Ozzy, the Bus, the Rockstar On the Bus, and the Sad Bodybuilder Woman On the Bus

Ozzy at last!

I went to see Ozzy Osbourne live for the first time. I have seen him play in Black Sabbath (his band based out of Birmingham, England before going solo, in case any of you don't know of the band who created heavy metal) twice, but I had never seen just Ozzy before. Now that I have, the only remaining and surviving huge bucket list guy is Sir Paul McCartney (a guy from Liverpool, another working class England town, called The Beatles, in case you know absolute jack squat about rock music). It's a little frustrating that 9 out of 10 times when I told people that I was off to see Ozzy their first response was a statement something like this:

1. "Can he still sing?"
2. "Will you be able to understand what the hell he is saying?"
3. "Do they have to drag his old bones out and prop up his mortal remains?"

When in reality:

1. Yes. He sounded just fine to me.
2. Ozzy is actually far more coherent when he sings. It is kind of like if you have ever known someone who stutters but does not do so at all when he or she sings. Ozzy has always seemed more comfortable on stage being Ozzy than when he is walking about being John Osbourne. It is like a lot of comedians who are so confident and quick witted on stage but then do not know what in the heck to say at a cocktail party. Also, the Ozzy most people know was from a reality show called "The Osbournes" where he was stumbling about and had a hard time forming sentences. This is because he was falling back into his drug addictions and was at a pretty much all time low during that period. Pull up just about any other video of him, and he is very charming and downright hilarious. Intentionally funny, that is. Not a caricature of himself that he was marketed as after that damn show. But to be honest I could not understand him very well last night, but I think it was the echoing sound of the shitty suburban venue. And okay fine, maybe a little bit because he is Ozzy.
3. No. I saw no one propping him up. Yes, he looks a little old when he paces back and forth a little hunched over, but for the most part you see that exuberance and that way an audience is never quite loud enough for him and see that youthful excitement in his eyes. "I can't fucking hear you!" he says over-and-over. Mrs. Noisewater joked, "Maybe he really can't hear them anymore." Okay, that's pretty funny. I'll admit.

Wow, that was a much longer rant than I intended it to be, but I just get defensive about Ozzy because he has been a part of my life for so long. It was similar with Harry Caray when he was calling games for the Cubs into his twilight years after a major stroke with splashes of dementia and Budweiser. When people made fun of him I would tell them that he was not always this old and he is an institution of the Cubs and baseball as a whole. He is a God damn Hall of Famer. He called games from a fan's perspective, which was innovative in its own right. I honest to god do not think people separate the man himself from Will Ferrell's intentionally over exaggerated impression. When people picked on him, they might as well have been hurling insults at my grandfather and it's the same with my grandpa Ozzy. Shit, another rant. Let's move forward with the actual tale I wanted to tell here.

One of my oldest and dearest friends who has been popping up in this blog since its inception, Heterosexual Life Partner (HLP), and I took a free party bus running out of a heavy metal Chicago bar to get to the pain in the ass venue deep into the suburbs. The giant yellow school bus finally pulled up to the bar very late with all of us standing outside with no explanation from staff. Checking our wristbands as we climbed aboard was an extremely muscular and powerfully drunk woman in a tight-fitting shirt showing all her hard work at the gym. She for sure was twice as strong as me physically and had muscles in her face that I'm not sure how to get, but there was a sadness and vulnerability about her. She was stumbling up and down the aisles trying to remember people's orders and then stumbling back to the front of the bus to fetch the beers out of the cooler. Swaying back and forth leafing through change in her fanny pack, she told us that it was her dog's birthday. Without any of us asking any follow up questions she lowered her head and revealed, "She died in my arms today" and started weeping uncontrollably. A woman said something to the effect of, "I'm so sorry" and muscular bus bartender dove into her for a well developed upper body strength, vice grip hug. Whoever was next to that customer must have said "me too" because our mourning libations distributor burrowed into that customer for yet another deep hug.

This is not an actual picture of bus bartender. This is, in fact, Nicole Bass , an unfortunately deceased regular on The Howard Stern Show.

