Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Martin Luther King not only died in the name of civil rights, he kept Uhura on "Star Trek," and for that I'm thankful because she was fine as hell.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Anyone ever fight dirty or see someone do something to make El Guapo proud?
Sunday, November 27, 2011
So, Oats and I are drinking entirely too many light beers at the bar on a slow rainy night when suddenely about 12 dudes with mustaches come onto the scene and make the place instantly fun. The music was all 1980's stuff too because the DJ is a friend of mine and knows what's up, so seeing all these mustached dudes getting their groove on to the likes of Huey Lewis was amazing. I don't think I was the only one jealous of how much fun these guys were having based on the way everyone was transfixed on them, but I think I was one of the only ones stricken with a severe case of mustache envy.
You see, I can't grow very good facial hair. It's all splotchy and the space just below my nose inexplicably can grow zero hairs, like someone gave me electrolysis that I didn't know about. Perhaps the facial hair I was most envious of belonged to a fella who looked exactly like Keith Hernandez. I said to one of "Keith's" buddies, "Did you know your friend over there looks exactly like Keith Hernandez?" And he goes, "Keith Hernandez!" just like Newman on "Seinfeld," right on cue. This only deepened the envy. I wanted to be friends with these guys in the worst way.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Thursday, November 24, 2011
So, I got this call during my Thanksgiving, and it was one of those calls where this asshole that I'm mad at is lucky I didn't have means of getting a hold of him because I was likely to kill him. Everyone who saw me thought I was nuts. I hate that feeling where you want to do something but can't.
Anyway, I don't want to get into specifics, but I drank it off for the most part, but I'm still pissed. Ugh! What a butthole, this guy!!!!!!
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
1. A boom box that still had an ex-roomy's "Quit Smoking Now" tape in it.
2. I nearly threw out a VCR, but I decided that someone could show up with the 1986 Super Bowl on VHS- and then who would be the wiser?
3. I also kept a VHS of "Boogie Nights," which I already have on DVD, but when it's your favorite movie, it just feels sacrilegious and a slap in the face to Jack Horner to throw it in the trash.
4. A bootleg DVD of "War of the Worlds" with Tom Cruise. A crystal clear version of that thing isn't even worth watching, so how in the hell did that thing make it 5 years lying there?
5. A "Holiday Classics" cassette tape, like you get at a gas station, still in the wrapper!
6. The paperwork insert to a Cardigans disc. While I'm pretty sure which ex roommate's this is, I don't think he'll miss it.
7. I don't have a witty ending to this list. I'm tired. I need to get some sleep. Lots of wine to drink and football to watch tomorrow.
Monday, November 21, 2011
In the film "Three Men and a Baby," the Ted Danson character knocked up the mom of the baby who he and his grown-ass-man roommates would later raise as their own. Then in the really shitty sequel to an already not great movie, "Three Men and a Little Lady," the Tom Selleck character falls in love with the mom and no doubt gives her one of his famous mustache rides.
This leaves only Steve Guttenberg with no carnal knowledge of this chick. Now, if they made a third film where "The Gutes," as I call him, finally gets to tap that, it should be called:
"Three Men and a Big Ol' Slut"
"Three Roommates and a Gaping Vagina"
"The Jewish One Finally Tapped That."
Any write-ins, Seven Readers?
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Saturday, November 19, 2011
I couldn't put my finger on it, but I just told LSD that I look like God damn Zack Morris. Any minute now I'm going to break the fourth wall and start talking to the camera or perhaps into an over-sized prototype mobile phone.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
|2.||Belmont Transfer||35 up, 6 down|
1. When a man moves from the front door of a lady having her period (red) to said lady's backdoor porch area (brown) and back again (purple).
Based on Chicago's sexy and efficient train system. Similarly named moves are found in Boston and New York.
2. A long-form improv style characterized by moving quickly from one story arc to another and back again. See Chicago improv group "The Belmont Transfer."
"Hey, you comin' to see the Belmont Transfer tonight perform at the Playground?"
"Sorry bro, I'll be movin' from brown to red with Lacy all night long. It's our anniversary."
|3.||Belmont Transfer||9 up, 5 down|
Slang term referring to the switch from vaginal to anal sex, assuming the female participant is 'on the rag.' The Belmont train station in Chicago, IL is where the Red Line meets the Brown Line.
I earned my red wings with her, then she insisted we go anal, so I made the Belmont Transfer.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
I just hope that they pull those cars up to trailer parks too so that people see that poor white people will steal too.
