to produce payment, the line of people behind me will not even try to hide their loud, exasperated sighs or uttered curse words. Or, maybe some guy comes in from the back and chops my head off, I don’t know. But women are always slightly surprised that the cashier, at the end of said transaction, expects actual money from them. No matter how long they've been in line, they have not even considered getting the money ready. "$16.81" the cashier will say, then there's a slight pause, then the woman will say "oh!" and THEN start digging thru her purse. Christ. AND, to make matters worse, she'll spend another 5 minutes digging around for a penny/nickel whatever to make the change "easier." "$16.81?" oh, hold on, I've got a penny...." and the search begins, so that instead of getting 19 cents back and letting the rest of us actually get on with our fucking lives, we've gotta sit through her frantic search for a penny so that she can get 2 dimes back. Guys don’t do that. We'll throw whatever bills we got up there; whatever change we get back, we get back. But we ain't standing there for 20 minutes rifling through a weeks worth of receipts from Vera Cruz and parking tickets trying to find change, holding up the line. Christ. Drives me crazy, maybe even more so than how everytime I wanna quickly pop in to grab a paper, there's only one other guy ahead of me....but it's the construction guy buying 75 coffees for the crew. "That’s 40 with sugar, 30 with milk, blaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh..." I've got my 2 quarters hovering above the counter, desperately trying to catch the cashier's eye so I can drop them and get back to becoming a better citizen/saving lives on the outside, but my man won't turn around, he's slowly making a million coffees for this one dude while blood actually starts pumping out of my ears. Fucking A. See also: lone cashier who patiently attends to the old lady who wants him to walk her through her 50 fucking lotto scratch tickets while the rest of us in line join AARP.

To Terry

I bought Born in the USA when it came out; I was 11 years old and this seemed to me to be the only real 'rock n roll' record out there that I knew about at the time. I can still remember playing it over and over - I loved the bombast of the title track, and I LOVED the single 'Dancing in the Dark', - still do to this day. The track that still gets me choked up, and I can still picture where I was sitting when I first heard it, is 'Bobby Jean', Bruce's farewell to his departed friend Steven Van Zandt. Man. Funeral slice of funeral slices. But for some reason, in a move that did not fit in my later musical personality at all, it never really occurred to me to get Bruce's other records. I wore the HELL outta Born in the USA (still have the cassette, too), but it never occurred to me to pick up anything else. Many, many years later my buddy Op gave me a mix tape of Bruce cuts (remember mix tapes?). I remember riding the Dog down to Charlottesville and I had it in my walkman, kinda listening, not really paying attention etc and then a song called 'Livin On the Edge of the World' came on. Blew, blew blew me away. And just like that, I was in love. After all those years, I was in. Since then Springsteen has been the soundtrack to a lot of my life; particularly long nights with Op at the Turkey's Nest, when people would wanna kill us cause we'd play 15 Bruce cuts in a row on the juke. Fuck 'em, we'd say. There's Patty cutting us off before playing "My Love Will Not Let You Down" a fourth time ("Boys...knock it off"), there's us about to walk up to Greenpoint for a 'rumble', but delaying cause my boy Dave's cut of cuts "Dancing in the Dark" was on the jukebox. Of course meeting the man himself blows it all out of the water, but I remember those little moments too. Op walking outta the cabin to get married, and "Born to Run" comes up randomly on ipod shuffle??? What a sendoff. There's all the 3am last calls, lights coming on while "Land of Hope and Dreams" is rolling on. Anyways, enuff Bruce lovefest. Obviously with the 30-year anniversary Born to Run set just released, that's the album on my mind. I've always said the title track is THE greatest single of the last 30 years - shambolic Phil Spector sounds falling down the stairwell, with words that should mean everything to a small town boy like me. Why every band in the world hasn't tried to reproduce this sound is a mystery to me, but fuck em. The piano echo on "Backstreets", the anguished singing taking me back home, and "Jungleland" unfolding piece by piece until you're in the middle of the street in the middle of the night in the middle of who the fuck knows what. Overblown? Yes. Dramatic? Certainly. Over the top? Isn't fucking everything when you're young, when you're running free, when you've found something to believe in, like Bruce did with the actual power of rock n roll? And really, shouldn't it be? You got your whole fucking life to be bored to death; anyone can be boring at any moment. It'd sure be nice to reach for something so great and unattainable these days; its all we can seem to do to get thru the day while hoping we "get" the White Stripes coolness, or Modest Mouse's emo-ness, or Wilco's...well, whatever it is that makes people like Wilco. On Born to Run, Bruce threw it all the table - love, youth, hope, at least HOPING for excitement if nothing else. You can almost picture Bruce pickin you up in a '70 Chevelle and hittin the Dairy Queen, tryin to to talk to chicks, getting ignored, driving up and down the only road in town, no money, no friends, but fuck, there's gotta be something else out there better than this. I felt the same way back in high school, standin round in French's parking lot, sipping a Big Gulp while dudes 10 years older tried to get girls to take them to the prom. yeesh. Christ, look at me blathering bout Bruce. I don’t want no lovefest here, but hey, sit in your room tonight, turn all the lights off, and put on Born to Run. Born to Run will never, ever let you down.

