OK, folks. This is officially the FINAL post on this blog. I've completely moved into the new crib over on http://darkdamian.wordpress.com, and won't be updating this guy anymore. Please update your links. In about 3 weeks, I'll be deleting this blog completely. Update them links, or be left wondering where I went. I'm serious. You think I'm gonna leave this nasty, gangrene, staph-infected blog up and running, while my new hotness is keeping me warm? Think again. So - follow me to the promised land. And bring me something to eat when you get there. ni-GAH! Peace.|
Damn, folks! A brotha takes a break, and you'd think the Colts won the Super Bowl or something. Settle!
I'm still here.
I've missed you all, but since none of you pay me to do this, it had to take a back seat (heh - I said "back seat") to my other responsibilities for a li'l bit. And though I'm still pretty busy and don't have time to give you a REAL post, I do have this little tidbit for you:
My new blog is up.
(cue cheering and throwing of bacon in my general direction)
I'm still working on it, so I'm still not quite ready to take her out of dry dock just yet, but feel free to stop on by and have a look around. http://darkdamian.wordpress.com
Wordpress' import feature finally allowed me to pull in my Blogger posts, which made my job somewhat easier. I still have to go into each post and apply the proper category to it, and I think I have to enable comments on all of them, so if you find that you can't comment yet, sit tight - I'm slowly plowing through my posts, from oldest to newest. Hey, HDW - I bet you know a thing or two about plowing, what with all the snow in Denver. Just remember: if you guys have to resort to cannibalism, black people taste like chicken and bad credit.
So. Check me out, and keep checking out Squirrel, Please. I'm having a ball coming up with ideas for that strip. And y'all, I'm TRYING to accommodate the numerous requests for inclusion, which mostly sound like "I wanna be in the strip!" or "I swear to God, I will beat you if you don't make me a character", but I'm limited by the options I'm given on the site where I make 'em, and since I'm no graphic artist, it's tough for me to just invent and draw shit. I'm good with words, not pictures. So if you don't see a character for you, don't feel bad.
You can, however, bribe me.
OK - back to the grindstone, folks. Those paychecks don't sign themselves. Take care, and update your links accordingly. You will see me very soon.
Hide your wallets.
This will most likely be one of my last posts on Blogger, because when I logged in today, it FORCED me to convert my blog to the new version, something I didn't want to do. So you know what? I'm out. I'm moving Almost Infamous over to WordPress, where I already have my newest creation, Squirrel, Please. I'll probably be out of commission for a while, because there's no easy way to move a new Blogger account over - it'll have to be done manually. And it'll likely mean I'll lose all my comments, which sucks mucho assholio, but what can I do? I was fine being on old Blogger, but when they forced me to change, that was that. It's gonna require a completely retooled template and sidebar, and it just THRILLS ME to have to do all that over again. Can you feel the level of my pisstivity? Mad thanks to Robin Harris for coming up with that word. I'm at DEFCON 4 right now over this shit. So stay tuned. I'll post my new blog address here once its up and running. For those of you who liked the comic strips, Squirrel, Please is where you can find the latest ones. Y'all take care, and I'll holla atcha on the flip-flop. Peace.|
Straight to it today, mi gente. I got no time to waste, and a new blog to work on. Enjoy! -------------- PHOENIX – A 29-year-old convicted sex offender from Oklahoma apparently conned two Arizona men into believing he was a 12-year-old boy, then moved into their home and had an ongoing sexual relationship, sheriff's officials in Yavapai County said Friday. The ruse was discovered Wednesday after one of the men tried to enroll the fake 12-year-old in a charter school in Chino Valley, about 90 miles northwest of Phoenix, using the name Casey Price. School officials became suspicious and called deputies, telling them the guardianship papers and birth certificate presented by a man who said he was the 12-year-old's grandfather appeared fake and that "Price" looked much older than 12, said Susan Quayle, a spokeswoman for the Yavapai County Sheriff's Office. "They were very upset when the detectives told them they had been having a sexual relationship with a 29-year-old man and not a preteen boy," Ms. Quayle said, referring to the two men. Sheriff's detectives investigating the case learned that the "grandfather" was Lonnie Stiffler, 61, who lived in Chino Valley with Robert James Snow, 43, a sex offender who failed to register with authorities, and the man claiming to be 12. Deputies served a search warrant at the home Thursday and found Mr. Stiffler, Mr. Snow, Brian J. Nellis, 34, and the phony preteen boy, who turned out to be Neil Havens Rodreick II, 29. Oklahoma Department of Corrections online records show that Mr. Rodreick was convicted in 1996 of a lewd and indecent proposal to a minor and served time in prison from 1996 to 2002. The records show that Mr. Nellis was convicted in 1997 of lewd molestation and was imprisoned from 1997 to 2000. According to detectives, Mr. Stiffler and Mr. Snow said they met Mr. Rodreick through an Internet chat about two years ago, Ms. Quayle said, and they began trading sexually explicit photos. He convinced them he was "Casey Price" and was only 12, the men said. Mr. Stiffler and Mr. Snow went to Oklahoma and met Mr. Rodreick at a hotel, then brought him back to live with them in Arizona and began a sexual relationship, Ms. Quayle said. Mr. Rodreick apparently shaved his body hair and used makeup to keep up his guise, Ms. Quayle said. He also dressed as a juvenile and tried to act and talk like a preteen. "He looks young; I would not have guessed that he's almost 30," Ms. Quayle said, but added that he certainly looked much older than 12. When detectives unraveled the case and told Mr. Stiffler and Mr. Snow that "Price" was named Rodreick and was, in fact, 29, Ms. Quayle said, they expressed dismay and anger that they had been "conned." Mr. Nellis was apparently Mr. Rodreick's cellmate in an Oklahoma prison, Ms. Quayle said. Detectives have evidence that Mr. Stiffler and Mr. Snow enrolled Mr. Rodreick in other Arizona schools, possibly in Payson, El Mirage and Prescott Valley. "I think what we're looking at is that he's being used to troll for other kids," Ms. Quayle said. All but Mr. Stiffler are being held in lieu of $50,000 bond each on a charge of failing to register as a sex offender. Mr. Stiffler was booked on two counts of forgery and one count of hindering prosecution and ordered held in lieu of a $100,000 cash bond. "We can't charge them with child molesting because he [Mr. Rodreick] was not a child," Ms. Quayle said. "This is the weirdest case I've seen in 18 years," Ms. Quayle said. "Even the detectives said it was the weirdest. If it wasn't so sad, it would be funny." HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA! (breathe) HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! Mr. Stiffler. