I have a suspicion that "igh" making the hard "i" sound would never had happened if texting on cell phones was around back when they came up with that shit, right? How fucking aggrevating is that shit - one of the most used groups of letters we have, and all three are on the same number. Slows everything down. My thumb going round the keypad in a blinding flurry, knocking out whole words in seconds and then i...pause, wait for cursor to move...g...pause, wait for cursor to move...h...gotta go find phone I just threw into the street...fuuuuuuck! Luckily of course this is sometimes overshadowed by the fact that for some reason to use the number 1 or 0 I have to go through about 15 fucking symbols for each one. 1 and 0, the most fundamental and primary of all the numbers, and I gotta get fucking carpel tunnel to type the number 10.
And the bronze? Having to hit at least 9 buttons to turn off the alarm on my phone. Jesus fucking christ. Whoever designed my cell phone would put that strip of tape they put on cds on a gotdam condom wrapper.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Anyone Else Infuriated...
...by Bill Maher the other night, when he started talking about how Reagan misappropriated "Born in the USA"?
MAHER: You may recall in 1984, Ronald Reagan wanted to use “Born in the USA.”
BELZER: And Bruce said no.
MAHER: Bruce said no, but also the story was that Ronald Reagan never listened to the lyrics. That song was not a patriotic song.
BELZER: No.
MAHER: The first line of that song is, “I wake up in the evening.” [laughter] From Mr. “Morning in America.” It was a bleak song about a Vietnam vet who had been screwed over.
Hey Bill, how bout putting the bong down for 2 seconds and making sure you get the words right if you're gonna bring lyrics into an argument? First of all....you don't even have the right fucking song!! You're quoting "Dancing in the Dark" for fuck's sake!!! Secondly, THOSE aren't even the right words! It's "I get up in the evening." GET, not WAKE. And what makes my fucking head explode is it's not like he was ad-libbing; he looked at a note card which obviously had the wrong words and read them. What? You or one of your staffers couldn't have checked? I'm sorry, is this what your "writers" used to do before the strike?
"Dear Bill,
Are you an idiot?
Love,
Bruce"
MAHER: You may recall in 1984, Ronald Reagan wanted to use “Born in the USA.”
BELZER: And Bruce said no.
MAHER: Bruce said no, but also the story was that Ronald Reagan never listened to the lyrics. That song was not a patriotic song.
BELZER: No.
MAHER: The first line of that song is, “I wake up in the evening.” [laughter] From Mr. “Morning in America.” It was a bleak song about a Vietnam vet who had been screwed over.
Hey Bill, how bout putting the bong down for 2 seconds and making sure you get the words right if you're gonna bring lyrics into an argument? First of all....you don't even have the right fucking song!! You're quoting "Dancing in the Dark" for fuck's sake!!! Secondly, THOSE aren't even the right words! It's "I get up in the evening." GET, not WAKE. And what makes my fucking head explode is it's not like he was ad-libbing; he looked at a note card which obviously had the wrong words and read them. What? You or one of your staffers couldn't have checked? I'm sorry, is this what your "writers" used to do before the strike?
"Dear Bill,
Are you an idiot?
Love,
Bruce"
Mercy
I almost sprained my neck walking around last night; there are way too many smoking hot chicks in my neighborhood, and with each one I of course spin my head around after she’s passed to get a shot of them flanks a’ quakin. I am only a man, people. But one girl busted me, turning around to catch me leering at her and gave me a none-too-pleased look. Shamed mightily I continued on, but the oncoming rush of hot chicks was too much. Luckily I quickly came up with a brainstorm of genius…now that I have glasses, I can actually see these women from yards away, unlike the old days where I hafta wait til they’re right in front of me and then bionic-squint in their faces, scaring them before quickly spinning around to get my ass-shot in. Very subtle. Now, I can see them from farther away, I can take a minute to soak in their face and body from the front. "MMmmm, very nice" I might say to myself. THEN. When she’s a bit in front of you still, THEN spin your head around, act as if you’re looking at something behind you. Then she walks by, and even if she turns back around and sees you staring, she thinks you’re looking at something else, since you had your head turned when she passed. TA-DA!! Now you’re free to soak in her backdoor delights. You’re welcome!!
Of course, as I’m typing this I don’t know what I really expect to do once I lock in on her rear beef, it’s not like I’m gonna fall to the sidewalk, whip my dick out and start “directing traffic”, know what I mean? And it’s not like I’m gonna commit her to memory, cause they’ll be another one in about 30 seconds anyways. But hey…we can always commit ourselves to learn more and strive for greatness, can’t we?
Of course, as I’m typing this I don’t know what I really expect to do once I lock in on her rear beef, it’s not like I’m gonna fall to the sidewalk, whip my dick out and start “directing traffic”, know what I mean? And it’s not like I’m gonna commit her to memory, cause they’ll be another one in about 30 seconds anyways. But hey…we can always commit ourselves to learn more and strive for greatness, can’t we?
No Rudy, No Fred, No Thanks
Anybody able to watch 10 minutes of the Republican Debate last night without falling asleep? What’s the point of even watching without the hope that Rudy will explode, or Fred Thompson will say something idiotic and/or get caught falling snoring while standing up? Christ, even Ron Paul’s no fun anymore. Boooooooooooooooooooooooooooooring!!!
But I will say this. If I had a gun to my head and had to choose between Romney and McCain I’m sorry, but it’s Romney and it’s not even close. We like to harrumpf that Romney’s boring, but I’ll take boring over crazy any day; after all, there’s a reason we have housecats as pets and not Tazmanian Devils. I mean, if we know one thing about McCain it’s that he’s determined that we’ll be in Iraq forever. I’m sorry - not forever, but for 100 years. Which, unless you’re Walt Disney with an icebox handy, is forever. He has to I guess, he’s running as Mr. Big Soldier, and without a war to fight Mr. Big Soldier is castrated. It’s like me running on a platform of making Egg Foo Young the national bird, and then the country runs out of eggs. Then what use am I? Other than having invented back farts on linoleum, not much. So of course McCain will hafta keep us in as many wars as possible. Is this appealing to anybody? Sound like a lot of fun? Without even thinking about the co$t and what we’ll hafta give up (as many civil liberties as possible, no government funding for ANYTHING other than military), do we really wanna plant our flag in the sand and declare ourselves as the “War Country”? Doesn’t sound a fun way to go through life…being dipped in butter and shot out of a cannon into the Bunny Ranch, now THAT would be a fun way to go through life. Not endless war.
And Andrew Sullivan needs to get off his train re:McCain is worth voting for just cause he’s the no-torture choice. Obviously I’m 1000% against torture. Period. And yes, I know 1000% is theoretically impossible, but as someone who once scored over half of his team’s points in a jv basketball game, I feel like I can pull rank here and say what the fuck I want. But it seems to me that if we insist on being at war as long as possible with as many people as possible, that only gives us MORE opportunity to backslide into torture, no? I’m not naïve to think that at any point in time there is 0% torture going on, but wouldn’t logic dictate that there’s less of it going on during peacetime than war? War leads to such desperate acts, not peace. So to me, Sully kinda defeats himself here. But who can think straight when they’re so busy sticking Hillary voodoo dolls?
Yes, Romney’s boring. And we hafta hear dipshits cry about how weird Mormonism is. Yeah it’s weird. To me. I also think things like burning bushes and grilled cheese sandwiches with the Virgin Mary on them or handling snakes while drinking strychnine is weird too. So that shit don’t wash with me.
Bottom line: either get Rudy back in or quit showing these fucking debates!! Remember the good ol' days?
But I will say this. If I had a gun to my head and had to choose between Romney and McCain I’m sorry, but it’s Romney and it’s not even close. We like to harrumpf that Romney’s boring, but I’ll take boring over crazy any day; after all, there’s a reason we have housecats as pets and not Tazmanian Devils. I mean, if we know one thing about McCain it’s that he’s determined that we’ll be in Iraq forever. I’m sorry - not forever, but for 100 years. Which, unless you’re Walt Disney with an icebox handy, is forever. He has to I guess, he’s running as Mr. Big Soldier, and without a war to fight Mr. Big Soldier is castrated. It’s like me running on a platform of making Egg Foo Young the national bird, and then the country runs out of eggs. Then what use am I? Other than having invented back farts on linoleum, not much. So of course McCain will hafta keep us in as many wars as possible. Is this appealing to anybody? Sound like a lot of fun? Without even thinking about the co$t and what we’ll hafta give up (as many civil liberties as possible, no government funding for ANYTHING other than military), do we really wanna plant our flag in the sand and declare ourselves as the “War Country”? Doesn’t sound a fun way to go through life…being dipped in butter and shot out of a cannon into the Bunny Ranch, now THAT would be a fun way to go through life. Not endless war.
And Andrew Sullivan needs to get off his train re:McCain is worth voting for just cause he’s the no-torture choice. Obviously I’m 1000% against torture. Period. And yes, I know 1000% is theoretically impossible, but as someone who once scored over half of his team’s points in a jv basketball game, I feel like I can pull rank here and say what the fuck I want. But it seems to me that if we insist on being at war as long as possible with as many people as possible, that only gives us MORE opportunity to backslide into torture, no? I’m not naïve to think that at any point in time there is 0% torture going on, but wouldn’t logic dictate that there’s less of it going on during peacetime than war? War leads to such desperate acts, not peace. So to me, Sully kinda defeats himself here. But who can think straight when they’re so busy sticking Hillary voodoo dolls?
Yes, Romney’s boring. And we hafta hear dipshits cry about how weird Mormonism is. Yeah it’s weird. To me. I also think things like burning bushes and grilled cheese sandwiches with the Virgin Mary on them or handling snakes while drinking strychnine is weird too. So that shit don’t wash with me.
Bottom line: either get Rudy back in or quit showing these fucking debates!! Remember the good ol' days?
I'd Say "D'oh!!" but It's Not Even Funny Anymore
Bud Selig sits back for years and lets steroids destroy baseball, and gets rewarded with a contract extension. CEO after CEO gets a huge golden parachute after LOWERING company revenue and downsizing thousands of jobs. Bush was re-elected. Seriously, has there ever been a better time to be Homer fucking Simpson in this country?
Litterbugz
I just noticed that every trash can out on the streets has a sign that says "LITTER GOES IN TRASH CAN ONLY"....what? Doesn't trash only become "litter" when it's NOT placed in the trash can? Isn't that THE VERY DEFINITION of litter, actually? Who's behind this one - are Isiah Thomas and James Dolan running the Sanitation Dept here too???
End of the Century
I just watched "Rock n Roll High School." Which I also dvr'd, so I can watch it all day very day if I want. I also see it's coming on tv in 2 hours again anyway. Boy, watching tv has really changed, ain't it? Remember when you were a kid, and if you missed a special or a movie you had no idea if you'd ever get to see it again? "Well, that's that!" you pictured the tv execs saying after the movie was over as they loaded it into a cannon and shot it to Saturn. When I was in 8th grade my friend Ryan told me that he had "Rock n Roll High School" on VHS at his house - I hyperventilated for days, counting the seconds til I could get over to his house for a viewing. Of course I get there and...had been taped over. Devestated. My one chance ever to see my gods on film for 2 hours, gone forever.
Then three years later I saw that the flick was coming on tv one night. FINALLY!!!! Monday night at 7pm, Channel 35. To use a phrase I would later coin, I'm SO there! Of course that Monday we ended up having an extra long football practice cause we had gotten our asses handed to us the previous Friday...IN A SCRIMMAGE. Not even a real game!!! Our Coach was furious, and I remember it rained and we ran and ran and ran our guts out. The whole time, I'm going crazy, knowing I'm missing my movie. Run run run, hand on the line, tweet tweet run run run. I also remember we sent Coach even more off the edge earlier while watching the game film by erupting into laughter when we watched James Beverly intercept a pass and start running the wrong way. Comedy ensued onscreen, we laughed, Coach was pissed. Tweet tweet. Hand on the line.
Finally we get sent home, I'm begging my brother to drive like a lunatic, hoping to catch ANY of what's left of the movie. Burst into the house soaking wet, 10 minutes of the movie are left, I turn on the tv and...no reception. Like scrambled porn, could barely see through the snow onscreen to even be able to tell the Ramones were back there somewhere. Heartbroken. Can still see that gotdam screen. And now here we are...I can watch it now, I can watch it later, I can load it onto a computer and stick myself into the "I Just Wanna Have something to Do " car scene. Shit's changed.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
American Idol
The thing about Idol I don't get is when someone gets a thumbs up from Randy, a thumbs up from Paula, and then stands there like an idiot waiting for Simon's approval. Hey dipshit, you did it, you're going to Hollywood! Who gives a shit what Simon says, get the fuck out of there and start pounding the mojitos for fuck's sake. Christ. I don't watch a girl in my bed take off her clothes and get on all fours and then wait for her to present a note from her father, do I? Guts: already hit.