Foods Have I Loved

We all have certain meals we love love love, so I thought I'd list a few favorites (in no order).

1) LASAGNA - and by this I mean "Greg Lasagna": 2 lbs cheese, 5 lbs of ground beef/sausage, and a jar of Ragu. Don't gimme no damn ricotta or spinach crap, and don't turn your nose up at Ragu. I've tried many many many homemade sauces that people slave over. They're all very good, and I admire their efforts, but I have yet to desire anything more than Ragu. And now they got a million varieties anyway; I like the Italian Sausage & Cheese jar. This is funny, since I mix it with enough Italian sausage/cheese to give you instant gout. My new trick is to use some of the grease from the meat after browning it - hey, we're making Greg Lasagna here. It adds incredible flavor - you may drop dead at the end, but what a way to go. My favorite memory of this is a few years back I was house-sitting for Will & Gina and my buddy Op came over and I made this; I had so much meat stuffed in the fucker that to get the 3rd layer on top I had to practically sit on it like you would an overstuffed suitcase. Man. Can still taste. Accompany with bread, a gallon of milk and a 14-hour nap.

2) FRIED CHICKEN - everyone knows how much I blather about this anyways. Buttermilk soaked extra crispy deep-fried bird. To be honest, I think I like making fried chicken even more than actually eating it. I'm usually so emotionally drained afterwards anyways, sometimes I just like to look at it. I would like to be more daring with my breading; for instance, I'm fascinated by recipes using crushed potato chips for breading. I've never seen/eaten/actually known anyone who has done this, but the next time I'm looking for my heart to seize I'm definitely trying this. Lottsa things go great with fried chicken; I really like (of course) macaroni & cheese (note: I hate it when people chirp out 'mac n cheese'. "mac". ugh.) Lately I've been into Stove Top stuffing too: it's quick, easy, and an excuse to use another tub of butter. If you're ambitious try making biscuits, but they're tough to make. Add a gallon of milk, a coupla friends who will egg you on to deep fry everything in the house and you're off!