This was why the pour woman was so schnockered-drunk. She was in a state mourning. HLP and I were shocked that she showed up to work in her mental state. Luckily for her she has a job with a very lax policy on drinking. And weed smoking. She was offering free hits off her bowl. "Anyone need anymore beer? Or weed?" she would say. When the bus pulled up to the amphitheater she said, "The show doesn't start for a little while so you're free to stay aboard for a while. There's still plenty of beer and weed." She seemed like she needed some friends, but HLP and I had a date with Ozzy. When I wasn't sure if my sister was going to make it do to some severe back pain she was experiencing, HLP suggested we could sell or even give the extra ticket to the bus bartender, but then we realized she would be standing next to us all night crying. We had already checked the setlist and "Bark At the Moon" would be the very first song. Those canine related words were bound to send her into more crying or perhaps even suicide watch. She was best left on the bus looking after our beer and weed. 

This is the album cover that prompted a handy man my parents hired when I was a teenager to say, "Did you know your son is listening to Satanic music?" My mom, always the devout atheist, nodded politely and then laughed her ass of when she shut the door.

Oh, as it turns out joining us on the fun bus was the lead singer and songwriter of a fairly popular Chicago area band that enjoyed some national exposure in the late nineties and beyond. I will not say who it was to protect his anonymity, but HLP, being one of his biggest fans, was gushing a little over him. We were tickled that despite being a fairly successful rocker, he was riding the free bar bus like the rest of us. The rock star was very kind on the ride in like in a "I'll be nice enough to you where you don't tell people I was a big dick when you tell the story" kind of way." Then on the ride home he was nice in a "We should totally hang out sometime. Shit, I love everyone!" kind of way. He and his much younger and quite striking blond rocker-chick girlfriend were very well buzzed. She told us that right at the end of the show she was rather politely thrown out of the venue for peeing in the men's room. This has to be done sometimes when the line in the men's room is long. Someone must have snitched, but who? That has never bothered me. We are all God's creatures (if you believe in that sort of thing) doing what naturally has to occur when you pour way too much beer down your throat. Why should the female species have to wait longer to do so? It's an unfair and potentially harmful policy. 

This album cover used to scare and gross me out as a kid. What in the hell did he just take a bloody bite out of?

Rock star guy and I bonded slightly (in my mind) over hating Bruce Springsteen and hating the fact that Ozzy played nothing off of his second album, "Diary of a Madman," the final of two masterpiece records with Randy Rhoads, the late guitar prodigy taken from the world far too young by a coked up bus driver who fancied himself a single engine plane pilot who crashed the plane into the damn bus. Little known fact, I wanted to name my son Rhoads until I learned that Tom Morello, lead guitarist of Rage Against the Machine had stolen my idea, and I stay stolen regardless of the fact that he thought of it first. In any event, rock star guy and I were singing a number of those songs we had wished we heard on the ride home. And we sang all the songs that came on the radio as if they were all the best things on earth even though they were very similar songs to the ones we heard on the way in when we were far less buzzed and were engaging in polite and much more quiet conversations. 

Rock star guy and his girlfriend were talking about making a trip to the Liars Club (the spot where HLP called home and our favorite place on earth for so many years in our late 20's and roughly all of our 30's) later that evening, but HLP and I now have wives and kids at home who would prefer us to not be like the walking dead the following day. Rock star guy is a little older than us, to be honest, but he can get away with acting like a rock star because his job is actually: rock star. Plus it is probably best that we stopped glomming onto him and his girlfriend and allowed them to enjoy one another. Their relationship looked very fresh and exciting for them and the added company of two drunk-daddy fans would likely have worn thin for them after the bus ride was over if it hadn't already. 

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Okay, rock stars. Hope you have enjoyed this story. I do realize it was an extremely lengthy post with many a digression, but I think when the writer and storyteller in me lies dormant for so long, a stored up monster ejaculate of words is bound to be the result. Keep rocking and barking at the moon, my deer blog buddies. 