Oh, and ladies: might wanna stop choosing Aretha songs to cover. Seriously. Some of you do have good voices, but the last thing you want someone to do is sit back and think "boy, that Aretha sure could sing, couldn't she?" and then have to sit there and listen to your sorry ass. Do I show Ron Jeremy tapes in the boudoire before my acrobatics? Nyet. Me, I walk in there and announce I'm doing Ashlee Simpson at the Orange Bowl. See ya in Hollywood.
Oh, and ladies: might wanna stop choosing Aretha songs to cover. Seriously. Some of you do have good voices, but the last thing you want someone to do is sit back and think "boy, that Aretha sure could sing, couldn't she?" and then have to sit there and listen to your sorry ass. Do I show Ron Jeremy tapes in the boudoire before my acrobatics? Nyet. Me, I walk in there and announce I'm doing Ashlee Simpson at the Orange Bowl. See ya in Hollywood.
A Sad Day
I'm not surprised Edwards couldn't make the hurdle over Hillary and Obama; I've written many times here that while he's my guy, it didn't look really possible for him to win. But I am shocked at how insignificant he became, how little of a chance people really gave him. I mean, all we've heard for the last decade is oh, the middle class, the middle class, gotta help the middle class, gotta help John Q. Public, gotta help the average working Joe etc etc etc etc. Ad nauseum, even. And here comes a guy who comes out and says that doing such is his #1 priority, that that is what he will dedicate his presidency to...and everybody just kinda brushes him off, looking over his shoulder "nah, not interested", looking over at anybody else the media has labeled a rock star candidate, even if said candidates have not made a declaration as Edwards did over and over. Nebulous vagaries, sure. But not what Edwards was pounding every day. But oh, we tell ourselves, he doesn't FEEL right. Hillary or Obama, they give a sense of something, we believe in them for some reason. Cause you know, when it comes to elections we turn into psychoanalysts and mind readers.
It's baffling to me, and more than a shame. Where are the people Edwards is speaking directly too - if 1% of the population are the super-wealthy, shouldn't there be plenty of people who should be affected by this? Do only the rich vote? And I said it here before, and I'll say it again: I choose October 29, 2009 in the "when will someone start thinking gee, whatever happened to that guy who said he was gonna fight for US? Gee, maybe we shouldn't have brushed him aside so easily. We're still fucked" office pool.
I will move my delegates over from Edwards to Obama. But I'm giving myself today to stew and bitch about how we let Edwards get away so easily.
It's baffling to me, and more than a shame. Where are the people Edwards is speaking directly too - if 1% of the population are the super-wealthy, shouldn't there be plenty of people who should be affected by this? Do only the rich vote? And I said it here before, and I'll say it again: I choose October 29, 2009 in the "when will someone start thinking gee, whatever happened to that guy who said he was gonna fight for US? Gee, maybe we shouldn't have brushed him aside so easily. We're still fucked" office pool.
I will move my delegates over from Edwards to Obama. But I'm giving myself today to stew and bitch about how we let Edwards get away so easily.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Xmastime State of the Union
I just noticed that I'm only a few posts away from reaching Post No. 1000. Quite surprising to myself; I'm sure that 2+ years ago when I first ranted about Wally Joyner there's no way I was thinking I'd still be Xmastiming to this day. But a funny thing happens when you yourself create something, when you become that thing and when you truly are the heart, soul and guts of it...I could end it tomorrow, I could make it a daily series of made-up bowling scores; whatever, there is a single soul at this thing and it's me. Period.
But I must give credit where credit is due. Were it not for my friend Monica over at The Girl Who, it never would've occured to me to even start a blog. I don't even know if I knew the genre existed; somehow I ended up at her blog and realized you know what, instead of pummeling my friends with emails every day about the minutiae of my life, I can just put the shit over here in this closet and if they wanna look in, they can. If not, that's okay too. Of course me being me I pummeled them to constantly check in on Xmastime, but hey :) But it was all because I saw Monica's blogging and thought you know what, that seems like something I could do. Or should do, even.
And of course my buddy Op over at the UG. About a year or so ago I found myself locked into myself like chinese handcuffs; it was the 2006 election and I was too paralyzed to post anything that wasn't 7000 words and earth-changing. Then UG started up and I remembered oh yeah, I can write about the election et al all I want, but I can also write about the toast I made ten minutes ago that fell on the floor. Back to my own fundamentals and how I started - every post doesn't hafta be "Common Sense" or "Without Feathers." Not that they were, of course. Shackles off, still sprinting.
One amusing thing about having a blog is that the more people that read it, the more people that think they know what you should write about. I guess it's like me claiming I know which songs Bruce shoulda put on his albums. For instance, someone will come up to me and proclaim that yeah, I should drop my political stuff. Stick to the funny, they say. And they pat me on the head with a knowing look, just knowing that they've done me the biggest favor possible. THEY know what I should be writing about, even more than I do. But they don't see that the next person comes up and grabs my hand and says how much my political stuff means to them, keep it up, stay strong etc. And that goes for everything: more funny, less funny. more politics, less politics. less dirty, more dirty. less angry, more angry. The only thing all these people have in common is they're all 100% certain they're right. 100%. But I always leave each "chat" with a renewed arrogance, a more cemented certainty that you know what, this blog is me. All me, only me. And it always will be. Merry Fucking Xmastime, everybody.
But I must give credit where credit is due. Were it not for my friend Monica over at The Girl Who, it never would've occured to me to even start a blog. I don't even know if I knew the genre existed; somehow I ended up at her blog and realized you know what, instead of pummeling my friends with emails every day about the minutiae of my life, I can just put the shit over here in this closet and if they wanna look in, they can. If not, that's okay too. Of course me being me I pummeled them to constantly check in on Xmastime, but hey :) But it was all because I saw Monica's blogging and thought you know what, that seems like something I could do. Or should do, even.
And of course my buddy Op over at the UG. About a year or so ago I found myself locked into myself like chinese handcuffs; it was the 2006 election and I was too paralyzed to post anything that wasn't 7000 words and earth-changing. Then UG started up and I remembered oh yeah, I can write about the election et al all I want, but I can also write about the toast I made ten minutes ago that fell on the floor. Back to my own fundamentals and how I started - every post doesn't hafta be "Common Sense" or "Without Feathers." Not that they were, of course. Shackles off, still sprinting.
One amusing thing about having a blog is that the more people that read it, the more people that think they know what you should write about. I guess it's like me claiming I know which songs Bruce shoulda put on his albums. For instance, someone will come up to me and proclaim that yeah, I should drop my political stuff. Stick to the funny, they say. And they pat me on the head with a knowing look, just knowing that they've done me the biggest favor possible. THEY know what I should be writing about, even more than I do. But they don't see that the next person comes up and grabs my hand and says how much my political stuff means to them, keep it up, stay strong etc. And that goes for everything: more funny, less funny. more politics, less politics. less dirty, more dirty. less angry, more angry. The only thing all these people have in common is they're all 100% certain they're right. 100%. But I always leave each "chat" with a renewed arrogance, a more cemented certainty that you know what, this blog is me. All me, only me. And it always will be. Merry Fucking Xmastime, everybody.
A Project for the Staff Over at Unconquerable Gladness...
Cause they're the best in the biz at this:
We need a term for the process of a dude pissing onto an encrusted memory stuck on the bowl from a previous session, hoping to peel it off.
Godspeed., rowdies.
We need a term for the process of a dude pissing onto an encrusted memory stuck on the bowl from a previous session, hoping to peel it off.
Godspeed., rowdies.
Rock of You Gotta Be Shitting Me
I was watching "Rock of Love wih Bret Michaels," the Faulkner of reality tv, the other day. As usual the scene is Bret with a group of almost nekkid chicks standing around "partying" (ie each girl drinking and waiting for some sort of signal from Bret that they should probably rip their drawers off and use that goddam bandanna of his as a seat cushion) when someone suggests Bret play them a song. "Yaaaay, play us a song!!!" they all coo, shrieking and clapping. And Bret, god bless him, doesn't even go thru the obligatory "oh no, no, come on, no way..." rigamarole you're supposed to do. He immediately jumps up "okay!" and grabs his acoustic guitar as the girls crowd around and spray the carpet.
Now at this point I'm thinking hmm....old school country slice? Maybe a classic rock joint he loved back in the day? Homage to KISS? I mean, you show up at Springsteen's house with a guiitar there's no way he's playing "Born to Run" for chrissakes, right? Anything BUT, for sure.
Oh wait, I quickly think to myself, 10 minutes never goes by without Bret insisting to the cameras that music is his life - in fact, he wakes up very early very morning to write new songs. Every day, all he does is think about and write music. So I'm like well, maybe he'll break out a new jam of his own? Maybe even something inspired by the girls? Anything?
Nyet. Dude's ass has barely hit the chair again and he's strumming the intro to "Every Rose Has It's Thorn." Earnest as all get out, true to the album version, not rushing the intro. Good lord. I have no words for this, other than a bemused/stunned "wow."
Now at this point I'm thinking hmm....old school country slice? Maybe a classic rock joint he loved back in the day? Homage to KISS? I mean, you show up at Springsteen's house with a guiitar there's no way he's playing "Born to Run" for chrissakes, right? Anything BUT, for sure.
Oh wait, I quickly think to myself, 10 minutes never goes by without Bret insisting to the cameras that music is his life - in fact, he wakes up very early very morning to write new songs. Every day, all he does is think about and write music. So I'm like well, maybe he'll break out a new jam of his own? Maybe even something inspired by the girls? Anything?
Nyet. Dude's ass has barely hit the chair again and he's strumming the intro to "Every Rose Has It's Thorn." Earnest as all get out, true to the album version, not rushing the intro. Good lord. I have no words for this, other than a bemused/stunned "wow."
The Manny Tapes
I sent an email today to get the boy into a certain music class, a class I knew might be filled to capacity already. To give our chances a little boost, to "grease the skids" as they say, I found myself casually dropping that I was close with Lil Bear (my godson, see below), her star pupil from a previous class. I mean, can it get any lower than this? Is this actually happening; am I really using a 2 year-old kid to get something I want? Jesus. Name-dropping my 2 year-old godson. New low, table for one please.
(the boy refused to let me use his photo here out of pure shame. "You sorry fuck! The only thing 2 years old you need to be trying to use is that rubber covered in dust in your wallet, faggot!")
(the boy refused to let me use his photo here out of pure shame. "You sorry fuck! The only thing 2 years old you need to be trying to use is that rubber covered in dust in your wallet, faggot!")
Subway Dreams
The next thing on my to-do list is to show up at subway platforms and stare in the wrong direction for the train. Ever see anyone do this? Doesn't it drive you bananas? At any given moment there's 10 or 15 people staring intensely down the tracks into the tunnel; I'm gonna stare right back in their direction, looking annoyed "where the fuck is this train??!!!" One, they'll start getting pissed cause it's some dude looking in their face. Then they start thinking doesn't this dude know which way the fucking train comes? Then they're really pissed and think doesn't this dude see that everybody else is staring in the other direction??!! And me, staring, shaking my head "where the fuck is this train?" just as their heads fucking explode into a thousand pieces.
Monday, January 28, 2008
State of the Union Wrap-Up
Come on, be serious...there's no WAY I'm the only dude that wants to bang Nancy Pelosi, am I?
Obama in '08 (Almost Time to Believe)
A good day for Obama, indeed. There is no more a fan of Camelot than myself, and to see the torch finally being passed is an amazing thing to witness. While I am still whining re: I need to see more actual plans/ideas, today is a day to escape and allow ourselves to be uplifted in a way that I would guess comes along once in a lifetime, if that. There's probably a reason it took 45 years, there's probably a reason such a passing actually means something. As soon as (if?) Edwards has to turn out the office lights, I will go hard to the rack for Obama.
BUT.
We may need to calm down a bit with the patting ourselves on the back about how outraged we are over big, bad mean Billy C going after Obama. I'm sorry sweetheart, but the papers tell me this is a political campaign, not the Pillsbury Bake-off. This happens all the time, in every campaign EVER and we let it go on - but now? "He's above it!!" we scream "those days are over!!!!!" Well, what a world that would be. But the fact is, if he gets the nomination, the Republican Party is gonna make it look like Bobby Knight going after the coach in Teen Wolf. Sorry, but it's a fact. All of a sudden the American People will be gently reminded that there's a n---er Muslim Osama-sounding mofo running for president who, EVEN WORSE!!!! went to Harvard. An elitist!!!! Oh, shit!!!! In the words of Dalton from "Road House": "it's gonna get worse before it gets better." And he knows what the fuck he's talking about cause he also said "pain don't hurt" and "there's always clown college," so let's all take heed.