3) SUNDAY DINNER - boy, I miss a big Sunday dinner. Every Sunday growin up we'd have Sunday Dinner after mass, and the menu rarely changed: roast chicken, mashed potatoes, peas, Stove Top, bread, gallon of milk, and then homemade apple pie. Tuff to beat. Sometimes we'd mix it up with roast beef instead of chicken, and sometimes instead of pie we'd have chocolate pudding (my brother Edmund would always make the pudding; 20 years later I'm still trying to hang the nickname "Puddin Boy" on him. Stay tuned to see if it sticks). This meal always seemed to last for hours; after we scarfed up everything in sight my dad would regale us with stories from when he was in the Marines. I can't remember any of the actual stories, and I'm sure they were repeated ad nauseum but I reckon I'll listen to anything if you've just stuffed me full with a meal like that. I also remember that anytime I'd try to nab some food off my sister's plate, it was ice cold. Weird. My sister could take food off the hot stove, and 10 seconds later it'd be frozen. So either laws of heat and energy simply did not work in her presence, or she's the devil. Either one. A FEW NOTES ON MASHED POTATOES: Number 1 - don't try and be a fucking hero with the mashed potatoes. Let me lay it out for you: potatoes, milk, butter, salt n pepper. That’s it. Don't put in any fucking sour cream, don't put rosemary/parsley in it etc. I don't wanna look down at my mashed potatoes and see green. I don’t know what sliced almonds are for, but they are NOT for potatoes. You wanna show off fine, but leave the mashed potatoes alone. Number 2 - the last couple of years I've noticed more and more people cooing "ooooh, I want lumps in my mashed potatoes!" Christ. "more lumps"; I somehow get the vibe that these idiots somehow thinks that this makes them more rustic, more down-homey, more "real." Maybe it's because I've heard/overheard this from a million hipsters since I've come to Williamsburg. An accoutrement perhaps to the wearing-dirty-looking-clothes-that-cost-$600-and-John-Deere-trucker hats look, I suppose. And it seems to me like the richer they are, the more they gotta make sure you heard them, that they gotta have their precious fucking lumps. Rich man's guilt. 'Daddy bought me another car, I'd better not get creamy mashed potatoes.' Shut up. They're fucking potatoes, I like em lumpy, smooth, creamy, whatever. You popping a hammy jumping up to proclaim your love of lumps in your potatoes does not make you a hero to the working class. A final word on this: if one more person calls them "smashed potatoes" Im punching them in the fucking gullet (Rachel Ray, I'm looking at you).

4) MEAT LOAF - the perfect meal for a freezing cold night. Meat loaf, mashed potatoes, gravy. Freezing cold jug of milk. Man.

5) PB SAMMY - this is my Saturday afternoon in front of the tube joint. Jewish rye bread, Doritoes, and milk. Let the sandwich sit in your mouth, pour in some milk, there ya go. Sometimes I put the Doritos (nacho cheese!!!) IN the sandwich. Why I'm so alone is a mystery.

6) TACO NIGHT - I think I like tacos so much because to me, they're like a mini buffet. Spread out in front of you you got the meat, the cheese, the beans. Well, lettuce & tomato if there's a chick there and you wanna impress. Stuff the taco with so much meat that there's no way possible the taco can even pretend to hold together. Actually, scratch that, use lettuce & tomato - more filler for everyone else to use, leaving more meat/cheese for yourself! Makes me think of my high school girlfriend - we'd go to Pizza Hut, where we'd order breadsticks for an appetizer. I'd be Mr. Cool Guy and insist on letting her eat all the sticks she wanted (this was before PH came out with the good ones; back then they were like fucking pretzel sticks. ugh.) By the time the pizza comes, she's stuffed! All the pie I could eat, sitting there for me. Course the joke's on me -I gained 100 pounds, sleep with a teddy bear who's a right-wing fanatic while she's happily married. Ah well. Speaking of Pizza Hut, who's the fucking wizard that came up with that fucking dessert pizza I'd always see at the buffet? You gotta be kidding me. Every time I'd go up for seconds/thirds/nineteenths/ I'd hafta wait for the real pizzas to come out while this fucking thing sat there. There's no way they didn't just trot out the same one every week, too. "oooooh, pizza....hmmm...I'm thinking jam with cinnamon icing! yum!" fuck you. Is this really what the Chinese were thinkning of when they invented pizza? camon.

These are a few of my A++ meals. I'm sure I'll think of others - I'll keep you posted!

Jesse's Girl

Oh goody. I see Jesse Jackson has decided that he is needed to speak up for Terrell Owens. That’s funny. I guess all the problems of the poor, the displaced, the hungry are all gone, so now Jesse has time to speak for and defend a multi-millionaire. What a crock.

Respectfully, Mr. Jackson: shut the fuck up.