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! OK, OK. I'm OK now. WHEW! This story technically isn't funny at all - these two scumbags had every intent to keep a 12 year old captive as their sexual slave, and wanted to use him to lure other kids to them. But my GOD - how do you mistake a 29 year old man for a 12 year old boy? Granted, they said he looked young or whatever, and shaves his body hair, but still. Wouldn't the extra beard hairs in the Norelco be a clue? Or the Maybelline makeup on the sink? (Maybe he's born with it. MAYBE IT's MAYBENOT!) It's sick shit, and they need to be put UNDER the jail. But the law's right...technically (there's that word again), they aren't pedophiles. The guy was a grown-ass man. But here's the rub, folks: if I buy a bag of oregano from a cop, thinking it was pot, I'd still get arrested because I INTENDED to buy pot, regardless of the fact that I actually got a delicious spice instead. Then again, if a COP poses as a 12 year old and a sick-ass child molesting motherfucker comes along and tries to scoop 'em up, they get arrested, so maybe it's only when the police initiates it. Either way, they need to be released into general population as soon as they get to jail, with big signs around their necks that say "He was 29, but I thought he was 12". Now, the other side of this equation is this even SICKER 29 year old man who pretended to be fucking TWELVE, down to shaving, wearing some age-defying makeup (probably Oil of Olay, since they make good shit), and dressing the part. This man needs some serious help. If you're gay, that's fine. Each person lives his/her life in the manner they see fit. But couldn't he get a date? Couldn't he find that special someone who knew he was a grown-ass man, but let him play Dress Up every so often? What type of psychological damage must a person have to WANT to act like not just a 12 year old, but a 12 year old who enjoys sex with OLD MEN? Sick bastards, all of 'em. I hope they all get the gout. ----------------- TALLAHASSEE, Fla.-- A hunter's wife got a huge surprise in Tallahassee, Fla., when the duck killed" by her husband two days earlier raised its head and looked at her. The duck had been in the woman's refrigerator for two days, Noni Beck of the Goose Creek Wildlife Sanctuary told the Tallahassee (Fla.) Democrat. "It's just kind of freaky," Beck said. Laina Whipple of the receptionist at the Killearn Animal Hospital said the hunter's daughter brought the 1-pound, dark-brown female duck in Tuesday. The man's wife "was going to check on the refrigerator because it hadn't been working right," Whipple said, "and when she opened the door, it looked up at her. "She freaked out and told the daughter to take it to the hospital right then and there." The duck -- shot in the wing and leg -- has a 75 percent chance of surviving, a doctor at the sanctuary said. See this? This right here is why I don't hunt. And I'll tell you this much - if some wild animal I thought was dead looked up at ME, I'm a vegetarian, right there. On. The. Spot. I bet she left out the best part of the story, when she took the duck to the animal hospital: the conversation. Oh yes. I'm doing it. Lady: "Damn fridge never works. I swear to Go-" Duck: "*ahem*" Lady: "..." Duck: "I said *AHEM*! Do you not SEE me up in here, heffa?" Lady: "I... I... I..." Duck: "Well, I didn't know you had THREE of 'em, but you humans never cease to amaze me, you dumb bastards. Where's that punk who popped a cap in me?" Lady: "Oh Jesus. Oh sweet baby Jesus. He's at work." Duck: "Well, we wouldn't wanna disturb him while he's emptying those trash cans, now would we?" Lady: "You...you're supposed to be dead." Duck: "And you're supposed to be pretty, so I guess we both lose." Lady: "How are you ALIVE?" Duck: "Same as you - luck. You were supposed to be a stain on a sheet at a Days Inn in Savannah." Lady: "You are awful! Get out of my fridge!" Duck: "Tell you what - take me to the hospital, and I won't tell Bubba about the 'special' brownies down in the corner there." Lady: "...Deal." ------------------- HILTON ISLAND, S.C. A man was charged with public disorderly conduct in Hilton Island, S.C. after being observed "in a physical confrontation with shrubs" by a deputy. The Beaufort County Detention Center's online log said the 23-year-old man, whose name was not released, smelled of alcohol and was taken to the detention center to await prosecution, the Hilton Head Island Packet reported. The deputy that took the man in said he was responding to a complaint the man had attempted to get into someone else's car. When the deputy arrived on the scene the man allegedly had moved on to beating the vegetation. The police report said the man ran across the street to get in one last kick on a bush before talking to police. Guess he wasn't beating around the bush. Or maybe he was! I'm sorry, I HAD to make that joke. Union rules. What the hell did that bush do to him? Did he think it was George W. Bush? I think I might condone his actions if that's the case. His thought process must be a lot like mine: "Damn, my keys don't work. Fuckin' keys. Wait, I like keys. I really like Alicia Keys. She's hot. Hot like FIIIIIIIIIIIRE! BOW BOW BOW! I love that song. 'Osmosis Jones', bitch! HAHAHAHA! Hmm, who sang backup on that Prince song, "My Computer?" Ohhhhh yeah, Kate Bush. Yeah. Bush. I really hate Bush. There he is now, the fucker. DON'T YOU RUN FROM ME, PRESIDENT FOLIAGE!!!!" And when you go to the lockup after attacking shrubbery, you can't tell that to the dudes in there for assault and battery, oh no. You have to say this: "Yeah, I fucked bush UP tonight, man." When he sobered up, and the cops told him why he was in there, do you think they even bothered to stifle their laughter? You'd think the police in Hilton Head would have better things to do, like make all the black people leave the island. Peace.|