Remember John Kerry? Yeah, me neither. But a few years ago he had his combat record attacked so that by the end we all thought he was running a dry-cleaners in De-Nang while hand-painting lead onto toys...and we all just sat there and took it. "Don't say anything," we all said. "Let it go, don't fight back. It's not the truth, just laugh it off, it won't matter." Well it did matter, and he didn't fight back and here we are 4 years later, even deeper in shit. And the ONE Democrat, the lone Democrat that I've heard since rail against this and say that he shoulda fought back, that you always fight back, that the ugly truth is that you have to fight back?
Dalton.
No no, I'm kidding. Of course it's Bill Clinton. He was the only Democrat with the balls to say you know what, if they attack you, defend yourself. They try to knock you down, don't fucking let them. Cause if you do, you will lose. Period. Do I wanna see Obama going after his opponent, mudslinging? Of course not. And he won't. Shouldn't. But if they come up with some whack shit like we know they will, he best knuckle up and guard his grill. They try to link him because of his name to Bin Laden, no matter how silly it is, don't try to laugh it off at a St. Timothy's Pancake Supper in Wounded Knee; TELL us what bullshit that is, pound it on us. Remind us that you'd love to meet Osama Bin Laden and ask if you're related but gee whiz, nobody can seem to find him. Et cetera, et cetera. Be hard, don't take shit. Maybe you don't need to give it, but you certainly don't need to take it.
My point is yeah, Bill is maybe being mean. Of course I'm not saying I endorse whatever he's been saying; hell, I've barely paid attention to what he's saying. I assume he's being a greasy pig politico fuckwad. But if you really want Obama to be your next President, you best hope that Clinton doesn't let up. Going into the national campaign I'm sorry, but he's gonna have to be a hard mf. Think Dalton spent months tickling himself with feathers and rainbow dreams before he showed up at the Deuce? Hell no.
FINAL POINT: These same people that are aghast at Bill's behavior and applauding those that vote against Hillary solely on that, or you guys that are filled with self-satisfaction about how modern your thinking is re: "he's above it all!" etc etc, lemme ask you something: when the shit starts going down in the national campaign, when the shit hits the fan and you need the greasy pig that knows mud, lives in the mud and loves the mud, who do you think Obama will call?
Dalton.
Well...what a world that would be.
BUT.
We may need to calm down a bit with the patting ourselves on the back about how outraged we are over big, bad mean Billy C going after Obama. I'm sorry sweetheart, but the papers tell me this is a political campaign, not the Pillsbury Bake-off. This happens all the time, in every campaign EVER and we let it go on - but now? "He's above it!!" we scream "those days are over!!!!!" Well, what a world that would be. But the fact is, if he gets the nomination, the Republican Party is gonna make it look like Bobby Knight going after the coach in Teen Wolf. Sorry, but it's a fact. All of a sudden the American People will be gently reminded that there's a n---er Muslim Osama-sounding mofo running for president who, EVEN WORSE!!!! went to Harvard. An elitist!!!! Oh, shit!!!! In the words of Dalton from "Road House": "it's gonna get worse before it gets better." And he knows what the fuck he's talking about cause he also said "pain don't hurt" and "there's always clown college," so let's all take heed.
Remember John Kerry? Yeah, me neither. But a few years ago he had his combat record attacked so that by the end we all thought he was running a dry-cleaners in De-Nang while hand-painting lead onto toys...and we all just sat there and took it. "Don't say anything," we all said. "Let it go, don't fight back. It's not the truth, just laugh it off, it won't matter." Well it did matter, and he didn't fight back and here we are 4 years later, even deeper in shit. And the ONE Democrat, the lone Democrat that I've heard since rail against this and say that he shoulda fought back, that you always fight back, that the ugly truth is that you have to fight back?
Dalton.
No no, I'm kidding. Of course it's Bill Clinton. He was the only Democrat with the balls to say you know what, if they attack you, defend yourself. They try to knock you down, don't fucking let them. Cause if you do, you will lose. Period. Do I wanna see Obama going after his opponent, mudslinging? Of course not. And he won't. Shouldn't. But if they come up with some whack shit like we know they will, he best knuckle up and guard his grill. They try to link him because of his name to Bin Laden, no matter how silly it is, don't try to laugh it off at a St. Timothy's Pancake Supper in Wounded Knee; TELL us what bullshit that is, pound it on us. Remind us that you'd love to meet Osama Bin Laden and ask if you're related but gee whiz, nobody can seem to find him. Et cetera, et cetera. Be hard, don't take shit. Maybe you don't need to give it, but you certainly don't need to take it.
My point is yeah, Bill is maybe being mean. Of course I'm not saying I endorse whatever he's been saying; hell, I've barely paid attention to what he's saying. I assume he's being a greasy pig politico fuckwad. But if you really want Obama to be your next President, you best hope that Clinton doesn't let up. Going into the national campaign I'm sorry, but he's gonna have to be a hard mf. Think Dalton spent months tickling himself with feathers and rainbow dreams before he showed up at the Deuce? Hell no.
FINAL POINT: These same people that are aghast at Bill's behavior and applauding those that vote against Hillary solely on that, or you guys that are filled with self-satisfaction about how modern your thinking is re: "he's above it all!" etc etc, lemme ask you something: when the shit starts going down in the national campaign, when the shit hits the fan and you need the greasy pig that knows mud, lives in the mud and loves the mud, who do you think Obama will call?
Dalton.
Well...what a world that would be.
Two Things I Can't Do With a Gun to My Head
1) BLOWING MY NOSE. I'm no good at this and, unlike masturbating, I never do it in front of other people for free. Everyone else on the planet seems to be able to stop in mid-conversation and pull out a hanky and with one hand blow their schnozz as if they're Dumbo snorting at the circus. Every bear in the cave apparently comes out, pipes are clean and nobody is grossed out. I try to do this and my ears pop, nothing comes out right and I somehow pull my groin. Or my groin pops and my ears pull - either way can somebody tell me who's buying all these fucking Nickelback albums??!!! Fuck!!
So I gotta do the ol' get a paper towel and press down on one nostril at a time and blow. Does a good job threshing the wheat, but prolly not pretty to watch. It's bascially hocking up a loogie, after all. And what's sexy to your grandfather as he's taking photos of you in the woods with no shirt on is not always sexy to everybody else.
2) LIGHTING A MATCH. I'm a complete pussy when it comes to this. I can't do it. I can SOMEtimes pull off a wooden match, but even then I go thru ten of 'em cause I try to have my fingers as far away from the flame as possible, so they snap in half. And at the last second I flinch and pull my head back as if I'm trying to light this fucking thing behind Chris Farley at a Taco Bell. Then if I actually light it I turn into a child's squeak toy, yeeping and yipping until I can put the flame out. Even with a lighter I'm a complete pussy - once I get a flame going and turn my hand to be able to light the candle, the flame leans toward my thumb, at which point my eyes roll in the back of my head and I start flapping my arms around like my high school girlfriend trying to give me a handjob. Not impressive. Which reminds me, I'm terrified of propane tanks too. Whenever I see one about to be lit on the grill I think well, that's it. Goodbye, world. But even worse is if I see someone drop one onto the ground, even if only a few inches, I can see it in slow motion: the grill and myself being engulfed in a mushroom cloud. Forgetting of course that the tank itself is made out of something like titanium steel reinforced by titanium steel squared - you could drop the fucking thing off the Chrysler Building into a fire and nothing will happen. Meanwhile, someone bumps into one in GodIHateYourBarbeque's backyard and I start mauling every titty I can find thinking well, it's all over now, get my kicks in. Ah well. I'm only human, people!!!
So I gotta do the ol' get a paper towel and press down on one nostril at a time and blow. Does a good job threshing the wheat, but prolly not pretty to watch. It's bascially hocking up a loogie, after all. And what's sexy to your grandfather as he's taking photos of you in the woods with no shirt on is not always sexy to everybody else.
2) LIGHTING A MATCH. I'm a complete pussy when it comes to this. I can't do it. I can SOMEtimes pull off a wooden match, but even then I go thru ten of 'em cause I try to have my fingers as far away from the flame as possible, so they snap in half. And at the last second I flinch and pull my head back as if I'm trying to light this fucking thing behind Chris Farley at a Taco Bell. Then if I actually light it I turn into a child's squeak toy, yeeping and yipping until I can put the flame out. Even with a lighter I'm a complete pussy - once I get a flame going and turn my hand to be able to light the candle, the flame leans toward my thumb, at which point my eyes roll in the back of my head and I start flapping my arms around like my high school girlfriend trying to give me a handjob. Not impressive. Which reminds me, I'm terrified of propane tanks too. Whenever I see one about to be lit on the grill I think well, that's it. Goodbye, world. But even worse is if I see someone drop one onto the ground, even if only a few inches, I can see it in slow motion: the grill and myself being engulfed in a mushroom cloud. Forgetting of course that the tank itself is made out of something like titanium steel reinforced by titanium steel squared - you could drop the fucking thing off the Chrysler Building into a fire and nothing will happen. Meanwhile, someone bumps into one in GodIHateYourBarbeque's backyard and I start mauling every titty I can find thinking well, it's all over now, get my kicks in. Ah well. I'm only human, people!!!
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Lies I Told a Blonde Chick from Wisconsin I Was Trying to Hook Up with Last Night
1) I served as Attorney General of Wisconsin
2) For 2 terms
3) I popularized the expression "squeeze me!" while trying to get thru a crowd
4) I also invented the ol' "wait til person is about to open passenger side door then move the car up 3 feet, then repeat" routine
5) I lost the part of Ricky Shroeder's best friend to Jason Bateman "because of his cocksucker uncle" (stare off into space, lost in anger for 8 seconds)
6) I can't BELIEVE I'm 26; that's way too old!
Sigh. Success? Cheerio!
2) For 2 terms
3) I popularized the expression "squeeze me!" while trying to get thru a crowd
4) I also invented the ol' "wait til person is about to open passenger side door then move the car up 3 feet, then repeat" routine
5) I lost the part of Ricky Shroeder's best friend to Jason Bateman "because of his cocksucker uncle" (stare off into space, lost in anger for 8 seconds)
6) I can't BELIEVE I'm 26; that's way too old!
Sigh. Success? Cheerio!
Saturday, January 26, 2008
I'm a High Fashion MF
Check out my latest Fashion Herald joint here. More posts throughout the weekend as I fall in love, lose weight, get dumped, gain the weight back and then get accepted by a family of sharks as one of their own. Enjoy.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Lil Bear
It shocks me when I realize my godson Lil Bear isn't even 2 years old yet. Unreal. 6, 8 months ago I'd casually think of him as you know, a 2-year old. And here he is, still 7 weeks away. Two weeks ago we were playing at Mamalu's - he'd come running at me and I'll tackle him, he'd laugh his head off and then sprint back to the line of scrimmage to start another play. All of a sudden I was like "...omigod...am I...literally tackling a one year old boy?"
But even funnier is today I realized that when I reference going to visit him, I say "I went over to Lil Bear's house." Not his dad's, not his mom's, but Lil Bear's. I catch myself earnestly saying out loud that I am going to visit a 1 year-old, same as I would were I visiting an old friend or colleague my own age. "Going to Lil Bear's, see yall later." To me he's a grown person - I can already see he'll be a quarterback even though he'll have the biggest thighs on the team, and I can see that if he spots you picking on a smaller kid you will hafta deal with him first. I can see it clear as day; I will not question this. He is the perfect amalgamation of boy, man, and shark with a mohawk that teaches Keats to Cub Scouts. Getting to see him is like Christmas morning: I love it, I live for it and it's worth going to sleep early for.
But even funnier is today I realized that when I reference going to visit him, I say "I went over to Lil Bear's house." Not his dad's, not his mom's, but Lil Bear's. I catch myself earnestly saying out loud that I am going to visit a 1 year-old, same as I would were I visiting an old friend or colleague my own age. "Going to Lil Bear's, see yall later." To me he's a grown person - I can already see he'll be a quarterback even though he'll have the biggest thighs on the team, and I can see that if he spots you picking on a smaller kid you will hafta deal with him first. I can see it clear as day; I will not question this. He is the perfect amalgamation of boy, man, and shark with a mohawk that teaches Keats to Cub Scouts. Getting to see him is like Christmas morning: I love it, I live for it and it's worth going to sleep early for.