Pet Monkeys

He had a monkey, and rumor has it, he "beat it."

Here's the thing: I'm tired of rich celebrities with pet monkeys.  They so rarely understand that monkeys aren't supposed to be pets, and they don't take the time to nurture the damn monkeys.  I heard Michael Jackson tormented Bubbles the chimp by poking him with sticks and stuff.  The other day I saw a picture of Beyonce kissing a monkey.  Now that is just wrong.  You know why?

Keep putting the hat back on, and he will just keep lifting it up to look for lice to eat, dumby.

Because I wanna' kiss a monkey, God damn it!  Actually, kissing is a bit much.  I just want to a monkey hug.  Just a few.  I know that a pet monkey is a lot of work, and I'm no less selfish than a celebrity, so just a monkey for a day would be fine.

Bieber just went to jail, and I've been wondering who is going to house his monkey.  I would gladly do the right thing and take in the monkey.  But just for a day.  No, I wouldn't teach him to drink or smoke or anything messed up like that, but I can't promise that he wouldn't try on some super awesome outfits, maybe a few Metallica shirts.

Monkeys are trending.

#Monkey.  #Monkeyforaday.  #Monkeyhugs.

I just set the blog record for use of the word monkey in this post.  I figure if I say monkey enough, the right monkey owner will contact me and let me hang out with their monkey for a day.  You all better say monkey a few times in the comments just for good measure.

She has a damn tiger cub too?  Jesus H. Tap Dancing Christ on a pogo stick, that is cute!

Jimmy Butler of my beloved Chicago Bulls had the picture below leaked onto the internet.  The first thing you may think is that by wearing this shirt he is summing up all that he thinks matters in life (drugs, his favorite body part of a woman, and what he uses to buy those two), and that would just be awful if he were that shallow.  But let's think of some other explanations.

First off, he responded on Twitter to say that he was sorry if anyone was offended by the shirt, but it matched his shoes.  I'm not making that up.  

Jimmy just isn't good at making excuses, so let me take it from here, Jimmy.

Those are actually their nicknames from when they were growing up, Pussy, Money, and Weed (from left to right).  Weed is in reference to how tall Jimmy grew up as a kid.  Everyone back in Texas was always saying, "That boy is sprouting up like a weed!"  I hit a growth spurt as a kid, and people told me that all the time, so that makes perfect sense to me.

Ladies and gentlemen, from left to right, please meet Pussy, Money, and Weed

Actually, do you want the truth?  Here it is.  Jimmy had to meet his friends out at a bar to celebrate his friend, Pussy's, recent certification to become a certified yoga instructor.  His other good friend, Money, is holding up two fingers to signify that it took two long years of Pussy's time!  What hard work that young man put in!  Now, Jimmy knew that he had to remember to do a few things before he got home that night, and due to some of his recent concussions suffered during a grueling playoffs, he had to print up this shirt to remind him to swing by the store on the way home to pick up kitty litter, $60 in cash from the ATM, and some gardening gloves to pull weeds the next morning for Doris, his aging friendly neighbor.

It was Money's job to have someone take this picture and text it to Jimmy on the ride home, but he accidentally sent it to the wrong friend, Coke, and that guy just can't be trusted with anything (sniff, sniff).

There.

Now, if there are no further questions, please leave Jimmy alone.  And Pussy, Weed, and Coke, for that matter.

The Hulkster Sex Tape

I heard that Hulk Hogan has a sex tape out in which he does it with a girl while his friend, Bubba the Love Sponge, videotaped it in the closet.

I'm fascinated with sex tapes.  They crack me up.  I think I have seen just about every one that has ever come out from Pamela Anderson, to Kim Kardashian, to Paris Hilton.  However, those women are all hot and the dudes in the videos were in good shape too.  The Hulkster tape is more akin to the Gene Simmons tape, and what I want to know is which one is grosser. 