I need your honest opinion. I'm digging making these comic strips. It's fun and easy, and I love the challenge of trying to be funny in three panels (as opposed to the War and Peace type dialog I usually use for comedic purposes). If you like them too, let me know, and I'll either make them a regular feature, or break them off into their own blog. Be honest. If it's not funny, tell me - I can take it. I just wanna know if it's something I should continue sharing with the class ('cause I'll keep making them, if only for my own amusement). The strip is called Squirrel, Please. It stars Malcolm the ghetto squirrel and his gang of misfits. I wanna know What you're thinking. There are some things you can't hide. I wanna know What you're feeling. Tell me what's on you mind. (God bless you, Information Society.) Peace.|
Yeah, yeah, I know I haven't posted in while. But gimme a break, it was a holiday, right? Martin Luther King Week. I was chillin' like a villain, I know that's right. What? What's that you say? It's actually Martin Luther King DAY? Not week? Oops. Well, at least I'm well rested. In all seriousness, my black ass has been BUSY this week. I even started a diatribe on Wednesday, only to get too busy to finish it. Then yesterday, when I had 4 minutes to get a flow going (it's all about the flow. If I don't feel it, I don't write), my PC crashed - BEFORE I could save a draft of my extremely funny shit. Suffice it to say that I didn't feel very funny after that, and though I tried to recreate my comedy, it was just gone. So I said "Fuck this 'tribe" and went on about my bidness. But I realize that some of you have been coming back every day, looking for a little somethin' somethin' to get you through the day. And though I'm not gonna diatribe (that ship has sailed for this week. Sorry), it'll be something for you to gnaw on while I prep for next week. So get to gnawin'. Now. Ever been in a focus group? I hadn't, until Wednesday night. Before then, focus groups were, to me, insane little gatherings of people who decided the path of some very important products and services. My opinion was that the people who went there were either dolts, or only had cats for company, or really loved stale coffee. Boy, was I ever wrong. I was wronger (new word) than that time when I thought 14 year old hands were strong enough to stop a moving motor vehicle that was hurtling toward me, doing 360s all the way. I was VERY wrong then, lemme tell you. But this time, it was worse because I misjudged the people who went there. They didn't go out of boredom or for the taste of day-old Folger's crystals. They went for the cash. Oh yes, this was a PAID focus group. My opinion was officially for sale, and the asking price for 2 hours of my precious time was $100. I called the folks, answered the bullshit questions, and I was informed that I got the last available slot for the focus group that would be discussing...video games. Are you KIDDING me? Video games? That'd be like Micheal Jordan attending a basketball focus group, or Andy Dick attending one about dickheads or bad actors or unfunny men or attention whores or men who smoke pole to succeed in Hollywood. Not that there's anything wrong with pole-smoking. So when I found out I was in there like swimwear, I was thrilled. Wednesday night, I get down there, and they gather all of us around a table in a big room. The people were: Moderator (MOD): The guy running things. Lhasa Apso Mom (LAM): Nice lady, looked just like the breed of dog. Not kidding. Obnoxious New York Mom (ONYM): She lives in The Colony! She has TWO media rooms! Her daughter is #2 in the country in figure skating in her age group! Blah blah fucking blah. Family Guy (FG): Called so because he looked just like Peter Griffin. He didn't say much. Slow-Talker (ST): I hated him. He didn't say much, either. It took him 10 minutes to give us his damn name. Sista Girl Mom (SGM): She was the other black person there, and very nice. Loud Man (LM): Married, one kid, kept trying to sell us all cell phones. Country Boy (CB): Very nice guy. Nothing bad to say about him. And of course, me. As we progressed through the questions, several things came to light. First of all, the focus group WASN'T about video games, per se. It was about a large chain of video and rental stores, the name of which I promised not to give, but I'll give you a hint: it may or may not rhyme with "cockduster". The second thing was that some of these people were clearly insane. Check it: Mod: So, ST, tell me about the gaming habits in your household. ST: Weeeeeellllllllll....I tell you whaaaaaaaaaaaat....I reckon my son... he's 17, you know...growin' right up, he is...I can remember when he was fiiiiiiiiiiiive, and he fell dooooooooown in the yaaaaaaaaaaaard one timmmmmme....funniest dang thing you'll ever seeeeeee- Mod: Uh, thank you, ST. What about you, ONYM? ONYM: Well, I buy my kids a game at least once or twice a week. Group: HUH? A WEEK? ONYM: Yep. 1 or 2 a week. I LOVE having a big library of games and movies. Every Tuesday I go to Wal-Mart and buy the new releases, even if I don't like 'em or don't know what they are. I just HAVE to have them. And it's no big deal, 'cause the kids have their OWN media room - and it's HUGE - and they keep their stuff there, and in OUR media room - Mod: THANK you, ONYM. LM: I BUY GAMES WHENEVER I WANT BECAUSE MY DAUGHTER IS ONLY 5 MONTHS OLD AND SHE CAN'T PLAY GAMES BUT I DO AND I LIKE GEARS OF WAR BECAUSE I CAN SHOOT STUFF DOES ANYONE NEED A NEXTEL PHONE? FG: *sigh* ST: Yoooooooooou buy gaaaaaaaaaaaaaames every weeeeeeeeeeeek? Wellllllll, I tell you whaaaaaaat - Mod: THANK you, ST and LM. LAM: My kids get games on birthdays and Christmas. Period. Me, CB, and SGM: Same here. ONYM: But why would you DENY them their games like that? Just get 'em when they come out! They're only $50 or $60, it's not that big a deal. We have a Playstation 2, an XBox 360, a regular Xbox, a Wii, and a Nintendo DS for each kid. By the way, I have a masters in chemical engineering, and I'm a stay at home mom. FG: *sigh* ST: Weeeelllllll- Mod: THANK YOU, EVERYONE. And so it went. At the end of the group, we each got $100 cash. We all rode the elevator together, and I was scheming on how I could do this again, when SGM asked "Is it true that we have to wait 6 months before doing thing again?" And everyone threw their head back and laughed like they do on TV. LAM said "Hell no! I'll be back in here next week, doing another one. Just tell 'em you haven't done one in 6 months. They don't keep track." SGM beamed, and I did too. Slow Talker started to say something, but the elevator doors opened before he could get 2 syllables out. Y'all, that's easy money right there. Do that shit. Peace. Cartoon Edit: I'm laughing my ass off here. Look what I made. Get better soon, Pirate.|
MLK's "I Have A Dream" speech. If you haven't read it...you should. Celebrate today, and what it stands for. Look around you and realize that, though we still have miles to go, we've come a long way. Remember the dream. -----------------
"I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.
"Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.
"But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.
"In a sense we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
"It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check — a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quick sands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.
"It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.
"But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.
"We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny and their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.
"As we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied, as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We can never be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.
"I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.
"Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.
"I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
"I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."
"I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
"I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
"I have a dream today.
"I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.
"I have a dream today.
"I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.
"This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
"This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."
"And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!
"Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!
"Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California!
"But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!
"Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!
"Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.
"And when this happens, When we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"|
Oh. My. God. I had heard rumors about this show, whispered quietly in corridors, far from the reach of caring ears. Eyes looked left and right before uttering the words, fearing reprisals from anyone within listening range who has any sense of decency and good quality television programming. "Yo man, you heard about that show?" Yes. I had indeed heard about it, but I thought it was just rumors and innuendo. But last night, around 1am, I was randomly flipping channels while avoiding the concept of going to bed, when I ran across it, and I couldn't believe my eyes. It exists. The (White) Rapper Show. Now, the simple fact that this cancellation waiting to happen was even on the air was enough for me to tune in, but as I watched, I noticed something peculiar. No, not that they're all white. I got that from the title. Give me SOME credit. As the the wannabe rappers were all lined up, getting talked to by MC Serch from 3rd Bass (and to be real about it, I LOVED 3rd Bass back in the day. "Gas Face" was the damn BOMB. Word to the 3rd), I noticed that one of the rappers was wearing a shirt that looked aswfully damned familiar. In my travels with my band, I've encountered many other bands around the Metroplex (AKA the greater Dallas/Fort Worth area. Memorize that). The shirt the rapper was wearing was one for the band Pimpadelic, whom we've played with numerous times. Pimpadelic is notorious for their live shows, which back in the day included naked women performing lewd and lascivious and delicious sexual acts on each other on stage, blatant visible drug use, and other wild-ass activities. They are quite well-known around here, so when I saw the shirt, I recognized it immediately. It struck me as odd, though...Pimpadelic is a southern rock/Kid Rock style band, that uses some chicken-fried rap with its David Allen Coe worship. I respect them, 'cause they've been around a while and have made a name for themselves, but they are NOT the type of band one would associate with hardcore rap. As I looked closer, I immediately knew why that guy was wearing the shirt. And I laughed like a fucking banshee. He used to BE in Pimpadelic! I KNOW THAT GUY! His stage name is 100 Proof. Rumor has it that one night over in Ft. Worth, Pimpadelic was playing a show at one of the better venues there, when the lead singer, for some unknown reason (*coughnosecandycough*) took it upon himself to fire Proof and another band member -- right in the middle of the show. While they were still on stage. For reasons unknown to this day, other than they somehow pissed the lead singer off. He's about as stable as a bowl of jell-o being carried by a Parkinson's sufferer during an earthquake. I don't know Proof intimately, but I've witnessed some of his...activities. And he doesn't seem to embody the essence of real underground rap, not to me at least. I leave room for correction, though...perhaps this show will prove me completely wrong. But I laughed last night when Serch told him his rhymes weren't complex enough. He managed to stay on one more week, since the guy who got kicked off decided not to write any rhymes at all during the elimination phase, basically guaranteeing his departure. Serch screamed at him and cursed him for taking up a slot that some other person would've killed for, and then screamed at the people who DID right rhymes to bring it ever week, or else. This show is a train wreck, full of people vying to become the next Eminem. spitting rhymes I could write half-asleep and after a dose of Vicodin. Say, that can be my rap name. Vicodin. Big Vike rockin' the big mic, turn off the light 'cause you know my shit is tight. Nah. I'll stick to rock. Peace.|
YOOOOOO! It's that time again, y'all. Time to point out human fallibility, to showcase the error of free will, to demonstrate that mankind is just a half-step up from apes, and a whole lotta folks trip over that step on the way up. Did you see where Bush wants to send more troops to Iraq? Let's hope that they get flak jackets, holsters, and other vital life-saving equipment that a lot of current soldiers lack. Families are having to scrape money together just to buy their sons and daughters bullet-proof vests. That shit ain't right. One of these days I'm going to rant about that. But not today. Today we celebrate people who DON'T serve our country. We celebrate that unique class of underachieving people whom I call: The Idiotocracy. Jot that down. Let's 'tribe. ---------------------- MORGAN, Pa. - A high school English teacher and semifinalist for the 2007 Pennsylvania Teacher of the Year Award resigned after police said an underage drinking party was held in her basement. Christine Kosik resigned from South Fayette High School on Friday, according to district Superintendent Linda Hippert. Kosik and her husband, John, were charged with corruption of minors for the Dec. 30 party, which was attended by 40 to 50 teens, South Fayette Township Police Chief Louis Volle said. Police believe someone else brought alcohol to the house, but said the Kosiks were responsible for the party because they were home at the time. Police were called when the party became unruly. About 30 teens, including the Kosiks' 17-year-old son, were cited for underage drinking that night, police said. Kosik referred comments to her attorney, Romel L. Nicholas, who said she was not forced to resign. Kosik was not aware of drinking at the party, and she did not encourage, sanction or allow it in any way, Nicholas said. "There is a component in this case of minors sneaking in or bringing in alcohol without her knowledge," Nicholas told The Associated Press on Tuesday. I'm sending this out to all the teachers out there. My mom was a teacher, as was my