Sistatime Part II
Phone call from Sistatime a few minutes ago re: the Fireside Chat:
SISTATIME: oh my god!! That was disgusting!! If you're going to show your ASS on your blog, you have to give out some sort of disclaimor?
XMASTIME: what?
SISTATIME: you KNOW your family reads the blog!! If you're gonna do something like this, post a warning!
XMASTIME: well, that would've taken away the surprise, no?
SISTATIME: how would you like it if I posted a video of me naked?
XMASTIME: well, I wouldn't watch it.
SISTATIME: what if you didn't know, and you just started watching?
XMASTIME: well, now I know. If all of a sudden there's a video of you, I'll know not to watch.
SISTATIME: how would you know that?
XMASTIME: cause of...what you just said.
SISTATIME: about your ASS online for me to see by accident?
XMASTIME: no, what you just said about a video of you. If one appeared I wouldn't watch it.
SISTATIME: but there's no video of me! I would never do that!
XMASTIME: well, there ya go
SISTATIME: what?
XMASTIME: I said, if y-
SISTATIME: in the driveway, gotta bounce, bye (click)
SISTATIME: oh my god!! That was disgusting!! If you're going to show your ASS on your blog, you have to give out some sort of disclaimor?
XMASTIME: what?
SISTATIME: you KNOW your family reads the blog!! If you're gonna do something like this, post a warning!
XMASTIME: well, that would've taken away the surprise, no?
SISTATIME: how would you like it if I posted a video of me naked?
XMASTIME: well, I wouldn't watch it.
SISTATIME: what if you didn't know, and you just started watching?
XMASTIME: well, now I know. If all of a sudden there's a video of you, I'll know not to watch.
SISTATIME: how would you know that?
XMASTIME: cause of...what you just said.
SISTATIME: about your ASS online for me to see by accident?
XMASTIME: no, what you just said about a video of you. If one appeared I wouldn't watch it.
SISTATIME: but there's no video of me! I would never do that!
XMASTIME: well, there ya go
SISTATIME: what?
XMASTIME: I said, if y-
SISTATIME: in the driveway, gotta bounce, bye (click)
Sistatime!
One of the coolest things about SISTATIME is that as monstrously chatty and girly as she is, there is no one on Earth quicker to get off the phone. You know how it is with some people, you gotta start trying to wrap up the conversation from the moment you say "hello"; getting them to actually end the conversation and hang up is is harder than finding a John Cougar cut on a black dude's iPod. Geez. It's so great with her, you can actually cut her off in the imddle of a sentence, and she has no problem sayin okay, bye, click. For example:
SISTATIME: so yeah, I could really use your advice on this; this could really save my life. I'm dying over here, tell me what I should do.
XMASTIME: Well, I was about to walk into this store, let m-
SISTATIME: okay bye (click)
Or she can pull the trigger herself:
SISTATIME: really? you found out who did it?
XMASTIME: absolutely, I know out who shot JFK! It was the-
SISTATIME: okay I'm home now, gotta go (click)
As someone who is terrible on the phone, I really appreciate this. Here's to Sistatime!
SISTATIME: so yeah, I could really use your advice on this; this could really save my life. I'm dying over here, tell me what I should do.
XMASTIME: Well, I was about to walk into this store, let m-
SISTATIME: okay bye (click)
Or she can pull the trigger herself:
SISTATIME: really? you found out who did it?
XMASTIME: absolutely, I know out who shot JFK! It was the-
SISTATIME: okay I'm home now, gotta go (click)
As someone who is terrible on the phone, I really appreciate this. Here's to Sistatime!
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Heath Ledger
Heath and I grew up together- we learned how to ride our bikes together, we played Little League together, everything. Together, as best friends. Soul mates. Yeah, we shared more than a few ladies and yeah, that includes a certain somebody who starred in Dawson's Creek. We loved each other, and I already miss him. In my own way of a moving, touching tribute to my dear departed friend, I offer you the only way I can express to Heath how much I love and miss him: my review of Brokeback Mountain. I'm sorry my words are not enough to soothe here, please forgive me. My tears are too short to box with God.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Worlds Colliding! (and I'm in Love)
I've spent the last two hours combing through video after video of Gordon Ramsey and coming to grips with the fact that yeah, I'm probably in love with him. Sigh. Heart sigh. Then I found this clip, which features my two favorite Brits not named John and Paul. Killin me. AND I do hafta point out it's Gordon that gets out the best line, about Stephen Merchant. Awesome.
TecmoBowl
This shit cracks me up and brings back great memories of playing TecmoBowl in college while eating chicken pot pies (5 for $1.) Before the kids of today whose video games are scary real and can launch spacecraft, and after Rrthur's day where the kids would play a spirited game of Kick the Can, there was TecmoBowl. Hours and hours of playing, tho it was mostly for the shit-talking. Just like everything else when you're 19, I guess. I can still remember losing a game on a Jerome Brown 99-yard fumble return for a td as time expired. Here's a typical Bo Jackson play, which takes up the entire quarter. Awesome.
Manning, Manning
If we hafta sit through a Super Bowl with Eli, can we at least have Peyton do all the commercials? That I'd actually watch.
Infamous Fans
Dig this list of "infamous fans."
- how the FUCK have I never heard that Bobby Murcer story? Keith Jackson, fucking up some kid's life. Seems like this would be more famous.
- the John 3:16 guy is in jail for life? I grew up watching that guy on tv! wow!!
- and the name of the guy that started the brawl in the Palace was...John Hinckley? Really?
- how the FUCK have I never heard that Bobby Murcer story? Keith Jackson, fucking up some kid's life. Seems like this would be more famous.
- the John 3:16 guy is in jail for life? I grew up watching that guy on tv! wow!!
- and the name of the guy that started the brawl in the Palace was...John Hinckley? Really?
Radio Nowhere, Indeed
I spent the weekend crying in my Cheerios that I wasn't gonna post me and Dave's E Street radio show after all; I was steaming about the powers that be taking liberties with cutting out what I remembered to be some great "bits" (my complete resequencing of The River!!!)and replacing them with cuts we never chose ourselves, a la "Price You Pay" and "Working on the Highway." I was en fuego as I recall, and now I feel neutered. But then I remembered you know what, it's not about Xmas for once, it's all about a coupla guys getting to blow up Bruce, which I'm always more than happy to do. So here it is, enjoy!
PS - I fucked up the recording near the end; and of course the part that gets cut is me talking about what I woulda put on Born in the USA. Ah well. Say la vee.
PS - I fucked up the recording near the end; and of course the part that gets cut is me talking about what I woulda put on Born in the USA. Ah well. Say la vee.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Still on Holiday
Ooooooooh, it looks like Oliver Stone is making a movie about George W. Bush's presidency. I guess watching Bush bumble around in office for the last 7 years hasn't cost us enough already - let's all tack on another $10.50 each while shooting melted butter into our veins. And just like the first time through, we'll all be in the dark. Thanks Oliver!
On Holiday
Several candidates each took time out of their busy campaigns today to commemorate Dr. King's inspiirational work for civil rights. Hillary Clinton spoke of how her admiration for Dr. King in her youth helped shape her public policy works for the last 35 years. Barak Obama while marching through South Carolina acknowledged that without King, there's no way he could be running for President today. And John Edwards remarked "Jesus fucking christ, could there be a WORSE time to be a white man running for President?!??!?!"
Today also marks the 10th anniversary of the day Linda Tripp turned over all the info she had on Monica Lewinsky's affair with President Clinton. Hillary Clinton used the occasion to declare her and her husband's love for each other, while Ms. Lewinsky declined all interviews and media, insisting she simply wants to move on. Ms. Tripp meanwhile is in Year 10 of coming to grips with the fact that if you're played by John Goodman in SNL sketches, those Playboy offers MIGHT not be rolling in after all. Hmm.
Today also marks the 10th anniversary of the day Linda Tripp turned over all the info she had on Monica Lewinsky's affair with President Clinton. Hillary Clinton used the occasion to declare her and her husband's love for each other, while Ms. Lewinsky declined all interviews and media, insisting she simply wants to move on. Ms. Tripp meanwhile is in Year 10 of coming to grips with the fact that if you're played by John Goodman in SNL sketches, those Playboy offers MIGHT not be rolling in after all. Hmm.
Oh, GREEEEEEEEEEEEEAT
TEAMS FROM THE NFC I'D RATHER SEE IN THE SUPER BOWL THAN THE GIANTS (in no order):
Cowboys
Bears
Saints
Eagles
Bucs
Cardinals
Rams
Redskins
Packers
Seahawks
Paanthers
Falcons
Vikings
49ers
Lions
Cowboys
Bears
Saints
Eagles
Bucs
Cardinals
Rams
Redskins
Packers
Seahawks
Paanthers
Falcons
Vikings
49ers
Lions
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Death
I learned at an early age that life owes you nothing. You can have your whole life pulled out from under your feet like a tablecloth and guess what? The world turns. Shit goes on. I learned at an early age that the shit on you don't matter, it all rolls on. Such and such happened? Who cares. You lost so and so? Who gives a shit, move the fuck on. My own personal history plus my intrinsic Irish fatalism makes me wonder if I can feel death at all. And, to be honest, I doubt I spelled intrinsic correctly. I've worked it so that there's MAYBE a handful, as in 5, people that if they'd die, I would show some emotion...and to be honest, I probably wouldn't even then. I'm always reminded of my father telling stories of making money as an altar boy in the 50s, and I think of tipping the altar boy myself many years later...ah, well. The Irish.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Girls On Film
I'm watching "Brother Outsider: Life of Bayard Rustin", and one of the first things they show is some film of him playing high school football. What? He was born in 1912 - meaning that AT THE LATEST, his senior season woulda been 1929. And there's footage of him playing!!!! I played 60 years later, and I promise there's no fucking footage of me floating around there. 1929. Good lord. Who was filming this shit? Who could've had that equipment - was Elia Kazaan hanging around black high school football games?
But this always drives me crazy. There's always some bio about a dude or a family, and the first thing they always talk about is how poor they were. "We had to eat the cat for lunch and then throw him up to eat him again for dinner, boy we were poor." And then they cut away to home movies. How did this happen? Hey, maybe if Pops hadn't dropped $34,000 to buy the camera from NASA, you could leave the cat alone. There are no such films of me growing up; hell I didn't know ANYbody who had any sort of movie camera back then. Any biopic of me will hafta start in like 2008, now that digital video cameras come free with two boxtops of Tide. The previous years will hafta be claymation dhiaramas I guess.
Capturing shit on film is kinda weird anyway, isn't it? I mean, who knows where you might be in a picture somewhere. Some family from North Dakota get their picture taken on the Boardwalk, you happen to be walking behind them and there you are, on some mantle in a room in a house in a town you'll never even know exists. Maybe in 1983 you took a picture, and beside a tree in the picture happened to be a girl you end up meeting and marrying 20 years later. Same with movies - e.g. the last scene of "Valley Girl," when the camera pulls away, showing the LA freeway packed with cars. What if you were in one of those cars? There you are, on film forever. Kinda creepy. Hell, there's even shots of unknown people that have become "standards", shown anytime there's a show about some subject. Like the girl screaming into the fence while the Beatles played Shea in '65, or the girl running to her father coming home from Vietnam. Anybody in the Zapruder film. We see these shots over and over; whatever happened to these people? They alive, dead? What's their story, what'd they go through in the ensuing decades? Become anybody, have 5 kids, date Tony Basil? The teenagers cracking eggs on the heads of the SNCC protesters in Woolworth's (or Montgomery Ward?) - what become of them? Would they do it again if they could, or are they ashamed of their actions of that moment? Somebody needs to find all these people, the people on the periphery caught forever, caught as part of history. Find these people, tell us about them. Now that would be a coffee table book I'd read.
But this always drives me crazy. There's always some bio about a dude or a family, and the first thing they always talk about is how poor they were. "We had to eat the cat for lunch and then throw him up to eat him again for dinner, boy we were poor." And then they cut away to home movies. How did this happen? Hey, maybe if Pops hadn't dropped $34,000 to buy the camera from NASA, you could leave the cat alone. There are no such films of me growing up; hell I didn't know ANYbody who had any sort of movie camera back then. Any biopic of me will hafta start in like 2008, now that digital video cameras come free with two boxtops of Tide. The previous years will hafta be claymation dhiaramas I guess.