Gene was doing it missionary with his gut hanging down, and he couldn't get a very impressive erection going.  Also, "I Want To Know What Love Is" by Foreigner could be heard in the background, and the girl didn't even bother taking her flip flops off as her legs stuck straight up in the air.  Also, he leaves his shirt on and his pants around his ankles, maybe thinking that any extra efforts would provide time to lose that lackluster boner.  Damn it!  That guy used to be a sexual demon! (Here it is if you want to see it.  This is a porno link, so don't get mad it you don't like porno.)

While Hulk may have trouble topping Gene in being revolting to the senses, Hulk may beat him in being morally gross.  Gene was in an open marriage, so Shannon Tweed, Skinimax film star, was okay with that.  The Hulk's wife was not okay with him doing that, and the girl he was shagging was obviously not okay with it being filmed because his boy was hiding in the closet.  Now, I have some really close friends, but I would never want to film them doing it!  Gross!  Also, it's just wrong to videotape someone banging without telling them.  I knew a guy once who was going to video himself and a chick he was doing at the time.  He had it set up in his closet where there would be no way anyone would notice.  He even showed me how it would look with him just jumping around on the bed, and it would have worked out just right.  I really wish I had told him what a flipping scumbag move that would have been, but he thought better of it on his own.

But Hulk Hogan did not.

What a dissapointment to all those little Hulkamaniacs out there . . . .

The Liars Are Back!

I'm starting back up my Liars Club blog about funny stuff that I come across in Chicago along with 2 new contributors.  Be sure to come by to find out what the founding Liars have been doing.  Also, we could always use another contributor or two, so if you live or have ever lived in Chicago and would like to be a Liar, send me an email.

Now, I don't like being that guy who gives a link and doesn't provide a proper blog post so here goes:

Today I was telling some other fellas how Jennifer Lopez and Kim Kardashian get a lot of attention for having giant disproportionate butts, but Nicki Manaj doesn't seem to get as much credit for having a rear end that is equally rotund.  This hardly seems fair.

Plus, that Nicki Minaj seems like a nice kid.

Yup.  That's a great deal of ass.

This is also a substantial rump.

But that is a gigantic hind quarters as well, right????

What do you think about all of this, Readers?  Is this a clear case of booty discrimination or something else all together?

Sometimes You Gotta Slap a Foo'

The first time I saw this clip of Will Smith shoving and slapping a Ukrainian reporter I was pissed because it looked to me like Will leans in there to have the sides of his face kissed and then gets pissed when he gets the expected result.  However, after further review, he says that the guy tried to kiss him on the mouth, which does appear to be the case.  Now I'm kind of in favor of the slap.  If you let reporters kiss you on the mouth, you'll let them do anything to you.  Then the next red carpet event rolls around and the Ukrainian reporter is putting a finger in your ass.  I've seen it countless times at these things . . .

Hate F'ing, 2nd and Final Chapter

Well, folks. Below you will find the second half of the Hate F'ing podcast (part one is a couple of posts ago). As a reminder, Hate F'ing is when you sleep with someone out of anger. The way we came up with our totals was have all participants list their submissions, we discussed, and then all entries were voted on by the group to see if they made it through to the finals (the lady needed 3 out of the 4 thumbs up to get through, not counting vote of the person who suggested the name). We then rated each of the 13 finalists one to 13, with the lowest score being the best (sort of like an NFL Confidence Pool) and added up all of our totals.

And here is the master list of most Hate F'able Famous Women in the Free World from last place to first (remember that a low score wins, like golf).

12. Sarah Silverman - 43 points

11. Paula Abdul - 41 points

10. Heidi Moutag - 39 points

9. Jessica Simpson - 37 points

8. Kristen Stewart - 37 points

7. Paris Hilton - 36 points

6. Chelsea Handler 34 points

4th and 5th (tie) Fran Drescher and Miley Cyrus (tied with 33 points

3. Ce'line Dion - 24 points

2. Sarah Palin - 17 points

1. Casey Anthony - 14 points.

Yes, Casey killed her kid, so that gave her a big edge in the hate department, being the only murderer on the list. Still, we congratulate you, Casey. And we hate you, but I'm sure you'll get that painful Hate F'ing or jail time (or both) that you deserve (like O.J.).