maternal grandmother and both paternal grandparents. I've been around teachers my entire life. Teachers, there's a simple rule of thumb to follow which will stop all y'all from getting into the jams you're finding yourselves in so much. Ready? Here it is: stop hanging out with your students. It's simple. Don't. Hang. Out. With. Your. Kids. You wanna be their friends? Fine. Do it in class, or wait until they're not your students anymore. Do not erase that student/teacher barrier. I won't deny that befriending them makes you more effective in your job, but it's hard to DO your job when you're at home watching "The Price Is Right" instead of monitoring lunch, just because you thought you'd try to be "cool" and show the kids how "hip" and "with it" you are. Go to school, cram some education in their thick skulls, and go hang out with adults. Back when I was in grade school, you NEVER heard about teachers banging students, or teachers giving 'em liquor or pot, or hosting wild parties at their house. Hell, we didn't even know our teachers' first names! Teachers either had the first name of Mister or Missus, or maybe Miss. We didn't know where they lived. We didn't know what kind of music they liked. We didn't know if they watched "The Dukes Of Hazzard" last Friday night. They maintained that professional distance that's required in order for them to remain objective and provide the best education to ALL the kids. Let's get real. Are the teachers befriending ALL the kids? Probably not. I'm sure there's a Harold or a Melinda in the class who isn't very social, and that kid is getting JUST as left out as always, only this time it's sanctioned by the reigning authority figure. I have a friend who is a teacher, and she works HARD to make sure that, no matter how fond she is of a kid or group of kids, she doesn't cross that line until after they graduate. And even then, she proceeds with caution, knowing that they still might have friends in her school. Does she really need her kids knowing that she likes to drink beer and party? Hells to the no. It's none of their business, and only undermines the precariously thin authority she has over them. Teachers, go to school, teach, and go home. Let the kids be stupid on their own. I once had my MOTHER as a teacher. Try getting HER to give you some Crown and Coke. ------------ JANUARY 9--Eager to try out a new prescription for the erectile dysfunction drug Cialis, a couple in their fifties is facing indecent exposure charges after they were caught having sex on a balcony at a family resort in South Carolina. William McGinn, 57, and Patricia Scott, 53, were arrested Saturday afternoon when other vacationers at the Breakers Resort spotted them engaging in a variety of sex acts on their third-floor balcony, according to a Myrtle Beach Police Department report. One witness told cops that McGinn and Scott ignored requests that they take it inside, away from the view of guests, including children. When police confronted the couple, they claimed that onlookers were just "jealous," adding that if other guests "did not want to see them, then they didn't have to look." McGinn told officers that he had just received his Cialis prescription and, "he and Scott were in love." As she was being placed in a patrol car, Scott complained to one cop that she and McGinn were "just f**king" and "didn't see the problem." McGinn and Scott were booked into the Myrtle Beach Police Department jail. Ah, my home town. There just so much wrongness here. Let's begin.
I have 3 dogs. And just like people, all three are completely different. Rocky is the oldest. He's a Germand Shephard/wolf mix, black and tan, about 80 pounds, and a wonderful dog. Max is the middle mutt, a shar-pei/chow mix, all brown, about 40 pounds, and dumber than Pauly Shore asking Anna Nicole Smith directions to Harvard. And then there's Nicky. Nicky is the youngest. She's a mutt of unknown breed or lineage, though we suspect she's got some pit bull in her somewhere. She's about 25 pounds of short white fur, and by far, she's the most ill-mannered, undisciplined, Houdini escape artist dog we have. She was acquired by DWW back in 2004 after she wandered into our yard, dirty and stinking, and basically made herself at home. At the time we already had 3 dogs, and I really wasn't wanting to add to the brood, but DWW (bless her heart) is an animal person, through and through. At one time, we had 9 cats and 4 dogs, in addition to several beta fish. Granted, the cats were indoor/outdoor, but still. The house was like a scene from "Dr. Dolittle", with all the animal traffic. Now, I'm not a cat person at all, but I tolerated them all. One by one, they all passed away (and no, I had nothing to do with it, 'cause even though I'm not keen on them, I wouldn't hurt them either), including one of the dogs, leaving us with our current kennel count. I was overruled on my opinion of the dog, and she came to join our family. And the trouble with her started immediately. Apparently she had been abused earlier in her life, because whenever I would try to pet her or touch her to attach a leash, she'd either run, crouch in fear and whimper, or try to bite me. But only ME, leading me to believe that her abuser was a man, or that the little white bitch was racist. She even managed to bite me a couple of times, and it's a testament to my self-control that she's still alive today after that. She immediately began a struggle for domination with the other female dog we had, causing us to keep them separate at all times. At night she would jump over the barricade we used to keep the dogs in the kitchen (at that house, we had a 4 foot fence that enclosed about a 1/2 acre, giving the dogs plenty of room to run around and exercise. Apparently that wasn't quite enough room for Nicky. Soon after letting her out into the great expanse of the backyard, the dog showed one of her most endearing traits: the ability to leap over fences like a gazelle. For a while we couldn't figure out how she was escaping...we never saw her do it, and there were no holes dug under the chain link fence. We'd put her out, and 4 minutes later we'd see her running across the front yard like there was a steak on a string dangling in front of her. To me, this was bliss. Maybe she'd just keep on running one day, I hoped. Alas, she always found her way home. I tried trying her up to a chain, something I hated, but she actually chewed THROUGH a coated wire chain, and when I moved to a link chain, she figured out how to get out of her collar. We bought a kennel for her to sleep in at night (which she learned to escape from), so we resorted to using it during the day when we went to work. More than once we came home to find the trash completely scattered througout the house, and the litterbox strangely devoid of catshit. This dog was not allowed to lick us in the face. When we moved, the dog moved with us (despite my suggestion to just drive halfway to the new place, let the dog out to "pee", then drive the fuck off). But I was ready for her. The new (old) house has a 6 foot privacy fence. No way will Nickademous jump THAT bad boy. When I threw her into the back yard for the first time, I waited by the sliding glass door, crouched over like a 3rd base coach, giggling to myself. I wanted to see her hit that fence broadside, land on her back, look at it like it betrayed her, and then go lay down in the grass with the other two dogs. I waited for this moment like a kid waits for Christmas. That moment never came. She didn't even go NEAR the fence at first. I