Capturing shit on film is kinda weird anyway, isn't it? I mean, who knows where you might be in a picture somewhere. Some family from North Dakota get their picture taken on the Boardwalk, you happen to be walking behind them and there you are, on some mantle in a room in a house in a town you'll never even know exists. Maybe in 1983 you took a picture, and beside a tree in the picture happened to be a girl you end up meeting and marrying 20 years later. Same with movies - e.g. the last scene of "Valley Girl," when the camera pulls away, showing the LA freeway packed with cars. What if you were in one of those cars? There you are, on film forever. Kinda creepy. Hell, there's even shots of unknown people that have become "standards", shown anytime there's a show about some subject. Like the girl screaming into the fence while the Beatles played Shea in '65, or the girl running to her father coming home from Vietnam. Anybody in the Zapruder film. We see these shots over and over; whatever happened to these people? They alive, dead? What's their story, what'd they go through in the ensuing decades? Become anybody, have 5 kids, date Tony Basil? The teenagers cracking eggs on the heads of the SNCC protesters in Woolworth's (or Montgomery Ward?) - what become of them? Would they do it again if they could, or are they ashamed of their actions of that moment? Somebody needs to find all these people, the people on the periphery caught forever, caught as part of history. Find these people, tell us about them. Now that would be a coffee table book I'd read.
I MIGHT Not Be a Metrosexual Just Yet
In line at the pharmacy.
Dude #1: facial skin lotion, Burl Bee skin care (?), loofah, conditioner
Dude #2: conditioner, some bar of soap that was wrapped in plastic and colored, Tampax
Me: 44 oz. Brut spray-on deoderant.
And I had just spent all day proud of myself for buying salad in a bag. Ante's been upped!!!
Dude #1: facial skin lotion, Burl Bee skin care (?), loofah, conditioner
Dude #2: conditioner, some bar of soap that was wrapped in plastic and colored, Tampax
Me: 44 oz. Brut spray-on deoderant.
And I had just spent all day proud of myself for buying salad in a bag. Ante's been upped!!!
Tales of a 30th Grade Metrosexual
I have officially kicked off my fashionista career, see here
http://fashionherald.blogspot.com/2008/01/farewell-foo-young-part-one.html
(sorry, link thing is jacked up.) They'll be more posts throughout the weekend, and I think Mondays will be my regular day along with some Fridays. Upcoming highlights include (hopefully!) a visit behind the scenes at Fashion Week, where I will look to conduct an interview with any models that will speak to me. And of course by "interview" I mean "a meeting or conversation in which a writer or reporter asks questions of one or more persons from whom material is sought for a newspaper story, television broadcast, etc." Wink wink. So keep checking in over at the Fashion Herald as we continue that long, slow march to my size 33s!!!
http://fashionherald.blogspot.com/2008/01/farewell-foo-young-part-one.html
(sorry, link thing is jacked up.) They'll be more posts throughout the weekend, and I think Mondays will be my regular day along with some Fridays. Upcoming highlights include (hopefully!) a visit behind the scenes at Fashion Week, where I will look to conduct an interview with any models that will speak to me. And of course by "interview" I mean "a meeting or conversation in which a writer or reporter asks questions of one or more persons from whom material is sought for a newspaper story, television broadcast, etc." Wink wink. So keep checking in over at the Fashion Herald as we continue that long, slow march to my size 33s!!!
Friday, January 18, 2008
Was Just Wondering...
...how is it possible no one's come up with the band name Buffalo Springsteen?
ugh. too hung over. double ugh.
ugh. too hung over. double ugh.
An Open Letter to the Guide on My TV:
It's Star Wars you dipshit, not Star Wars IV: A New Hope. What the fuck. How do you take a movie that's been a classic for three decades and all of a sudden change the fucking name?
Also: am I high, or do I see that at 2pm on ESPN they're televising the Major League Soccer Draft? I'm going back to freaking bed. Jesus.
Also: am I high, or do I see that at 2pm on ESPN they're televising the Major League Soccer Draft? I'm going back to freaking bed. Jesus.
Burgers, chicken & the Dog
I've sampled exactly none of these. Tho I think just by looking at the pictures I'd dig Prune the best; anything's better on an Englsigh Muffin (no bacon.) Mostly, I just wanna be rich enuff so me and Op can travel all over the country sampling burgers and writing about 'em. Which has already been done 1000x already of course. So I await a sponsor for my "Travel to a Different City Every Day by Greyhound to Find Fried Chicken" project. sigh.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
E Street Xmastime
Tomorrow at 4pm sharp my buddy Dave and I will be on E Street Radio on Sirius, playing our Bruce cuts and being, if I recall, somewhat "en fuego." If you don't have satellite radio don't fret, you can sign up for a free 3-day trial and it really does only take seconds. I also might record it and stick it here. Cause, you know, you need to hear my voice even more than usual. Cough. Hope you tune in!!
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
The Manny Tapes
Heeeeeeeeeeeey, let's hear it for the fucking octogenarians that are always in front of me and the boy when we're going up the stairs in the subway. I'm carrying the entire stroller, plus him, plus whatever I've picked up from the store etc, and I always seem to get right behind some fucker mmoooooooooooooooseying their way up the steps, going slow so they can soak in every second before they shuffle off this Earth. Fuck!!!!!
"Hahahaha!!!! Maybe if you weren't hauling your fat ass around too it wiouldn't be so bad, you fat four-eyed motherfucker!!!!!"
"Hahahaha!!!! Maybe if you weren't hauling your fat ass around too it wiouldn't be so bad, you fat four-eyed motherfucker!!!!!"
Xmastime Podcast #7
Remember a few years back when Joe Namath got a lil shitfaced and tried to make out with Suzy Kolber on live tv during a game? Shortly after, the day of the 2004 Super Bowl, I tried to track him down for an interview. Forgive the background music.
"Seriously, man...please stop calling me."
"Seriously, man...please stop calling me."
A Truly Happy Ending
Remember a few weeks ago, my post about the woman horrified by her husband wanting to cum on her face? Disgusted, lost respect for him blah blah blah?
Well, turns out she's gotten over it! Man. Whoever this dude is, he deserves a standing, take-that-hat-off-your-head-son hand over the heart slow-clap. Fucking hell.
Well, turns out she's gotten over it! Man. Whoever this dude is, he deserves a standing, take-that-hat-off-your-head-son hand over the heart slow-clap. Fucking hell.
Lightening Up
Because it's too easy to pile on what complete fuckbits the GOP candidates are, I thought I'd take a second to say something nice about some of them.
I liked it when opening the first SNL episode after 9/11 Rudy was asked by Lorne Michaels "can we be funny?" and Rudy replied "why start now?" That was good.
McCain's "Reagan can hide his own Easter eggs" line will always be a classic with me. And I complimented Huckabee's honesty here already.
Okay. I've done my part for bipartisanship. Hey, if I can be nice to the Republicans maybe Andrew Sullivan can stop hyperventilating about Hillary being the devil times Hitler times the devil again?
I liked it when opening the first SNL episode after 9/11 Rudy was asked by Lorne Michaels "can we be funny?" and Rudy replied "why start now?" That was good.
McCain's "Reagan can hide his own Easter eggs" line will always be a classic with me. And I complimented Huckabee's honesty here already.
Okay. I've done my part for bipartisanship. Hey, if I can be nice to the Republicans maybe Andrew Sullivan can stop hyperventilating about Hillary being the devil times Hitler times the devil again?
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Karma's a Bitch, Jinxed Myself, I Lose Again
Oh, JOY!! Remember my first post today, when I was crowing about what a great day it was cause $1 fell outta my ass? Well, now a $20 bill disappeared from my pocket. Gone. Goodbye. So what started out as a +1 day has ended as a -19 day. Explain to me one more time why the FUCK I should get out of bed? AAAARRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!
jennie fennell
I was riffing with RRTHUR (yes ladies, THAT Rrthur) the other day about how every dipshit in college had the same two, and usually only two, albums: Bob Marley's "Legend" and Steve Miller's Greatest Hits. Every dorm room I walked into, these two albums were being played. Ugh. Even as this was the heyday of grunge, for every Nirvana spin there were six of these two.
Which was so disappointing to me - I've written here many times about how lucky I had been as a young buck to get turned onto the Ramones and the Replacements and countless other great bands that weren't on Casey Kasem every Sunday; amazing bands that were unheard by the masses but formed the backbone of my musical life. Whatever that was. Since it was passed down to us by my friend's older brother who was in college, I assumed that as soon as I got outta my hick town and into college I'd be surrounded by like-minded people, people who loved the Ramones and the Clash et al. I couldn't wait - I even started hand-crafting a t-shirt for each Ramones album. This project was abandoned 1/2way through "Leave Home", but you get my point.
So, as I sad, all the air was sucked outta this dream the first week when I realized that even though it was college, everybody's tastes still sucked. Steve Miller, Poison, Vanilla Ice, "Legend" etc etc. Heartbroken is too strong a word for something like that now, but it wasn't at age 18. I had given up finding someone who liked my favorite bands until I was standing in the dining hall and in walked a girl with...a Ramones t-shirt!!! And this was back when wearing a Ramones t-shirt meant you actually loved the band; not like today where you get one in every box of cereal or some such. My eyes lit up, I sprinted (this was 1990 after all) over to her and what do you know, she was as thrilled as I was to finally meet someone there who knew what we both knew.
We never became best buds or nothing, but through the years we'd meet up every once in a while and talk about how much we loved the Ramones, culminating with our senior year when she was responsible for bringing them to play at our Student Union. The night before the show we did a 3-hour all-Ramones radio show (which pretty much was the same radio show I did every week anyways), then the next day got to hang out with them before they played. Fucking awesome. She remained the only other person I ever met at school who knew, much less loved, the Ramones and I can still picture her walking into the dining hall with that black t-shirt on. A little while after I graduated Praise the Laude I came up to NYC to record a record, and one of the songs was about that feeling of meeting someone who shares something like that with you, it was called "jennie fennell" (she always wrote her name in non-caps for some reason), and here it is:
Yeah yeah, kinda sucks, my singings terrible, but it always brings a good feeling to me whenever I hear it. Here's to jennie fennell, here's to the Ramones.
ps - if you want a copy of the record, simply send a money order or cash for $700 to:
XMASTIME
100 Metropolian Avenue
Brooklyn, NY 11211
Which was so disappointing to me - I've written here many times about how lucky I had been as a young buck to get turned onto the Ramones and the Replacements and countless other great bands that weren't on Casey Kasem every Sunday; amazing bands that were unheard by the masses but formed the backbone of my musical life. Whatever that was. Since it was passed down to us by my friend's older brother who was in college, I assumed that as soon as I got outta my hick town and into college I'd be surrounded by like-minded people, people who loved the Ramones and the Clash et al. I couldn't wait - I even started hand-crafting a t-shirt for each Ramones album. This project was abandoned 1/2way through "Leave Home", but you get my point.
So, as I sad, all the air was sucked outta this dream the first week when I realized that even though it was college, everybody's tastes still sucked. Steve Miller, Poison, Vanilla Ice, "Legend" etc etc. Heartbroken is too strong a word for something like that now, but it wasn't at age 18. I had given up finding someone who liked my favorite bands until I was standing in the dining hall and in walked a girl with...a Ramones t-shirt!!! And this was back when wearing a Ramones t-shirt meant you actually loved the band; not like today where you get one in every box of cereal or some such. My eyes lit up, I sprinted (this was 1990 after all) over to her and what do you know, she was as thrilled as I was to finally meet someone there who knew what we both knew.
We never became best buds or nothing, but through the years we'd meet up every once in a while and talk about how much we loved the Ramones, culminating with our senior year when she was responsible for bringing them to play at our Student Union. The night before the show we did a 3-hour all-Ramones radio show (which pretty much was the same radio show I did every week anyways), then the next day got to hang out with them before they played. Fucking awesome. She remained the only other person I ever met at school who knew, much less loved, the Ramones and I can still picture her walking into the dining hall with that black t-shirt on. A little while after I graduated Praise the Laude I came up to NYC to record a record, and one of the songs was about that feeling of meeting someone who shares something like that with you, it was called "jennie fennell" (she always wrote her name in non-caps for some reason), and here it is:
Yeah yeah, kinda sucks, my singings terrible, but it always brings a good feeling to me whenever I hear it. Here's to jennie fennell, here's to the Ramones.
ps - if you want a copy of the record, simply send a money order or cash for $700 to:
XMASTIME
100 Metropolian Avenue
Brooklyn, NY 11211
Magic Dipshit Theory
Watching American Experience last night got me thinking about the countless books and docs about the JFK assassination I have read or seen, and I was reminded of the one common thread throughout: Lee Harvey Oswald was a thinner, more ambitious doppelganger for my high school girlfriend's boyfriend before me. Soccer-playing, ECU-going pudgy motherfucker.
Yeah But Fuck Him, He Paid $400 for a haircut.
