Friday, October 24, 2008

You know what to do, so I won't say please -or- Welcome to my lovely new color scheme.

So yeah, I spruced the place up a bit. I kind of figured that this page is like a virtual rec room, you know, where you go to hear your crass uncle expound on how shitty his job/kids/wives/friends are while he pounds a high life or two before heading to work. So, I used the colors that to me most represent a basment in the 70’s. There’s beer in the fridge. Oh, that? That’s a picture of me backstage at Subterranean last week. The old lady actually took it. Yeah, I think it turned out pretty good down here.
Funnily enough, as I’ve learned bartending, playing music, being a husband, being a dad, doing a limited amount of design and illustration work, that old maxim ‘no one is ever satisfied’ is truly, truly always fulfilled. People love to bitch. People hate the taste of Coke, it changes, they hate the new taste and demand the original that they hated in the first place. It’s like a wife. You hate her guts and you talk shit and write songs about how she should die and you undermine her confidence with shitty remarks about her ass in that dress and all that, but the second she blows her tennis pro, you’re all weepy. Everyone hated Russia, then we got the Taliban, now everyone seems to want Russia back. Everyone hates the old colors, everyone hates the new ones. No one will be truly satisfied until their own crappy tastes get justified by a graphic designer/chef/production crew/five star general and they can sit back there and languish in the stench of their own turds.
Don’t believe me? Everyone loves the smell of their own farts. My friend Mike scoops his farts from his ass right to his nose. It’s gross. He also chews up one Triscuit, spits it onto another and eats it like some sort of gnarly appetizer, so there’s that. Maybe he’s just a little nasty. Nonetheless.
Fuck, man. My baby is crying, my dogs are barking at a helium balloon, my wife is trying to pack and get me to help her do laundry as she’s going to Texas in a few hours for a wedding. Our house looks like someone got chased through it by a huge rapist (in that shit’s all scattered everywhere, it’s not like it’s all covered in Vaseline or blood…do rapists carry Vaseline? I guess the conscientious ones do) and I’m about to go to my shitty job and hang out with the rainy-Friday crowd, which means just enough douchebags blabbing at me that I can’t relax, but not enough to make money.
Tonight my friend Chris is picking my boy up from daycare and putting him down (a parental parlance that means put to bed), since my wife is gonna be eating jerky and shooting at satellites down in the Great Republic of Texas, and I’m gonna be stuck late at work. It’s going to be funny. I picture a rather charming little montage set to a tune by Alan Thicke (dad from Growing Pains. He also wrote and performed [get ready to have your minds blown] the Diff’rent Strokes theme song [“Now the world don’t move to the beat of just one drum…”] Yeah, for real. That’s him. He’s also dad of pop sensation Robin Thicke, and he’s Canadian. AND once when I was about 8 and in an airport, I saw, in that part of the airport newsstand where they have the porn [a classy move, by the way, reading Juggs or Shaved Snizz right there on the plane] an issue of Playgirl with Alan Thicke on the cover. The bumper headline, or whatever it’s called, said “Alan Thicke’s Growing Pains” and I was forced to picture his penis, and it grossed me out so completely that I’m still a little queasy, not from the memory, but actually from that moment. It’s lasted twenty four years. No shit)…okay, that was quite an aside. Back to Chris and the baby, I picture a charming little montage in which baby powder poofs thickly into Chris’s surprised face, the baby giggles while Chris gets tangled in the coat hangers in his closet…it’s gonna be like three men and a baby with only one man and a baby. Where are my Hollywood friends when I need them?
“Okay, it’s like Three Men and a Baby”
“okay, good. So far me likey”
“except for with ONE man.”
“Kelly, you’ve done it again! Have some money!”
Don’t steal that shit, okay? You can’t copyright ideas. I found that out the hard way when I told the wrong person about how I wanted to get, like Barbies, but dress them up as whores and sell ‘em to little girls. They’re doing that now, and I’m not in on it. ALSO, the Pussycat Dolls? That was my idea. I was like “yo, you know what we need? Some sluts singing about getting fucked. Here’s the beauty! They don’t even have to be good looking OR talented. We’re not selling the steak, we’re selling the snizzle!”
Fucked, right?
What else have I created, only to be thwarted by conniving dicks? Oh, you know when you say something and then you say NOT! At the end of it, and it like, totally negates it? I made that up. It was also me who first said that I didn’t want to be told what to do by anyone smarter than me. I also called for lax regulation regarding property appraisals and encouraged irresponsible lending in hopes that everyone could someday afford to own valuable homes. AND, I was like the first, maybe second guy to say that John Kerry was no hero. OH, and I coined the term “nibble on my dick like a rat does cheese” before the 2 Live Crew was even a fucking thought.
So, as you may have guessed, I’m pretty pissed. I’m gonna sit here and stew in my baby tears, barking dogs, piles of laundry, absentia wives, messy home, new barf colored blog and general malaise that comes every Friday morning and just kind of think about all the fucking money I should be counting right now. And Alan Thicke’s gross penis. That’s still just burned in there.