was silently urging her to just SNIFF it, but nope. She was happy. After a while, I gave up. I mean, I had WON, sure, but she denied me that sweetest part of victory - the humiliation of the defeated. I left her there, and went about my business. When I checked on her a little while later...she was gone. GONE. I ran into the back yard, expecting to find her hiding behind the riding lawn mower (not working) or just being out of my range of vision. No, this bitch was simply not there. It was as though she threw down some ninja smoke and vanished into thin air. I went outside the fence to look for her, and before long she came back. I checked the fence for any gaps or holes, and finding none, I let her back into the backyard. Maybe I had left the gate open, I thought. No way she jumped. That's a 6 foot fence. This scene repeated itself over and over for the next couple of weeks, until one day, I decided to just sit and watch her. Eventually, when she thought no one was looking (I'm serious. She was all looking over her shoulder like a drug dealer near a police station), she took a running start toward the fence, hunched down, and launched herself toward the top of the fence. "No way she clears that," I said. And I was right. She didn't clear it. But she did land right on the tip-top of it, and perched there for a few seconds like some big-ass canary with fur, then gracefully jumped 6 feet down to the ground. I was flabbergasted. Never in my life had I seen a dog be able to do anything like that. Here's a graphical representation of what I saw. And pay special attention to the beautiful imagery, the clean lines, and the overall craftsmanship and artistry of this representaion. I know, I know. Try not to gush over my Piccaso-like drawing ability. Or is it more like Monet? No matter. And I know the dog looks like an aardvark. Shut up; it's called 'artistic license'. One day, while she was in her pre-jump wind-up, I sprinted outside to catch her. She got to the top of the fence, then looked back at me as if to say "I"m going to lunch now. Please leave your name with my secretary, Max. Goodbye for now." And she was gone. Once I actually managed to catch her before she could jump to the other side. I grabbed her off the top of the fence, and tossed her to the ground. Oh, quit worrying. She landed on her feet. She feared me, since I was obviously the master of gravity, and for a while she didn't jump. But like that contented feeling you get after eating a warm chocolate chip cookie, it wore off. This dog has continued to defy every attempt to contain her. And where does she go once she's jumped the fence? She goes across the street to the apartment complex, and climbs into the dumpster looking for treats. Whenever she escapes, she comes home dragging a trash bag full of God-knows-what, and tears it all to be damned across the yard. "So why don't you just leave her in the house, Damian?" I hear you asking this. When we leave her in the house, she jumps on the counter and eats any stray dishes or silverware or tupperware or ANYTHING available to her. She also destroys the trash, and takes shits the size of a Chevy Equinox in the living room. We put a gate up in the hallway, but she just jumps it. If we lock her in the garage, she destroys the boxes in there. When we put her in the kennel, she CHEWED her way out. The kennel is made of steel, people, and she chewed hard enough to bend the bars. If we lock her in another room, she claws the door and eats whatever's available to her, up to and including clothing, bedding, trash, toys, electronics, or anything else. Tying her on a chain only caused her to choke herself near death to get out of the collar. And in addition to jumping, she's also helped to chew holes in the wooden fence, with dumb-ass Max as her lackey. The only thing that works is putting her in the kennel, but outside with the other dogs. And only if the door of the kennel is pressed tight up against a wall. We have to walk her on a leash to make her go to the bathroom now, but the damn dog is so dainty that she doesn't like to touch the grass with her feet, so she stays on the sidewalk almost the entire time. This morning, I walked her in the 30 degree weather clear around the block, only to have her pee just one time - right before we got back to the house. This dog is the devil. But the kids love her, so she stays. She better hope she never pisses them off, though. She'll be gone like "Nash Bridges". Peace.|
Oh, it feels SO good to diatribe again! It's like I was missing something for the last couple of weeks...something vital, something sacred, something important. The need to talk shit proved to be strong in me, and it forced me to sit down and crank out what you people love so much. I used to wonder if eventually I'd run out of things to say about the stories I give you, but then I remembered:
I write about people.
Stupid people, mostly.
Stupid people are in endless supply.
My material basically writes itself.
I'll be fine.
Y'all ready to get this show on the road? Let's roll out, then. Pass the dutchie on the lefthand side.
(From Toledoblade.com) A man was retrieved from a vacant home early this morning in North Toledo after a section of a porch roof collapsed on him. The man, Marvin Dixon, 41, later died at St. Vincent Mercy Medical Center. Neighbors reported hearing the man scream and called authorities about 4:35 a.m. By the time the first crew got on scene, he was unconscious, authorities said. According to a Lucas County Coroner's report, Mr. Dixon was trying to steal iron supports from the home at 1127 Sherman St. at the time of the accident.
Life Imitates Cartoons. There's a Darwin Award with Mr. Dixon's name already scrawled on it in Sharpie. How. Stupid. Who WOULDN'T KNOW that if you steal support beams, whatever they SUPPORT will then be UNSUPPORTED, and might, just might, fall on your fucking head? What was he gonna do, throw his head back and blow real hard to keep the roof aloft? And who the hell steals iron supports, from a house, at 4:30 in the damn morning? The gene pool thanks you, Mr. Dixon. You have saved us the cost of your trial, and the cost of keeping your dumb ass fed and housed for however many years you would've gotten. Let's face it, Mr. Dixon - you would've been caught, and you would've been convicted. Because you were stupid. I bet he saw that shit on "The Misadventures of Sheriff Lobo" or something, and thought he could be cool like that. WRONG! Say hi to the people who handle serpents in church for me.
TEMPE, Ariz. -- Dennis Green has joined a long list of failed coaches for the Arizona Cardinals. The franchise with one winning season in the past 22 years already is lining up candidates to be the next one to give it a shot. Mike Sherman is to be interviewed on Thursday, and five other NFL assistants were identified as potential hires. Green was fired on Monday, one day after the Cardinals concluded a 5-11 season with a 27-20 loss at San Diego. He finished with a 16-32 record at Arizona. The Cardinals will pay $2.5 million to buy out the final year of his contract. He was the seventh coach the Cardinals have had since the franchise moved to Arizona in 1988. The team has had one winning season since 1984, and Green was optimistic he was the man to turn things around. But his three teams in Arizona went 6-10, 5-11 and 5-11. "In the final analysis, when you look at the three years of wins and losses, we didn't win enough games," said Cardinals vice president and general counsel Michael Bidwill, son of owner Bill Bidwill.