Now this thinking fucking pisses me off; the notion that now that Clinton and Obama are officially the superstars, Edwards should happily step aside. Fuck that! A happy pat on the head, thanks for coming, now put away your silly little ideas about helping those in need and releasing the country from the stranglehold of corporations and let the “ real players” have the ball. No need to rock the boat with such silliness, after all.
Of course, AS USUAL, even more disturbing is the voters’ quickness to this as well – note Edwards not winning either primary, despite being the only candidate to actually speak up specifically for the working class and poor. And by that I mean the unions and the impoverished, not the “middle class” that keeps voting in Bush so the taxes on their summer homes don’t go up. Even the writer says as much:
But, back to his original premise, we’re better off with rock stars who claim vague “change” for the middle class, let the poor people worry about themselves:
I can live with it if settling means Obama as the President, but I choose October 29, 2009 in the "when will someone start thinking gee, whatever happened to that guy who said he was gonna fight for US? Gee, maybe we shouldn't have brushed him aside so easily. Ah well" office pool.
Of course, AS USUAL, even more disturbing is the voters’ quickness to this as well – note Edwards not winning either primary, despite being the only candidate to actually speak up specifically for the working class and poor. And by that I mean the unions and the impoverished, not the “middle class” that keeps voting in Bush so the taxes on their summer homes don’t go up. Even the writer says as much:
Edwards deserves a special place in our politics for his efforts to bring poverty to national attention and to revise national priorities to take account of the needs of the poor.
But, back to his original premise, we’re better off with rock stars who claim vague “change” for the middle class, let the poor people worry about themselves:
But now it's time to read the writing on the wall and obey the verdict of history. It's time for Edwards to pull out.
I can live with it if settling means Obama as the President, but I choose October 29, 2009 in the "when will someone start thinking gee, whatever happened to that guy who said he was gonna fight for US? Gee, maybe we shouldn't have brushed him aside so easily. Ah well" office pool.
Here I Come!!!!!
This morning while performing my toilette I was standing naked in front of the sink brushing my teeth when all of a sudden I heard a "thunk!" behind me. I turned and looked down, and there was a $1 coin!! I was baffled for a split second before surmising that the coin must've been in my bed and got stuck on my ass.
Money falling outta my ass. Unreal. If there was ever a sign that this might be a great day this is it, isn't it?
Money falling outta my ass. Unreal. If there was ever a sign that this might be a great day this is it, isn't it?
Friday, January 11, 2008
Today's True Wife Confession
Awesome.
Confession #2252
Two days ago you sat down to the pasta with ricotta cheese and fresh spinach that I made, from scratch, and while the pan was still bubbling from the oven, you told me that I should have dissolved the sugar in a little warm water before adding it to the salad dressing because the dressing was too vinegar-y. Yesterday you sat down to the chicken enchiladas I made, from scratch, and while the pan was still bubbling from the oven, you told me that I should have put spices and fried onions in the rice.
I told you that it was two days in a row that you'd bitched about what I'd set in front of you, and if you wanted to make dinner tomorrow I would happily wait for it to hit the table and then I'd tell you exactly what I thought of it.
If you think you're making a meal tonight out of the leftovers from the past two nights, you son of a bitch, you are so wrong. You are so fucking wrong.
Sports Guy Podcast
Over on ESPN.com I listened to the Sports Guy's podcast for the first time. Disappointing. #1, me and The Barber are better. As funny as he used to be in his column, he's b o r i n g live. But what's up with his slightly Midwestern accent? All his BostonBostonBoston nonsense - he supposedly grew up in the Gaaaahhhden,where's his accent? Am I the only one who was expecting Cliff Clavin? What the fuck.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Gayle & Pizza
The boy and I are watching Oprah, and it's the one where Gayle goes around the country finding the best pizza. A new low: I can tell that it's an Oprah rerun. Sigh. First of all, I must say, big crush on Gayle. Older lady than me with teef coming outta the screen. But she also introduces her own daily driver on the show...how does Gayle warrant having her own driver? I mean, does this person even have a job?
But my real question while watching is is there such a thing as deep-fried pizza? Has anyone thought of this? Just take a slice, throw it in the deep fryer, see what happens? Or is this too good to be true?
Marah on Conan link
If you missed Marah on Conan last night you can check it out here. Bit of a pain in the ass: popcorn commercials, then you gotta manually fast-forward to the right segment, then another popcorn commercial. But eventually you'll make it to the rizz-ock.
A Few Quick Sports Thoughts
- Am I dreaming, or were there as many teams playing in bowls this year as there are that play in March Madness every year? Can the NCAA do something to make the bowls even more meaningless, please? Maybe a few more Ball State/Rutgers games a few days after Jan 1? Push the “title game” back to Valenetine’s Day? Can we make this happen?
- If Roger Clemens started taking roids cause he was getting old and wanted to extend his career, why was 2001 the last time he took them?
- If Pete Carroll leaves USC for the NFL, he’s an idiot. He can live the next 3 decades as a golden god in SoCal. His Trojans are so far beyond the rest of the West Coast, he can sit back and pick and choose blue chippers every year, go 12-0 and be worshipped. Going to the NFL doesn’t necessarily mean a promotion, Pete.
- Same thing for Les Miles. He shoulda left for Michigan and become the USC of the Midwest. Big 10 is down, he can roll in and dominate, go 12-0 and play USC every year for the title. Now he’s stuck in the SEC where you’re lucky to only lose twice a year and hafta kill yourself to get kids over Florida, Georgia etc etc. Big mistake, Les.
- I’m glad Joe Gibbs is retiring. He was on the verge of becoming way too insignificant and was looking bad doing it; in a strange way Sean Taylor’s death saved his legacy. Who better than Joe Gibbs to be in charge when something like that happens? Then they went on a hot string and ended the season and his career positively. Even a Skins hater like me didn’t enjoy watching Gibbs look baffled all season, so good for him.
- People need to get off Tony Romo’s ass for hanging out with Jessica Simpson. They hung out on a beach, while he was off. She’s not Yoko Ono, she’s not insisting on being in the goddam huddle discussing plays. I know tv these days aren’t allowed to talk sports for 5 straight minutes anymore without trying to squeeze in some T&A, but give it a rest already.
- I’m not surprised Britney Spears had a meltdown, but is this the longest one in history? I mean everybody snaps, everyone has a rough patch. Celebs love doing it for attention, but it’s usually a week or so, no? The Britney craziness has been going on for over a year now, hasn’t it? Jesus, does anyone remember Britney when she WASN'T in the middle of a crazed meltdown? Unreal. It's like trying to remember that at one time Joan Rivers was a comedian. Kudos for her for keeping this shit up without dying so far.
- Been re-watching the Rocco DiSpirito reality show “The Restaurant.” Can there be more of a clusterfuck than this fucking place? Who’s this wait staff, the cast of Ben-Hur? Christ. And I’m sorry, but they’re only meatballs…I’m sure they’re great, but how “amazing” can Mama’s meatballs be? Camon.
- If Barack gets elected president, would that be the single greatest time ever to be the vice-president? hiyooooo!!! sorry, couldn't resist. too easy.
- If Roger Clemens started taking roids cause he was getting old and wanted to extend his career, why was 2001 the last time he took them?
- If Pete Carroll leaves USC for the NFL, he’s an idiot. He can live the next 3 decades as a golden god in SoCal. His Trojans are so far beyond the rest of the West Coast, he can sit back and pick and choose blue chippers every year, go 12-0 and be worshipped. Going to the NFL doesn’t necessarily mean a promotion, Pete.
- Same thing for Les Miles. He shoulda left for Michigan and become the USC of the Midwest. Big 10 is down, he can roll in and dominate, go 12-0 and play USC every year for the title. Now he’s stuck in the SEC where you’re lucky to only lose twice a year and hafta kill yourself to get kids over Florida, Georgia etc etc. Big mistake, Les.
- I’m glad Joe Gibbs is retiring. He was on the verge of becoming way too insignificant and was looking bad doing it; in a strange way Sean Taylor’s death saved his legacy. Who better than Joe Gibbs to be in charge when something like that happens? Then they went on a hot string and ended the season and his career positively. Even a Skins hater like me didn’t enjoy watching Gibbs look baffled all season, so good for him.
- People need to get off Tony Romo’s ass for hanging out with Jessica Simpson. They hung out on a beach, while he was off. She’s not Yoko Ono, she’s not insisting on being in the goddam huddle discussing plays. I know tv these days aren’t allowed to talk sports for 5 straight minutes anymore without trying to squeeze in some T&A, but give it a rest already.
- I’m not surprised Britney Spears had a meltdown, but is this the longest one in history? I mean everybody snaps, everyone has a rough patch. Celebs love doing it for attention, but it’s usually a week or so, no? The Britney craziness has been going on for over a year now, hasn’t it? Jesus, does anyone remember Britney when she WASN'T in the middle of a crazed meltdown? Unreal. It's like trying to remember that at one time Joan Rivers was a comedian. Kudos for her for keeping this shit up without dying so far.
- Been re-watching the Rocco DiSpirito reality show “The Restaurant.” Can there be more of a clusterfuck than this fucking place? Who’s this wait staff, the cast of Ben-Hur? Christ. And I’m sorry, but they’re only meatballs…I’m sure they’re great, but how “amazing” can Mama’s meatballs be? Camon.
- If Barack gets elected president, would that be the single greatest time ever to be the vice-president? hiyooooo!!! sorry, couldn't resist. too easy.
Too Much Pressure for a Short Walk
Is there anything more awkward than when you walk out of your apartment to leave the building and as you're walking down the hallway, someone else on your floor pops out into the hallway, and you see each other, and you're the one that's closer to the door and so now you gotta fucking figure out if the two of you are far apart enough where you can just cruise on down without worrying about being polite and holding the door, or if you're at a distance where society dictates you slow down and do the ol' hold the door open routine? Ugh. Brutal. Just happened to me, and I used the "slow down while looking as if you're still walking the same speed so they can close the gap and it's a natural hold the door open, not a stand there for a few seconds holding the door open with an outstretched arm looking like a douche hold the door open" choice. So I hold the door open, he walks through with an "oh, thanks!" And we start walking, me two steps ahead the whole time, and we have two more doors to go. Now's the part that drives me bananas - he has to do the dance where he thanks me at EVERY door. "Oh, thanks!" Hey fuckwad, it's bad enough you have to thank me every time, you certainly don't have to act surprised each time too. "Oh, thanks!!" Like, you know, "oh, you're still here? 14 inches in front of me? Great!" For fuck's sake. I know society dictates he thank me each time, and I would do the same, but between that and the original door decision, that's a lot of fucking brainwork for 47 fucking steps. Man.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Blue Family Xmas with Paddy Mac
(read quickly, I got a feeling these aren't gonna sit well with P-Macs mom n pop!)
Sistatime freaks the hell outta Paddy Mac for the first of what will be many, MANY times.
Paddy Mac just found out his Uncle Will went to public school.
“I’m bout done with THIS motherfucker!!!!”
“I…see…dead…people…but…so…would…you…with…these…Coke…bottle…specs…”
The ol’ Upside Down Bottle Hit. I call this picture “Eight eyes.”
P-Mac and Jack are a little uncomfortable listening to their pops behind them talk about a certain photograph from their high school days…
“Yeah, he got a punch on me. One. You wanna roll the dice too? Didn’t think so. Now carry your ass outta here.”
"Too good for Old Navy??!!?" (ripping off jacket for beatdown...)
Ohoh…one too many sippy cups of egg nog. “I didn’t leave the bottoms of my fucking legs in the jungle to come back to no gotdam negro president!!!!”
Sistatime freaks the hell outta Paddy Mac for the first of what will be many, MANY times.
Paddy Mac just found out his Uncle Will went to public school.
“I’m bout done with THIS motherfucker!!!!”
“I…see…dead…people…but…so…would…you…with…these…Coke…bottle…specs…”
The ol’ Upside Down Bottle Hit. I call this picture “Eight eyes.”
P-Mac and Jack are a little uncomfortable listening to their pops behind them talk about a certain photograph from their high school days…
“Yeah, he got a punch on me. One. You wanna roll the dice too? Didn’t think so. Now carry your ass outta here.”
"Too good for Old Navy??!!?" (ripping off jacket for beatdown...)
Ohoh…one too many sippy cups of egg nog. “I didn’t leave the bottoms of my fucking legs in the jungle to come back to no gotdam negro president!!!!”
A Progamming Note!