Since you've chosen to saddle up and ride with spoiled, filthy rich crybaby professional athletes, I don't wanna hear you say one single peep about the victims of Hurricane Katrina. I don’t wanna hear you marching in the streets for anyone's civil rights, I don't wanna hear you on tv speaking with outrage about minorities or poor people being screwed over. Sorry, but those days are over. I'm supposed to take you seriously after seeing you pounce on tv to cry "unfair! unjust!" about this absurd situation? Is that what Dr. King whispered to you while he "died in your arms"?..."Jesse...make sure the spoiled millionaires of the world aren't punished too severely...hey, loosen up your grip..." I know you have a desperate need to preen on any news channel that will have you, but is TO really the best cause you can come up with? Look, I'm gonna spell it out for you: get a grip. Step back, think about this, and get a hold of yourself. You've got pull, you've got power, you've got money at your disposal - at this stage of your long career, do you really want your legacy to be this? Come on. Scan the newspapers for something worthwhile of your time. and please - stay outta the sports pages and get back to the real world. Unbelievably, we could use you.

More reasons to hate actors

2 things drive me bananas about actors/actresses. #1: EVERY fucking time an actor talks about his/her audition, they all go "oh, it was terrible, I messed everything up, I walked out thinking I'd never get another part ever." and then voila, they get the job. EVERY FUCKING TIME!!!!!!!!!!! None of them ever say "Boy, I walked in and really knocked the thing outta the park. Bought a new coat on the way home, knew I'd be getting paid." We have to go thru their faux-humble crap. shut the fuck up. and #2: How many times we gotta hear about an actor loving to play a bad, evil role and saying "the role allows me to be a real creep, to be a complete jerk and mean, which is so different from real life." oh, cause in real life Im sure you're a fucking saint, douchebag. Just once I'd like to hear the opposite "what an experience playing a nice, normal guy. As you and the girls at Scores already know in real life Im an asshole, sleazy douchebag. Man. what a change for me!" Fuck you. And your movie sucks.

Shame on VA

http://www.time.com/time/nation/article/0,8599,1126781,00.html?cnn=yes

2 questions:

1) how bad IS this dude's voice? and why would this be a detriment to his campaign - after all, isn’t it the red-staters who want someone "real", someone they'd wanna have a beer with such as one of their own down-home country folk? the Anti-Kennedy? wouldn’t they wrap their arms around someone SO down-homey, or has Virginia just decided to be ashamed of themselves for NOT sounding like the left-coast elitists? I'd be ashamed if I didnt already have so much to be ashamed myself.

2) since when did Baptists take Communion? or does "communion" here mean "handled snakes"?

Wally Joyner

I see Wally Joyner has come out and declared that yes, back in the day he tried steroids. He felt himself being passed by by the likes of steroid-chomping monsters like Canseco, Palmeiro et al, so little Wally was desperate and asked his (now dead) pal Ken Caminti to get him some 'roids, which he tried once or twice but quickly stopped. Oh, good for you Wally!!

What a load of crap. Do we really give a shit about Wally Joyner? This REEKS of one of two things: Wally misses the spotlight of the Bigs and this is his only way to get attention, or is looking to parlay his "coming out" into a book/movie/episode of "7th Heaven." What REALLY fucking burns my ass is as he tells his story, we're supposed to weep for Wally - getting surpassed by the awful, cheating monsters taking the drugs (I noticed on the ESPN piece he made sure to mention Canseco and Palmeiro as two of those players as opposed to just saying 'some players'; presumably this puts the picture of roid-inhaling thugs in our heads) while innocent, naive Wally stands by and trys to play the game fairly. So with much trepidation he approaches his buddy "Cammy" (seriously, can any mention of Ken Caminiti ever happen again without chortling? camon) who hooks him up with his roid guy. Now we have to sit there while Wally walks us through the days of him debating doing the steroids, not doing the steroids, but oh the game isn't fair anymore blah blah fucking blah. Of course he takes one or two, is racked with such guilt that he stops. And here is where we're supposed to applaud him, "wow Wally, what a guy! good for you!"

Fuck that. Who the fuck cares? This means nothing to anybody, and does nothing to help the fight against the steroid problem in MLB. Dude shooting up for years, artificially padding his stats, cheating America's Game?? - naw, it's Wally trying roids once or twice in the twilight of his so-what career, then stopping. Whats the point? Shut up! Now we gotta pat Wally on the ass while his chest puffs out and say "boy, he's one of the good ones!!" Maybe in his inevitable 60 Minutes interviews Wally World can work up a few tears for us, like the keyboard player from Journey on their Behind the Music when he turns on the waterworks re: some kid in the hospital that died and was their one non-gay fan.