Wow, this really sucks. Denny Green is a pretty good coach, and it's just terrible that they only gave him three seasons to rectify a situation that took decades to create. No one could've won under those conditions, especially not in that short-ass time frame. Vince Lombardi couldn't've done it. It's patently unfair. No, I'm not gonna cry racism - I don't think it had anything to do with Green being black. I think, more than anything, it has to do with the fact that the owners are unrealistic idiots, looking for a savior. Well, I don't know who they'll hire - probably a trained lemur with an 0-2 record against rhesus monkeys - but I do have a very intriguing candidate: Laurie, from Beauty and the Beer. It's SUCH a logical choice. NFL players need discipline, because paying them millions of dollars just isn't enough to make them do things like come to practice, play hard in the games, and stay out of trouble with the law. Implant Laurie as coach (ha! Implant! I kill me.) and all that will stop, post haste. Late for a team meeting? Shank. Miss a tackle, drop a pass? Shank. Get arrested on suspicion of being stupid late at night and far from home? Shank, shank, shank. That bitch would have the limpingest, bleedingest team in pro sports, but they'd be on time to everything. She's also a perfect fit because she's a local girl, and could
strike fear into inspire the community by using her unique blend of cursing, yelling, neck-punching, scissor-kicking, and eye-gouging to frighten rally support for her and the team. And they wouldn't have to worry about her leaving for another coaching job, 'cause no one else would have her. She'd be worse than Delta Burke on "1st and Ten" back in the day, back when Delta was hot, and before she changed her name to Delta Airlines. Her press conferences would be just one long-ass bleep, with the only listenable words being "Thank you for coming" and "Get out." She'd rename the team "The Silver Bullets", and the field would either be called Keystone Arena or Starbucks Stadium, instead of that dumb-ass University of Phoenix Field. Seriously, what pro team would (a) name their field after a college, and (b) name their field after a college WITHOUT AN ACTUAL CAMPUS? The Arizona Silver Bullets, that's who. Reporters wouldn't dare challenge her coaching, because whoever did would find a sharpened #2 pencil protruding from their left retina shortly thereafter. And my God, her radio call-in show would be the most popular in the history of ever. And it'd have to be on Sirius Satellite Radio, due to "graphic content, adult themes, violence, crude language, sexual content, and gratuitous use of the phrase 'fuck this sport'." Right her name in, folks. Lobby to get that Eddie Murphy mouth heffa installed as coach. She's a natural for the position (no, not THAT position. Jesus.).
ARTESIA, New Mexico - The Garcia family encountered a freak shooting accident on their annual fishing trip. Late one night, the family was walking along a trail when some of them decided it would be funny to sneak ahead, hide behind some bushes, and scare the others. Oh, they scared them all right. In fact, one relative was so frightened that he shot and wounded Felix Garcia, 36, three times before realizing who the culprit was. Felix was wounded in the stomach, hip, and thigh, but it wasn't life-threatening. Lt. Britt Snyder of the Sheriff's Department said, "The investigation is still ongoing to determine whether any charges will be filled. There doesn't appear to be any intent."
Felix: "Hey, Hector! Shhhh! C'mere, ese. I'm funna do some funny shit in a minute, mang.
Hector: "Yo mang, it's dark out here and shit. Don't be doing no stupid shit! You'll get your ass shot out here!"
Felix: "This ain't Albuquerque, puto. Don't be a bitch. Don't nobody get shot out here. Check it, I'm funna scare Ricky."
Hector: "Right now right now? 'Cause Ricky was pissed about not catching shit, mang. And he lost his bandana. I wouldn't fuck with him right now right now."
Felix: "Ricky can besa mi culo. He owe me $4. I'm scaring his ass as a partial payment. Watch this shit."
---15 seconds later---
Ricky: "BANG! BANG! BANG!"
Hector: "I tol' you you was funna get shot out here. Who's a puto now, cholo?"
Felix: "He...still...owes me...$4...the puto."
Hector: "If you die, can I have your sister?"
The photographers at the show took over 3000 pics of the night. No way am I putting 'em all in here. You'll just have to click these links and look for yourself. Enjoy! Nonetheless Band Pics Other Band Pics Guests The Fire Breather Marilyn Manson (I forgot to mention this guy earlier) The Models (Forgot to mention them, too) I haven't looked through all of these, so I'll be looking right along with you. Peace!|
Happy (yawn) New Year, people! I'm STILL recovering from the celebrating. At 35, I'm really becoming familiar with my limitations, especially as they pertain to staying up late and acting like I'm still 20, then getting up and being a productive member of society the next day. Now I just feel like someone heavy has been beating me about the neck and head with a large summer sausage. Which sucks, 'cause I love me some summer sausage. Is is possible to rock TOO hard? Our show Sunday night went GREAT! We had a wonderful turnout, and there are so many people to thank for their hard work in helping us get this show off the ground. Getting booked for a show is easy. Putting the show together yourself is incredibly hard, and I give much love to Rowdy and Trip for spearheading the whole shebang and really working hard to make this thing the blazing success that it was. I love you, girls. You rock balls. We started the show just after midnight CST, after bringing all the bands on stage and counting down. In addition to our usual set of original songs, we surprised the crowd with covers of "Bulls On Parade" by Rage Against The Machine, "The Red" by Chevelle, "What's Up" by 4 Non Blondes, "Behind Blue Eyes" originally by The Who, "Sunglasses At Night" by Corey Hart, "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails, and "We Will Rock You" by Queen. We played Bulls on Parade, The Red, and We Will Rock You pretty close to how the originals were done, but we added our own Nonetheless special blend of herbs and spices to the others, making some of them completely different and new. In the midst of playing our set, we gave away t-shirts and raffled off prizes to keep the crowd pumpin'. And during our original song "Walking Time Bomb", we had a fire-breather blow HUGE fireballs right at the front of the stage. God, it was so awesome. And the whole thing was broadcast on the internet, so hopefully many more people got