Don't forget to catch my best buddies Marah on the Conan O'Brian show tonite!! Set your vcrs, your tivos, whatevs. R O C K
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Clothes Horse
So I kicked off my clean living/diet yesterday with a shopping trip for my "target" jeans with my friends over at the Fashion Herald. Trying to slice 10 inches off my waist. And thank fucking christ I didn't hafta try anything on at the store - I reckon I'd rather hire a dwarf to play speedbag with my sack than try on clothes at a store. I mean honestly, is there anything worse? I've foregone trying on clothes knowing that there was a chance they'd be so small they'd dig into my aorta and my heart would explode into ribbons. Fuck it I'll shrug, I'm willing to roll the dice. Women, on the other hand, are amazing with the trying on stuff - I've even been with women who try on things they KNOW they're not even going to buy, which REALLY blows my fucking mind. Baffling. So I get home and aw fuck, whatever I've bought is about 8 sizes off. Aw well, I say. I tried. And I don't care if it cost me the last $40 to my name, and it's the difference between paying off a loan shark or him breaking my legs, I'm not returning the shit to the store. No way. It's not happening, I'm not going through that. And god forbid a woman sniffs out that you bought something that should be returned; she will be all over you like R. Kelly at a Girl Scout pee trough. "You gotta return it! Return it, return it! You gotta return it!!!!" They're as flabbergasted that you're not sprinting back to the store to return it as dudes are when you tell them you didn't score with a girl after taking her to the Olive Garden AND a movie. There are two ways to temporarily stun a woman: give her the actual number of times a day you masturbate or tell her you're not returning clothes to the store. Either one, it's a complete gut-punch to them.
So buying clothes is always a bit of a crapshoot. And while I'm thinking of it, let's take a moment to debunk this urban legend that in jean stores across the country, mothers are constantly checking the crotch of the jeans their sons try on. Anytime some kid in the movies or tv is trying on pants, we have to get the bit where the mother is completely obsessed with there being enough room in the crotch. At no point did my mother ask about my package fitting my jeans, much less dig around in there like your hear stories about. Camon.
I've found it's hard for guys to admit publicly they're fat - I never really did it til here. We always say things like "hey hey, I'm the big guy!" or some stupid shit. But the fact is we should be saying "hey hey, I've got 7 years to live and the last person to see my dick was my mom when she was fishing around in the crotch of my Toughskins!" Big, husky, whatever, we never say we're fat. Unlike a woman, who will set their alarms earlier so they can have more time to tell everyone they see how fat they are. Is there anything better than watching two chicks whose ribs you can see trying to out-fat each other? Like watching Tito and Jermaine Jackson trying to out-brother each other. Absurd.
It's the same thing with being depressed, a dude will never come out and say "I'm depressed." Women? No problem. Well, mostly cause they all think they're 400 pounds I guess. A dude and a girl could spend the day both doing the exact same thing: laying in bed staring at the wall depressed outta their minds. Yet ask them what they did all day and you'll get two different answers.
GUY: "just some bullshit."
GIRL: "Oh god, I laid in bed all day depressed out of my mind. Cried my eyes out, ate a cake, cried for a few more hours. Oh god, I'm so depressed. Oh yeah, and don't forget I'm fat."
Probably the single-most frightening thing about tagging along with a woman while she shops is that moment when she shoves her purse on you while she goes to try something on. And by "something" I mean "every fucking thing in the store." You try to run away but next thing you know you're standing there holding a handbag in the middle of the store. And of course this is the exact moment your old high school football coach has decided "you know what, this seems like the right time to stroll through the middle of Daffy's for no particular reason" - you lock eyes on each other for a split second, he sees the handbag and barely mumbles a "I fucking knew it" while shaking his head and walking away. The ironic thing is, the more you're asked to do the hold-my-purse routine, the less likely it is you'll ever fuck this woman. It's never the husbands, or boyfriends, or bad-boy fuckbuddies that do this shit. If the girl likes you and you're fucking her, you can say "get that shit away from me!" when she tries it. Hell, she's lucky you even came along. It's always the pining dudes, the hopeless Duckys of the world who are desperatly in love enough to actually say "oh yeah, of course I'll go shopping with you!!!!" in the first place. Believe me, I learned this one the hard way.
So all things considered, yesterday was fairly painless - obviously I'm not returning anything anytime soon, since it will be months before I can fit into the jeans ayway (went with the 33 inch waist after all.) I didn't hafta try anything on, and I didn't find myself holding a handbag. Well. In public. Day 2 of clean living! Winning the battle!!
So buying clothes is always a bit of a crapshoot. And while I'm thinking of it, let's take a moment to debunk this urban legend that in jean stores across the country, mothers are constantly checking the crotch of the jeans their sons try on. Anytime some kid in the movies or tv is trying on pants, we have to get the bit where the mother is completely obsessed with there being enough room in the crotch. At no point did my mother ask about my package fitting my jeans, much less dig around in there like your hear stories about. Camon.
I've found it's hard for guys to admit publicly they're fat - I never really did it til here. We always say things like "hey hey, I'm the big guy!" or some stupid shit. But the fact is we should be saying "hey hey, I've got 7 years to live and the last person to see my dick was my mom when she was fishing around in the crotch of my Toughskins!" Big, husky, whatever, we never say we're fat. Unlike a woman, who will set their alarms earlier so they can have more time to tell everyone they see how fat they are. Is there anything better than watching two chicks whose ribs you can see trying to out-fat each other? Like watching Tito and Jermaine Jackson trying to out-brother each other. Absurd.
It's the same thing with being depressed, a dude will never come out and say "I'm depressed." Women? No problem. Well, mostly cause they all think they're 400 pounds I guess. A dude and a girl could spend the day both doing the exact same thing: laying in bed staring at the wall depressed outta their minds. Yet ask them what they did all day and you'll get two different answers.
GUY: "just some bullshit."
GIRL: "Oh god, I laid in bed all day depressed out of my mind. Cried my eyes out, ate a cake, cried for a few more hours. Oh god, I'm so depressed. Oh yeah, and don't forget I'm fat."
Probably the single-most frightening thing about tagging along with a woman while she shops is that moment when she shoves her purse on you while she goes to try something on. And by "something" I mean "every fucking thing in the store." You try to run away but next thing you know you're standing there holding a handbag in the middle of the store. And of course this is the exact moment your old high school football coach has decided "you know what, this seems like the right time to stroll through the middle of Daffy's for no particular reason" - you lock eyes on each other for a split second, he sees the handbag and barely mumbles a "I fucking knew it" while shaking his head and walking away. The ironic thing is, the more you're asked to do the hold-my-purse routine, the less likely it is you'll ever fuck this woman. It's never the husbands, or boyfriends, or bad-boy fuckbuddies that do this shit. If the girl likes you and you're fucking her, you can say "get that shit away from me!" when she tries it. Hell, she's lucky you even came along. It's always the pining dudes, the hopeless Duckys of the world who are desperatly in love enough to actually say "oh yeah, of course I'll go shopping with you!!!!" in the first place. Believe me, I learned this one the hard way.
So all things considered, yesterday was fairly painless - obviously I'm not returning anything anytime soon, since it will be months before I can fit into the jeans ayway (went with the 33 inch waist after all.) I didn't hafta try anything on, and I didn't find myself holding a handbag. Well. In public. Day 2 of clean living! Winning the battle!!
Hall of My Ass
I see that in a few minutes MLB will announced this year's Hall of Fame class. Which of course means that for the last week we've been assaulted with Goose Gossage crying and whining to get in. I'm sorry, but if after 14 years the writers haven't voted you in, maybe you don't deserve it. The whole thing is such nonsense; I just read that a few years ago Gossage had 100 fewer votes than Jim Rice, and then all of a sudden last year he had 68 MORE than Rice. During which time, if I'm correct, neither one of these men were, you know...playing baseball. So this bullshit is really up to the whims and moods of the writers et al?
One thing that's been lost is that it's the Hall of FAME, not the Hall of Let's Have Baseball Experts Analyze Your Career for The Next Decade. IE your performace should transcend the sport itself, your name should be somewhat universal. I think the test of whether or not you should be voted in should be decided by none other than Sistatime herself. Each year they should read the names of the nominees to my sister, and if she has even remotely heard of your name, you're in. Otherwise, tough doodoo.
One thing that's been lost is that it's the Hall of FAME, not the Hall of Let's Have Baseball Experts Analyze Your Career for The Next Decade. IE your performace should transcend the sport itself, your name should be somewhat universal. I think the test of whether or not you should be voted in should be decided by none other than Sistatime herself. Each year they should read the names of the nominees to my sister, and if she has even remotely heard of your name, you're in. Otherwise, tough doodoo.
We are Marshall, Part II
The problem with football movies is every head coach has to be the single most positive thinking person ever in the history of the world, each one more of a caricature than the last. They're like little wind-up leprachauns with whistles, aren't they? "You can do anything you set your mind to!" "You will be a champion today!" over and over and over, smushed amidst on-the-fly parables. Just once I'd like to see a movie where the coach is the opposite, an absolute realist. Someone who is looking at the schedule in front of the team and says out loud "Georgia? We got Georgia next week? Oh FUUUUUUUCK..."
The only example of this being, of course, the basketball coach from "Teen Wolf" in maybe the single greatest tiny role in movie history. Not only does he eat food on the bench during the games, but actually tells his team while walking on the court to start a game "don't worry guys, theis will all be over with in an hour." Awesome!
The only example of this being, of course, the basketball coach from "Teen Wolf" in maybe the single greatest tiny role in movie history. Not only does he eat food on the bench during the games, but actually tells his team while walking on the court to start a game "don't worry guys, theis will all be over with in an hour." Awesome!
We are Marshall
Watching the movie right now, and I'm not sure what I'm more incredulous about: the head coach not knowing that West Virginia, a neighboring program he's obsessed about, runs the veer offense or that one of the black players knows all the words to and sings along with "Paranoid" by Black Sabbath. Hollywood, eh? A crack up!
I've Lived Too Long
I've railed on these pages before about what an absurd hipster enclave Topps Grocery is, seemingly interested only in selling outlandishly expensive chocolates to trust fund kids and emo princes. This morning though was the topper. I showed up at after 9am, which they list as their opening time, to buy some milk. Door's locked. I look at my phone...9:08. What the fuck. Steam's coming out of my ears as three or four other people show up, and we wait together. Peering through the door, no movement inside. Unreal. Finally after a few minutes a woman comes to the door and unlocks it, and the small group of us start to surge forward when the woman cuts us off, motions us to stay outside and waves a guy in...THE FRITO-LAY GUY!!!!!!!!!!! And then she quickly shuts and locks the door behind them, leaving us outside. Before my head exploded into the atmosphere my last thought was where the fuck am I, Studio fucking 54???!! AAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Cold Water
Along with everyone else, I've spent the last few days swept up in Obamamania. It's fun, it's intoxicating...I've spent the last coupla days patting myself on the back, thinking gee, what a great country we are! So ready for change! Finally doing the right thing!
Then a few minutes ago I was slapped sober by the thought that you know, it's only been a little over 3 years since we RE-elected the whitest president ever. A president we know lied to us, a president who put us in a pretend war cause of his group of good ol' boy buddies, a president 53 million people voted for because he was "like me" or "someone I'd have a beer with." Even after his awful first term.
And I think about his poll numbers. Normally, we think of his polls at 25% and laugh "what a loser!" But thinking about that number now, it's pretty scary that after all that's gone on, there's still a QUARTER OF THE COUNTRY that likes Bush. I don't understand it, but there it is. To me, that tells me that the good ol' boy, old white man vote starts out on second base with the next election. Beyond scary.
I think about where I come from, and I know that there's no way my hometown is voting for a black man for president. Period. Obama could pass out ten-dollar bills and someone like Rudy could illegalize ice cream, and guess who's winning? And while I like to be naive about such things, I know that most of the country is like my hometown, no matter how much Scarborough/Matthews et al marvel on tv about what great Amercians we all are right now..
These thoughts are like a splash of cold water in such high times. Now I'm paranoid, now I'm thinking "is this what the GOP wants? Knowing Barack is un-electable?" Which is crazy, but weirder thoughts have happened. Anyways. I hope I'm wrong, obviously I would be thrilled if I woke up tomorrow and Obama was president. But the combination of too much patting on the back along with these thoughts make me wonder if I'm being set up.
Then a few minutes ago I was slapped sober by the thought that you know, it's only been a little over 3 years since we RE-elected the whitest president ever. A president we know lied to us, a president who put us in a pretend war cause of his group of good ol' boy buddies, a president 53 million people voted for because he was "like me" or "someone I'd have a beer with." Even after his awful first term.
And I think about his poll numbers. Normally, we think of his polls at 25% and laugh "what a loser!" But thinking about that number now, it's pretty scary that after all that's gone on, there's still a QUARTER OF THE COUNTRY that likes Bush. I don't understand it, but there it is. To me, that tells me that the good ol' boy, old white man vote starts out on second base with the next election. Beyond scary.