Remember, we're not evil, just a bunch of dudes who got together with booze and a bad idea. Also, you have to turn my music player off on my blog to along the right panel before hitting play. If you double click in the MP3, it will download to your iTunes, and if you just hit play, it will just play.

Happy Hate F'ing and Happy Valentines Day, everyone!

Hate F#cking: Part One

Yes, hate f#cking - when you hate someone so much that you want to give them a rough rodgering. I hope you enjoy this podcast as much as we enjoyed recording it. As always, be sure to pause the music player on the right panel before hitting play. If you want to download it to your iTunes for some interesting conversation during your morning commute, double click where it says MP3, and if you just want to listen here on the blog, just hit the play button. Part 2 will go live in a week or so. Happy hate f#cking, everyone!

What's Your L. Ron Hubbard Name?

When we were at the bar - I have no idea why this came up - (why does anything come up at the bar?) we started going around the table saying our L. Ron Hubbard names: the first letter of your first name, followed by your whole middle and last name. This could also be called your M. Night Shyamalan name. Often times it makes the person sound a lot more important than he/she really is.

I can't give you names of myself or any of my friends, but I will give you some fun ones (God bless wikipedia for having all the full names of goofy celebrities):

R. Milhous Nixon (Yup. His middle name was like Bart's nerdy buddy on "The Simpsons."

H. Enrique Estrada (Ponch from Chips sounds pretty serious with his name like this.)

M. Andrew Fox (We're not letting "Michael J." fool us with that middle initial that doesn't stand for anything - not in this game!)

O. James Simpson (A way better athlete/double-murderer with this name)

L. Anthony Gallagher Jr. (Yeah. The guy who smashes watermelons with a mallet)

C. Javon Ochocinco (This dumb-dumb should know that it's ochenta y cinco, but this game even makes this goof ball seem more legitimate, right?)

So, Seven Readers, would you like to submit a celebrity L. Ron name into the comments? Perhaps you can even try using your L. Ron name on a job application to make yourself sound more important, like someone worthy of important things, such as making up a bogus religion about aliens to con celebrities out of their money. Something like that . . .

Enter the (Komodo) Dragon

I went to the Shed Aquarium the other day with my sister and my nephews. I’m trying to do a bunch of fun, little activities during the week before I have to go back to my real job. They have a lizard exhibit in town, which includes the infamous Komodo dragon. The komodo in Chicago did not move a muscle while we there, despite the ENORMOUS area he had to run around in. However, the video above him showed two of them wrestling on their hind legs. They are fricking huge, and they do, in fact, look like f’ing dragons. The video also informed me that they can hunt and kill a DEER, and then proceed to eat the mothafucka HOOVES and all. They showed a feeding frenzy with like 10 of them going to town on some sort of carcass, and I couldn’t help but think that even Chuck Norris himself would be in trouble if he found himself in the middle of THAT.

If you ever find yourself on the island of Komodo, my advice to you is say a little prayer like Dionne Warwick. You’re not safe on the ground, cause they’re fast. Trees are out cause they can climb those. The water is out too, cause they’re really good swimmers. I’m starting to see why Billy Bob Thornton is deathly afraid of them:

Bizarre actor Billy Bob Thornton wants the world population of the endangered komodo dragon to be killed off. Thornton is petrified of the reptiles, one of which crushed the foot of Sharon Stone's husband Phil Bronstein last year. Billy Bob says, "More than anything on this earth, more than any being that exists, they are the creature that represents evil. If it were up to me, I'd just go to that island and kill them all. I would just shoot those sons of bitches." The actor says he once had a dream the creatures infested his house and woke up his wife Angelina Jolie, insisting they go to a hotel because his dream was so real.*

Well, this is coming from the same guy who has a fear of antique furniture, but they are damn scary. Billy, if you’re reading, pack your bags. We’re off to Komodo to “shoot those sons of bitches.” YEEEEEEH HAAW! Hey, America, I mean 7 readers, what animal do you fear, or better still, think should be eliminated from God’s green earth?

