i'm preoccupied with 1985

Well, here it is, the longest possible time I’ll go without a birthday until I die. No more special attention. Sigh. Thanks for the nudes, and please know that I’m still accepting them, so if you were just being lazy, or your computer crashed, come on. Send em out. Don’t be stingy.
Last night at my birthday party celebration (where I consumed a slab of the best ribs in the world) we were all trying to figure out the best possible porn title derived from “Apocalypse Now.” It started slow, with “a pussy lips now” “a cock on lips now” and “a cock and tits now” but! Then dan came up with “bukakke lips now” and let’s just talk about how funny that is for a second, shall we? It’s really quite funny. If you don’t know why, google it. It was my idea that the DVD cover should be the puckered mouths of all the hundreds of dudes mid load-blow, just to keep things interesting. I mean, you expect the title to refer to the target right? Wrong. It’s the dudes. Heh.
Sex humor is easy to do. Like toilet humor. And because it’s easy, people tend to dismiss it. But that’s just wrong. That’s stupid. Because since it’s easy to say something funny if it involves a dick or taking a dump or someone’s distended asshole, that means it’s the duty of toilet humorists to go the extra mile and be extremely, and unbelievably funny. Toilet humor is the vehicle through which comedy breaks the sound barrier, if only because it’s far and away the most powerful delivery system for true hilarity. Even the dumbest throwaway gags are sometimes much funnier than they should be. For example:
When I was twenty three my band was on tour with the Alkaline trio. They had a song called ‘My friend Peter’ that was at the time a new song which they played every night. In our van, my band and I all came up with alternate lyrics to the chorus, a favorite pastime of ours and what we netted out on was, I still think, pretty golden.
The original:
I'm tired of sleeping with myself
I'm tired, all these drinks and drugs no longer help
I'm tired of lying about not thinking of you
Maybe my friend Peter can tell me what to do

Now here’s our version:
I’m tired of playing with myself
I’m tired, all these butts that I no longer felch.
I’m tired of lying about not eating your poo
Maybe my friend’s peter can make some homemade glue.

See man, that’s funny stuff. Yeah, when it’s written down it loses a bit of it’s true splendor, but sing it and realize, motherfuckers! That’s the good shit. Anyone who tells you that toilet level humor is somehow inferior to everything else, well, they’re just wrong for one thing, and for another thing, they’re unfunny themselves. Because let’s face facts: all the funniest people in the world (with a few notable exceptions [Bill Waterson, Jerry Seinfeld, Charles Schultz]) work blue. That’s the funny. Fraiser and Niles, while funny in the context of their show, would not be funny to hang around with. It would be duuuull. That’s actually a main premise of that show, right? Right.

By the way, I was singing this version of My Friend Peter to matt on that same tour, ten years ago, and I was also singing the opening line of their first album “goddammit,” but I was singing it as “Wide eyed! Thumbs in the butts of guys!” and he took me aside and asked why I was constantly making fun of him. Did I think that his band was stupid? Nah. No way. Firstly, I’m not making fun. I’m constructing parody. Secondly, love the band, love those dudes. I’ll defend everything about them to the death, (even that gay nazi thing that they seem to love doing).
Look, back to the topic at hand, that shit’s a labor of love, man. I love your music and it gets stuck in my head and the little potty mouthed gnomes up there tinker with it until it comes out hilarious. That’s all. You should be flattered. He was, and continues to be, and by the way, you’d never know to look at em, but those guys are three of the absolutely funniest, most clever guys I’ve ever known. No shit. Bukakke lips now. HA!

In closing, I’d never take the time to reconstruct a Bowling for Soup song. You know? That’s like pretending that you actually need to figure something out to make fun of them about. How can you ignore the retarded lyrics or that lard ass? And I’m talking about that dumb budget chris roe singer. That other guy is so fat that calling him a lard ass is like calling Hitler a neat freak. Yeah, it might be true, but that’s barely the tip of the iceberg, man. He’s so massive that his guitar looks like a chicken leg or a lollipop when it’s strapped on, and not just because he may end up eating it. I don’t need to repackage their songs, I need to ignore their songs. I don’t even believe I’m talking about them here. Listen. It’s just to prove a point. I’m getting out of here. Something tells me this entry is nothing but trouble. Bye.
xoxox