I think about where I come from, and I know that there's no way my hometown is voting for a black man for president. Period. Obama could pass out ten-dollar bills and someone like Rudy could illegalize ice cream, and guess who's winning? And while I like to be naive about such things, I know that most of the country is like my hometown, no matter how much Scarborough/Matthews et al marvel on tv about what great Amercians we all are right now..
These thoughts are like a splash of cold water in such high times. Now I'm paranoid, now I'm thinking "is this what the GOP wants? Knowing Barack is un-electable?" Which is crazy, but weirder thoughts have happened. Anyways. I hope I'm wrong, obviously I would be thrilled if I woke up tomorrow and Obama was president. But the combination of too much patting on the back along with these thoughts make me wonder if I'm being set up.
Monday, January 07, 2008
Back from Target Jeans Shopping
Back. Overwhelemed, whole different world out there. Met a salesman who gets his jeans custom made in Europe. Good lord. In the words of John McClaine, this was a bad day to stop drinking.
Day One of Clean Living Update
1:33pm Lunch: tuna fish. No mayo, outta the can. No muss no fuss. Tho I smell as if I had rubbed the fucking tuna all over my body, ugh. ("An improvement, you fat smelly fuck!!!" chimes the Boy.) Headin out now to meet up with the Fashion Herald to get my target jeans. "Target jeans." Christ. If my old high school football coach was dead, he'd be spinning in his grave. Ah well. To the city!!!
Still in Iowa
I usually pop a hammy springing up to agree with Sully, but this post left me wondrin. Yes, we all love to beat up on the Tog Dog, and Hillary of course is a Top Dog. She's an easy target to pile on when she loses something, whether she deserves it or not. And believe me, she's not getting my vote. But my question is, is her email correct? IS the Iowa caucus designed thusly, for "real" Democrats only? I mean, one thing I've discovered recently is that nobody really knows or understands what the hell the Iowa caucus even is or what it means. I know I don't. But I don't like Sullivan's tone here - the ol' middle finger to the establishment seems too easy here, too rote. A tone of getting what we want over getting what's right right. Dunno. Leaves me a lil not too proud to be a liberal right now.
Memories!
I've just noticed that I'm close to 1000 posts here on Xmastime. The 1000th should come sometime in February, barring of course I'm raped by a bear before then. I quickly thought "what has been Xmastime's shining moment?" and I instantly thought of this post. Mostly of course I just wanted to pat myself on the back for 2 seconds. Back to training for triathlons.
Day One of Clean Living
10:17am So far, no beer. Bowl of Cheerios for breakfast. Shoulda walked to work, but didn't have sneakers on. Will work out after work. Saw a show with Oprah's Dr. Oz yesterday, said the key was to lose inches off gut. Measured gut. Good lord. 52 inches...which basically means I could use The Barber as a belt. Sigh. Day 1!!!!!
Guilty!!!! Guilty!!!!
Another example of why we should blow this country up and start over again is the fact that we can officially drop this “innocent til proven guilty” nonsense we like to bandy about, no? As I said before, I would not be shocked if Roger Clemens is guilty. But everyone I know, everything I read, everyone’s like well, that’s it!! Guilty! He’s vehement he didn’t do it – again, why should I automatically believe the trainer over Clemens? Shouldn’t I weigh them equally until some actual proof other than “Cause I said so” makes an appearance? Christ, did we learn NOTHING from the fucking Duke rape case? Are our little brains that small, we can't take a lesson from such a short time ago?
Sunday, January 06, 2008
Fucking Christ.
The other night I commented on a girl's shirt by saying "hey, nice blouse."
"Blouse"? What the fuck? What kind of man says "blouse"? When did I become this guy? Why didn't I just say "hey, nice blouse, how many dicks do you think I can fit in my mouth?"
Gayness and nose hairs: winning the battle.
"Blouse"? What the fuck? What kind of man says "blouse"? When did I become this guy? Why didn't I just say "hey, nice blouse, how many dicks do you think I can fit in my mouth?"
Gayness and nose hairs: winning the battle.
Xmastime Makes Passes at Smoking Hot Chicks with Glasses
Is it just because I've started wearing glasses so I'm biased, or cause I've started wearing glasses I can see, but is every chick with glasses these days hot? Christ, went round the corner for a paper, saw 4 girls with glasses that are instant Mrs. Xmastimes. Killing me. Growing up, a girl wearing glasses was usually kinda automatically put on the back burner. You know, like the one Jewish family in town. Have the glasses themselves gotten hotter? Is this an "I'm getting old" thing? Man. Smitten!!!
AN OPEN LETTER TO MCDONALDS:
For fuck's sake - how bout putting the mayo on the McChicken sandwich AFTER you've fucking nuked it, not before? Fuck! You know me - I'll eat mayonnaise off the street, but I don't like it fucking boiled. Who's the wizard behind this shit?
Friday, January 04, 2008
The Manny Tapes
Every day I feed the boy in the morning, then we goof around for awhile, and then I put him down for a nap. He usually sleeps about two hours, then he gets up and we do the exact same routine again. It dawned on me today: I wonder if he thinks that's two seperate days? Great. No wonder he laughs out loud every time he watches me get paid - he thinks I'm getting half as much as I really am!
"Hahahaha! You broke ass motherfucker - I should get paid for having to hear your fucking bullshit everyday, faggot!!"
"Hahahaha! You broke ass motherfucker - I should get paid for having to hear your fucking bullshit everyday, faggot!!"
Problem with Barack Obama
Him being born in 1961, I have a real problem with Obama's age. Not that he's too young/inexperienced, but that he's only 11 years older than me. Wtf. I'm not ready for a President barely a decade older than myself - for fuck's sake, I see kids now half my age accomplishing more than I ever have; now I'm gonna constantly be reminded that some dude is only 11 years older than me and he's the President for fuck's sake? That would incringe on my right to be lazy, shiftless and completely unproductive. Not in my voting booth, sir!!!!!
How'd We Miss This?
Am I dreaming, or did Lindsay Lohan play a stripper in a movie last year and nobody noticed? How is this possible? Isn't this what we've been waiting for all these years from her? She has cameras following her every second, she eats a bagel and it's on the front page, but the second she starts dancing on a pole for a film is the moment we all happen to look away for a second? What the fuck? Lindsay Lohan as a stripper, and nobody notices? You'd think the Commissioner coulda flashed the Guts-signal up in the sky, no? Man.
Too Bad He's Such a Dipshit
From Mike Huckabee's Wikipedia entry:
Must say. That may be the single most honest thing I've ever heard someone say in public, much less a presidential candidate. Scared of reporters cause he's too fat to speak after climbing steps? Now that's fucking raw and open. Man.
Huckabee has publicly recounted his previous burdens as an overweight man: the steps of the Arkansas capitol from the entrance of the building up to the Governor's office were so long and steep that he would be out of breath and exhausted by the time he reached the top of the stairs; he secretly feared that he would be interviewed by media at the top of the steps, and that he would be unable to respond appropriately due to his overexertion and breathlessness.
Must say. That may be the single most honest thing I've ever heard someone say in public, much less a presidential candidate. Scared of reporters cause he's too fat to speak after climbing steps? Now that's fucking raw and open. Man.
Bruce du Jour
Great slice. But christ, does Bruce get NO money from the label to do these videos? "Okay Bruce, take your guitar, stand in front of the carnival...aaaaaaand...we're rolling"
Chocolate
Can we go a single day without an article coming out about how much women cream over chocolate? According to these articles, a piece of chocolate shows up and these women immediately start orgasming, tearing their jeans off to satiate themselves. What the fuck. I guess my question is that if this is true, why haven't we come up with a chocolate cologne? Wouldn't that make incredible sense? Course, I guess in that case women would wear perfume that smells like the Golden Palace of the Himilayas, if you know what I mean. Or, even better, an Arby's. I'll tell you something - a women walks into the room smelling like Arby's, she starts out on third base with me.
Iowa
I'm not surprised at all the Obama won, tho I am surprised at how far behind Hilary finished. Mostly, it's a shame that someone I deem as a worthy (and my) candidate (Edwards) is pretty much done with just because of a group of people that, as pointed out very well by the UG, are the equivalent of one dude sitting alone in Madison Square Garden. A tough pill to swallow, particularly now that it has been pointed out that Iowa really hasn't mattered since 1976. Great. Tens of millions of dollars and WEEKS AND WEEKS of time spent tapdancing with hats in hand to impress a small group of people from a seemingly randomly chosen state that nobody will hear from again until four years from now.
And now we'll be hearing more and more about having to win over the "undecideds." These people really drive me fucking crazy. How does one even register or list himself as an "undecided"? Doesn't opening your mouth to declare yourself as such imply that you've spent at least 3 seconds thinking about the candidates and issues? enuff to somehow decide you're undecided? And yet you have no opinion, you're a vaccuous canvas? Shouldn't "undecided" really mean "I can't read"? But no, these people sit back in their lazy-boys and say "sell me." Fuck you. If you can't take a few minutes to turn your brain on to try to make an informed decision about who you want running your own country, you don't deserve anyone coming around trying to think for you. If you need someone baking red velvet cake for your vote, maybe you shouldn't be voting at all.
Good for Obama though - and good lord, if it really did come down to him vs. Huckabee, I could run that campaign and win! :)
And now we'll be hearing more and more about having to win over the "undecideds." These people really drive me fucking crazy. How does one even register or list himself as an "undecided"? Doesn't opening your mouth to declare yourself as such imply that you've spent at least 3 seconds thinking about the candidates and issues? enuff to somehow decide you're undecided? And yet you have no opinion, you're a vaccuous canvas? Shouldn't "undecided" really mean "I can't read"? But no, these people sit back in their lazy-boys and say "sell me." Fuck you. If you can't take a few minutes to turn your brain on to try to make an informed decision about who you want running your own country, you don't deserve anyone coming around trying to think for you. If you need someone baking red velvet cake for your vote, maybe you shouldn't be voting at all.
Good for Obama though - and good lord, if it really did come down to him vs. Huckabee, I could run that campaign and win! :)
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Tonight's TV Listing of the Night
Emeril Live: Pat Benatar joins Emeril to make healthy versions of some classic dishes.
What?
What?
The Manny Tapes
I’ve noticed that when I’m with the boy on the train, the speed of said train is in direct proportion to the boy’s behavior. If he’s sitting placidly, quietly looking around giving the ladies the goo-goo eyes which lures them into my own web of seduction, the fucking train hurtles down the track like it’s me at the Pizza Hut buffet when the meat lovers pizzas come out. Fucking a, we get to our stop so quickly I’m almost disappointed, since for once he’s quiet and not bothering anyone so I’m able to relax and take a breath. BUT. If he starts chirping, if he starts squealing and bitching or crying, well well well whaddya know, the fucking thing slows to a goddam crawl. As the passengers around me get annoyed and give me dirty looks cause the kid’s shouting, you can almost hear the train going “hhhhheeeeeeeeeey, what’s this, Xmastime in awkward situation…let’s slow this thing down, see what happens!” Fucking a. Grrrrr!
On a side note, it does actually pay to be a dude when bringing a baby on the train. If you’re the mother, people expect you to be some sort of miracle worker, juggling 4 kids on your lap while baking a soufflé and inventing Soduko – if one of those kids squeaks out one peep, everyone gets bitchy and rolls their eyes etc. But a dude, hell, everyone’s mildly surprised you’re even able to put pants on the kid before bringing him outside. When the kid starts chirpin you can put on your harangued, beleagured “oh my god im so fucked” face and everyone gives you a pass, just thankful the kid’s still fucking alive. “Poor bastard” they think “gee whiz, poor guy, look at him, doing his best. God bless him.” One for the dudes!!
"Hahahahaaha! Xmastime, your next stop should be the boneyard, you fat stupid fuck!!!"
On a side note, it does actually pay to be a dude when bringing a baby on the train. If you’re the mother, people expect you to be some sort of miracle worker, juggling 4 kids on your lap while baking a soufflé and inventing Soduko – if one of those kids squeaks out one peep, everyone gets bitchy and rolls their eyes etc. But a dude, hell, everyone’s mildly surprised you’re even able to put pants on the kid before bringing him outside. When the kid starts chirpin you can put on your harangued, beleagured “oh my god im so fucked” face and everyone gives you a pass, just thankful the kid’s still fucking alive. “Poor bastard” they think “gee whiz, poor guy, look at him, doing his best. God bless him.” One for the dudes!!
"Hahahahaaha! Xmastime, your next stop should be the boneyard, you fat stupid fuck!!!"
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