Lollapalooza: 3 Days of Music and Short People

Okay, at long last, I’m going to sit down with my hot chips and my liter of Diet Pepsi, and I’m going to bang out a blog. I’m very bent about the promotion for free ring tones being over on the cap of this Diet Pepsi. Alas, I had to pay for Everything She Wants by Wham! to chime in when someone buzzes me. Don’t ask me why I picked that song. So, on to the topic at hand . . .

Lollapalooza, holy crap, that didn’t come up on spell check, was in town over the weekend. Have you seen the line-up? Despite the fact that almost all of my favorite bands were at this thing, for a myriad of reasons, I still couldn’t bring myself to buy tickets.

While working at Navy Pier I could hear the show faintly. I distinctly heard The Violent Femmes as well as Gnarles Barkley. After work I pedaled over to the show and watched what I could see of The Flaming Lips through the back entrance. They were the perfect band for peeping in on because I could see the fuzzy, animal suit people jumping around and the enormous inflatable Santa bouncing to the music. As I was rocking to the set on my bike, a girl handed me an Adidas sweatband, which I promptly put on my head. Where I was positioned turned out to be ideal for people watching. These guys on all terrain golf carts were driving V.I.P.’s around the enclosed area from one end of the stage to the other. I saw the singer from Gnarles Barkley and Matt Pinfield from MTV get rides, and they are both tiny, little, gnomes. I would never want to live in L.A. because I think it would be disheartening to spot all these famous people and see that they are no taller than Emanuel Lewis from Webster. Two different professional photographers took photos of me; I guess to document that there was a weirdo with a headband, sitting on his bike, trying to get something for free.

On Sunday my friend Brendan called me up and offered me two, free V.I.P. passes, which, for a very high fee, allow you to eat and drink all you like, all day. I got off work at 6 and Queens of the Stone Age went on at 6:30, so I had to run my ass around the lake, and over the river to the entrance, which turned out to be the wrong entrance, since my buddy with the passes was at the OTHER entrance. So I RAN my ass all the way around the stadium in my Chuck Taylor’s, and I have to go on record now and say those shoes, while they are very stylish, offer ZERO support. When we got into the stadium, my buddy went off to see Wilco, and me and my swollen feat made our way to the other stage to see Queens. I got myself a fruity, frozen drink for free and settled in for some rock. A beer is a far more manly libation to enjoy when you’re ‘raising the goblet of rock,’ but I’ll be damned if it wasn’t a refreshing cocktail on a balmy, Chicago night. The band was great, but I was hating on the moshing and crowd surfing. The latter ends with an idiot surfing to the stage, getting escorted around the side, then this asshole thinks he can barrel his way past me back to his friends. Mosh pits I don’t like because I can’t watch the band while keeping my eyes peeled for stray elbows. One idiot did fall down and hit me in the shin, which I was not happy about. I think my disdain for the pit was evident, and they eventually stayed clear of me.

My cohort and I opted to meet up, stay in the V.I.P. lounge, and drink our way through the Red Hot Chili Peppers. It was pretty far away from the stage, but the free booze was too tempting. The other option was watching staple surgery poster boy John Popper and Blues Traveler, but I’ll hold out for next summer when they split a Ribfest bill with Eddy Money.

On our way into the V.I.P. lounge entrance, we saw a guy dressed in all white with black eye makeup trying to reason with the staff to let him in. It was bazaar because he looked at me like he knew me, and I looked back at him since I was pretty sure I knew him. I thought maybe I went to high school with him, but then it occurred to me that it was Jared Leto, who I WATCHED go to high school on My So Called Life. As it happens, his shitty band played a no doubt shitty set at Lollapalooza. Ladies, I’m sorry to break this to you, but while he does have captivating eyes, he too is a gnome, hobbit, or some other form of hafling. I remember thinking, “Hey Jared, you keep trying to argue with these folks. I’m going to go inside and have myself a couple of girly drinks, because I’m a V.I.P. and you’re not. And, oh yeah, your acting career is floundering, your band is getting horrible reviews, and you’re short.”