Forever Awesome

I was over at HLP Uncle's place, and he does these them parties on Sundays based on the cuisine of the apposing city of which the Chicago Bears are playing.  For example, if the Bears are playing New England, you got your clam chowder, Boston baked beans, maybe some Sam Adams.  I suggested that we go a whole different direction and have a Forever Lazy party.  You will notice in the commercial below at around 38 seconds where they suggest you "party it up with friends" and the dudes are getting all amped up in their onesie jammies, hollering at the television as if they don't look like dorks or about to have a big man-cuddling festival.  They also have a part at 1:07 where they think it would not be idiotic to go to ballgame in the Lazies where you will be the "talk of the next tailgate."  Oh, they would talk about you . . .



I want to put this to the test and watch the game with some buddies in some fuzzy PJ's.  Another guest on Sunday asked how we would pee in those things.  I'm way ahead of them.  We simply have to make it a Forever Lazy/Stadium Pal Party.  That way we could just pee away without having to unzip our pajamas or miss any snaps.  And, they make Stadium Gal so that we can invite ladies too (as if any would want anything to do with this)!

Getting enough interest in this will probably prove difficult, so I guess my dream of attaching a catheter to my penis and zipping up a furry outfit for a day of NFL football and chips and dips will remain a dream.  A fuzzy pee pee dream . . . 
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It dawned on me midway through this update that I already did a post about Forever Lazy right over here.  Oh well.  This adds a new element, I think. 

Admit It: The Little Drummer Boy Has Always Suh-suh-suh-sucked.

Remember "The Little Drummer Boy?"  I think all seven of my readers would have to agree that it's the most crappy of all Christmas songs.  I was trying to put my finger on why it is so lousy.

It could be the puh-rump-a-pum-pumming.  Nobody needs to hear someone sing onomatopoeia like that.  How about just play that beat on the drum instead?  Or get Biz Markie to beat box it.

"I'm so sad they didn't ask me.  I can still beat box, ya know!"

Then I thought it could be that version when David Bowie stumbled into Bing Crosby's house and they somehow managed to make the most nerdiest version of "Drummer Boy" yet.  Something tells me that if Bing knew that Bowie liked to dress like a woman and sleep with other dudes like Mick Jagger, then he wouldn't have been so accepting.  He seemed to be the old school type that didn't care for gay folks.  And didn't Bing beat the tar out of his own kids?



Then it hit me.  The thing I hate most about that stupid, stupid song is the line where he says "the ox and lamb kept time."  I'll believe that some woman 2,000 years ago got knocked up without doing the nasty and before test tubes.  And maybe that baby was the son of God who could turn water into Smirnoff Ice, or however that one went.  But what I refuse to believe is that a big dumb ox and perhaps an even stupider lamb were capable or cared enough to kick their hooves to the beat of a little broke-ass kid's drum beat who couldn't afford to bring a damn gift when he met the lord of the whole fricking universe.

That's just far fetched.

I have a new post over at The Liars Club.  I don't say this often, but I kind of think I knocked this one out of the park.  I was going to do proper post here, but then I got sleepy.  More to come, but for now, get a look at this:

More Updates from Your Boy Ken

1. It looks like the end of the strike is near, and I should be back to work on Wednesday.

2. That won't be enough time for my hard drive (and all my music) to be recovered to make the Strike Mix to bring to the picket line, which is a shame because I had the whole thing mapped out in my crazy little head.  Shot out to Colby over at the computer place for recovering all my music.  This time I'm going to buy two external hard drives in case something goes wrong with one like it did this time.  Colby said this is recommended, but I'm told wearing two rubbers at once, using the same logic, is not a good idea. 

3. LSD goes back to school Saturday on the west coast for one more school year so she and I will be back to our long distance relationship.  I will really miss having her here every day, giving her a goodbye kiss every morning, but just like the last year, we will be stronger for having gone through it.

4. While typing this up, I'm listening to Aerosmith's "Get Your Wings," an actual good Aerosmith recording from the old days, and I think I figured out where Steven Tyler went horribly wrong.  While most rockers get more laid back and retrospective as they get older, Steven tried to be more flamboyant with yips and howls to make his aging voice stand out on recordings, and he acts stupid to get more attention during public appearances.  This is a horribly embarrassing phenomenon.



5. I finally saw Gwar over the weekend at Riot Fest in Chicago.  I sat at the perfect distance to be really close but not too close where I would get blood all over my clothes and skin.  Whatever means of spurting blood they could find after killing whoever they killed, all fluids would fall two feet short of me.



That's it for me.  Any thoughts on any of this?  What have you been up to?

Drunken Man Love Tackling

Last night LSD and I were awakened to yelling and what sounded like a scuffle outside our bedroom window in the alley.  After listening further, it sounded like some poor guy was getting beaten up by a few other guys, so I decided to call 911 in an attempt to help him out.  Then I heard LSD laughing from the bathroom.  She told me that if I peered out of the open bathroom window at the right angle, I could see what was happening.

One guy had his buddy pinned down on the floor, and because they were so shit-canned drunk, we could hear every word they bellowed, and here it is as best as I can remember:

Chad: You're really going to do that?  You're going to punch your best friend?

Steve: I know.  I know . . . 

Chad: Over a girl?

Steve: You're right.  You're always fuckin' right (repeat nine or ten times)

Then I felt kind of bad calling the cops because although they were some idiotic drunks, all they were hurting was each other.  Well, it's okay because it seems as if Chad got up off Steve and the two of them stumbled into the sunset (or sunrise, more accurately) before the police arrived.  What I should have done was this:

Dr. Ken: Hey, boys!  So what happened with the girl?