to hear us. And did I MENTION the people? That place was PACKED! It is such a rush when you get on stage, and people are literally elbowing each other trying to get to the front. It's so intoxicating to have that type of effect on people. It's addictive. It was just so cool to feel all that LOVE coming at us. When we played our closing song "We Exist", about 15-20 women got on stage and danced with us while we jammed. The funniest thing happened when this one girl, who had had about 10 too many to drink, started jumping up and down to the music until her left nipple started peeking out of her halter top, like a periscope on a submarine. I think it wanted to check out the show. Gordie, one of our guitarist, noticed it while she was on the floor still, and we both laughed our asses off. Well, she jumped on on the stage during "We Exist" and started bouncing even more, oblivious to her wardrobe malfuntion, until finally her B cup was just chillin' on the outside, enjoying the show. Her friends FINALLY told her, and she stuffed it back in, but not before Gordie and I died laughing over it. And did I mention that I got a little bit drunk beforehand? See, I rarely drink much at a show, because I simply cannot play when I'm drunk. I can't keep the rhythm, and on bass, that's pretty damned important. So I just don't, and that suits me fine, 'cause I'm not that big of a drinker anyway. But this was New Year's Eve, dammit, and we weren't gonna hit the stage until after midnight, so I decided to imbibe. I drank 3 rum and cokes back-to-back, and by "rum and coke" I mean Carissa the bartender filled the cup to the top with rum, and used a teaspoon to put the coke in there. There was JUST enough coke to make it slightly brown. I...was...drunk. For me, that's a shitload of alcohol. On top of that I took a couple of shots of...something. I don't ask when I don't have to pay for 'em. I stopped drinking at around 10pm, just so I could ride the wave on down until time to play. Fun times. On Saturday night, we rehearsed (for the 3rd straight night) and then went down to the bar around 10 to start decorating and making jello shots. We left there at 2:30. So you see, I'm getting to be MUCH too old for this. We need to make it big, and soon, so I can sleep all day like a vampire. And MAD PROPS to Fyrchk and HDW, who both sent me Christmas gifts: a bacon bracelet, bacon band-aids, and "Kingdom Come" by Jay-Z from Fyr, and "Talledega Nights" from HDW. LOVE YOU GIRLS SO MUCH! Thank you! OK, I need to rest now before starting with the 'tribe for tomorrow. I hope you all had a very happy, very safe, very fun time on New Year's Eve. 2007 is here, baby. Let's make it real. Peace. BY THE WAY: It should be illegal to wear all leather, including pants and boo-stee-ay (screw you, I can't spell it the right way) and boots and purse, if you're over 50 and are neither famous nor a Hell's Angel. Just sayin'.|
Yeah, I know I missed the Diatribe on Wednesday. Yeah, I know I haven't posted. Yeah, I know I haven't commented on your blogs lately. Yeah, I've been a slacker. But I give you this. [Removed, because I love you.] Thanks, Fyrchk. Now it's in MY head. So why not share it with the world? Now y'all can have it in YOUR brain, too! Oh yeah, HUGE New Year's Eve show for Nonetheless. Check it: Oh yes. We're doing the whole thing OURSELVES. The sponsors, the food, the prizes for the raffles, the booking, the party favors, the decorations...all us. Last year, we played at The Adam's Mark Hotel, which was supposed to be a really big show with 5000 people there. Only...they made us play first. Before they had even opened the doors. It was fucked up. We were 3 songs in before the first patrons strolled through, and they had no idea who we even were. It sucked. There were a bunch of bands there, and most of the folks we talked with later on echoed our sentiments about the entire event. One guy jumped off the stage (at a height of 2 feet) into the crowd, and broke his ankle on his landing, which the judges scored as a 6.5. So this year, we took matters into our own hands. We're giving away all KINDS of things, and we're even having a wet t-shirt contest! If you're anywhere near This show ought to be fantastic. Seriously. I'll let you know how it goes. Have a happy, safe, and fun New Year's Eve, folks! Mad love to you all! Peace.|
Merry post Christmas, everyone! I hope you all had a safe, gift-filled day with family, friends, or strangers you met at the bus depot. Because I'm in a charitable and giving mood (if you don't believe me, ask my kids. 7YO today said "Wow Dad, if parents had to buy all these things instead of Santa bringing them, it would cost a LOT of money, wouldn't it?" Right then and there I was SO tempted to pop his hopeful boyish bubble, but instead I gritted my teeth and said "Yes. Yes it WOULD cost a lot. If parents had to buy it all."
Hey, life'll come at him hard enough on its own. It doesn't need me behind it, pushing it like a soapbox derby car. Let him stay young and believe.
You, however, are jaded. As such, you will thoroughly enjoy these pics I
found on Fark.com culled from the internet.
"Feeeeeel the power...the power of the dark si - oops, wrong audience. Ave Maria."
Seriously, Pope Benedict looks like The Emperor from "Star Wars". If you reverse the letters C and A in "sacred", you get "scared". And you all know what C and A stand for. California. Coincidence? Hardly.
Little did they realize that Jiong Lu secretly replaced some of the wine in the wine pool with his own urine. Will they be able to tell the difference? And after 5 glasses, will they even care? Stay tuned.
"Well, I mean I TRIED to get him out, officer, but the little hook thingy just wouldn't grab him, and then our pizza came, so..."
Sour Cream Dreams, the new luxury cruise for overweight people, got off to a rocky start in September when one of the passengers spotted life preservers off the port side of the ship and yelled "Doughnuts!!!"
"Squirrel, please. I barely tapped your ass. Get up and quit acting like a little bitch."
Somewhere in L.A., Snoop Dogg's refined Smokey Sense is telling him that he needs to get to Mexico City, and with the quickness.
Overflight, the new luxury airline for overweight people, got off to a rocky start in September when...oh wait, I already made this joke once. They all went to the back this time.
"Uh...HI! Ho Ho Ho! Yeah! Merry Christmas, officer! So, y'know, I was just gettin' an early start on Christmas this year, testing out the chimneys and all, seeing which ones need cleanin' and whatnot, and...oh fuck this, get me the hell OUTTA here, man!"
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