23 comments:

Mikey said...

haha good read.

i have to say though...my eyes hurt from the new layout...especially when i pulled them away from the screen.

Candice said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
matt said...

What I got out of that: "wives" was plural. Hot.

Why did I decide it would be a good idea to show up to class drunk from the night before?

matisfatt said...

im waiting for the day someone steals my idea to fame and fortune: fart-proof jeans. yeah.

Joe Costa said...

Dude Ashley Blue is so nasty. Way better pornstars than her.

LittleJonnyHormone said...

If you're gonna go with a 70's basement you gotta include that stereotypical 70's/80's pale, flat green color that ties into the diarrhea yellow. Might make it a little easier to read.

SauliosBJ123 said...

I fear change and I actually thought I'd gone to the wrong blog somehow (when click on a favorite) for a minute. I could bitch and complain all day, but you have your mind set.


I don't like the smell of my own farts, probably because I get guilt tripped every time I fart because everyone says my farts are the worst.


And, finally, have you heard the David Cross bit about the airport porn? (I don't fully remember it good enough to type it up, so if you remember it or find it, then just imagine like I said it and then laugh and give me credit as if I told you the joke. Okay?)

A l e x said...

I wonder if the Answer has ever been in his existence closer to Ashley Blue than right now. My guess is maybe.

Also: I came up with the concept for Koodo, and the concept for the really cheap AIDS drugs that Bill Clinton is supposed to be peddling at some point in Africa (which is really the exact same idea, if you've been paying attention) long before any faux-eighties-retro ads or Atlantic Monthly feature articles. So whatever, j'alls.

planespotting said...

I sucked down three high life's last night and it was so good, then I opened up your blog this morning (I missed yesterday's entry) and threw them all up.

Luckily, I couldn't even tell the difference between the vomit and the color of the screen.

Sam Tie Blogger said...

Stop drinking High Life people!!

Jason said...

ever see when Ashley Blue was on Judge Judy?

brian said...

I suggest the font being black like the vertical lines between that basement wood panel that I suppose were supposed to somehow make it look natural.

Tokkie said...

As much as I hate the new colours, and as difficult as they are to read, they totally make sense for the blog. Keep it, it totally suits it.

Candice said...

this place needs a shag carpet

P.S Don't Write said...

Does Mike seriously fucking cupcake himself? What the fuck? Oh Jesus, I thought he was cool!

Luke said...

A friend of a friend of mine works for a latex company and apparently they get orders for custom latex suits all the time. The smell-of-your-own-farts thing reminded me of this one suit that he told me about. It was a full bodysuit with a gas mask and the gas mask had a hose that comes out the front and joins up to the ass area so you have to smell your own ass. Weird.

Steven said...

I had a coworker that would play that first Pussycat Doll's single all day long. Actually it went 1. Pussycat Dolls first single 2. Pussycat Dolls first single (remix) and 3. some Blood for Blood song.

I can maybe understand watching their video on mute, even if they really aren't that hot, but what's the point of just listening to them while selling poker chips online?

J✫sh said...

I had an idea to put bass on a cell phone. Like that of those cars that pass by late at night. It would sell millions!!!!! And then I realized how much I hate those people and how everyone would want me dead.

My downstairs neighbor is getting evicted and now he's been playing annoying techno music at all hours of the day and night that I can feel through my floor. I may fight him.

Routine said...

Was Ashley Blue really on Judge Judy? Also, have you ever seen her blog, or the one by her husband or whatever? It's very insightful.

SauliosBJ123 said...

At first I thought it was really stupid of you to make the font bigger - like that would make it easier to read, but then I realized it did. However, the bright yellow font still hurts my eyes.

Eddie said...

Bk, love the vomit yellow..


Quick question - why won't you play abracadaver live?

Jersey Beat said...

Love the blog.

But I really hate the new color scheme.

Sam Tie Blogger said...

I think the colors are great, people need to quit whinin'!