Chad: What the fuck business is that of yours?

Steve: Yeah!  What the fuck?! (Steve seemed to be pretty limited in terms of his mental capacity, and he was mighty drunk)

Dr. Ken: Well, you did wake me and my lady-friend up, so the least you can do is let me know what all the fuss was about.

Chad: Well, asshole here wouldn't go for the brunette because he always has to have the blond, even though I tried to tell his drunk ass that the blond said she liked me and the brunette liked him.

Dr. Ken: So then you went home with neither?

Chad: Right

Dr. Ken: And now you're lying on top of one another in a dirty alley?  Together?

Steve: Hey!  You're the one that's the damn fag, window guy!

Dr. Ken: Steve, your friend is right.  You always take what comes your way in times like that.  Were they both hot?

Both: . . . Yeah

Dr. Ken: Then you just go with how it happens organically.  The odds of each of you getting serious with both of them after a drunken Tuesday are pretty slim so no need to fight.

Steve: No way, dude!  I think I love that blond one!

Dr. Ken: Not likely, Steve.  You don't even know her name, and what kind of prospect for a girlfriend gets blind drunk on a Tuesday like that?  Just see what you think in the morning.

Both: Fuck you!

Steve: Yeah, fuck you, window guy! 

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Then again, calling the cops and going back to sleep was probably the move.  In other news, here is a link to what is coming soon to my Chicago based blog, The Liars Club, often times involving crazies like these crazy Chicagoans.

Strike!

I'm on strike right now, along with the rest of the workers at my job.  It has been difficult for me because I'm not getting paid and don't get benefits while it drags on.  I want to return to work, but not without a fair contract.  Some things have been fun, like the Hasidic Jewish guy who pulled up in his car to yell and swear at us that he is out of work, so we should be lucky to have a job. 

Overall, I would say 99% of the response from the public I have encountered has been positive, especially among city workers such as the police, fireman, streets and sanitation, and transportation.  They have been giving thumbs up and honking and waving, which has kept us going, and for me even gives me a chill inside, reminding me that we're fighting for the right reasons.  Despite the fact that most people seem supportive, the press has been overwhelmingly one-sided and presenting skewed facts.  So, you get guys like the dumb ass I saw today standing in his office window around 12 stories up, wielding a baseball bat.  I motioned for him to come on down and discuss things with the all of us, but he was content staying perched up there. 

Passing the time has been one of the biggest challenges.  Today I decided to go for a jog with a giant sign wrapped around my torso, and I enlisted a new a coworker to join me.  He is under even more stress than me, being a newly married first year employee who hadn't even gotten his first paycheck with the strike hit.  Since I figure running helps me clear my head, I thought it could be good for him, which I think it was because he is excited to do it again tomorrow.  Believe it or not, I think my fellow workers and others were responding well to our athletic approach to picketing.  I'm hoping more keep joining in like where Rocky runs with all those Philadelphia citizens of all ages in the movie.  That or I'll just drink too much coffee and eat lots of donuts and go pee a few dozen times at McDonalds (which I feel weird about so I always try to buy something).

Then just when I was feeling really inspired and excited to get home to make a "Fight the Power" playlist for my cohorts, I found that my external hard drive crapped out and I lost all my music.  This was at first a dramatic blow for me, but after sitting down to write this post, I have already mellowed out and see the big picture.  How many songs that might be gone forever off my iTunes is annoying, but I have a pretty terrific life with lots of wonderful people around me.  Until next time . . .

Thanks for reading. 

This guy is as appauled about smoking as Marsha was when Greg lit up!

There is a site called Every Block that notifies you about things going on in your neighborhood, and thank God because the Oz Park Advisory Council uncovered startling and unsettling news about teenagers smoking marijuana in the park after school!  Can you imagine?  I'm posting some of the funnier entries below, along with my smart-ass commentary, of course:

Many residents posted entries in support of this guy, including this person who wants a stop to this marijuana use before it leads to robberies!

Then we have an actual voice of reason, albeit a long-winded voice, followed by another moron. 

Along comes Pete who witnesses how weird this grown man is taking pictures of kids he doesn't know, and then Ozlock defending his weirdness.

Then it just turns into a long debate with people chiming in with all kinds of stupid stuff.  I just like that someone pointed out what a creep this guy looks like with his camera.  Get a life, buddy.  Or move to suburbs.  Oh, wait, kids smoke dope there too.  Maybe he should just get a job.  Who has the time to chase around pot smoking kids at 3:30 every day?

I wanted to chime in with some funny comments in response to this guy and share them with you guys, but the crazy ass posted the Facebook accounts of people who stood in his way of his private drug war, so that scared me off. 

What do you make of all this, Seven Readers?  

Oh yeah, and there's a new post by Urbanist Chic over at The Liars Club, so be sure to leave a comment there if you have a moment.  

What Would You Do?

So I was out for dinner and drinks with the folks I play beach volleyball with, and the busboy delivering our food pointed out to my buddy which sandwich was his and actually touched the bun with his pointer finger. 

What would you do?

A. Demand a new sandwich or at least a new bun.
B. Say nothing.  Not a big deal.  Just eat your sandwich.
C. Awkwardly say, "Uh.  You touched my sandwich . . ."

If you have a D for a write-in, feel free to do that.  My friend did C, by the way. 

"This one I have dipped my finger into is yours."

Don't Ask Me Why . . .

. . . but LSD, Oates, and myself (The Liars Club) were talking about uncircumcised penises, and two Liars think they look like the worms from Tremors, while the other thinks they look like the sandworms from Dune.

What do you think?

Do they look like this?

Or more like this?