Check out this guy. He doesn't know that there was a camera in the car busting him crying, so he comes out of the car with his hardcore gangster vibe.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
When we started Lehmi County Airport, it was the most exciting time of my life – all of our lives. I can honestly say that the moment we knew we could make great songs together, even though we were living together in a dump in Logan Square, those were better times than when we got “the money.” When I met Alistair Radcliff, he was playing and singing a Syd Barrett song in a Potbelly, up in the scaffolding, or whatever, and it was like when you fall for a chick. He was captivating all those nimrods in the joint, waiting for their God damned sour dough, and I actually said out loud, “This motherfucker is going to make me rich.”
The drummer, Lester Clayton, was a black guy I had met a week or two earlier when he came by to install my cable. I had a beat up drum kit in the apartment, and when he was done, he asked if he could play for a second. I said, “Yeah, go nuts,” and he did. Holy crap. I got out my guitar, and we fucked around for hours, rolling doobs, playing, and things just clicked. I think he blew off the rest of his calls for the day, which was probably for the best because when that guy gets going on the pot, he’s incapacitated except for his playing, in which case he’s an animal, really pushing the guys he plays with to new heights.
Just thinking about those days makes me pumped to play, but not with these guys. For the last few years, after the success of “. . . And Sometimes Why,” it has really become like work. And the saddest part is that I don’t even see these guys in between tours and recording. Before “Sometimes,” we would get shit-assed drunk together every few nights, but now these guys have families. That’s really the problem, I think; Allistair has this whole new worldview and writes songs about his fucking kids. Don’t get me wrong, that stuff’s important, but nobody wants to hear songs about it. Tell me a good song about someone’s damn kid, besides “Isn’t She Lovely.” And Les isn’t much fun either these days. Yeah, he’s still banging lots of chicks, something I don’t think he’ll ever stop doing, but I just hate that he doesn’t care what we’re doing musically. An artist like that guy should give a shit, and I think he did at one time, but now he just goes along with whatever the fuck Allistair wants to do.
I’ve been trying to find other musical outlets ever since my role diminished in this band, and I’m pretty pleased with how the first album for my side project metal band, Bruticus, came out. Those guys are fun to play with, but lately it has dawned on me that I shouldn’t have to find other people to play with – I play with the perfect guys, and we’re in a pretty successful band, only I want them how they were before they got so fucking gay. And even more than missing the days when I loved the music we made, I miss hanging out with those guys. Allistair always invites me to his kids’ fricking Christenings or circumcisions, or whatever it is they’re doing, but I’m always too damned hung over to make an appearance, and even if I did, seeing the domesticated, watered-down version of such a talent would just depress the shit out of me.
So, yeah, it’s a perfect day for some good old heroin. Just enough to make me not care and to make the guitar sound better, and not so much where I’m just drooling all over it. Just enough where I don’t care that Allistair, a guy I loved like a brother and respected as far as musicians go more than just about anyone, is now kind of, and I hate to say this, a dork. And just enough where it doesn’t bother me that Les, a guy who at one time was more passionate than any of us about the band, now allows himself to be a tool and goes along with everything Al wants. Fuck it. Maybe so much God damned heroin to the point where I pass out and have an excuse not to record another awful record with those guys ever again.
I was posting random crap on Facebook about Randy Rhoads because it's National Metal Day and I love dead rock stars, especially when they're virtuoso types who were so bored from not doing drugs that they got into a single engine plane with their bus driver's plane who they didn't know was a dumbass coke addict and crashed the plane into their tour bus.
Anyway, all the searching around youtubes eventually got me stumbling upon a bunch of Built To Spill clips, probably my favorite band, and that's something I often lose sight of. They're from Boise, Idaho, but holy crap just listen.
When I was horribly depressed around the time I started this blog, I had a "Depressing as Hell" list, and there were a good number of BTS songs on there, and in fact, I think "Else" is still on the blog music player.
But, there is no song that makes me instantly want to cry more than "Carry the Zero." Jesus H. Christ, it's just so sad. There were nights where I just knew I needed to cry and I'd play this one to get it out there. Weird, right?
Okay, the computer is running out of power, so it's time to go to sleep. Treat yourself to something awesomely depressing and beautiful.
Friday, November 11, 2011
I did a search for "Rick Reuschel, sit on my face," and I'm afraid it yielded no results. I was half-hoping I'd stumble upon the woman's story who donned that shirt because you have to admit it's interesting. I mean, I can see her offering to sit on his face, but to want a big hairy sweaty athlete sitting on your own face . . .
And you got to remember, this was in the 70's or 80's, so her taking the time to print a shirt exhibiting such an uncouth message would have been highly unusual. Hell, I'd like to meet the woman today who had the cojones to put on such a thing.
Did she lose a bet of some kind?
These are questions I need answered, Seven Readers. You have any thoughts to ease my mind, as this mystery and Reuschel's big, hairy anus has been haunting me for decades.
Wednesday, November 09, 2011
So the other day I'm mad at some woman, and in my head I'm cursing her out, and I called her a trench. Yes! A trench!
What I like about this new term is that it hasn't broken on the scene yet, so I think you can still use it on network television all day.
Doctor: I'm afraid her condition has worsened. We're going to have to operate on her trench.
What do you think, Seven Readers?
Tuesday, November 08, 2011
1. A student asked me if I was dry. I had no idea what he meant by this, and other students informed me that to be dry meant to "not be getting any from any females." So, if your skin is dry, that means you're ashy, and if you couldn't get laid in a morgue, you are dry as hell. Make sense? I didn't tell them that I only get "wet" once a month when I see my out-of-town girlfriend. It didn't seem like something those boys needed to know.
2. Mr. Green, the principal at the school for bad kids, said that one teacher was sending so many kids out of his class and down to the office that it was like the "Soul Train" line of dancers down the hallway. I asked him if he felt like Don Cornelius up in there. Actually, Don Cornelius is a product of Chicago Public Schools. No lie.
3. One girl told me that she doesn't like the drama created from hanging out with girls. So, she said "That's why I like to be hangin' out with niggas." By that she meant males. Something was just funny about her saying that to just about the whitest guy in America.
Sunday, November 06, 2011
Every time I walk to and from the gym, I pass the runaway hotline place, and I can see all the women manning the phones but mostly surfing the net, filing their nails, and bullshitting with one another. After all, who really calls that place? Are the types of kids who run away likely to know such a hotline exists, and if so, are they really going to want to call someone who is there to to talk people into going back home to their shitheel parents?
What's strange is that there is always at least one hot chick in there. If I were a single guy, I might be inclined to go in there with a backpack or maybe a napsack slung over a pole over my shoulder, act all frantic and ready to run away. They might look at me a little funny, seeing as I'm 34-years-old, but I bet they're so hard up for calls that they'd take me seriously. Then they would get all emotional, and there would be a big sex festival for all passerby's to see. It would be awesome . . .
I think I ran away a couple times as a kid, for no reason, really, because I had a great family - still do. I would just go off into the forest behind my house with a bag of chips in case I got hungry. I'd only be there a couple of hours and just go home. Probably when I ran out of chips. But I had a neighbor who once spent the night in a fort that we built out there because he got in a "fight" with his dad. He was kind of like the John Bender from "Breakfast Club" of our block. In fact, I think he still holds the number of detentions record at the local junior high. I wonder what he's doing these days? I should look him up on Facebook. He had a nerdy little sister who sent my other buddy on the block a very naughty letter when they were adults saying all the dirty things she wanted to do to him when they were kids, but I think he was already married when she sent it.
Where was I going with this . . .
Ah, yes. Running away. Don't run away, kids. If you do, give the hotline a call, and if I'm not there sexing all of them, I'm sure they'll give you the sage-like advice you'll need to go back to those shitheel parents of yours.
PS: The second picture has nothing to do with anything, you may notice. I did a search for "forest forts," and that's what came up. That looks like a very romantic way to spend an evening with a special lady friend, or a terrific way to burn your house down. Either way . . .
Wednesday, November 02, 2011
. . . so that I can catch up on things, but if I did that, would I age during the frozen time? Would I end up abusing it to the point where I would age 20 years during a span of time that would only be 5 years to everyone else?
There's just never enough time to get everything done. But when I was high school, all I wanted to do was fast forward until it was over with, and I didn't care about getting anything done.
Well, if I got freezing power, I swear I wouldn't use it to do silly stuff like change two people's hats around, like a punk kid's baseball cap from one guy and swap it with an old Black lady's big church hat. Okay, I can't promise I wouldn't do stuff like that. I'd make a lousy super hero. If I were Freeze Time Guy, and I was in The Justice League, they'd always be looking for me to help thwart the plans of Dr. Doom, or whoever, and I'd be out a-hat-swapping.
Point being, Dr. Kenneth has too much crap going on this week and needs a little R & R if he can't get the superpowers. Yet.
Tuesday, November 01, 2011
I couldn't think of anything to post today, and then I saw this terrific picture that is just begging and pleading for captions. The only problem is that these are real kids that I found on Facebook, and I'm using the pic without permission.
So, don't go looking for these kids and do anything nutty . . . because that will disqualify you from the caption contest.